Lou Gehrig in Asbury Park

Lou Gehrig, 1927, Asbury Park, N.J. (Personal collection)

A couple of years ago, I came across this photo on eBay. It's small -- maybe about 2x3 inches -- pasted to a blank postcard. On the back, in pencil, it says, "Lou Gehrig and [illegible] 1927 Ashbury Pk." The illegible name looks like Janu, but it could be anything. I suspect it might be the man in the dark suit directly behind Lou.

It was taken outside the Berkeley-Carteret Hotel the day Lou and Babe Ruth came through with their barnstorming tour in October 1927.

The game was delayed an hour because William Truby, the promoter, failed to produce the $2,500 cashier's check that he had promised. Walsh always demanded money up-front, with paydays ranging from $1,000 to $2,500, depending on the size of the town and the expected crowd. If receipts from ticket sales went beyond a predetermined level, he and his players would also receive a percentage of the gate. When a local politician offered to write a personal check for the $2,500 so that the game might begin, Walsh rejected it, saying only a cashier's check would do. He and Gehrig and Ruth went to the Berkeley-Carteret Hotel to wait. When the cashier's check finally arrived, Gehrig pulled a cardigan sweater over his baseball jersey, tucked his mitt under his left arm, and walked out of the hotel into the afternoon sun. Outside, cars were waiting to drive the men to the ballpark.

-- Jonathan Eig, Luckiest Man, p. 110

It's quite the record of one day in a legend's life, when he came to New Jersey.

BlueClaws helping to restore the Shore

The Lakewood BlueClaws completed their opening-weekend series yesterday, but their record in the four games doesn't matter. What matters is that they raised $15,000 for the BlueClaws Charities Restore the Shore initiative after auctioning off the special jerseys worn throughout the weekend. Each jersey featured the name of a Shore-area town on the back, making some shirts more attractive to bidders and leading to some high-priced last-minute bidding as the auction came to an end after the eighth inning on Sunday. The money raised -- both from the auction and on related purchases in the team store -- will go to fund grants that will go to Sandy victims who apply. And though the game-worn jersey auction ended yesterday, I'm told that there will be a few additional jerseys going up for auction online soon.

I wasn't sure if I'd get in on the bidding, but after seeing my hometown, Little Silver, on the back of catcher Chad Carman during pregame warmups, two things stood out: First, he wasn't huge, and second, he wore No. 18. The number actually didn't matter much to me, though it helps that 18 isn't an unattractive number (worn by Darryl Strawberry and any number of Japanese aces not named Yu Darvish). But Carman's size (5-foot-10, 189 pounds) did. If my hometown had been on the back of 6'6", 220-pound first baseman Art Charles, for example, there's no chance I would have bid on that bedsheet.

After placing my initial bid -- and only the third on the sheet overall -- around the fifth inning, I went down to check on its status with one out in the bottom of the eighth. Someone had outbid me by the minimum $25, so I raised it another $25, but was willing to go only another $50 higher. Then I stepped back among the crowd of bidders to watch the game from the concourse. Another out; I was now one more from winning the jersey. Then a BlueClaws batter hit a fly ball into right-center, and I'd never wanted a ball hit by the home team to be caught more (at any game I've attended) than this one. But the diving right fielder came up short. We had to wait out another batter.

But then it happened: The next batter struck out and the BlueClaws staffers manning the tables quickly pulled up the tablecloths with the bid sheets taped to them and disappeared into the offices to sort through the bids. After the game, they collected the jerseys from the players and distributed them to the fans who returned to the concourse to pick them up.

Carman had the day off Sunday, so I didn't get to see my jersey in action, except for the innings when he came out to warm up the pitcher while yesterday's starter, Chace Numata, put on his equipment. But that was actually better, because when I picked up the jersey, it was clean and still smelled like laundry detergent.    In fact, the jersey's final play in a game came on Saturday evening, when Carman fielded a throw from right fielder Brian Pointer and tagged out Kannapolis' Kale Kiser as he attempted to score the tying run to preserve Lakewood's 3-2 victory (its only win so far this season).

It had to have been interesting -- and perhaps educational -- for these players (only four of whom played in Lakewood last year) to join their new team but not wear the actual team name on their chests until the fifth game (which is tonight). I don't know if Chad Carman bothered to ask where Little Silver is or if any players inquired about the amount of damage sustained to any of the towns, but I'm sure some thought about it.

He could throw that speedball by you

Photo is mine; funky effects with the help of Piknik

Yesterday's New York Times had a splendid article about the old friend -- that "speedball" pitcher -- who appears in the opening of Bruce Springsteen's "Glory Days." It's exactly as it sounds -- Bruce was walking into a bar -- the Headliner in Neptune -- as the old teammate, Joe DePugh, was walking out. They recognized one another and headed inside to catch up over drinks. That the lyrics are so true to the story, that the old creed, "When the legend becomes fact, print the legend," doesn't even apply; the legend is fact, no embellishment needed.

It's a great story dug up by Kevin Coyne, himself from Freehold at the same time as Springsteen -- and those connections and relationships are what allowed him to put the pieces together and talk to those who knew, particularly DePugh himself. I've always enjoyed Coyne's writing and ability to tell a story, but I'm a little biased -- he "embedded" himself in the student body at Notre Dame shortly before I went there, and the resulting book came out during my sophomore year. He's also written about black baseball in New Jersey in general and Atlantic City in particular, the still-in-limbo Bergen CliffHawks, veteran baseball reporter Ed Lucas, the lack of space for baseball in Jersey City and a brief essay on summer among his baseball -- and my favorite -- pieces. Add this one to the list.

I had a friend was a big baseball player
back in high school
He could throw that speedball by you
Make you look like a fool boy
Saw him the other night at this roadside bar
I was walking in, he was walking out
We went back inside sat down had a few drinks
but all he kept talking about was


Glory days well they'll pass you by
Glory days in the wink of a young girl's eye
Glory days, glory days

-- BruceSpringsteen.net

Sun sets on Sussex baseball -- for the last time?

Sun sets in Sussex County

It's kind of a shame that the Sussex Skyhawks won't be part of the Can-Am League in 2011. Various issues -- from attendance to the ballpark lease to both the team and ballpark (owned by separate entities) being up for sale -- led to the club folding.

I suppose, technically, it could be a temporary hiatus. If new owners were found for the team and the ballpark and, if it's not one organization that buys both, an arrangement could be worked out, it's certainly possible that the team could resurface. The Can-Am League would certainly prefer to bring back an anchored team instead of fielding a traveling squad, which is what they'll do in 2011 to give the circuit eight franchises. But I'm not holding my breath.

I'll admit that the distance to that far corner of New Jersey made Skylands Park a difficult ballpark to get to, and while I hadn't been since 2005 -- the last season of the previous tennant, the St. Louis-affiliated New Jersey Cardinals -- I still looked forward to getting back there. The drive up to Sussex County (for me, west on I-80, then north on Route 15) has to be the prettiest route to a ballpark in the state. Once there, the tiny field was nestled among the cornfields and trees, only a few miles from the Appalachian Trail. I seem to recall an article one season about the manager and perhaps a few players or coaches spending the summer camping instead of lining up with host families. Now compare that to league opponents like Staten Island, Brooklyn and Lowell, clubs located in cities, big and small.

There was something so nostalgic about a ballgame at Skylands, and it wasn't just the rural setting and the thoughts of Field of Dreams. The ballpark was designed to blend in with the red-barn architecture of the area. I think the only thing that could've made it more wholesome would've been if it were situated alongside the county fairgrounds. The place oozed Americana. I mean, check out the drive-in across the road.

And so much for the Can-Am fielding three teams in the eight-team league. Now it's down to just the Jackals up the road at Montclair State and the Newark Bears coming aboard. They'll have to come up with a trophy for the head-to-head winner, but it would've been nice to have a three-way, round-robin competition for New Jersey Can-Am supremacy.

The Giants' Jersey roots

Something occurred to me on Monday night as I watched the Giants celebrate their first World Series championship since moving to San Francisco. I looked over at my blue Jersey City Giants cap, the white "JC" outlined in red, and thought about the two minor league affiliates that used to play in Trenton and Jersey City. (The photo at right shows Hall of Famer Gabby Hartnett and his son in 1944. Hartnett managed the Jersey City Giants from 1943-45.) I then realized that the last five World Series winners all have or had minor-league ties to the Garden State:

• The Yankees' double-A affiliate is currently the Trenton Thunder.
• The Phillies' low-Class A affiliate is currently the Lakewood BlueClaws.
• The Red Sox' double-A affiliate used to be the Trenton Thunder.
• The Cardinals' short-season affiliate used to be the New Jersey Cardinals.

The Giants' connection isn't solely from the '40s, however, because their starting second baseman, Freddy Sanchez, played for the Thunder back when he was a shortstop in Boston's system. In fact, each of these past five champions have had significant contributions from someone who spent a season in New Jersey on his way to a World Series ring: Yankees second baseman Robinson Cano (2003-04 with Trenton); Phillies catcher Carlos Ruiz (2001 with Lakewood), first baseman Ryan Howard (2002 with Lakewood) and World Series MVP Cole Hamels (2003 with Lakewood); Red Sox first baseman Kevin Youkilis (44 games with Trenton in 2002) and Cardinals shortstop and World Series MVP David Eckstein (1999 with Trenton).

But the Giants may have the earliest New Jersey connection of any World Series champion (aside from the fact that the entire game itself was born in Hoboken): they held spring training in Lakewood back in 1897. I had known that they trained on John D. Rockefeller's Lakewood estate from 1943-45, when teams were restricted in their travel during World War II. But in searching for some articles on that, I came across a few in the New York Times archive describing the club's 1897 preseason preparations. I've included one here as an example.

New Jersey may not have a Major League team of its own, but it continues to make significant contributions to the game 164 years after its birth on the bluffs overlooking the Hudson.

Ryan Howard looks back

Looking back on his time in Lakewood

As a Mets fan, it's tough to see Ryan Howard do well. As a baseball fan, it's a treat.

The big man (who, to this point, has managed to avoid a nickname that's stuck, as far as I know) is a bonafide superstar and a personable fellow who always gave me the comments I needed, both in 2002 as a developing first baseman with the BlueClaws and in the few times I've run into him since.

Last night in Lakewood, I took the night off, attending the game as a fan as his number was retired and he got three at-bats in a rehab start for the BlueClaws. It was Howard's second appearance at FirstEnergy Park since reaching the Major Leagues; in 2007, he played in two rehab games, including an 11 a.m. start I attended. Afterward, Howard joked that he couldn't remember the last time he had woken up so early.

This appearance was a more common 7:05 p.m. start, delayed a few minutes by the pregame ceremony to retire the No. 29 that Howard wore in 2002 and again last night. (In his 2007 rehab, he wore his Major League No. 6, which I saw on a fan in the stands.) His mother and brother were on hand and the No. 29 was unveiled on the center-field wall, to the right of center, far enough to the side to be clear of the batter's eye.

Part of what I love about Ryan Howard is that he remains a humble man. Yes, he's made a few contract demands in his time in Philadelphia, but other than that, you don't see any showboating from him, no showing up opponents and no grandstanding. He's one of the few Phillies who come to mind who (as far as I know) hasn't taken shots at the Mets on the radio or at victory parades or dropped f-bombs on live television (twice, Mr. Utley). I'm not saying he needs to be accomodating to his opponents, but he certainly treats them with respect, not only during the game, but afterward as well. He just lets his play speak for itself, not seeing any need to supplement it with verbal digs.

This graciousness has shown through during both of the rehab games I've seen him play in Lakewood. I've seen other established Major Leaguers back in the minors, most recently Shane Victorino and Carlos Delgado 10 days ago at Triple-A Lehigh Valley, but I haven't seen any of them interact and become one of the boys as much as Howard seems to do. That's not to say that Victorino, Delgado, John Maine, Robinson Cano, Phil Hughes and Derek Jeter have been standoffish or aloof, or even that the circumstances were the same. It just seems to me that Howard has gone out of his way to just blend in as one of the guys when he's been back in Lakewood -- even if he stands out as a big, hulking anomaly.

Case in point: in the big leagues, Howard is among the pajama-pantsed set. In Lakewood, he walks the high-socks walk with the rest of the BlueClaws. And he did in 2007, too.

Howard admitted last night that Lakewood "holds a special place" in his heart, so perhaps that's why he seems so at ease when he returns. And, of course, there's no guarantee he'll make it back again before the end of his career, which is why it was nice that it worked out so well last night. The BlueClaws had originally planned to retire his number on Sept. 2, an off-day for the Phillies and my birthday, on which I'll be flying to Chicago and wouldn't have been able to attend. But when it was announced that the Phillies and Rockies would make up a rainout that day in Colorado, Lakewood had to postpone the retirement ceremony. It worked out for them when Howard went on the DL with his ankle injury and the Phillies gave him to Lakewood for one night of rehab.

Howard's appearance may have kept Greensboro's Chad James from history. The hard-throwing left-hander (he was in the mid-90s in the first inning) came into the game with a 3-9 record and 5.32 ERA. He did not allow a hit until the sixth, when Howard crushed an opposite-field double to left-center, driving the ball over the outfielders' heads to score Leandro Castro. In Howard's two previous at-bats against James, he walked and grounded out to second as the Grasshoppers employed the drastic shift, putting the shortstop behind second base and the second baseman in short right field. James finished with six innings, one hit allowed, five walks and three strikeouts. He improved to 4-9 and lowered that ERA to 5.09. Two 'Hoppers (I have no idea if they're called that) relievers allowed just one more hit and two more walks in a 4-1 win.

Lakewood manager Mark Parent sent in a pinch-runner after that double, allowing Howard to jog off the field to a standing ovation and ending his night after three at-bats. He's scheduled to play for Triple-A Lehigh Valley tonight and could be back with the Phillies on Sunday. Last night may very well have been the last time a Lakewood BlueClaw will don No. 29 -- unless Howard has another rehab appearance somewhere down the line.

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When the Yankees flirted with New Jersey

In a weird coincidence on Tuesday, I found myself reading early in No Minor Accomplishment, Bob Golon's account of baseball's revival in New Jersey beginning in 1994, about the Yankees' flirtation with moving to the Meadowlands. On the day George Steinbrenner died, it was interesting that I'd reach this passage:

... Meanwhile, the once-mighty Yankees fell upon some hard times at Yankee Stadium in the Bronx. Questionable player deals and numerous managerial changes taxed the patience of even the most dedicated Yankees fans, and empty seats became a common sight at Yankee Stadium. The front office attributed the lack of attendance to the Bronx neighborhood itself. People didn't feel safe coming to the Bronx, claimed Yankees executives, and even those who did were being turned off by the constant traffic delays due to the outdated highways leading to and from Yankee Stadium. The Yankees told anyone who would listen that they were in need of a new ballpark and would consider alternative locations in the New York City area if a deal could be struck.

New Jersey governor Kean, with the backing of the Sports and Exposition Authority and state business and labor leaders, placed a $185 million stadium bond issue on the ballot in 1987. If the bond issue passed, the state would have the funding to build a 45,000-seat baseball stadium in Lyndhurst, adjacent to the Meadowlands complex. A commitment for a team to relocate to the new stadium had to be in place prior to construction, and many thought that the Yankees would be that team. The bond issue's supporters claimed that major-league baseball would create thousands of jobs in Bergen County and be a positive stimulus to the New Jersey economy. The opponents of the bond issue thought it was a risky proposition. Attendance at games could not be guaranteed, and a realistic cost assessment of a new ballpark was in the neighborhood of $400 million. A "north-south" theme also developed within New Jersey, with many residents in the southern part of the state complaining that all of the major Sports and Exposition Authority projects benefited only northern New Jersey. Opposition to the plan increased, and despite the political backing, the voters defeated the bond issue by a two-to-one margin. The Yankees never officially committed to New Jersey, and whether they would have moved or not is simply conjecture. One New Jersey official very close to the negotiations with the Yankees was Robert Mulcahy, currently the athletic director of Rutgers University who was the longtime president and CEO of the New Jersey Sports and Exposition Authority. Mulcahy recalled that Yankees owner George Steinbrenner had genuine interest in the Meadowlands site. "We had very serious conversations that included layouts of what the stadium might be. George made some helicopter flights over the sites that we had either adjacent to or on the Meadowlands, frankly his attraction was to the Meadowlands because he felt it was the symbol of success. So, how close it ever got? You know, it's hard to know when people would pull a trigger on something like that, but I can say that we had some very serious discussions about it." Unfortunately, Mulcahy and New Jersey never got the opportunity to present a firm plan of financing to the Yankees once the bond issue was defeated. The idea of building a major-league baseball stadium in New Jersey died along with the referendum.

Though, I'm sure they would've still been called the New York Yankees. But even then, when I thought that having a Major League team in New Jersey was probably the coolest thing that could happen, I wasn't sure I wanted it to be the Yankees, and not because I'm a Mets fan. I just couldn't see that team leaving its historic site in the Bronx, abandoning the House That Ruth Built and George Renovated.

Plus, I knew most Yankee fans -- pretty much all of those not living in New Jersey -- would be angry. And while some might blame the team and take it out on the organization by no longer attending games, I had the feeling that most of them would blame New Jersey for stealing the Yankees.

Yogi remembers George

I forgot to take my camera to the Yogi Berra Museum yesterday for the Hall of Famer's comments on the passing of George Steinbrenner, but it didn't matter -- there were so many TV cameras there that I didn't have much of a view. My one shot with my Droid turned out pretty well, though.

Yogi looked good, aside from his obvious sadness at Steinbrenner's death. He's 85, five years older than the Boss was, and was joined by his wife of 61 years, Carmen, and their youngest son, Dale, who I didn't recognize at first.

A few additional anecdotes from yesterday:

Yogi on Bob Sheppard:

Sheppard, he was great too. ... I loved the way he said the names, like a singer. "Mickeyyyy Mantlllle." He was a very nice man. When he came onto the field, he didn't say anything, didn't bother you that much.

Dale on his dad and Steinbrenner:

He would've liked to have played for him. My dad was one of the greatest players in the history of the game. It didn't matter who owned or managed the team when he was a player, he was going to be the best player on the field anyway. Who managed or coached was irrelevant. When you're a Hall of Famer, it doesn't manner who your manager or coach is. Just like Rickey Henderson and Winfield and Mattingly, the best players, their names are in the lineup everyday, they go out and play. It's irrelevant who the manager is. They go out and play. They respected George because he put the best players around them and gave them an opportunity to win.

Dale on his dad's firing in 1985:

Even when Dad was fired, I went into the office and he said, "Billy's going to be the manager. Play for him like you did for me. He's like an uncle to you. Same with George, go out and play hard. Don't worry about me, I'm going to be playing golf tomorrow." George is wonderful to play for. He gives you the opportunity to win and puts players together who can win.

Yogi on his job:

He called me up in the office one time and said, "Your team's not doing very well." I said, "Don't tell me this is my team. It's your team. You picked it. I didn't." [Laughing.]

Yogi on some of Steinbrenner's requirements:

Sometimes Billy would take the phone off the hook. [Steinbrenner] would call down and tell the guys to get a haircut. He didn't like long hair. Still didn't, I don't think. Swisher had that long hair and had to get it cut. And we always had to wear a jacket and tie on the plane.

Photo Flashback: Take me back to the aughts

Chance Corgan

Not much time for a more in-depth post because I'm off to the Mets game today (Johan!) and have to catch my train in less than an hour. [Expanded below.] Yesterday morning I drove up the road to see the Pittsfield Colonials face the New Jersey Jackals at Yogi Berra Stadium mainly to see the Pittsfield uniforms. The former American Defenders of New Hampshire in the Can-Am League moved from one old, historic ballpark to another, taking up residence in Pittsfield, Mass., at Wahconah Park. If nothing else, the uniforms -- which harken back to Pittsfield's long, 100-year baseball history -- are a 180-degree improvement.

Bonuses yesterday? Former Met Argenis Reyes playing for New Jersey and Pittsfield starter Chance Corgan (above) playing the part with the moustache.

Off to the Citi. This is going to be an extended run of in-the-ballpark fun, so there should be more posts in the next few days.

Update:

I sat in the first row next to the Pittsfield on-deck circle and had a great view of the uniforms. I considered trying to strike up a conversation with one of the hitters, but even though it's a small independent league, I figured these guys still take their work pretty seriously and might not be open to an extended conversation while preparing to bat.

Among some of the highlights (all included in the gallery below):

Love how the collar flares out as the pitcher delivers.

The pant cuffs have drawstrings -- but it would look better if they wore true stirrups.

The long sleeves are a great touch, as is the deep collar and lacing. That's a team logo on the sleeve. All of the players seemed to be wearing generic blue batting helmets -- and not the new, S1000, either. I don't know if that's simply a cost-cutting measure or if an order with a Pittsfield logo has yet to come in.

The numbers appear to be felt, which is cool.

All of my Pittsfield-tagged photos are here.

I'm so intrigued by this concept that I may delve into it further in the future. I'd hoped to make a more definitive declaration, but recent unforeseen events that may necessitate auto-buying research have put leisure pursuits on hold.

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Photo Flashback: Opening night in Trenton

PItcher covering

I've been to 11 Mets openers and four or five Lakewood BlueClaws openers, but last night was my first opening night at Trenton's Waterfront Park. And while it may have only been April 8, with a gametime temperature of 75 degrees, it felt like July 8. A gorgeous night all around -- with the exception of Christian Garcia's injury.

It seemed like as many fans were there to see the Yankees' World Series trophy as for the game. The line on the concourse was longer than any concession line, Chickie & Pete's included. The roar of the crowd was a little subdued at times for the first game of the season, but that's not the fans' fault -- those in line reacted to those in the stands reacting to the play. Even the players and coaches wanted a closeup look.

I spent pregame on the field and the first inning in the photographers' box at the end of the Thunder dugout. Catcher Austin Romine, the No. 2 prospect in the Yankees' system, was the first player out of the clubhouse, stashing his gear at the end of the bench and getting himself loose for the game. He introduced himself to me and spent 15 minutes chatting with me and team photographer David Schofield. If first impressions hold, he's a good kid -- not many players go ahead an introduce themselves -- with the right level of confidence and cockiness to make it to the Majors. And though the only player ahead of him on Baseball America's list of Yankees prospects is also a catcher, it may not be Jesus Montero's career-long position, so Romine may be the heir apparent to Jorge Posada. Romine went 1-for-4 with an RBI and a run scored in his Double-A debut.

After back-to-back championships in 2007-08, the Thunder missed the playoffs last year, finishing three games under .500 and 13 1/2 out of first place. They started off on the right foot in 2010, though they may now have to replace their opening night starter. One way or another, there's going to be plenty to follow in Trenton this season.

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Jeter rules Jersey

I was kicking around Baseball-Reference's birth sites and, after some sorting, made a minor discovery: If Derek Jeter plays 150 games this season, he'll have played more games in the majors than any other New Jersey-born player.



(Full chart is here.)

Of course, Jeet grew up in Michigan, but it's no secret that he spent summers with his grandparents in the Garden State. He's already got the hits record, and if he plays just another year or two, he could pretty much own every mark on this list -- except for years. Kid Gleason's pretty much got that one locked up, unless Jeter makes it all the way to 42 or 43.

Photo Friday: Pure baseball

No. 44 takes a pitch

With the college season opening this weekend, I chose several photos I took in 1994. They're of baseball games at Trenton State College (now the College of New Jersey) and Brookdale Community College. This was still early in my SLR ownership, so I was psyched to take the zoom lens out to the fields, especially since I could pretty much stand anywhere along the fence at these venues. I have no idea who any of the players are, but that's the point for today -- this is junior college ball, guys playing mostly for the love of the game. With the exception of the metal bats, it's about as pure as baseball can get these days. With a few exceptions, these players have no professional aspirations, there are no stage parents complaining about playing time, ESPN and most newspapers aren't coming around looking for stories. They're just out there to play.

With the season beginning, Baseball America's preview content included a look ahead to the end of the season, which will feature the College World Series in its last year at renowned Rosenblatt Stadium. I never got there, and I won't this year, which is a shame. I don't know what the new ballpark will offer compared to Rosenblatt and whether the regular attendees of the annual tournament are looking forward to an updated, modern venue or if they'll be lamenting the old ballyard's loss. But I know it won't be the same to tune in each June to watch the college championship from TD Ameritrade Park Omaha -- which is among the top five worst sports venue names in America and may be at the top of the list. A shame.

But back to more positive thoughts. Two things in particular I love in this gallery: the dandelions on the Brookdale infield in the shots of the pitchers, and Brookdale's classic-looking uniforms, which you can see in the image above: the blue lettering and red numbers on the jersey taken from the Dodgers' clean uniform design, and the helmet (and cap) "B" logo borrowed from the Red Sox.

And yeah, the music choice may be a bit cliched, and it won't be the last time I use a version of that song, but it just fit the photos for this one. It's an instrumental piece recognizable from the start, no words to worry about. And though you may not know the players -- no words, no names -- you know the game immediately upon seeing the images. It's just baseball.

When Shea knew football

The Jets are about to play the last football game at the Meadowlands, and though I was 7 years old when they first kicked off there, I don't remember their first game in New Jersey, or their time at Shea Stadium. Growing up on the Jersey Shore, I did not get into football until the late '80s, and my first love was the college game. I gradually began following the NFL, then really got into it when I started playing fantasy.

So today's story in the New York Times on the Jets' history from the Polo Grounds to Shea to the Meadowlands piqued my interest, particularly the above photo, which shows the layout of the gridiron at Shea. I did not realize that, during the Jets' tenure in Queens, the field-level seats seemed to have been movable. Not only are they missing from behind home plate, but it looks like those seats and those that would be down the third-base/left-field line have shifted over and stretch into left field. Same goes for the first-base/right-field sections. The position of the foul poles in both corners -- in that photo, they're now surrounded by seats -- gives an indication of the adjustments. It must have been after the Jets left and Shea became a baseball-only stadium that those sections were permanently affixed in place.

The Jets' final game at Shea came on Dec. 10, 1983, a 34-7 loss to the Steelers, a fact I did not know when I bought the flag shown in the photo on the left. The flag was one of those flown above Shea during the Jets' days there; it was part of the extensive online auction held following the end of the 2008 season. I'm not sure how the flags were flown for football, but one way or another, this flag may have been flying above the stadium during that final Jets game. It's one of two I know were available for auction over the past year, so I don't know how many they had. I also don't know how many might have flown for football games. For baseball, before 9/11, when they switched to all American flags ringing the top of the structure, they flew pennants with the names of the cities in the National League. (I bought one of the Pittsburgh ones; my wife is from there, hence the interest in these flags.) If they did the same for Jets games, the chances that the flag I own flew during that final football game is 50-50, or worse. But if they chose the flags based on the opponent that week, then I figure my flag must've been one of those flapping in the December Queens wind.

In any case, it's there on my front porch today, both to bring the Steelers a little luck on this final day of the season and as a small, in-the-know nod to the Jets' final game in their previous home as they prepare to end their tenancy there and move into the fourth in their history.

Berra museum removes Clemens' jersey

While the American tenet that you are innocent until proven guilty should provide Roger Clemens with the benefit of the doubt, and while anything he may or may not have done with Brian McNamee certainly wouldn't make him the only player of the last 20 years to do such things, I see nothing wrong with the Yogi Berra Museum and Learning Center removing Clemens' jersey from a display on the Yankees' World Series run of the late 90s.

The museum director's explanation that "we have a lot of kids coming through here who are asking questions we’re not prepared to answer" really says it all. Education and children's programs have always been the focus of the museum's -- and Learning Center's -- mission, and if the young visitors are asking questions about Clemens while touring the small exhibition space, it's better to remove that which is prompting the queries. The staff and volunteers at the museum aren't necessarily in a position to answer those questions, so why risk providing an incomplete answer when the safest thing is to try to avoid the issue in the first place? I think it's pretty similar to a visit I took to Kennedy Space Center in 2003 only weeks after Columbia broke up over Texas. Our tour guide said at the beginning of our visit that she could not answer any questions about the accident because she did not have enough information. That's essentially what the Yogi Berra Museum is doing.

Besides, as the director points out, having Clemens' jersey there with those of Derek Jeter and Mariano Rivera in an exhibit about the Yankees' four World Series titles from 1996 to 2000 was inaccurate because Clemens was only a Yankee for two of them. Andy Pettitte and Jorge Posada would be better choices.

You snooze, you lose -- and miss Hughes

Those grand plans I laid out last week -- four games in four ballparks in four days -- never came to be. I made it halfway, unable to raise myself out of bed on Tuesday morning to hit the road (and figuring four hours of sleep before a late-night shift in charge of the room would not be a good career move), but bounced back on Wednesday to see Phil Hughes' rehab start for the Trenton Thunder. Thursday would be another cop-out because I stayed home to help my dad and uncle install the ceiling fans we'd asked them to take care of for us.

Hughes is still a prospect, a rookie with just two Major League starts in his career, but his appearance in Trenton was as big as the rehab appearances made previously by Bernie Williams, Hideki Matsui, Derek Jeter and others. OK, maybe not as big as Jeter's, but it was an event. It was a Wednesday afternoon, a park filled with summer camp kids, but the media turned out in force. Or something close to it.

The big right-hander looked good, recovering after a rough first inning to cruise into the fifth. By then, the heat and humidity had chased me into the press box for a break, and I happened to be standing directly over the center of home plate to get a perfect view as Hughes snapped off a majestic curveball to freeze a helpless Binghamton Mets batter for strike three. At the lower levels of the minor leagues, the good pitchers tend to make most hitters look silly at times. But as they move up the ladder, only the better pitching prospects consistently baffle the hitters to such an extent.

Hughes' rehab appearance and the opponent meant that the two most powerful general managers in baseball were sitting in adjoining rows behind the plate -- Omar Minaya and an assistant or two were seated directly in front of Brian Cashman and his crew. Minaya managed to look cool in a long-sleeved dress shirt and canvas cap; Cashman seemed to be roasting in jeans, a polo shirt and what appeared to be a pair of $7.99 sunglasses from Target. Reggie Jackson was also there, but I missed him -- probably because he stayed a bit closer to the action.

But after a late night at work and another shift that evening, I had to head home and work in a nap before departing for the city, so once Hughes' day at the ballpark was finished, so was mine. I drove home just as a few raindrops began falling on Waterfront Park, and I disengaged the cruise control on the Turnpike when the deluge began.

It didn't turn into the week I envisioned, but the two games were worth it -- and they satisfied my happy feet for the moment. I've yet to make the time to get the photos online, but again, when I do, there will be some samples here.

This week has been about big-league ball, with the Mets home again and playing well. We went out to Shea on Tuesday and I'm up bright and early tomorrow for the nooner against the Pirates. Taking mom for her birthday. More on Shea later.

There used to be a ballpark: Hinchliffe Stadium

Bordering Maple Street, Paterson

Here, the ghosts of past indiscretions -- others' indiscretions -- still play. Tucked into a corner of Paterson, New Jersey, stands a massive stadium now overgrown with more than just grass and weeds. Trees sprout from the bleachers, shrubs grow on the benches. It should be hard to miss, such a huge multipurpose arena that stretches two blocks in one direction. But it's nestled into a hill, never appearing more than a story high, tucked behind a four-story school that looms over it like a fortress.

Not far from another corner lies one of New Jersey's great natural and industrial landmarks, the Great Falls of the Passaic, a spot of historical significance in the life of Alexander Hamilton and in the industrial history of America. But from the falls, Hinchliffe Stadium looks like another abandoned industrial relic, a dilapidated warehouse complex or a facade fronting a high school football field.

At one time, that's what Hinchliffe was, home to Paterson Eastside High School teams. It's where Larry Doby played before the Newark Eagles signed him, setting the stage for his Hall of Fame career that began with the Cleveland Indians.

Grafitti and turnstiles

Now, the stadium lies in crumbling decay. A walk down Maple St. allows for a peak into vandalized restrooms and gated entryways, the white of the stadium walls nearly blinding in the sun, yet splashed with the color of graffiti on nearly every open space within arm's reach. Curiously, the spray-painting Picassos seemed to have left the outside facade as pristine as the day the stadium opened, 75 years ago this September, when a coordinated effort under the cover of night could clearly have allowed an adept artist the opportunity to leave his mark there as well. Perhaps they did, only to have their efforts plastered over, but it is inside where their work remains, giving Hinchliffe the appearance of a plausibly functional structure upon first glance, saving its true identity and sad state of decay only for those who take the time to venture closer.

Hinchliffe Stadium ticket windows

The ornate tiles marking the ticket windows and the bronze reliefs of track and field athletes of various pursuits preserve time and tag the stadium as a great multi-use facility, one that regularly and easily hosted baseball, football, soccer, track and field, boxing, concerts and any number of other forms of entertainment and recreation. It's not hard to imagine passing by the gates on a hot summer night 50 or 60 years ago and hearing the roar of the crowd flow over the walls into the streets of Paterson.

I walked the length of Maple St. along the outer wall of the stadium. At the parking area at the bottom, I took the path that led to the overlook at the falls, the stadium blending into its surroundings more with each step I took. Looking back from the falls, the stadium was a simple white wall running up the block, a grove of trees stretching to meet it at the lowest corner. As I returned to my car, I followed a path at this point and found the lower end of the stadium closed off by merely a chain-link fence. Here my view was uninterrupted, save for the metal strands of the fence and the piles of brush and the growing weeds and saplings along the boundary. I stood at the far turn of the track, a light dusting of snow covering the Astroturf field, a blue shipping container somewhere near midfield, perhaps abandoned after a cleanup attempt or maybe the last remnant of what could have been the stadium's last, most recent purpose: storage, or a parking lot of sorts.

There used to be a ballpark

There is a movement backed by New Jersey's representatives in Congress to have the Great Falls Historic District established as a National Park, Hinchliffe Stadium included. Perhaps someday, the stadium can be cleaned up, renovated to an extent, re-opened for tours or maybe even games once again. Any refurbishment would serve as an adequate reminder, a fitting tribute to those who performed there, from Doby and Josh Gibson and Satchel Paige to Duke Ellington and Lou Costello and the high school students who played on that field for decades.

Today, if you go there and look out on the overgrown field and dilapidated bleachers, you can imagine the ghostly figures rounding the bases, the fans leaping to their feet to cheer, the sun sinking behind the school on the hill to the west. Hinchliffe Stadium feels old. It feels important and poignant, yet it also feels dirty and disgusting, the acrid smell of decay and neglect -- of disrespect -- having seeped into the cracks in the concrete and overwhelming what remains of the structure. What could be a venerated landmark in the history of New Jersey, the progress of America, instead remains just another boarded-up relic, another glaring example of disrespect and neglect.

Knowing your South (Jersey) from your Central (Jersey)

At first I blamed it on Scott Schoeneweis, figuring that the town listed as his birthplace might be technically true, but that doesn't mean he grew up there. But that's not the case.

It's the Star-Ledger's fault.

OK, here's the backstory: The Mets last week signed Schoeneweis -- a New Jersey native, that's clear -- as a free agent to bolster the bullpen. When I read that he was a native of Long Branch, I was reminded that I already knew this information. It's not too often that you are surprised to hear of a professional athlete who was born 15 minutes away from where you came into the world.

The Associated Press story about the signing mentioned Long Branch and Schoeneweis' youthful allegiance to the Phillies. That seemed a little odd, but there is often an explanation. But when I got upset was when I read Schoeneweis' comment in the Star-Ledger's story:

Schoeneweis, the Long Branch native who signed a three-year, $10.8 million deal, has starting pitching experience but appears ticketed for the Mets' bullpen. He and Pedro Feliciano will serve as left-handed setup men for closer Billy Wagner, and having two lefty options late in games should help manager Willie Randolph strategically.

"I'm from South Jersey, so to come back and play here is a dream come true," Schoeneweis said. "Playing in New York is an opportunity that I think all athletes look forward to having."

Hang on a second, dude. Long Branch -- Monmouth County -- is not South Jersey. I don't understand why this state tends to see itself as north and south. Sure, the differences are clear, but to me it's always been a three-tiered state: north, central and south. Growing up in Monmouth County, I didn't see what I had in common with the northern part or the southern part.

But it wasn't his fault. As his MLB.com bio explains, he graduated from Lenape High School in Medford -- which is decidedly south. It's a suburb not far from Philadelphia. That makes sense. How the Star-Ledger missed this -- or felt that mentioning his birthplace, Long Branch, was sufficient -- perplexes me. There are two explanations that I can think of: 1.) They don't care, or 2.) Those Ledgerites take a biased view and consider anything south of I-287 (where it passes the Driscoll Bridge at the Parkway) is South Jersey.

Unfortunately, it could easily be either one.

New Negro league candiates for the Hall

WAY too long since I've posted.

Must ... update ... more ...

With the Baseball Hall of Fame announcing that it is considering players from the Negro leagues and before for enshrinement, New Jersey may see itself represented further in Cooperstown. Among the Negro leaguers are one-time Newark Eagle William Bell Sr., former manager of the Newark Dodgers and Eagles Dick Lundy, Eagles manager Raleigh "Biz" Mackey, Eagles co-owner Effa Manley, and Eagles player and manager George Suttles.

A partial and by-no-means complete (as far as I can tell) list of Hall of Famers with Jersey ties include:

Those born here
Goose Goslin
Billy Hamilton
Joe Medwick

Those who died here
Dan Brouthers
Larry Doby
Harry Wright

Those who played here
Yogi Berra (Newark Bears)
Monte Irvin (Newark Eagles)
Ray Dandridge (Newark Eagles)
Leon Day (Newark Eagles)
Willie Wells (Newark Eagles)

I'm hoping to do more research on the history of New Jersey baseball, but I've got so many other various little side projects like that, I don't know when I'm going to get to it. Perhaps once I become independently wealthy and no longer have to work a regular job.

Step right up and get your mud

The pitcher steps off the mound and holds the ball in his pitching hand, lifting it above his head and flicking his wrist toward home plate. He doesn't toss it, though. Instead, he holds onto it, signaling to his catcher and the umpire that he wants a new baseball. This one just doesn't feel right.

Once the umpire obliges him, they make the exchange -- sometimes with a simultaneous soft toss, two horsehide orbs on similar high arcs from pitcher to catcher, from umpire to pitcher. The hurler gets his new baseball, then tucks his glove under his arm, freeing the hand inside to join the other wrapped around the baseball. He gives the ball a few rubs and twists in his palms and he's ready to go.

In Little League, that new baseball would be pristine, as perfectly white as a sheet of paper. It'd be slick to the touch, making it all the more important to have a firm grip on the laces when making throws from the field or the mound. But in professional baseball, that "new" ball has already been soiled. It's been taken from its box and rubbed in mud, usually by the umpires before the game.

The most fascinating bit of this little-known aspect of the game is that not only are the baseballs themselves licensed and approved by Major League Baseball, but so is the mud.

And that mud comes from one place: New Jersey.

At the other end of the state from Hoboken, where the first professional game was played, somewhere on the banks of the Delaware River, Lena Blackburne stumbled upon some mud while fishing. He took it back across the river to Philadelphia, where he was a coach for the A's, and dirtied up some baseballs.

Now his name adornes the tubs of official mud in every major league equipment room: Lena Blackburne Baseball Rubbing Mud. It sounds like something concocted by a barnstorming con man in the 1800s. "STEP RIGHT UP, FOLKS, AND GET THE SALVE THAT WILL RELIEVE ALL YOUR PAIN!! LENA BLACKBURNE'S RUBBING MUD!!"

New Jersey may not have any major league ballparks in the state, but every team has a bit of New Jersey in its ballpark.

Day 2: At least Washington's first in something

"First in war, first in peace, and last in the American League." That's what they used to say about the old Washington Senators, the hapless bunch of baseball men who couldn't do much in two separate attempts at playing baseball in Washington, D.C. So this time, when they brought baseball back to the capital, perhaps they figured they should try the other league. Now -- well, as of July 23, 2005 -- they're at least first in the National League (East). If two out of three ain't bad, then I guess one out of three is ... a start?

In posting Friday night's account of the Mets game (see below), I found myself falling into bed at 1:30 a.m. on Saturday. I set the alarm for a not-late-enough 6:30, figuring on at least half an hour of snooze time onto the end of that. And it might have worked out that way ... had I remembered to turn on the alarm. So at 8:15, I looked at the clock and thought, "Shoot. I suppose I need to get going."

An hour later, I was in the car and soon I was zipping down the New Jersey Turnpike, Washington-bound, following the signs that said SOUTH. I find it sad, as I make a quick stop at the Walt Whitman Rest Area, that we're about 90 miles into New Jersey, and the most prominent thing when you walk into the gift shop is a table covered with "I Love NY" t-shirts. It didn't occur to me at the time that, of all the service areas on the Turnpike, I choose the Whitman one for my quick restroom run, considering his 1846 dispatch to the Brooklyn Eagle: “In our sundown perambulations of late through the outer parts of Brooklyn, we have observed several parties of youngsters playing ‘base,’ a certain game of ball ... Let us go forth awhile, and get better air in our lungs. Let us leave our close rooms...the game of ball is glorious.”

Upon arriving in Maryland, I come to an empty house. Matt, the college friend I'd be going to the game and then staying with, was not home. I had called from the road to inform him that I was running late and he didn't have to rush home from his girlfriend's for my planned noon arrival. But I hadn't been specific enough.

"Yo!" he says when he answers my call.

"I'm sitting outside your house ..." I say in a mock-stalker voice.

"Oh ... whoops," he replies.

"I suppose I should have actually given you a time at which I would be arriving," I said. But soon, after bringing another college pal, Brad, into the conversation, we came up with a remedy: I would get back on the Beltway and the three of us would meet in Arlington, Virginia, where Matt was and near Brad's home. We were to meet at Baileys Pub and Grille at the Ballston Common Mall. When Brad first mentioned the place, some interference in our cell phone connection garbled his voice a little, so on the drive down, I tried to figure out why a suburban shopping mall in Virginia -- a commonwealth full of its own rich Colonial history -- would choose to name itself after a New England village green, Boston Common. As it turns out, the mall is roughly the size of Boston Common, so the similar name is appropriate.

After lunch and ice cream, talk of baseball and bachelor parties, Matt and I swing by his house again to leave my car as we head across the District to RFK Stadium. Traffic and then unexpected closure of Matt's regular parking lot -- the former, we believe, caused at least in part by the latter -- prevents us from getting through the turnstiles in time for the first pitch. Or the 31st pitch. Not only do we listen to the top of the first on the car radio, but we get into the bottom of the inning before we park and start walking up the hill to the stadium. Inside, we find Cristian Guzman batting -- a term used loosely when it comes to the .180 hitter -- with two outs and a 4-0 Nationals lead. Settling into our seats, I spot a fan walking in the field seats below wearing a Guzman jersey and I wonder if he'll get his money back. I'm sure the Nationals would like theirs back.

Opened in 1962 for the second incarnation of the Senators, RFK slid in front of Shea Stadium to become the NL's third-oldest ballpark, behind Wrigley Field and Dodger Stadium. It certainly looks and feels like a 1960s multi-purpose stadium. Now that the Redskins have moved out, RFK -- or The Rob, as Brad calls it -- again splits its time morphing from a baseball stadium to a football one and back, only now it hosts international football in the form of D.C. United and Major League Soccer. There are no box seats, I notice as I look down. The best they could do was put new, soft blue cushioning on several sections behind home plate and put a table into a small box down in the front row directly behind the catcher. At some point, it's clear that they decided they needed more premium (as in high-priced, not high-quality) seats, so they cut off the continuous walkway by inserting seats at intervals that stretch from behind the first-base dugout around to the one on the third-base side.

With the score already 4-0, there's not much left for us; Washington cruised from there. Tony Armas Jr. carried a no-hitter into the sixth inning before a walk to Craig Biggio ahead of Lance Berkman soon becames a 4-2 Nats lead: Berkman deposited a pitch over the right-field wall for the first hit of the game.

The atmosphere is as electric as it was on Opening Day, now that Washington has risen to first place and we're just over two months away from the end of the season. Matt has become friends with his fellow season-ticket holders, chatting with the two men to his right and the family behind us. One of the regulars points out how the numbers on the outfield wall designating the distance from home plate have moved. Those that read 380 feet that were once in right-center and left-center field are now closer to their respective foul lines, more straightaway right and left. First it was players who couldn't believe their drives to the gaps were falling short of 380 feet; they argued that it was at least 20 feet deeper. When the grumbling got louder, someone decided this matter needed to be settled. Lasers were involved and, indeed, those 380-foot power alleys are actually 394-foot gaps where home runs go to die.

For two nights now, I've been a part of large, spirited crowds. Washington's doesn't quite measure up to Merengue Night madness, but those were special circumstances. Both the Mets and the Nats are teams comprised of loose, laid-back players who feed off of the fans. When Shea starts rockin', you can see the Mets players quietly taking it in, the energy of the fans spurring them on. The same thing happens in Washington, where 81 home games likely won't be enough to make up for 33 years without a team. In two nights, I've been among 92,953 spirited, knowledgeable boosters. In New York, the fans have suffered through high expectations and low results for years now; in Washington, each home run, each big hit, each key strikeout seems to be followed by a release of cheers and applause that have been building since the Nixon Administration. By that logic, the fans in Philadelphia should be exponentially louder -- they've been stuck with underachieving, underwhelming, hapless teams for decades. How they'll be on a scorching Sunday afternoon at a sparkling new ballpark remains to be seen.