Brian Cashman has agreed to a three-year deal to stay with the Yankees.  Newsday has the scoop. 

He's part of the Family and in the end, Cash didn't want to leave New York.  Can you blame him?  After all, if you can make it here you can make it anywhere like the song says.  Leaving the big team in the big city and you end up something like Ray Liotta eating spaghetti with ketchup at the end of Good Fellas somewhere in Schnooksville, USA, right?  For better or worse, I'm happy that he's staying...Money, Money...Cash Money.

Got to like the fact that Cash doesn't mince around.  He gets right to it.

I had been planning to preview the various playoff series here at Banter, but I got a call from Sports Illustrated the other day asking me to pen a daily preview column for them on SI.com. So, starting today, you can find my previews of each day's playoff action over on SI.com's main baseball page. Today I discuss the heavy home-field advantage the White Sox will enjoy in tonight's AL Central playoff. Tomorrow, I'll have previews up for the three scheduled Division Series openers, and so forth on a daily basis. Giver 'er a look-see and feel free to send me feedback via email (since there are no comments over there).

Man, I stumbled all over myself in this one. I nailed the first take and then botched the second one. Not that I had anything so revealing to say in the first place...I wish I knew what the Yanks'll do this winter. One thing is for sure, it won't be dull. Anyhow, that's a wrap on the show for now. It'll be back a couple of times a week during the Hot Stove League:

By Jay Jaffe

The first time Alex asked me to jot down a few thoughts regarding my favorite Yankee Stadium memory for the purposes of this space several months back, a veritable flood of recollections washed over me, things I'd witnessed firsthand at the majestic ballpark over the past 13 years, from the historic to the mundane. Having spent the past eight seasons documenting my time at the ballpark via my Futility Infielder website, I scarcely needed to review my notes except to pluck a few dates for a quick laundry list of memories to share.

But a funny thing happened on the way to delivering this piece, namely the most disheartening season the Yankees have had in a decade and a half. Not only have the cracks in the facade of the team's roster and player development system been exposed -- inevitabilities in the life cycle of even the most championship-laden franchises -- but we fans have been struck with reminders of the current stadium's gradual devolution into a less-than-hospitable venue. The ridiculous sunscreen flap atop the long-settled, none-too-accommodating umbrella and backpack bans, the heavy-handed security forces and the odious and completely un-American "God Bless America" fiasco all serve as reminders of the Steinbrenner family's overzealous, misguided strategy to maintain the stadium in a post-September 11 world. Furthermore, with a cry of "wait 'til next year" the inevitable outcome of this season of discontent, we're left to an uncomfortable reckoning with the new ballpark, the ugly back story of its fuzzy math and the gross inflation that will price many of us longtime fans out of the cherished ritual of regular attendance.

Suffice it to say that -- for this fan at least -- there's been a mounting pile of baggage blocking the entrance to what the great writer Roger Angell termed "The Interior Stadium", the grand ballpark where each fan has a season ticket to relive the indelible, treasured memories of what we've witnessed. A mounting pile, but weighed against the some 130 games I've attended at the House That Ruth Built, not an insurmountable one. So having scaled Mount Samsonite, I'm ready to hand over my ticket and commence playing ball.

In the course of attending all of those games at Yankee Stadium II, I've come to appreciate the park's spartan pleasures. I love the way contains the famous reminders of its old history -- Monument Park, the white frieze, the flagpole in what used to be the center field patrolled by DiMaggio and Mantle, with the park's original dimensions preserved by the wall behind it, the black batter's eye where only the chosen few have reached with their towering blasts -- and the portents of its own obsolescence, the narrow concourses, meager amenities, and fatal lack of luxury boxes. As limiting as that latter set is, it's also been part of the park's charm, at least to me. If you go to Yankee Stadium, you're there to see a ballgame, nothing more and nothing less. No fountains, waterfalls, kiddie pools, mascots, slides, or other diversions. Compared to the modern mallparks, the center field public address system is much less intrusive, even when the hated "Cotton-Eyed Joe" blares. What follows here is not one favorite memory of Yankee Stadium, but a subjective top 10 whose glaring omissions might have me rethinking this list the moment after it's published:

10. My first trip to the ballpark back in 1996, an epic August afternoon where the Yankees and Mariners squared off in a slugfest that went 12 innings and lasted nearly five hours, finishing long after my brother, Bryan, and I had gone home. It was just my second trip to a big-league ballpark (Fenway had been my first back in 1989), and though there were "only" some 44,000 in attendance, the raucous crowd and grand scale of Yankee Stadium made for a sensory overload that overwhelmed me in the summer heat. This marked the beginning of a ritual Bryan and I developed of attending Yankees-Mariners games, one that lasted eight or years before he moved across the country... to Seattle.

9. The time my roommate, Issa, almost caught a foul ball at the Stadium in a game against the Mariners in 1999. Along with Bryan, he and I were sitting in the front row of the Tier Box on the third base side when switch-hitting David Segui came to bat. Batting left-handed, Segui fouled one off, and as I looked at the baseball spinning against the overcast sky, I judged a fly ball correctly for possibly the first time in my life. "That's yours," I told Issa, who was on the aisle seat. He is a soccer player, with no baseball experience whatsoever. The ball indeed came right into his hands, but rather than cradling it, he lunged at it, knocking it over the railing. With a grimace and a shrug, he slumped back into his seat as what felt like the entire crowd of 41,000 fans showered him with boos.

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Steven Goldman's final column for the New York Sun is about Pedro Martinez and Mike Mussina:

Mussina reached the majors in 1991. Martinez received a cup of coffee the following year. Both excelled in their first full seasons, though Dodgers manager Tommy Lasorda, in his dotage, put Martinez in the bullpen for a season before trading him for Delino DeShields, one of the worst swaps of all time. Simultaneously, Mussina was going 18-5 with a 2.54 ERA for the 1992 Orioles, helping that franchise improve its record by 22 wins over the previous season. He finished fourth in the Cy Young voting that year.

Mussina quickly established himself as the rare control pitcher with good enough stuff to get more than his share of strikeouts. Although he never posted another ERA under 3.00 amid the rising offensive era in which he pitched, he did reel off another 10 seasons under 4.00, and had nine top-four finishes in the ERA category. Mussina never won a Cy Young award, but he was a top-10 vote-getter eight times. There were often pitchers who had more spectacular, dominating seasons than the cerebral hurler, but few matched him in year-in, year-out excellence.

...If both pitchers' careers are indeed over, neither will have the 300 wins that lets the Baseball Writers' Association of America voters avoid thinking. This is a bad thing only insofar as when the writers start thinking, they generally come to the wrong conclusion. Three-hundred wins has little meaning where they are concerned, if it ever had meaning at all. One flared brighter than any pitcher, the other shone sharply and steadily. There is great value in these things regardless of numbers. Ironic that those who claim the least regard for statistics put the most faith in them.

It's too bad that the Sun won't last because they had a good arts section and a sharp, progressive sports page.

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This is sixth season I've covered the Yankees here at Bronx Banter and the first time they've missed the playoffs, which only goes to underscore just how fortunate we've been.  However, just cause our boys won't be playing ball in October, doesn't mean that we're going anywhere.  Like Earl Weaver once said, "This ain't football, we do this everyday."  That goes for the post-season as well.  So you'll be getting more from the gang--Cliff, Bruce, Emma and Will--throughout the cold winter months.

I do want to take a moment out to thank everyone who rolls through here on a regular or semi-regular basis.  Thanks for coming back.  We sure appreciate it.

My boy Joey La P was at Shea last year when Tom Glavine got waxed and the Mets missed the playoffs.  He was back at Shea this weekend--on Friday night and, of course, yesterday.  He called to tell me about it from his stoop in Brooklyn.  He had just locked himself out of his apartment and his super wasn't home.

Gotta feel for the Mets fans today. 

From Grantland Rice:

When the one Great Scorer comes/To mark against your name/ He writes not whether you won or lost/But how you played the game.

The status of Yankee General Manager Brian Cashman will reportedly be determined shortly.  So?  You think he stays or goes?  And, do you think he should stay or go?  I think he'll stay and I'd be happy if he does.

By Will Weiss

Lasting Yankee Stadium Memories (Part One of Two): The Games

It is safe to say that most, if not all, of us who enter professions in sports media do so because at the very core, we're fans. For those of us who grew up Yankee fans, covering the team and seeing games from the Yankee Stadium Press Area was the fulfillment of a lifelong dream.

In Part I of my portion of the Lasting Yankee Stadium Memory series here at Bronx Banter, I'd like to focus on the games that I was a part of during my five years at YES, both as an on-site reporter and an editor.

There are some honorable mention games, like July 7, 2003, when Pedro and Moose dueled and Curtis Pride won the game in the ninth. There was a September day-night doubleheader in which Mike Mussina pitched the first game in front of what seemed like 17 people. But after being asked to make a list of my favorite Yankee Stadium games in my tenure at YES, the games described below were the most memorable.

April 5, 2002: Yankees 4, Devil Rays 0

It was the Yankees' 2002 home opener, complete with all the usual pageantry, pomp and circumstance. There was an air of anticipation and a sense of purpose among the fans, given the way the team had lost the World Series to the Diamondbacks a few short months before. But this was a different Yankee team. Jason Giambi had been signed in the offseason, as had Robin Ventura and David Wells. Gone was Paul O'Neill; Shane Spencer and John Vander Wal were platooning in right field, while Rondell White was patrolling left.

I was having my own issues. I didn't have a seat or a phone line in the press box, but somehow finagled my way into the YES booth and sat right behind Michael Kay and Jim Kaat. Suzyn Waldman sat to my immediate left, fidgeting with everything from the phone to her makeup bag. Ten minutes of observing her nerves on display went a long way towards calming my own.

I'll never forget the view, the relief of having a seat, and the feeling of being able to walk on the field at Yankee Stadium before the game. From that point on, YESNetwork.com writers sat in the booth.

As for the game, it was about 50 degrees and windy. The Yankees made two errors and left 11 men on base. The star was Andy Pettitte, who threw six shutout innings to pave the way for the first of 52 home wins that season.

May 17: 2002: Yankees 13, Twins 12 (14 innings)

After six weeks of struggling in front of the Stadium crowd, this was the game in which Jason Giambi "earned his pinstripes."

The Yankees and Twins combined for 25 runs, 40 hits, 3 errors, 10 walks, 27 strikeouts, and the Yankees hit 6 home runs. Bernie Williams' shot into the upper deck in left off Eddie Guardado tied the game at 9-9 and sent the game into extras. Both teams had chances but no one converted until the 14th, when the Twins posted three against Sterling Hitchcock.

In the middle of the 14th, as the Twins summoned Mike Trombley to the mound, Jim Kaat looked at the Yankees' upcoming lineup – Shane Spencer, Alfonso Soriano, and Derek Jeter -- and said to broadcast partner Ken Singleton, "Trombley's on the mound. I wouldn't be surprised to see the first three guys get on base and Bernie end it with a grand slam." Spencer singled, Soriano flied out, Jeter singled and Bernie walked. The grand slam came one spot in the order behind Bernie. It was a classic finish, with his towering fly ball landing in the right-center field bleachers, and the rain pouring down as Giambi's teammates mauled him at home plate.

This game would not have made my list had Kaat not predicted the ending. Before I headed down to the clubhouse, I asked him if he was clairvoyant. He just smiled at me and said, "I knew they'd get to Trombley – I was just one batter off."

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The Yankees ended the season on a good note, at least -- I'm going to pretend the second game of the double header, started by the inimitable Sidney Ponson, isn't happening; humor me -- beating the Red Sox 6-2 and earning Mike Mussina his long-deferred 20-win season. It's a statistical acheivement that I think we can all agree is an arbitrary and ineffective way of measuring a pitcher's worth... but still pretty damn sweet. A few weeks ago I didn't think he was going to pull it off, and I'm very glad I was wrong.

The Red Sox never mounted a sustained threat against Mussina, who allowed two walks -- he didn't allow even three in a single game this year --and three hits in six innings, using just 73 pitches. He left the game then, surprisingly, with a three-run lead, courtesy of a Xavier Nady fly ball that had bounced off the top of the wall by the Pesky Pole and into the stands for a home run. Mussina explained afterwards that his elbow was still sore from the comebacker it took in his last start; I figured that was probably the case, because otherwise you’d have expected him to lunge at Joe Girardi with a bat sometime during the eighth inning, when Joba Chamberlain, Brian Bruney, and Damaso Marte allowed two runs and looked like they might be about to collectively blow it. No jury would’ve convicted him.

But Mariano Rivera came to the rescue (of course), entering the game with the tying run on base and, calcified shoulder and all, nailing down a win for Mussina for the 49th time. And Mussina wasn't sweating it, at that point: "I knew with Mo in the game, it was going to be all right." Me, I still half expected Carl Everett to pop out of the Fenway shadows and ruin everything. Instead, the Yankees tacked on three insurance runs off Jonathan Papelbon in the top of the ninth, and whatever else fell apart this season, at least this one thing went right.

After eight years with the Yankees, Mussina says he'll take some time now to decide if he wants to keep pitching. Personally I'd be happy to see him back, but at the same time, it's very rare for an athlete to walk away at the absolute top of their game; if Moose pulled it off, I'd have a ton of respect for that decision.

--

UPDATE: So the Yanks went ahead and played the second game of the doubleheader, despite my protestations, and it was actually somewhat dramatic -- as dramatic as a meaningless late-September Spring Training game can be, anyway. All the scrubs were in, and Sidney Ponson pitched very well, I suspect just to spite me.

The Yankees were down 3-2 with two outs in the ninth when Robinson Cano drove in the tying run. But Jose Veras couldn't stave off the Sox in the tenth; he loaded the bases, someone named Jonathan Van Every singled home Alex Cora, and the Sox won 4-3. I say we all just agree to consider Mussina's win the end of the 2008 season and leave it at that.

You Gotta Believe. That's the order of the day for the Mets who get to play an enormous game in the season finale at Shea. Talk about tension. For Yankee fans, there ain't much at stake, but You Gotta Believe Moose can win 20 games for the first time in his career. Personally, I don't think he'll do it. Something will happen. He'll pitch great but lose 2-1, or get bombed early or pitch well and have a 5-0 lead only to have the game called in the fourth inning. Something always happens. But even if he doesn't get the win, Moose has been one of the best things about the Yanks this year and he gets props over here.

By Pete Caldera

We've talked and talked, and asked and asked about Yankee Stadium memories for months. What will you recall most? What will you take? And then Derek Jeter reminded us of an underrated - and unforgettable - treasure.

It's the view.

From the batter's box, for a thousand games, Jeter tapped home plate and stared straight toward the black batter's eye - a perfect hitter's backdrop. And from the front row of the press box, I was lucky to take in the whole panorama from behind home plate.

You couldn't always see what was going on in the corners, but any member of the BBWAA was granted one of the best seats in the old house. The dugouts, the mound, the infield, the on-deck circle were all right in front of you. The battles in the stands - for foul balls, or for disputes - were in clear view. Occasionally, some daredevil drunk would even drop out of his box seat and land on the netting in front of us (happened twice).

The Bronx County Courthouse on a clear day. The moon rising from left field on a clear night. It was all right there. And then, of course, there was that grand, green field - and I'll count myself forever fortunate to have witnessed some precious moments on that celebrated turf.

I was there for David Wells perfect game, on a cloudy May afternoon. Remember that backhand stab by Chuck Knoblauch, of all people?

Saw an unassisted triple play by Randy Velarde.

Saw David Cone's perfect game, and remember telling a friend during a rain delay (33 minutes) that it was too bad - Cone's slider was unhittable. He could no-hit the Expos.

Saw Mussina save the day in Game 7, the night Pedro was left to battle through the 8th inning, and couldn't. Then, Aaron Boone. And bedlam.

Saw Pedro come within a Chili Davis homer of perfection, still the greatest pitched game I ever witnessed.

Saw the Red Sox win the pennant. Saw plenty of brawls - like the night Strawberry seemed to take on the entire Orioles team in the visiting dugout. Saw Jeter in the hole, whirling and throwing. And saw hundreds of his 2,000-plus hits. And saw go for that pop up, in fair territory, against Boston, knowing that his only landing area was full-speed into the stands.

Saw A-Rod make the Stadium small with those colossal home runs, and wished I could've seen Joe D. swing for the deeper fences - the original dimensions.

Saw the first Subway Series game, and the first Mets-Yankees World Series game. Saw Joe Torre do that slow walk to the mound. Saw DiMaggio wave from a convertible. Saw the Florida Marlins celebrate, and heard them too, in the silence. Saw the All-Star Game that never ended.

I witnessed all that from the press box, mostly from Seat 12, behind a red plate with 'The Record' in white lettering.

The Yankees are giving the writers those plates. And from where that plate once stood, I'll never forget the view.

Pete Caldera covers baseball for The Bergan Record.

The Phillies clinched the NL East by beating the Nationals yesterday, but there are still two unclaimed playoff spots heading into the final day of the season.

In the National League, the Mets tied the Brewers for the Wild Card lead yesterday when Johan Santana started on three-day's rest for the first time in his career and shutout the Marlins on three hits. Mets turn to Oliver Perez for today's finale, which could also prove to be Shea Stadium's final game, while the Brewers send ace CC Sabathia to the mound against the Cubs and Angel Guzman. If both teams win (or lose), they'll have a one-game playoff for the Wild Card at Shea on Monday.

The In the AL, the Twins hold a 1/2 game lead over the White Sox in the Central after both teams lost yesterday. If both team's win (or lose) the White Sox will have to make up a game against the Tigers at home on Monday. If they win that, they'll force a one-game playoff with the Twins in Minnesota on Tuesday. If they Sox to the Tigers, they'll hand the Twins the division. If the Chisox win and the Twins lose today, Chicago will still have to play the Tigers on Monday, but would win the division if they beat Detroit and would still have the Tuesday playoff against the Twins if they lost. If the Twins win today and the White Sox lose, the Twins will win the division in the traditional manner.

Here's the relevant for schedule today:

1:10 Fla @ NYM (Scott Olsen v Oliver Perez)
2:05 CHC @ Mil (Angel Guzman v CC Sabathia)
2:05 Cle @ CHW (Brian Bullington v Mark Buehrle)
2:05 KCR @ Min (Brandon Duckworth v Scott Baker)

Amazingly, none of these games is being televised nationally.

A Bronx Cheer for Paul Newman:

The game in Boston today was warshed out.  They'll play two tomorrow.

Moose goes against Dice K in the first game.

It's Sir Sid vs. Dice K in the rain today at Fenway.

Only two more left.  The only thing I care about it is Moose winning tomorrow. 

Man, I wonder what's gunna happen with the Mets and the Brewers...Ted Lilly vs Ben Sheets today.  Santana on the hill for the Mets in the New York rain on three days rest.  Holy crud this is good.  Glad I don't really have a rooting interest or I'd be on the verge of a nervous breakdown.   

He was one of the great movie stars of them all.

Newman was a guy that both men and women loved.  I loved him because he was a pretty boy star and a serious actor.  He did all of those big, splashy star vehicles and then stretched himself in smaller, character-driven movies.  He wasn't always great, wasn't always right for a part, but he made the effort, he put himself out there.  "Cool Hand Luke," "The Verdict," "Slapshot," "The Color of Money" are just a few of my favorite Newman movies.  

He lived a long, good life.  Did a lot of wonderful things with his name.

He will be missed.  He should be celebrated.

By Will Carroll

I am not sad to see it go. I really have no connection to Yankee Stadium and have only been to a handful of games there. I went once, back in the 80s when the team was just a shell of it's previous self and New York seemed much more like what "The Warriors" made it out to be than it really is. Yankee Stadium and Times Square were similar in that they were places everyone said you had to go, but once you were there, you really didn't want to stay. Kodak moment and move on before something bad happened. Like Steve Balboni.

The Stadium has two things going for it - history and the entrance. While it's nice on the outside, somehow it doesn't have the same flavor as walking up to Wrigley or Fenway; it's more like old Comiskey where you went to a game, then got back on the train and got out of there. Once inside though, once you make it through the crush of the crowd and come out those narrow tunnels and pow, you see the green grass, those arches, you see YANKEE STADIUM in all it's game day glory and you get it for a second.

When I covered a game there, I walked out of the dugout and it was nearly the same, just a different angle. I wondered if Jason Giambi gasped like I did when he walked out on the field. I watched Joe Torre and wondered if that's where Billy Martin sat and answered questions. But it's a different bench. The grass is not the same that Babe Ruth walked on and isn't the same as what David Cone walked on. Time marches, right?

Time can also stand still. I have a tendency to wander at ballparks, rather than staying in the tight little area where press is expected. While the beat guys did their job on that May afternoon, I walked out to the monuments. I looked where the old fence line used to be. I touched the plaque of my father's hero, Mickey Mantle, and realized that I remembered Mantle for the stories of skirtchasing, drinking, and his numbers while my father got to see him play.

The Stadium is like its players, more than just concrete, more than just numbers, more than dates in a book, more than grass and dirt. It's a box of memories, open at the top so that the best float up.

Will Carroll writes about baseball injuries for Baseball Prospectus.

Wow, think the Yanks will save any runs for Moose on Sunday? They pasted the Sox in Fenway last night to the tune of 19-8. Welp, it's better than losing, right?

The Yankees can hand the AL East to the Rays by beating the Red Sox at Fenway tonight, and Joe Girardi has all of his starters in the lineup behind Alfredo Aceves to get the job done. As the Wild Card, the Red Sox would draw the Angels in the ALDS. Boston went 1-8 against the Halos this season.

Aceves has posted a 1.42 ERA and a 1.00 WHIP in his three previous major league starts, all Yankee wins, and pitched at least six full innings in each without once reaching 90 pitches. Given that, he could get away with a stinker tonight and still enter spring training in the mix for the 2009 rotation. After facing Boston tonight, he'll have faced three contenders in his four starts (also the Angels and White Sox). If he has another good outing, he might just go from being "in the mix" to being penciled in.

The Sox are slowly getting back up to health for the postseason. Mike Lowell, J.D. Drew, Sean Casey, Josh Beckett, and David Aardsma have all come off the DL in recent weeks, though Lowell and Drew are both still nursing their injuries (a torn hip labrum that will require offseason surgery and a stiff lower back, respectively). They'll continue to be careful with their players, particularly given the rain that's expected on the east coast this weekend, but will likely also want to get Lowell and Drew enough swings to feel comfortable heading in to the ALDS. Indeed, Lowell will DH tonight (with David Ortiz playing first base in presumptuous preparation for the World Series), while Drew continues to rest.

Speaking of that rain, there's a chance it could wash out Mike Mussina's opportunity to try for his 20th win of the season on Sunday, as there would be no need to play that game if the Rays clinch the division tonight or tomorrow. That said, the rain is expected to taper off come Sunday, and the Red Sox have rescheduled the retiring of Johnny Pesky's number (6) until Sunday based on that forecast. Even if tonight or tomorrow's game gets rained out and thus outright canceled, Moose will still go on Sunday, though given his history of near misses (including a memorable one in Fenway in 2001), one could imagine any number of Sunday scenarios that would bring Mussina thisclose to number 20 but leave him stuck at 19 for the third time in his career.

Oh, and if this series feels weird, it's because the last time the Yankees faced a playoff-bound Red Sox team after being eliminated from the postseason themselves was September 21 to 23, 1990. The last time the Yankees faced a playoff-bound Red Sox team at Fenway Park after being eliminated from the postseason themselves was October 2 to 5, 1986.

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As we head into the final weekend of the 2008 baseball season, there are still five teams fighting for three playoff spots.

Three days ago, the White Sox pulled into Minnesota with a 2.5 game lead hoping to put the Twins away. Instead, they got swept and now trail Minnesota by a half game with three left to play. Both teams finish at home, the Twins hosting the Royals, and the White Sox hosting Cleveland. The Royals arrive at the Metrodome on an 11-2 tear, but I give the advantage to the Twins, as the White Sox will have to face Cliff Lee on the final day of the season if the race isn't settled by then, while the Twins will kick off their series with Francisco Liriano on the mound tonight.

Things are even tighter in the National League, where the Mets and Brewers both won in walkoffs last night and remain tied for the Wild Card lead, and the Mets are just a game behind the Phillies in the East, opening up a possibility of a three-way tie for the league's last two playoff spots. The Astros are technically still alive in the Wild Card race as well, but a win by either Milwaukee or New York, or a Houston loss, will eliminate them, likely tonight.

The Brewers face the stiffest competition this weekend by hosting the Cubs, though Lou Piniella was unapologetic about resting some of his starters against the Mets this week. The Mets will host the Marlins in what could be the final three games at Shea Stadium this weekend. Neither the Mets nor the Brewers has a definite starter for Saturday. The Mets have lefty Jonathon Niese lined up, but could replace him with former Yankee righty and 2008 Olympian Brandon Knight given the Marlins' righty-heavy lineup. The Brewers, meanwhile, are hoping Ben Sheets can return from elbow tendonitis to start on Saturday. If not, they'll could wind up starting Dave Bush on three-day's rest. Sunday, both teams will send out their ace: Johan Santana for the Mets, CC Sabathia for the Brewers.

As for the Phillies, they seem likely to hold on to the division as they're hosting the Nationals and will have Cole Hamels going on Sunday if necessary. Of course, as with the Mets and Brewers, using their ace on the final day to secure a playoff spot would prevent them from using him in Game 1 of the NLDS, but you have to make it there first.

Oh, and it could rain.

By Ben Kabak

I bounded up the stairs of the Yankee dugout on a sunny August afternoon to acknowledge the roaring crowd. I landed on the top step, turned around and saw an ocean of empty seas. Row upon row upon row of those familiar blue seats were staring back at me, waiting for the next home game.

For a minute, I almost knew what Derek Jeter feels like when he turns to wave at the crowd. From the top of the steps, I could see just the box seats just behind the dugout, and even that view sent shimmers down my spine.

But I'm not on the Yankees, never was and never will be. My Yankee curtain call was, instead, just a part of the tour at Yankee Stadium. In mid-August, with the Yanks out of town, my dad and I went on the tour at Yankee Stadium. This excursion wouldn't be our final visit to the House that Ruth Built, but it was our gesture of saying good bye on our time. We weren't deluged with constant scoreboard distractions, yet another playing of the Y.M.C.A. or some guy in a hat dancing to that seminal New York song Cotton-Eye Joe. Instead, we walked on the field, sat in the dugout and soaked in the aura and mystique of the stadium in Monument Park.

While I've been on the tour twice before, I didn't truly appreciate it in 1994 as an 11-year-old and couldn't enjoy it in 2000 as a camp counselor overseeing a bunch of rowdy 10-12-year-olds. This time, though, I experienced the tour as it was meant to be. When 11 a.m. in the Bronx rolls around, Yankee Stadium truly feels like a Cathedral. The stadium is populated only by the grounds crew tending to the field, a few security guards and other tour groups. The grounds echo with the spray of water on the field and the history of eighty five years. The empty stadium bare witness to thousands of games and players long lost to the annals of baseball history.

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We lost one of the good ones on Wednesday, when Mickey Vernon passed away at the age of 90, the victim of a stroke he suffered one week ago. Ordinarily, most of us are not shocked when we hear of someone dying in his ninth decade. But this case is a little bit different for me. I saw Mickey this past June in the Philadelphia area, when he served as one of the featured speakers on a symposium about athletes in the military. Other than walking with a bit of a hunch, he seemed to be in excellent health, a 90-year-old man who had managed to shave years off his physical appearance. His mind and memory remained razor-sharp, with his wits, intelligence, and polite manner all still intact. In fact, this was what I wrote about Vernon at the time:

“As impressive as his personality, Mickey's health and conditioning are just as striking. He just turned 90, but he looks more like 60, with a full shock of hair that might make some middle-aged men jealous. He remains extremely sharp, with an excellent recall of detail and little tendency to exaggerate accomplishments.”

Later that day, my wife and I, along with several other organizers of the symposium, enjoyed having lunch with Mickey at a local VFW. Not surprisingly, Mickey became the centerpiece of the table, not because he tried to dominate the conversation, but because everyone wanted to hear his stories and opinions. I was no different; I desperately wanted to know about his feelings toward the Yankees, who employed him as a scout and coach in the seventies and eighties—his final job in baseball. Half expecting to hear some grumbles about the ownership of George Steinbrenner (who could be particularly hard on coaches and scouts at that time), I was surprised to hear Mickey say that he loved working for the Yankees. As proof, he showed me the Yankee watch that he still wore, given to him by the organization for his years of service. Mickey might not have been remembered as a Yankee, but he truly considered himself one.

For me, this was my second experience with Mickey. In 2006, I met him for the first time, also in the Philadelphia area, as part of a program that celebrated accomplishments of Chester, PA native Danny Murtaugh. Like the more recent encounter, this occasion also proved uplifting, as I came away with the kind of graceful impression that Mickey had made on so many other people both during and after his career in baseball.

And let’s not overlook that career as a player, which spanned from the late 1930s to the early 1960s. Mickey Vernon was a tremendous ballplayer, a two-time batting champion and a seven-time All-Star who was once voted the greatest first baseman in the history of the Washington Senators’ franchise. Yet, his career was hurt by Washington’s home park, which tended to suppress home runs, making life more difficult for a mid-range power hitter like Mickey. He also lost some of his career to military service during World War II, which caused him to miss all of the 1944 and ’45 seasons.

In spite of the obstacles, Vernon played more games at first base than anyone during the 20th century. He was a slick defender, one of the finest fielding first basemen in the game’s history, along with being a productive line-drive hitter who flashed power at various times during his four-decade career. He was a smart hitter, too, the kind who almost always walked more than he struck out. From 1953 to 1956, he put up big numbers with both the Senators and Red Sox, highlighted by a ‘53 campaign that saw him register a .403 on-base percentage and a .518 slugging percentage while reaching career highs in runs and RBIs. He was good enough to have merited inclusion on the Hall of Fame's Veterans Committee ballot, which features his name along with nine other players whose careers began prior to 1943. I know that more than a few of his fans in Philadelphia and his native Marcus Hook are crossing their fingers, hoping that the committee will finally call his name this December.

Even after all of these years, his friends still care about the Hall of Fame issue, in large part because of his character and charm. As fine a player as Vernon was, he was a better man. Likeable throughout his playing days, Vernon continued to spread the wealth of his amiable personality as a manager, coach, scout, and after his retirement, as a frequent guest at baseball-related functions. If you wanted to add a touch of gentlemanly class and quiet intelligence to your event, you just made sure to send an invitation to Mickey Vernon.

Jim Vankoski, who skillfully arranges a number of baseball-related events in the Philadelphia area, knew all about Mickey. He was the one who introduced me to Mickey, who told me what a wonderful guy that he was. Mickey certainly did not disappoint. He patiently answered questions that I interspersed throughout our conversations, while at the same time taking an interest in what I was doing. Thanks, Jim, for giving me the chance to meet this special man.

And thanks to Mickey for the way that he treated me—the way that he seemingly treated everyone. I only met him twice, but I feel like I knew him for a lifetime. 

Bruce Markusen writes "Cooperstown Confidential" for MLBlogs at MLB.com.

The Blue Jays beat the Yankees 8-2 last night as Roy Halladay picked up his 20th win with his ninth complete game of the season. By doing so, Halladay tied CC Sabathia for the major league lead in complete games, though Sabathia could break the tie in his final start. Only one team other than the Blue Jays and Brewers has more than nine complete games.

Halladay needed just 96 pitches to finish off the Yankees' B-squad. Of the six hits he allowed, three were by Brett Gardner (one of them a double, one of them in infield hit on which Gardner beat out a nice play by Jays second baseman Joe Inglett on a hard grounder in the hole). Melky Cabrera (1 for 3) got one of the others, and Cody Ransom drew the only Yankee walk of the night.

It might have been a bit unfair for Joe Girardi to give catching prospect Francisco Cervelli (0-for-3) his first major league start against Halladay, but then Girardi didn't make Cervelli swing at the first pitch he saw in his first two at bats (both groundouts, the second a double play). Cervelli took two pitches in his final at-bat, but still struck out swinging on just four tosses. That said, Cervelli showed great form on the one stolen base attempt against him, firing a strike that would have nailed Alex Rios in the third had Rios not gotten a huge jump on Carl Pavano.

Speaking of Pavano, in his final act as a Yankee, he gave up five runs in just 3 2/3 innings. Don't let the door bruise your buttocks on the way out, Chuckles.

At least Pavano's short outing allowed Girardi to audition some relievers. Dan Giese stranded the two runners he inherited from Pavano in the fourth, but couldn't get the second out of the fifth inning, allowing two runs on three consecutive hits before David Robertson tidied up his mess. Edwar Ramirez struck out Vernon Wells and Lyle Overbay in a scoreless sixth. Humberto Sanchez gave up a run in the seventh after walking two men on nine pitches, but got a double play to get out of his own mess. Finally, in the eighth Darrell Rasner retired the Jay's 4-5-6 hitters 1-2-3, getting ahead of each hitter before inducing each into a groundout.

Speaking of the bullpen, Mariano Rivera had an MRI on his shoulder yesterday and could need some minor arthroscopic surgery this winter. Meanwhile, Joe Girardi continues to display either a dangerous ignorance or an inexplicable need to snowball the media regarding his players' physical health. After listening to his post-game press conference, I think it's the former, which means he needs to work on his communication with his players and his training staff. A manager's primary job is distributing playing time to his players. If the manager is ill informed about his players' health for whatever reason, his ability to perform that essential task in the manner most beneficial to the team is compromised. That may not be an issue in Rivera's case, but may have been with regard to Jorge Posada's shoulder, Alex Rodriguez's quad, or any of a number of other early-season aches and pains that got worse before they got better.

With four meaningless games left, the Yankees have mothballed Andy Pettitte for the year, giving Sidney Ponson his start on Saturday. Ponson and tonight's starter Pavano won't be back next year. Tomorrow night's starter, Alfredo Aceves, has already shown enough to survive a bad start and still arrive in spring training to fight for a rotation spot. The means the only remaining game that will actually be worth watching will be Sunday's finale in Boston as Mike Mussina goes for his 20th win (which he will do; his elbow is recovering nicely).

Here's tonight's lineup:

L - Brett Gardner (CF)
L - Robinson Cano (2B)
L - Bobby Abreu (DH)
R - Xavier Nady (RF)
L - Jason Giambi (1B)
S - Wilson Betemit (3B)
R - Cody Ransom (SS)
S - Melky Cabrera (LF)
R - Francisco Cervelli (C)

Derek Jeter is still sitting due to being hit on the left hand on Saturday and playing through it on Sunday. Cervelli is making his first major league start. This is just Melky's second start since being recalled (he went 1 for 3 in the last, accounting for his only trips to the plate since August). Brett Gardner is 8 for his last 23 (.348) with three extra-base hits. Wilson Betemit 6 for 19 (.316) in September with four extra base hits, but hasn't drawn a walk since August 16. Ransom is 0 for his last 16.

Perhaps most significantly, tonight's game will bring Carl Pavano's phantom Yankee career to a close. He faces Roy Halladay, who's going for his 20th win. Halladay's only previous 20-win season was 2003, when he went 22-7 and won the AL Cy Young award.

Meanwhile, Joe Torre's Dodgers have clinched the NL West. Congratulations to the Dodgers, their manager, and their fans.

Over at Baseball-Intellect, Alex Eisenberg takes a look at the pitching mechanics of Yankee minor leaguer Brett Marshall. Don't slumber.

Oh, and p.s. here is my favorite Yankee shout-out in a rap song. From Bronx resident, Diamond D, "the best producer on the mic":

It comes about two-thirds of the way into the song. It's so cheap it's great.

By Tim Marchman

When I was small, I didn't understand the point of the Yankees. It wasn't that I disliked them, but that they were irrelevant, the team of suburbs to the north and parts of the city that to me may as well have been. Even in deep Queens there were a few Yankees fans, usually Italians whose families raised them to think of Joe DiMaggio the way Catholics were raised to think of John F. Kennedy.* Those kids would taunt the rest of us odd moments. You'd be playing asses-up, dealing the ball in your best Dwight Gooden motion, when some kid would let on that two rings were nice enough and nothing to be ashamed of, but certainly not as nice as twenty-two, as if he'd been there in the stands when each of them was won. But mostly this didn't seem to have anything to do with anything. They may as well have been Kansas City Royals fans.

It wasn't until I was 22 that I understood the Yankees at all. My friend P. and I had upper deck seats for the Stadium, and two Snapple bottles full of liquor. We drank and watched the game and talked, convincing ourselves that we were much above everything that was going on around us: New York would never again be something it had stopped being around the time we were born; baseball had changed, with the money; capital had failed us; the electronic advertisements, greasy brokers on cell phones, cheap plastic, and loud music were an indictment; everything was at second hand and a great remove; the world was infinitely mediated and the city a sad, lonely and disfigured place in which great things were no longer possible; etc.

The score ran up early enough, and it was chilly enough, that the stands began to empty early, so we made out way down to field level, well toasted, and then worked our way from seat to seat until we were a row back of the home dugout. There was the field in total clarity: still and quiet, steam rising off the grass, the lights a half mile high, and Mike Mussina on the mound, curling up into his motion, in total control of events. At that moment it may as well have been 1946, 1977, or whatever moment P. and I had just spent so much time convincing ourselves we wished it was. The game seemed further away than it had seemed in the nosebleeds, but very much more peaceful, and at that exact moment neither Mike Mussina or all the ambitious people in the park seemed at all to inhabit a different city than I did, but just to be different parts of one raging engine—parts with which I may not have had much in common, but parts toward which it was somewhere between absurd and obscene to feel something just past distrust and shading toward resentment.

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Baseball and rock 'n' roll are such elemental and ubiquitous American inventions that it's a bit perplexing that they don't really fit together. Baseball just doesn't rock, no matter how hard stadium public address systems try to force the issue. Baseball is a game of calm, precision, suspense and strategy. For that reason, there are precious few worthwhile rock songs about the game.

That's not to say there aren't some great baseball songs in other genres. "Joltin' Joe DiMaggio," the 1941 novelty hit from Les Brown and his Orchestra, is a stone cold classic, and "Did You See Jackie Robinson Hit That Ball?," written by Buddy Johnson and recorded by both Johnson and the Count Basie Orchestra in 1949, is a jump-band variation on that theme that's nearly as good a song and a superior cultural signifier (Johnson name checks African American major leaguers Satchel Page, Roy Campanella, Don Newcome, and Larry Doby). Bob Dylan's "Catfish" from 1975 is great as well, but it's not rock, it's acoustic blues.

Being more of a fan of jazz than of baseball, my dad goes for David Frishberg's "Van Lingle Mungo", though I consider it more of a tone poem than a song. Still, I'll take Frishberg's list of names over any version of Terry Cashman's trite "Talkin' Baseball" (originally "Willie, Mickey, & the Duke"). "Joe DiMaggio Done It Again" is a fun alt-country tune, but it's removed from it's place and time as part of the Mermaid Avenue sessions in which Billy Brag and Wilco set long lost Woody Guthrie lyrics to music.

There are rock tunes that reference baseball, but aren't really about the game. Simon and Garfunkel's "Mrs. Robinson", speaking of DiMaggio, is the most famous. Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start The Fire" contains a variety of baseball references (including Joe D yet again), but Joel uses the game to greater effect in 1978's "Zanzibar" ("Rose he knows he's such a credit to the game, but the Yankees grab the headlines every time") and also drops a Yankee reference into "Miami 2017". "Zanzibar" also uses a bit of the "bases" metaphor best employed by Phil Rizzuto in Jim Steinman and Meat Loaf's "Paradise By The Dashboard Light". More recently, Belle and Sebastian's "Piazza, New York Catcher" is something of a cryptic love song in which Piazza (and Sandy Koufax, who isn't actually named) are either incidental or symbolic, and the only baseball reference in Kanye West's "Barry Bonds" is the title. Of course, extending the conversation to hip hop brings in hundreds of references, from the Beastie Boys having more hits than Sadaharu Oh or Rod Carew to Jay-Z having "A-Rod numbers."

For a long time, John Fogerty's "Centerfield" seemed like the only proper rock song that was actually about baseball. As a result, it quickly became overplayed to the point that it is now one of the few 1980s hits I can't stand (and I can stands a lot), though if it weren't so trite it would have held up better. Fortunately, "Centerfield" finally has some company this year. A quartet of alt-rockers, the most famous of whom is R.E.M. guitarist Peter Buck, came together earlier this year as the Baseball Project and released a 13-song album devoted entirely to songs about the game and players including Ted Williams (via a rewrite of Wings' "Helen Wheels" called "Ted Fucking Williams"), Curt Flood, Satchel Page, Fernando Valenzuela, Jackie Robinson, Willie Mays, Ed Delahanty, Harvey Haddix, and Jack McDowell ("The Yankee Flipper").

More recently, Eddie Vedder, who is name-checked in "The Yankee Flipper," released a Cubs anthem called "All The Way" (as in "someday we'll go all the way"), and E Street Band guitarist Nils Lofgren released "Yankee Stadium," a tribute to the doomed ballpark which he cowrote with his wife, Amy. Unfortunately, neither really fits on the list of rock songs about baseball. Vedder's song deserves to be listed among the classics above, but it's more of a prostest/drinking song than a rock song (and veers dangerously close the list of team fight songs below). Lofgren's tune, though well-intentioned ("For every soul who entered here/we raise a glass we shed a tear"), just isn't very good. Lofgren's vocal delivery is off-putting and, not surprisingly, the best part of his song is the guitar solo.

Of course, Lofgren already has his baseball song bonafides from Bruce Springsteen's "Glory Days" (that's him in the beret with the white guitar), but that's another one of those songs that mentions baseball, but isn't really about it.

So what's your favorite song about the game? What did I miss?

Note: Even though Yo La Tengo once covered "Meet the Mets" and "Here Come the Yankees" by the Sid Bass Orchestra and Chorus, a 1967 Columbia Records release that was the best thing to come out of CBS's ownership of the team, is a personal favorite, team fight songs don't count. That includes "Tessie" by Boston's Dropkick Murphys, and the Sammy Hagar-meets-Kenny Loggins "Let's Go Mets Go" from 1986. Having said that, be sure to check out Larry Romano's trapped-in-time "Rock In The Bronx" from 1993. Also worth a look are the abominable "Super Bowl Suffle" rip off "Get Metsmerized," also from 1986 (cripes, how many songs did the Mets need?), and the horrendous 1987 update of The Twins' 1961 anthem "We're Gonna Win Twins." Actually, pregnant women and people with heart conditions should probably skip those last two.

Sidd Finch, eat your heart out.  It's Jimmy Scott!

Andy Pettitte's Yankee career could be over. Pettitte, talking to Mark Feinsand in the Daily News, was critical of his own performance:

"The biggest thing was me, personally; I just pitched terrible," Pettitte said. "I don't think we played great, I don't think we hit in some clutch situations when we needed to, but everybody pitched really well other than me down the stretch. If I don't win one game out of my last 10 starts, I think the last couple days of the season, we'd be right there."

...But was it his last season in the Bronx? Pettitte will be a free agent at the end of the season, and while he said he would consider playing only for the Yankees next year, he hasn't decided whether he's prepared to take on the mental grind that comes with another season.

"I probably just need to get away for a while, but I don't want to drag it out," Pettitte said. "They've pretty much already told me they'd like to have me back, so we'll just have to see."

I wouldn't be surprised to see Pettitte return but I'm not counting on it.

Last night's pitching matchup of Phil Hughes and likely free agent A.J. Burnett almost felt like an open audition for a spot in the Yankees 2009 rotation. I'm happy to report, Phil Hughes passed the audition. Hughes had a nasty curve working last night and used it to great effect, neutralizing yet another dominant outing against the Yankees by Burnett. After lasting just four inefficient innings in his return to the majors his last time out, Hughes stretched 100 pitches (71 of them strikes) across eight full innings, striking out six (all on curveballs), walking none, and allowing just two runs on five hits. Hughes was actually beating Burnett 2-1 with two outs in the bottom of the seventh, but Scott Rolen shot a 1-1 curve over the wall in left center to knot it up at 2-2. Hughes, who was hoping to pick up his only major league win of the season, was furious at himself for allowing Toronto to tie the game, but settled down to retire the next four batters and pass the game to the bullpen.

After Jesse Carlson and Jose Veras swapped zeros in the ninth, Juan Miranda, who started at first and picked up his first major league hit in the fourth, led off the tenth with a double. Chad Moeller failed to bunt Miranda to third, but wound up working an eight-pitch walk, passing the buck to Brett Gardner, who bunted the runners up on the first try. Carlson hit Robinson Cano with his next offering to load the bases, and Bobby Abreu cashed it all in with a grand slam that handed the Yankees a 6-2 win. Sidney Ponson, of all people, pitched a 1-2-3 bottom of the tenth to seal the deal.

"One good outing isn't going to erase an awful season with injuries and being in the minor leagues," said Hughes, "but it's good to end on a positive note and carry that over into next year." Hughes didn't get the win, but he shaved 1.3 runs off his season ERA. He finishes the year having thrown just 69 2/3 innings between the majors and minors and will go on to pitch in the Arizona Fall League in order to get his innings total up to a higher baseline for next season, though he's unlikely to get past 100 innings all together, even with the AFL work.

Still, Hughes looked great last night. Joe Girardi said, "he did everything right tonight." His curveball, which is his put-away pitch, was monstrous, and the cutter he developed this summer is already rivaling his four-seamer. When Hughes is able to locate the latter, he should be able to dominate the way we've all expected him to, which was exactly the case last night. Phil Hughes needed that start, and the Yankees needed that start. True, one good outing won't erase the lost season that preceded it, but it served an important reminder that Hughes is still one of the top pitching prospects in the game.

Phil Hughes was seven years old the last time the Yankees were eliminated during the regular season. Tonight he'll be the first pitcher to start a game for an eliminated Yankee team since Sterling Hitchcock took the Camden Yards mound on September 28, 1993. Like Hughes, Hitchock was a well-regarded 22-year-old pitching prospect at the time, but he never fulfilled his potential due to a combination of injuries and ineffectiveness. Here's hoping Hughes, who pitched well though inefficiently in his last start, won't meet the same fate.

Fittingly, tonight's matchup of Hughes and Yankee killer A.J. Burnett should conjure up a fair bit of hot-stove conversation. Burnett is all but certain to opt out of his contract this fall as he's set career highs in games, starts, innings, strikeouts and wins this season and could finish with 19 victories by beating the Yankees tonight. His 1.78 ERA in four previous starts against New York has certainly piqued the Yankees' interest, but they'd do well to notice that Burnett's season ERA is barely above average and dips below average when you take away his dominance of the Bombers. He's also going to be 32 on Opening Day next year and has a very sketchy injury history. In fact, all of those career highs this year are the result of the fact of that, at age 31, Burnett has been healthy enough to start 30 games for just the second time in his career this year. Burnett has better stuff than former Marlins teammate Carl Pavano, but the Yankees would do well to remind themselves of the similarities between the two pitchers when contemplating the free agent Burnett.

Phil Hughes' one quality start in the majors this season came back on April 3 against the Blue Jays. Another one in this, his last start of the season, would go a long way toward building both his confidence and the team's confidence in him heading into next year, and would reduce the chances of the Yankees making a desperation move for an expensive injury-prone veteran like Burnett or Ben Sheets. In that way, Hughes beating Burnett tonight would be a tremendous victory for the future of the franchise. But, hey, no pressure.

Nothing original here, but...Go Moose.

By Charles Euchner

I've seen a lot of great players at Yankee Stadium -- Munson and Jackson, Catfish and Guidry, Jeter and A-Rod -- but my most memorable moment came at my first game in the Bronx. The Tigers came to town in 1971, just a few weeks after my family moved to Long Island from Iowa. I was a Mets fan but wanted to see any baseball game. My dad got tickets from his job at Con Ed, one of the team's sponsors. So off we went.

My most enduring memory is how empty the stadium was. About 12,000 went to the game, a quick check of Retrosheet.org tells me. Foul balls did not set off a mad contest of reaching, grasping hands. Foul balls bounced around empty seats while fans raced to retrieve them from other sections. Since it was a blowout -- a 9-1 Yankee victory, which improved their record to 68-71, good for fourth place, 18 1/2 games behind the Baltimore Orioles -- most people who came left early. Those who stayed sat around looking bored. I tried to convince myself I was watching something special. I wasn't. The Yankees had only one superstar, catcher Thurman Munson. Roy White and Bobby Murcer were decent. Not much else.

In the next couple years, I experienced some real Yankees excitement during promotions like Bat Day that filled the stadium. I have always been amazed how great it feels to be in a stadium with 55,000 other people. Even when the team is out of the race, it can still feel like a playoff atmosphere. I also experienced how rowdy things can get during bad games. I never smoked pot, but I inhaled plenty when I went to Yankee games in the 1970s. At every game, fights broke out and fans got high and drunk. Then, in the late 1970s, the Yankees started winning. I guess George decided he could set some standards for fan conduct. Whatever happened, things didn't get so ugly in the stands.

I have a funny kind of nostalgia for those bad old Yankee teams. I went to the stadium because baseball was fun, not because the team was the best. The Yankee dynasty teams of later years were obviously better "products," as the number-crunching GM's say these days. But I miss the bygone days when winning more than you lost was good enough, before failure was defined as not crushing everyone every day. I'd love to get in a way-back machine and watch that 1971 Yanks-Tigers game again. Maybe I missed something.

Charles Euchner is the author of The Last Nine Innings.

With one out in the bottom of the third inning of last night's game against the Blue Jays, Toronto's rookie left fielder Travis Snider hit a comebacker that ricocheted off Mike Mussina's pitching elbow and shot into foul territory, allowing Snider to reach base with an infield single. The ball hit Mussina flush on the head of his radius, and when trainer Gene Monahan and manager Joe Girardi ran out to attend to their veteran ace, the conclusion to Mussina's terrific comeback season was clearly hanging in the balance. The Yankees had a 1-0 lead at the time, but Mussina needed to finish the third and pitch two more innings without giving it up in order to qualify for his nineteenth win and keep his hopes for his first twenty-win season alive.

Mussina asked the assembled group to let him throw a few pitches, and after tossing a fastball and a sharp curveball, he declared himself fit to pitch. He was right. Despite a large red welt on the outside of his elbow the size of a golf ball, Mussina allowed just one more hit before being pulled after going the minimum five innings required for the win. By then his lead had doubled to 2-0 thanks to Jason Giambi's 32nd home run of the season.

The Yankees added a third run in the seventh when Robinson Cano doubled off Blue Jays starter Jesse Litsch, moved to third on a wild pitch, and scored on a passed ball. Never mind that Cano was actually out at home as the ball bounced right back to catcher Gregg Zaun, who tossed to Litsch, who made a great play sliding across the opposite side of the plate and tagging the sole of Cano's foot as it came down to touch home. Home plate ump Larry Vanover blew the call and spent the rest of the game calling strikes in a manner that found the middle ground between a sea lion and the Swedish Chef (strike one: "BORK!" strike two: "BORK!" strike three: "ARF! ARF!").

The Jays got that run back in the bottom of the seventh when lefties Adam Lind and Lyle Overbay singled and walked against Damaso Marte and Scott Rolen greeted Joba Chamberlain with a single that scored Lind. With two out and none on in the eighth, the Jays loaded the bases against Chamberlain thanks to some sloppy defense by Cody Ransom, who replaced Derek Jeter and his sore left hand at shortstop just before game time (Jeter said after the game that he couldn't swing), and an intentional walk, but Chamberlain won a seven-pitch battle with Lyle Overbay on a slider breaking down and away for a called strike three (ARF! ARF!). Otherwise Phil Coke, Brian Bruney, and Mariano Rivera were perfect in relief, nailing down the 3-1 win and giving Mussina his nineteenth win.

Hard Times Befallen The Soul Survivors

Unfortunately, the Red Sox also won, putting up a five-spot against likely Cy Young award winner Cliff Lee at Fenway to squeek out a 5-4 win behind Tim Wakefield and a quintet of relievers. The decisive run was scored by Dustin Pedroia on a two-out single by Jason Bay in the fifth ("sweet things from Boston, so young and willing"). With that, the Yankees have been eliminated from the postseason for the first time since 1993, the last year before the Wild Card was introduced.

That year it was Toronto that won the AL East, though the Yankees avoided being eliminated head-to-head by beating Todd Stottlemyre and the Jays behind Jim Abbott in their final game at SkyDome that season. The Yankees won again the next day, beating Rick Sutcliffe and the Orioles 9-1 behind Scott Kamieniecki (playing right field in place of an injured Paul O'Neill, Jim Leyritz homered in both games), but the Jays clinched anyway by beating the Brewers 2-0 behind Pat Hentgen and a trio of relievers that included Mike Timlin. The Jays would go on to win their second consecutive World Championship that October with Joe Carter delivering the Series-ending home run off Phillies closer Mitch Williams.

Please take me along when you slide on down.

Though the Yankees are still alive with just six games left to play, a single loss or a single Red Sox win will eliminate them from the postseason for the first time since 1993. Elimination is all the more likely because the Yankees will be facing both A.J. Burnett and Roy Halladay yet again in this series, having already gone 2-7 in games started by those two this season. Of the Yankees' 18 games against Toronto this season, 11 will have been started by Halladay or Burnett. The Yanks are 5-1 against Toronto this year in games started by other Blue Jay pitchers.

Fortunately, Mike Mussina has drawn Jesse Litsch tonight as he goes for this 19th win of the season. Mussina, who will start the final game of the season in Boston, has won 19 games in a season twice in his career, but never for the Yankees. The Yankees are 21-11 in Mussina's starts this year, the fourth time in his eight years with the Bombers that the team has won 20 or more of the games he has started.

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I really enjoyed the fact that the Yankees brought out the U.S. Army Field Band to kick off Sunday's pre-game ceremonies by playing a pair of Sousa marches thereby echoing the band John Philip Sousa himself led on Opening Day in 1923.

This ain't that:

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Over at Baseball Prospectus, Jay Jaffe has a scathing piece about how the Yankee Stadium experience has changed in recent years. Check it out.

By Maury Allen

This was in 1972 in the old Yankee Stadium, the one where Ruth, Gehrig, DiMaggio and Mantle had played, long before the 1974-75 refurbishing and a dream location across from The House That Steinbrenner is building for 2009.

I walked on that green grass again as I had for a dozen years or so as a sportswriter, looked out at those monuments, examined that façade above the third deck and waited for my pitching pal.

Fritz Peterson, the left-handed anchor of the bad Yankee pitching staff of the late 1960s and early 1970s, was on the field now, a smile on his face as always, his baseball cap tipped back, his eyes wide with glee and amusement.

"I got another Tugboat post card," he said, with that wry smile. "I put it in his locker."

Peterson had a habit of collecting post cards of big boats or even bigger women and dropping them off in the locker of Thurman Munson, the best Bronx Bomber catcher since Yogi. It irritated the surly Munson no end.

Sparky Lyle, another laughing teammate, had once described Munson as not really moody.

"Moody is when you can smile some of the time," Lyle once said of his unfortunate batterymate, later to lose his life in a 1979 plane crash.

We chatted a while about Peterson's next start in another strong season (17-15 in 1972 after 20 wins in 1970) and then I asked him if he was available on the next Yankees off day for a barbecue at my suburban home.

"Sure," he said. "Can I bring Kekich?"

He had become pals with another Yankee lefty, Mike Kekich and the two couples, Fritz and Marilyn Peterson, Mike and Suzanne Kekich had spent a lot of time together.

The four of them arrived at my home on a beautiful summer night. My wife Janet had gone all out with her best cooking, our best dishes and a beer-filled refrigerator. A good time was had by all.

Soon, the information was out. Peterson and Kekich had arranged that night to swap wives, kids, cars, dogs, houses and hearts.

Marilyn and Mike never lasted as a couple. Fritz and Suzanne are going on some 35 years together.

Some people will always remember the giant home runs at the Stadium hit by Mickey Mantle or the clutch World Series shots by Yogi Berra or the brilliance of Whitey Ford on the mound and Elston Howard behind the plate.

Me? I just remember standing on that famous green grass and simply asking Fritz Peterson to join us for a barbecue. Who knew what evil lurked behind that question.

Maury Allen, a veteran newspaperman and author, writes for The Columnists.com.

With six days left in the regular season, five of the eight playoff spots are still in play and nine teams are still in the hunt.

In the NL East, the Phillies have won ten of their last 11 to build a 2.5 game lead over the Mets. They have just five games left, two against the Braves, and three against the Nationals. The Mets have six games left, the first three against the NL best Cubs. That race looks over.

Fortunately for the Mets, they still hold a one-game lead over the Brewers in the NL Wild Card race. The Brewers also have three games left against the Cubs and have gone just 5-15 on the month. Milwaukee's other three games are against the Pirates, the Mets' against the Marlins. Since the top two teams here are choking their seasons away, it's worth mentioning that the third horse in that race is Houston, which is 3.5 games back this morning and has seven games left against the Reds, Braves, and a season-ending makeup game against the Cubs. All four teams mentioned above play all of their remaining games at home. The other two teams still alive in the NL Wild Card race are the Marlins and Cardinals, both of whom could be eliminated to day with a loss and a Mets win.

The Cardinals host the Diamondbacks for the next three days, then send them home to face the Rockies. The D'backs trail the Dodgers by two games in the West. Joe Torre's team finishes up against the Padres and Giants.

The AL finds four teams still in play for the remaining two spots, though one of them is the Yankees, who can do no better than tie the Red Sox for the Wild Card. The Sox will clinch the Wild Card with a win or a Yankee loss. Boston also has a chance to pass the Rays for first place in the East (they trail by 2.5 games), though that's less significant since the Rays have already clinched a playoff spot.

That just leaves the race in the Central, which is where the real action is over the next three days as White Sox, who hold a 2.5 game lead in the division, travel to Minnesota to try to put away the second-place Twins head-to-head. If they fail, the Twins will finish at home against the Royals, while the White Sox host the Indians (actually, that will happen anyway, it just won't mean as much if the White Sox clinch in Minneapolis).

Here's the schedule for the White Sox's series in Minnesota:

Tue 9/23 8:10 (Vazquez v Baker)
Wed 9/24 8:10 (Buehrle v Blackburn)
Thu 9/25 8:10 (Floyd v Slowey)

Sadly, none of these games will be nationally televised.

Seven Layer Chocolate Cake

By Jane Leavy

May 18, 1962 was a raw spring night in the Bronx. A mean chill filled Yankee Stadium suppressing attendance at the Friday night game between the Yanks and the Minnesota Twins. A forgotten tributary of the Harlem River, on whose banks the stadium was built, runs on a diagonal from left field toward the hole between third and short—like a cut off throw. The ancient waterway, Cromwell's Creek, buried deep beneath the sedimentary rock of urbanization, asserted itself in the dew and chill of that otherwise fine Friday evening. Mist enveloped the scalloped copper frieze that ringed the upper deck of the Stadium. I remember thinking: if Mick hits one tonight nobody will ever see it again.

That was the thing about Mantle: you never knew what might happen when he stepped to the plate or what might happen to him.

My father, who grew up on the other side of the Harlem River cheering for the Giants from a rocky perch on Coogan's Bluff, had gotten box seats behind the dugout along the third base line. It was the best seat I would ever have in a ballpark until I went to work as a sportswriter fifteen years later.

I was ten years old that sweet evening. What could be better-a visit to see The Mick and a sleepover at my grandmother's? Her apartment was just up the street in a building called The Yankee Arms, a long, loud foul ball from home plate.

Mickey was my guy but I was grandma's girl, her favorite, I thought (as did all her grandchildren). I knew this because although she loved frilly things and rose sachet, because canasta not baseball was her game, because in the 20 years she lived in the shadow of the ballpark she was never once tempted to step inside, despite all this she put on her mink stole and open-toed shoes and took me to Saks Fifth Avenue to buy my first baseball glove. It was an odd place to go in search of a mitt but she only wanted the best for me.

Providence intervened--a mannequin in the front window had a Sammy Esposito glove on her hand. "We'll have that one," my grandmother told the flummoxed salesman, who pointed out it was not for sale. He was no match for a Jewish grandmother, mine anyway. I took Sammy home; I took Sammy everywhere, including the stadium on May 18, 1962.

My grandfather, a manic-depressive immigrant tailor, had made me two identical wool, plaid skirts, one in tones of beige, brown and gold, the other in red and green, Christmas-tree green, perfect for Hanukah. They were reversible and indestructible. A whole wardrobe, these skirts. They went with everything and nothing. He was in a manic mode when he sewed them; their oscillating hems reflected his ups and downs.

In an act of filial devotion (and parental betrayal), my mother had made it a condition of attendance that I wear one of these atrocities. I chose the more muted tones and an overly generous straw-colored Irish cable knit sweater over a white turtleneck. I looked like a pre-pubescent haystack.
In an act of solidarity for which I remain grateful five years after his death, my father went to the concession stand and bought me an adult-size Yankee cap, large enough to hide most of my embarrassment.

I knew it was going to be Mick's year. It had to be after the disappointment of 1961. God owed him after allowing Roger Maris to claim Babe Ruth's title as home run king. Being second fiddle made him more loveable to the masses, but not to me--I couldn't love him anymore than I did already.

"In 1961 I became an American hero because he beat me," he would say later. "He was an ass and I was a nice guy. He beat Babe Ruth and he beat me so they hated him. Everywhere we'd go I got a standing ovation. All I had to do was walk out of the dugout."

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I spent nearly 12 hours at Yankee Stadium yesterday. What follows, believe it or not, is the short version of that experience.

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At roughly half past midnight last night, my wife, Becky, and I were standing next to our car in the darkened parking lot near the Harlem River, finishing off the soft-serve ice cream cones we had picked up on our way under the Major Deegan. As Yankee Stadium sat glowing behind us, the blue aura of the stadium lights reaching up toward the half moon set low in the sky over center field, Becky compared the emotions we were feeling to a junior high graduation. We will still see the same people and do the same things next year, she reasoned, it will just be in a different place. I resisted the comparison at first, rattling on about history and landmarks and what will be lost when the Stadium is razed, but upon reflection, and still flush with the emotion of the night as I write this in the wee-morning hours, I've found the truth in her comparison.

Becky and I were high school sweethearts, and though our school days have receded deep into our past, they remain with us both through our relationship with each other, through our closest friends, most of whom we can also trace back to high school, and through the many other ways in which those years shaped our lives and set us upon the course we are on today. Becky was sad to leave high school, for reasons I didn't completely understand. I couldn't wait to leave it behind. Perhaps that's why it took me a moment to find the truth in her statement.

As I wrote earlier this week, the strongest of my many mixed emotions leading up to last night's final game at Yankee Stadium was anger. That anger has expressed it self in criticism of the public expense, abuses, and design flaws of the new Stadium, but ultimately my anger stems from the private hurt of being evicted from a place that I consider home. I imagine that's how Becky must have felt upon graduation, angry that forces beyond her control were robbing her of a place of comfort and familiarity, a place filled with elemental memories, and place in which she had grown from a timid 14-year-old girl into a confident young woman.

My feelings about Yankee Stadium are similar. Just 12 years old when I attended my first game there, I was a kid caught between childhood and maturity, still searching for my place after the dissolution of my parents' marriage and amid their subsequent relationships, still searching for an identity of my own, but beginning to sense that baseball might play a part. Last night I left that Stadium for the last time a grown man of 32, a husband hoping to become a father, a man who has found true happiness in his own marriage and who has followed his muse through a variety of rewarding and creative endeavors, not the least of which is the blog you're reading right now.

Other than my parents, the only constant in my life throughout that journey has been baseball, specifically Yankee baseball, and though I've been in locker rooms and press boxes in other ballparks, my relationship with baseball has been no more intimate than when I've been in the stands in Yankee Stadium. Now that's gone, and I'm hurt, and angry, and sad, but I'm also hopeful and excited about what the next twenty years might bring, for both myself and the team, and about the people I'll be able to share those experiences with. Perhaps most of all, I'm thankful. Thankful that I had the opportunity to see scores of games at the old ballpark. Thankful that I could share those experiences with Becky, both of my parents, and a variety of friends from across twenty years. Thankful that I have this forum to express myself and to share my thoughts and feelings with countless readers, who in turn share theirs with me and each other. Better yet, I'm thankful that I have lived a life privileged and pleasant enough that the closing of a sporting venue could have such a profound impact on me. While I'll never get to set foot in Yankee Stadium again, this morning I'm going to be thankful for the many wonderful things I do have rather than be bitter about the one thing I just lost.

I've never been to Yankee Stadium. Oh sure, I've seen the Yankees play in the Bronx more than one hundred times over the past 20 years, but Yankee Stadium, the limestone behemoth that was home to Yankee greats from Babe Ruth to Mickey Mantle is something I've only seen in books, grainy film footage, and in the background of old baseball cards. That cavernous coliseum, with its copper frieze trimming the roof that hung over the upper deck and its career-altering death valley in left center, was destroyed following the 1973 season. Its last game was a forgettable 8-5 Yankee loss to the Tigers that concluded an equally forgettable 80-82 fourth-place season for the home team.

Two and a half years later, in its place, sat a different Yankee Stadium. A modernized, yet instantly-dated, grey, concrete bowl filled with royal blue seats and orange light bulbs that relayed information from a flat-black scoreboard. The copper frieze had been melted down and replaced with a concrete replica that sat on a lower perch atop the outfield scoreboard, like an artifact on one's mantle. The roof had been largely removed. The wall in left center was now 27 feet closer to home plate and would come in another 31 feet before I ever got to see it in person. Behind that wall, the three marble-and-bronze monuments that had formed a half circle around the flag pole in the grass of center field sat in concrete and were surrounded by a black chain-link fence that separated the two bullpens.

Still, though the structure had been changed, and the field which had played host to 27 World Series and two All-Star Games had been torn up and replaced, there remained a connection between the remodeled Yankee Stadium, as it would become unofficially known, and the original. Just as the Yankees inaugurated Yankee Stadium with the franchise's first World Championship in 1923, the team inaugurated the remodeled Stadium in 1976 with their first World Series appearance in 12 years and followed that up with championships in 1977 and 1978. In its 33 years of existence, the remodeled Stadium hosted 10 World Series and two All-Star Games. Unless the Dodgers reach the World Series this year, no other stadium will have hosted more than four Fall Classics over that same span. The remodeled Stadium quickly established itself as a worthy successor to the original not because of its own grandeur, which was lacking, but because of the grandeur of the games which took place there.

When the last out at Yankee Stadium is recorded tonight, baseball won't be losing a great piece of architecture; the remodeled Stadium is no beauty. What it will lose is the living memory of some of the game's greatest moments. What makes Yankee Stadium great is not the concrete replica of the frieze in center field or the relocated monuments beyond the wall in left field. It's not even the great views from the upper deck or the camaraderie and passion of the bleacher creatures. It's the history that was made there.

One can look around the current park and see where legendary home runs by Aaron Boone and Scott Brosius fell into the left field box seats, Reggie's moon-shot off Charlie Hough clanged off the black batter's eye, homers by Tino Martinez, Derek Jeter, and Chris Chambliss made post-season history by clearing the wall in right, with and without help. One can envision Mariano Rivera and Goose Gossage appearing through the bullpen gate in left center, Derek Jeter diving into the stands behind third base, David Wells punching the air and David Cone falling to his knees after the final outs of their perfect games. One can see Dave Righetti, Jim Abbott, and Dwight Gooden celebrating no-hitters, Thurman Munson crouching behind home plate as Ron Guidry strikes out 18 Angels, Don Mattingly bringing down the house with a home run into the right-field bleachers, Dave Winfield ripping bullets down the left field line, Rickey Henderson and Mickey Rivers burning up the bases, Willie Randolph turning two, Tom Seaver, Phil Neikro, and Roger Clemens winning 300, Alex Rodriguez hitting 500, and George Brett storming out of the visitor's dugout, a victim of Billy Martin's chicanery. One can also see Paul O'Neill meekly slumping his shoudlers as an entire Stadium chants his name, Reggie doffing his batting helmet to the crowd in front of the home dugout, Charley Hayes squeezing the final out of the 1996 World Series, Wade Boggs riding a police horse around the warning track, and both Jackson and Chambliss plowing their way through the swarms of celebrating fans toward the safety of the clubhouse.

Though the field has been torn up, replaced, moved, and lowered, it doesn't take much imagination to envision the old park. In fact, that has been one of my favorite things to do when visiting the Stadium. I'd squint at the left-handed batters box and imagine Babe Ruth taking a mighty swing and christening the new park with a home run or Lou Gehrig, hat in hand, addressing the crowd. Looking around, I could see Joe DiMaggio kicking the dirt near second base, Mickey Mantle launching a ball off the frieze, Jackie Robinson breaking for home, Yogi Berra leaping into Don Larson's arms, the Dodgers celebrating Brooklyn's first and only championship, Roger Maris circling the bases after number 61, and Bobby Murcer chasing a ball around the monuments in center. Because the Yankees were in the World Series with such regularity, all but a select few of the game's greats (most of them Cubs) played there, from Ty Cobb, to Ted Williams, to Tony Gwynn, Walter Johnson, to Sandy Koufax, to Pedro Martinez, Jackie Robinson, to Curt Flood, and Roberto Clemente, and so on. In 1928, Knute Rockne implored his team to "win one for the Gipper" there. In 1938, Joe Luis beat Max Schmeling there. In 1958, Johnny Unitas beat the New York Football Giants in the NFL Championship Game there.

That is what will be lost. Not the building, but the place and the tangible connection to what happened there. The Yankees may only be moving a few hundred feet to the north to play on a field of similar dimensions in a ballpark with an identical name, but Yankee Stadium, the real Yankee Stadium, in both its incarnations, will soon be resigned to the page, the screen, and the memory of those who were fortunate enough to have seen a ballgame there, whether they witnessed a great moment, or simply gazed out at the field and imagined all the great moments that had come before.

By Ed Alstrom

I've been to a lot of great and wacky games at the Stadium, like everyone else: the Chambliss home run, several other playoff and World Series games, some crazed comebacks, and some of those insane asylum games from the early 90s with people running onto the field at random (one game against the Red Sox, there were seven of them at different intervals, in the rain).

And, of course, auditioning for the organist position at the Stadium (with Eddie Layton himself standing in the doorway requesting song snippets!) was priceless, and fulfilling my childhood dream of playing the organ there is very special, every single time I do it.

But for my part, I'd have to say that my lasting memory of the Stadium after it's gone will be a little different from most, and that is having gotten to hang out with Bob Sheppard.

Mr. Sheppard (that's what all of us in the Press Box call him) has his public address booth right next to mine at the organ. Only a pane of Plexiglas separates us. Sometimes I'll knock on his door, sometimes he'll tap on my window and motion me in, and we chat, sometimes during the game. He'll be talking, and then point his index finger in the air mid-sentence, to say 'wait a minute,' step on a pedal to activate the mike, announce the next player (in the same exact tone of voice he's speaking to me in), and then continue where he left off. When a Yankee makes an error or a bad play, he'll look at me and very slowly point his palms skyward and shrug his shoulders.

His end of game routine is really beautiful: with 2 out in the ninth and Mariano on the hill, he'll slowly don his cap and coat, salute me, lock his door, and wait in the runway. If the game ends then and there, he is off like a shot, walking so briskly I can barely keep up with him (and I've tried it!). If that batter reaches base, though, he'll unlock the door, come back in, give me that same shrug, step on the pedal, announce the next batter, and repeat the procedure. His determination to beat that traffic (and his success rate, I'm sure) is admirable indeed.

Several times, I've gone down to the press lunch room and broken bread with him at 'his table,' which is the one in the corner of the room with a cardboard handwritten sign with his name on it. He surely deserves a gold plaque or something more dignified (well, he does have a Monument in the Park), but everyone knows anyway that that's his domain.

You've probably heard what a class act he is, and he exceeds all expectations on that count. I've spoken to him many, many times, but oddly it's almost never about baseball: usually music and theater. In fact, he usually changes the subject to music when I try to engage him about baseball.

He loves the music of the 40s, and the big bands. He told me once he was especially fond of the great singer Jo Stafford, so I went home and found a bunch of her recordings and put them on CD for him, and he was delighted and talked about her at length, and about how he was stationed in Aruba during World War II, and they used to get her 78s shipped to them, and play them at their bar in the 'Quonset hut' (you can just hear Shep saying 'Quonset hut,' right?).

He loves poetry, so he is quite enamored of the lyrics of Hart, Hammerstein, Gershwin, Porter, et al., and we've spent quite a bit of precious pre-game time analyzing those. And I've spent some time (at his behest) trying to explain the merits of rock and roll, or any music recorded after 1955 (with limited success, I think).

At times, he'll approach me with some handwritten poetry he's composed, which is invariably literate, funny, and sometimes biting. He once wrote a concise and venomous little masterpiece about Kevin Brown's bout with a cinderblock wall, and showed it to me; I am not at liberty to disclose it, but lemme tell you, it's incredible. I said to him, "You must have a lot of these." He said, "Oh, hundreds." I said, "You should get these published," to which he replied, "Oh, no, Mr. Steinbrenner would fire me!"

One Saturday afternoon, it was Military Day at the Stadium, and the formalities were to begin with the Golden Knights parachuting onto the field. It was about two minutes before the ceremony was to begin, and Mr. Sheppard was nowhere in sight.

I knocked on the control room window, got the director's attention, and pointed to myself and then to Shep's booth. He said, "Yeah, go ahead." So, I gave the script a speed read, got the cue, stepped on the pedal to activate the mike, and very deliberately said... "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen; welcome to Yankee Stadium!"

Now, I didn't have time to think about it, but my instinct was to not attempt my Shep imitation, because I felt it would be disrespectful somehow, but I did try to phrase it as he might have, veer a course somewhere down the middle vocally, and create the illusion that it was him.

It was a very long script, about two pages, and it was a real roller coaster moment. Toward the end of it, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Mr. Sheppard was standing behind me! I finished with the read, released the pedal, and looked at him gingerly, feeling somewhat like a child about to be scolded. Instead, he grinned broadly, and said very slowly, "Were you trying to imitate me?" Imagine that thrill!

But the best of all was when he approached me one day, and said, "You know, I wrote a song many years ago." Of course, I wanted to hear it, so he showed me the lyrics and sang it to me. I told him the next day I was coming back with a recorder, and he sang it again for me, acapella, and then I got him to talk into the recorder for about 15 minutes about it. I then went home and created a musical track for his melody, chopped his vocal track into pieces and flew it in over the accompaniment, and presented him with a finished product worthy of Sinatra. He was very touched, and I was touched to be able to do that for him. He wrote a handwritten note of thanks, which is more valuable to me than any piece of memorabilia could be. Believe me, Mr. Sheppard, the pleasure was all mine.

Whatever our collective vignettes are of Yankee Stadium, Bob Sheppard's narration to that soundtrack is a thread that runs through all of them, and an essential component of it. His humanity, wit, and warmth are every bit as momentous as that voice, and I am honored to have shared some time on this Earth with him. He is Yankee Stadium, in a lot of ways.

Ed Alstrom will be playing the organ from the early afternoon until late tonight at Yankee Stadium.

It's Hanky Time for Yankee Stadium today.  The tributes just keep a comin.  Yesterday, Paul Simon had a piece about the old place in the New York Times, today, it's Henry Kissinger's turn.  Also in the Times, comes memories from Billy Crystal, Robert Creamer, Jane Heller, and B-Girl Penny Marshall.

Here is Maury Brown's ode to the cathedral, as well as Alan Sepinwall's memories.   

Read em and weep.

It was a near perfect afternoon in the Bronx yesterday as the Yankees and Orioles played the final day game at Yankee Stadium. Amid sharp shadows and under a cloudless sky, the Stadium gleamed, the cool early autumn air adding a crispness to the day. The Yankees and Orioles played scoreless baseball for eight-plus innings, but the lack of action on the field mattered little as most everyone on hand and watching at home was more concerned about drinking in the doomed ballpark, which has rarely looked more welcoming or more vibrant.

Afredo Aceves got things started off in style in the first inning. Following a Brian Roberts lead-off double, Adam Jones popped up a bunt in front of the mound. Aceves, who has shown himself to be a solid infielder, caught the ball on a lunge before tumbling forward to his knees. He then spun to double Roberts off of second, but Roberts had been running on the pitch and had actually rounded third base slightly, so rather than throw to Cody Ransom covering second base, Aceves, with a big grin on his face, jogged the ball over to second for an unassisted double play, a play rarely turned by a pitcher (paging Bob Timmermann).

Aceves wouldn't allow a runner past second base all day, and after six innings and 92 pitches, he was replaced by Brian Bruney, Damaso Marte, and Mariano Rivera, who kept that streak intact. The Yankees didn't do much better against lefty spot-starter Brian Burres. With two outs in the first, Bobby Abreu doubled and moved to third on a wild pitch, but Alex Rodriguez popped out to strand him, and the Yankees didn't get another man past second until the bottom of the ninth.

Though it would ultimately prove a fitting conclusion to a beautiful day, the bottom of the ninth started off ominously when a 1-1 pitch got away from rookie reliever Jim Miller and hit Derek Jeter on the back of his left hand. Jeter spun to avoid the pitch, but it caught him flush and sent him skipping toward the visiting batting circle in obvious pain. Joe Girardi and trainer Gene Monahan quickly attended to Jeter, who was the DH yesterday to give him a breather before today's final game at the Stadium, and almost immediately pulled Jeter from the game. Jeter didn't make a fist with the hand when Monahan was checking him out on the field, and as he headed into the tunnel toward the clubhouse, Jeter slammed his batting helmet on the dugout floor. Fortunately, post-game x-rays were negative and Jeter is expected to be in the lineup for the Stadium's finale . . . of course.

Brett Gardner ran for Jeter at first base and stole second base easily on Miller's first pitch to Abreu. After Miller fell behind Abreu 3-0, Orioles manager Dave Trembley decided to make use of that empty base and pass the buck to Alex Rodriguez. Rodriguez took two strikes then hit into a near double play, but managed to beat out the relay to put runners on the corners with one out for Jason Giambi. Trembley called on veteran lefty reliever Jamie Walker to pitch to Giambi, and Walker responded by striking Giambi out on six pitches. Rodriguez stole second on strike three, so Trembley had Walker put Xavier Nady on base and pitch to fellow lefty Robinson Cano. Cano, who still holds the distinction of having hit the last home run at Yankee Stadium, jumped on Walker's first pitch, delivering a line-drive single just to the right of second base, plating Gardner with the winning run.

So in the final day game at Yankee Stadium, the Yankees beat the Orioles 1-0 on a walk-off single by Robison Cano. Mariano Rivera got the win, and the Yankees staved off elimination for at least one more day. The day was so close to perfect that, in some peverse way, I almost wish yesterday's game was the last ever at the Stadium. The only way tonight's game could be better would be for a Yankee to hit a home run and for Jeter to be somewhere other than the trainers' room when the game ends.

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It is sunny and cool and decidedly a fall day.  The last day game at Yankee Stadium.

Enjoy y'all.

As Aaron Gleeman says, Happy Baseball.

By Pete Abraham

There is not one in particular moment I remember.

I've attended roughly 200 games at Yankee Stadium since I started covering the team in 2006 and they all seem to blend in. The best part of the day is walking from the elevator on the loge level, down the concourse, into the press box and sitting down in my seat in the front row.

I always pause a minute to look around and soak it in. When they're playing a big game, the skies are clear and the fans are buzzing, it's intoxicating.

I became a sportswriter when I was 17 because I loved the idea of communicating the details of something that matters to people. Baseball always drew me in because it was the one sport people had passion for all year.

Yankee Stadium is the front office of baseball, the best venue in the game. Where else does baseball matter more? I feel tremendously fortunate every time I sit down and look around. At that moment, there is nowhere else in the world I would rather be. That's my favorite memory, no matter how many times it repeats.

Pete Abraham covers the Yankees for The Journal News.

Last season Tom Verducci worked as an umpire during a spring training game and wrote about the experience for Sports Illustrated. The bit I remember most about the article was how fast the game is on the field, how quickly things move for everyone involved, the umpires, players, the fans in the front row when a foul ball comes their way. But for some players, for the best players, the action slows down and they are, momentarily, able to master time.

Two nights ago, a dapper little man named Emilio Navarro, the