Larry Kart

Studs Terkel is gay?

It was 11 out of 12 in the playoffs, 16 out of the last 17 games they played.

My wife reminds me that my previous post was imprecise. What Pierzynski actually said to Blum in the dugout in the 14th inning Tuesday night was: "Mr. Fatty's hungry. Let's end this thing so we can polish off the spread." Definitely better than "Let's get this thing over..." IMO.

Should have posted this yesterday, but according to Geoff Blum (interviewed Wednesday morning on Chicago sports radio), these were the inspirational words that A.J. Pierzynski spoke to him in the dugout before Blum went to bat in the 14th inning Tuesday night: "Mr. Fatty's hungry. Let's get this thing over so we can polish off the spread."

Man, that was a tough series -- so much so that I felt almost no sense of fun (as I did fairly often when were playing the Red Sox and Angels) until almost the very end, specifically the last two plays that Uribe made. That guy is incredibly loose! To dive into the stands like that is one thing (and not everyone would -- as in would for real, not for show), but to do that and do it successfully calls for a rare combination of let-it-all-hang-out effort and, again, tremendous looseness. Uribe also stands for how many guys on this team made genuine and to some degree unexpected or unlikely contributions. The rejuvenation of Crede (lots of Sox fans were calling for his head well beyond mid-season); the incredible turnaround of Contreras at mid-season, at a point when it seemed likely that he'd be dropped from the rotation; the return of El Duque, with his huge relief stints against the Red Sox and last night the Astros; Willie Harris, another semi-lost soul (sent down to the minors at one point this year), getting that hit tonight and scoring the winning run; Blum's homer the night before; hell, even Mr. Gasoline on the Fire Marte did some effective, if scary, pitching on Tuesday. I really can't think of a single player on the roster who didn't do something big this year at some time. And don't forget Frank Thomas, who had about three weeks in mid-season where he virtually carried the team at just the point when almost everyone else suddenly stopped hitting. Without that boost, I think the Sox would have been at or below .500 during that stretch, but Frank kept them airborne there, and when he then screwed up his foot and was lost for the rest of the season, we had enough of a lead to carry us through that mad rush from the Indians. And don't forget Dustin Hermanson, who not only was a great closer until his back acted up in August but who also had to take over the closer role early in the year from the ineffective (and eventually discarded) Shingo Takatsu. Hey, even rookie outfielder Brian Anderson, not on the playoff roster, won at least one game for us with a big hit during the Indians' final onslaught.

Further thoughts on A.J.'s balls, in a different sense. An angry, troubled man, no doubt, but as Sox TV broadcaster Hawk Harrelson said many times during the season, "A.J. puts down some great numbers" -- this being baseball-ese for A.J.'s guts and smarts in calling pitches, in particular his penchant for doubling-up or even more on a pitch that's just worked rather than doing the more normal thing and, say, following a fastball strike on the inside corner with a slider away. Seldom was this more apparent than last night in the seventh inning, with one out, a man on second and the Sox leading by a run, when A.J. had Garland through six (six!) consecutive change-ups to Bagwell (who popped out) and Biggio before Biggio struck out on the seventh pitch in the sequence, a fastball. The thing is, if either Bagwell or Biggio had guessed that the next pitch that was going to be the same semi-lollipop one they'd just seen, they probably could have killed it. Yes, Garland still had to throw those pitches, but I think few catchers would have had the guts to call them. Now that I think of it, this may be related to a possible element in A.J.'s personality -- that he's aligned along the axis of rage and humilation, and thus has a taste for, and uncommon insights into, getting opponents to defeat themselves. Actually, I believe I've read that A.J. was harshly disciplined as a kid by an angry, domineering father, which is good way, if you don't go nuts first (or even if you do), to learn how to deviously turn the strengths of the strong into potential weakness.

Chapter and verse about the A.J. incident, from a column by Bruce Jenkins in the San Francisco Chronicle: One of those now-it-can-be-told stories the White Sox, A.J. Pierzynski's new employer, surely haven't heard: During a Giants exhibition game last spring, Pierzynski took a shot to his, shall we say, private parts. Trainer Stan Conte rushed to the scene, placed his hands on Pierzynski's shoulders in a reassuring way, and asked how it felt. "Like this," said Pierzynski, viciously delivering a knee to Conte's groin. It was a real test of professionalism for the enraged Conte, who vowed to ignore Pierzynski for the rest of the season until Conte realized how that would look. The incident went unreported because all of the beat writers happened to be doing in-game interviews in the clubhouse, but it was corroborated by a half-dozen eyewitnesses who could hardly believe their eyes. Said one source, as reliable as they come: "There is absolutely no doubt that it happened."

My favorite Pierzynski story, widely attested to, took place in spring training in 2004, afte he'd been traded from the Twins to the Giants. Apparently ticked off at being traded and/or just a red ass by nature, A.J. was hit in the groin by a pitched or batted ball -- don't recall if he was catching or at bat at the time. Anyway, he crumpled to the ground, the Giants trainer ran out to him, knelt down and asked A.J., "How do you feel?" or words to that effect. In reponse, A.J. kneed the trainer in the groin. A.J.'s relationship with Giants management and teammates went downhill from there.

About the closed dome versus open dome thing, discount the fact that I'm a Sox fan if you can, but I still feel that MLB is right here for several reasons (1) because the closed dome is a home park feature that can be actuated before or during a game with the literal push of a button, versus, say, built-in season-long peculiarities of a park (like moving in an outfield fence before the year starts, but of course you can't do that for a specific game or series);(2) as mentioned before, the dome is there for a practical purpose -- comfort of the crowd in a hot, humid city, protection from rain -- and should probably never be put into operation for any other reason (3) while every team has an infield and a groundskeeper who can tinker with the length of the infield grass and, I assume within narrow margins, the slope of the baselines, only a few teams play in domed stadiums; thus allowing a team to use their dome in this way would give the domed-stadium teams an unfair advantage. Finally, FWIW, there is the longstanding rumor that in the Metrodome the Twins management used to have the flow of the Met's air-conditioning blowing out toward the fences when the Twins were at bat and in toward homeplate when the visiting team was hitting.

Furthermore, on home park advantage, the Astro's park has a retractable dome, mostly because Houston gets so hot and humid during much of the season that the dome needs to be closed and the park air-conditioned. During the season, this decision (closed versus open) is made by the Astro's management, and the rule of thumb is 80 degrees fahrenheit or higher, dome is closed. However, when the dome is closed, crowd noise is vastly magnified, which is felt to be to the Astros's advantage (and in fact, their home record this year is, I think, 40-11 with the dome closed and 16-11 with the dome open). With just such matters in mind, major league baseball itself, not each team's management, decides in the World Series (and probably in the league playoffs) whether domed stadiums cab be open or closed, with MLB's rule of thumb being that the roofs of domed stadiums must be open unless inclement weather (i.e. heavy rain, a plague of frogs or locusts) will prevent the game from being played. I wonder, though, whether MLB, not the home team's groundskeeper (as is the case, I believe, during the regular season), determines how short or how shaggy the infield grass can be, which of course can have a significant effect on the outcome if one team is more oriented toward speed or toward power hitting than the other.

About AL versus NL rules, the only difference is that pitchers bat in the NL park and there is no designated hitter. That could have meaning in several ways (1) if some Houston pitchers are good hitters (both in general and because they're been at bat regularly during the NL season), while few if any Sox pitchers are good hitters (especially because they don't bat during the AL regular season); (2) if one's pitchers are poor hitters, one may be forced to remove from the game a pitcher who is pitching well (and substitute a pinch hitter for him) if the pitcher is coming to bat in a crucial situation; and (3) of one's designated hitter is a key part of one's offense but not a skilled defensive player, one either has to put him in the field and accept his defensive liabilities or put him on the bench. Thus, Carl Everett of the White Sox (their DH) will not be in the starting lineup, because if he were, he would have to play left field in place of Podsednik.

"Clutch hitting" refers to hitting successfully when the outcome of the game is on the line -- i.e. in the late innings, or in the final inning, where a hit will drive in the tying or (better) winning run. A so- called "walk-off" home run -- a la those of Podsednik in game two or Albert Pujols of the Cardinals in the next to last game of the NLCS would be good examples -- though Pujols' home run would perhaps be more an instance of hitting in the "clutch," for if he had failed, as I recall the situation, the game would have been over, while Podsednik was hitting with one out, and if he had made an out, the White Sox still could have prevailed -- either in that inning or in an inning to come. About home field advantage, that depends on many factors -- the enthusiasm of one's fans, the degree to which the home park's acoustics magnify the amount of noise the fans can make and how much of an effect, if any, all that will have on the emotions of the home and visiting teams, the peculiarities of one's home park and the degree to which one is used to them and the visiting team is not (e.g. the unsual upward slope in deep center field in Houston, plus that park's quite short fence in left field, which supposedly encourages a special sort of inside-out swing on the part of left-handed batters that is designed to bloop outside pitches over that fence -- Houston's hitters presumably would be more used to doing this (if such tactics are in fact wise; they might instead just screw you up) than the White Sox hitters would. Also, there are the supposed benefits of sleeping in one's own bed in familiar surroundings rather than staying in a hotel room.

Sorry, I've never watched that show enough to know the names of the characters. Interesting how -- or so it seems to me -- even though Jenks is faster on the gun, Oswalt seems faster. If so, could this be a matter of delivery style -- that Jenks shows the ball to the batter and the rest of us a bit sooner than Oswalt does and/or Oswalt's arm motion is more of a whip or a sling, which creates an illusion of acceleration, while most of Jenks' arm is moving almost as fast at the ball is at the point of release. Similarly, though he's not as fast as Oswalt, Freddy Garcia may be the most extreme cocked-wrist slinger of the ball I've seen since Rick Sutcliffe, at least among pitchers who are effective.

Are you baiting us Larry? ←

That was a TOUGH game. I almost lost it when Ozzie had Marte warming up in the bullpen. For you non-Sox fans, Marte's history in recent outings has been that of a "I don't dare throw a strike, now I'd better groove one" head case. Actually, that's pretty much what Don Cooper miraculously cured Contreras of in mid-season, though he reverted at times tonight, in large part because he didn't have his recent fine command. But Marte -- just shoot me.

Benny Hill? You should have seen Jencks being interviewed after the game on local TV, with his legs bare from mid-thigh down. Looked like he had a orange tattoo on the right thigh (who gets tattoos there? could it have been a joke decal? it looked a bit like the Astros' star logo), and the two legs, both incredibly thick, also looked oddly different from each other -- the right one was pale white and virtually hairless, like it had been in a cast for several months. Altogether, an even scarier looking guy in that format than he is on the mound. On the other hand, he did speak more coherently (and amiably) than a good many ballplayers.

An old post from a percussion-oriented board about Wilson on Basie's "Queer Street": "There is a fill (actually a four bar break) by Shadow Wilson playing with Count Basie on a tune called "Queer Street" that is famous among big band drummers and that Buddy Rich thought was the greatest fill he'd ever heard..."

That's some deep thinking, Jim. Hell, it's brilliant too and AFAIK unique to you. BTW, do you know Nelson's big band "suite" album for Prestige, "Afro-American Sketches"? Great stuff.

"Legrand Jazz' is something less than the sum of its parts at times, thanks to Legrand occasionally cute ideas and the bitty air of some tracks, but on the whole it's a lot of fun. Brownie -- I know what Webster said about O.P. in the "Soulville" notes (and I agree "Ill Wind" is a good one), but Ben also praised Rowles to the skies as an accompanist on more than one occasion, and my ears tell me that the Rowles, Kessel, Mondragon, Stoller rhythm section on "Sweets" is much more effective than the O.P, Ellis, Brown, Stan Levey one on "Soulville." (Actually, now that I think of it, Levey may also be a part of the problem; while his oddly minaturized ride cymbal beat can be just fine in bop or West Coast settings, with O.P. at the piano, Levey's time feel can make things (or make things seem) a bit airless. As I recall, something similar happens on that Granz Jam Session date from 1958 with Mullligan, Getz, Edison, O.P., Levey et al., the one with "Chocolate Sundae"). BTW, I'm not saying that O.P. killed every Granz session where he was part of the rhythm section in that period; for one, he certainly has a lot to do with the success of "Stan Getz and the Oscar Peterson Trio." It's just that IMO he could get very mechanical as a comper -- rhythmically and harmonically -- and when he did, that didn't help. In any case, if you know "Sweets," what do you think? Certainly, the feel of those two rhythm sections is quite different. Even more striking, compare the feel of "Sweets" to that of "Gee Baby Ain't I Good to You."

I think the recordings Webster did for Granz are quite variable. The Tatum is solid gold, and Ben is in particuarly fine form on Harry Edison's "Sweets" (as he is backing Holiday with the same or much the same lineup -- Sweets, Jimmy Rowles, Barney Kessel, Joe Mondragon, and Alvin Stoller -- at about the same time), but the rhythm sections on "Soulville," "Gee Baby Ain't I Good To You," and "Ben Webster and Associates" seem pretty leaden to me (the first two thanks to Oscar Peterson I believe, the last probably because Jimmy Jones is in a very static mood (he could get that way), and when Ben didn't have a good time wave to float on, he could thrash and bluster some -- not that there isn't power and and meaning in that, but once I've heard peak Webster of this period (e.g. "Sweets" and the Tatum album), for me it's hard not to tell the difference and hard then to settle for less. I also don't think Ben is at his best on the encounter with Mulligan. BTW, there's some gorgeous floating/gliding Ben on "Nuages" and "Blue and Sentimental" from "Legrand Jazz" (Columbia), rec. 1958, where he's backed by four trombones, rhythm, and Herbie Mann. Ben captured in 30th St. Studio sound is something to behold.

I agree with Chuck. The way Fortune sounded in-person in the '80s with Nat Adderley's band (Larry Willis, Walter Booker, and Jimmy Cobb) and before that with trumpeter Charles Sullivan (don't recall the rhythm section other than bassist Junie Booth) was something I've yet to hear from him on record and, as I recall, was a good deal more potent than his playing in the '70s with Tyner. Letters in flame appeared on the wall.

I recall an interview or Blindfold Test in which Charlie Persip spoke of Wilson's drum work on the Basie recording of Jimmy Mundy's "Queer Street" (1945, I believe) as being of epoch-making quality and significance -- Persip, of course, being in a good position to judge because he became a superb big-band drummer himself. Not having heard it for years, I don't recall "Queer Street" clearly myself (sadly don't have it on the shelves -- it's available in that big Columbia Basie boxed set of a few years ago, and probably elsewhere too; perhaps someone who has a copy could take a listen and report). Other Wilson/Basie recordings ("Avenue C," "The King," "Taps Miller") certainly are impressive; there's a special taughtness to Wilson's beat and fills (kind of Philly Joe-like, maybe?), a nervous intensity that speaks of bop's atmosphere seen through Swing Era eyes. Wilson also can be heard in fine form on much of the Mosaic Illinois Jacquet box, and he contributes subtly but mightily to the success of Lee Konitz's "Very Cool" (Clef). I recall being told once that cocaine was Wilson's downfall.

You know the answer, Jim, but no, "Walkin,'" whatever it's real provenance (it sure wasn't written by Richard Carpenter), was not yet around in the late '40s. Also, Zwerin is to some degree illiterate. If Art Blakey had been "a fearful cat," that would mean that Blkaey himself was afraid. Instead, Zwerin meant that Blakey was "a fearsome cat," i.e. a person who inspires fear in others.

The band (first time for me) is a gas! Completely locked-in rhythmically and with an approach to the organ trio (essentially it's a mini big band) that may not be the only one but the one that I think is central and the best, unless you happen to be Larry Young. I'm no organ expert (watch yourself, now!), but I love Jim's warm, guttural, chest and belly level registration (don't care for lots of treble-y runs, myself); also I like his "key-y" attack, with just the right amount of "chuff" to it, if you know what I mean (I'm making up these terms, I think, but they do correspond, in my head at least, to what's going on in Jim's playing). Afterwards I was talking to Joe about how nicely Jim can lay back and then really build; Joe said that a good deal of that was due to Randy, who's older, has a good deal of prior organ trio experience, and had passed on that wisdom. In any case, Jim in a slow burn groove is something else -- very satisfying, quite personal while staying within the idiom, and, above all, in the moment; he's doesn't drown you in bluesy cliches. Also, when Jim has really built or is really building to a chordal climax, don't stop listening closely; in the midst of the Christmas dinner, he's playing some very hip, subtle, off-the-wall stuff. And, again, completely locked-in rhythmically, and while I think there was, in the first set, only one really up-tempo piece, "Jimmy Smith Goes to Washington," Jim was completely at ease there too. (Oh yes, most of the tunes are the band's, and they're fine -- particularly the one dedicated to Jim's daughter, "Punkin' Pie.") Joe knocked me out; his lines always sing -- again within the idiom, but not, or no longer, as a sharp-eared board member once said, really conventional, at least IMO. In particular, his phrasing lays across the beat so subtlely and fluidly that I think after this encounter that I'd know his playing anywhere; in his phrasing especially he's his own man. Only thing -- and this may be inseparable from his virtues -- for some reason I can't pin down, it took me a tune or two to really pick up on what he was doing. That could be me, of course, but it also may be that there's something kind of undemonstrative or even shy about Joe's music-making, which he overcomes as he gets going -- if so, well, that's part of what makes his playing genuine, and so be it. I was about to say that Randy is a force of nature, which is how it feels, but that's also silly -- you don't get just get into or fall into those grooves, you create them. A hell of a player. And his harmonica solo, with R.J. Spangler sitting in and tippin' light on drums, was a real JAZZ harmonica solo. Sound quality in the room was excellent. And I believe that Jim owns quite an instrument there, though, again, I don't know enough about the relationship between a particular Hammond in itself and how a player sets it up to be sure about that. Whatever, it's deep, rich, and caramel-y, not whiny or nasal, and you could listen to it all evening without getting worn out, which is what happens to me with a lot other Hammond players and/or their setups. Also, while Jim changes registration to some extent to suit the tune, he doesn't fiddle around with it in mid-solo (something I tend to dislike/distrust), nor does he alter the setup so much from tune to tune that you think you're listening to two or three different players. Wish I could have talked more with Jim and Randy (did get to talk to Joe for a while after the first set), but the music was speaking on their behalf regardless.

Chris. And I remember doing this a year ago, which is a bit eerie, because it feels like it was maybe four months ago.