Mike Blowers Sees All

Before each game, the radio announcers for the Seattle Mariners pick a player they think will have a good game. A somewhat silly, but ultimately harmless pregame ritual. On Sunday, prior to the first pitch of the Mariners-Blue Jays game, color guy Mike Blowers, who played for the Mariners for four seasons, from 1992 to 1995, not only picked rookie Matt Tuiasosopo, he predicted Tuiasosopo would homer to left field in the third inning, during his second at bat, on a 3-1 fastball. Harmless fun, right? Well, guess what Tuiasosopo did? He hit a 3-1 fastball into the left field bleachers in the third inning, during his second at bat. 

Check out Blowers' pregame prediction and his partner's amazing in-game play-by-play here. Seriously, with 9 games left in their season, Mike Blowers is the only thing the Mariners have left going for them. 

(Via)

The Definitive Drinker's Dictionary

In his new book, Drunk: The Definitive Drinker's Dictionary, Paul Dickson, author of The Hidden Language of Baseball and Sputnik, pulls together 2,964 euphemisms for being drunk. The terms range from the obvious ("tipsy," "off his rocker," "blotto") and the not-so-common ("eating dirt," "off me pickle,") to the truly bizarre ("feng schwasted"). My personal favorite? Easy, "talking to Earl on the big white phone," a term I'm sure to use this weekend and, in all likelihood, the rest of my life.  

The Return of IPK Flabbergasts John Sterling

Ian Patrick Kennedy made a surprise appearance yesterday afternoon during the Yankees' series-clinching win over the Angels. Kennedy, who underwent surgery in May to repair an aneurysm in his pitching arm, pitched the 8th inning. Although he recorded one strike out, he also walked two and hit a batter. He escaped the inning, though, without giving up the lead. Not exactly a quality performance, but considering where he was a few months ago, his presence on the mound, however shaky, was a welcome--and unexpected-- sight. How unexpected? Well, I'll let John Sterling, the baritone radio voice of the Yankees, tell you, courtesy of It Is High.

Born to Run

Today is Bruce Springteen's 60th birthday, as the Sports Guy has taken great pains to point out on twitter.  I find it shocking that Springsteen’s only 60. How is he still that young? In recent years, the Boss has seemed kind of ancient; not exactly past his expiration date, but certainly long enough in the tooth to be celebrated as rock’s Methuselah-like patriarch.

Anyway, in honor of Springsteen's 60th, Slate recounts the story behind Bruce's magnus opus, "Born to Run," truly one of the greatest rock albums of all time and certainly the best to come out of the Garden State. I forget sometimes that Springsteen labored over this album, particularly its title track, the Boss’s signature song. I forget, too, that if Springsteen hadn’t come through with a commercially viable album—his third and possibly final one with Sony— he would today most likely be sharing the bill with Southside Johnny on Mike'd Up. 

It’s true. Before the success of "Born to Run," Sony, Springsteen's record label, was set to drop him, which, pre-Internet, would have been, for all intents and purposes, the end of Springsteen's career. The Boss's firing would have changed the trajectory of American music, and, on a more personal note, severely hindered my uncle’s social life throughout the 1980s, when he spent the better part of every summer attending Springsteen concerts, up and down the Jersey shore. Really, we all would have missed out. No album or piece of art impacted my adolescent world view or calibrated my expectations of all that was yet to come than "Born to Run," with the possible exception of Slaughterhouse Five, Pearl Jam’s "Ten," and, at certain moments, The Baltimore Cathechism. I honestly do not know who I would be, or how I would experience the world, without having heard this album. How often do you get to say that about anything?

Which is why the album's backstory is so interesting. Backed into a corner, Springsteen knew he had a good idea in "Born to Run," but he couldn’t quite nail it down, no matter how many times he tried, or how many instruments he introduced, including, oddly, a glockenspiel.

The alternate mixes of "Born To Run" that are available reveal some of the ways in which Springsteen experimented musically. In one, a female chorus joins him in the background when he sings, "get out while we're young," "got to know how it feels," and "walk in the sun." Musically, the strings at various points are more prominent than they would be in the final version. It's easy to see why Bruce rejected this mix: The chorus and strings make the song too ethereal and distance it from the driving force of the beat. In another mix, Springsteen's lead vocal is doubled, the chorus is still intact, and the strings at the end of the song are even more pronounced. Two other mixes play with the balance of strings and bass. At one point, the band experimented with different sound effects such as streetcars and drag racing.

The earliest live version of the song that is available dates from July 13, 1974, at the Bottom Line in New York, more than a year before a string of shows at the same venue that would astonish the industry. While musically the song is almost set, lyrically it is dramatically different from the final version, so much so that its meaning shifts. After "runaway American dream," Springsteen sings, "At night we stop and tremble in the heat/ With murder in our dreams." The song is darker. He is not singing to Wendy, whose name does not appear. The second verse opens, "So close your tired eyes little one/ And crawl within my reach. ... [W]e'll ride tonight on the beach/ Out where the surfers, sad, wet, and cold/ As they watch the skies/ There'll be a silence to match their own."

Eventually, though, he got it right. Springsteen credits Stevie Van Zandt with saving the song. A simple major/minor chord adjustment, suggested about six months after Springsteen first started writing the tune, made all the difference, according to the Boss. "Steve’s greatest contribution to my music."

Here's a clip of Springsteen explaining the difficulty he had in composing the song and a selection of the song's aborted arrangements. 

And here's an early, somewhat disturbing version of "Thunder Road," which was originally called "Wings for Wheels," a pretty terrible title. 

Backspacer

The four-star reviews are in.

Rolling Stone: 

Fans of Pearl Jam's chest-beating angst mode might look for some metaphorical resonance in 'Amongst the Waves.' Yet the more you listen, the more it just sounds like Vedder's spending a nice day surfing. After toughing out the Bush years, Pearl Jam aren't in the mood for brooding; at long last, surf's up.

Los Angeles Times:

A thousand rock 'n' roll clichés have been built around the idea that guts and glory belong to the young. Pearl Jam's ninth studio album, "Backspacer," due out Sunday (Sept. 20), makes the opposite argument. Its 11 breakneck rockers and candidly emotional ballads, adding up to barely more than a half hour of optimally toned catharsis, gain power from the band's calm but constant awareness of life's ticking clock.

Spin:

For the first time in years, Pearl Jam are seizing the moment rather than wallowing in it.

Chicago Tribune:

But the taut songwriting on “Backspacer” is a bracing reminder of a less-celebrated facet of Pearl Jam’s personality, the step-on-it-and-go attack of “Spin the Black Circle,” “Lukin” or “Do the Evolution.”

I’ve yet to hear the album in full, but what I’ve heard—“The Fixer,” “Got Some,” “Force of Nature,” “The End,”  "Just Breathe" and the below “Unthought Known”—work. It’s not their best effort, but I’m not sure that’s the point. There’s no big message here. It’s simply a record of five guys playing songs together, with a lifetime of experiences at their feet. And there’s nothing wrong with that. Pearl Jam’s never going to scale again the stratospheric levels of success and creativity they reached in the 1990s. They are, thankfully, a vastly different band now. And their fans, myself included, are vastly different people than when we were teenagers. We stopped waiting for Pearl Jam’s “11” years ago.

Wise Words From the Captain

“It’s a bump in the road, but it happens. You just have to work your way through it. If we win, we'll be where we want to be. We’re not chasing anybody.”

So true.

King Rex

I know it's still early in the season, but I like what I've seen from the New York Jets. New coach Rex Ryan has them playing an aggressive, balls-to-the-wall defense. In two games thus far, the Jets' D has yet to give up a single touchdown. In fact, they've held the Texans and the Patriots, two superior offenses, to a total of nine points. They have a long way to go before anyone confuses them with the '86 Bears, but the defense is quickly making a name for itself. The offense, led by rookie quarterback Mark Sanchez, is doing its part, too. Yesterday, Sanchez put up better numbers than Tom Brady, delivering an impressive 16-play, 68-yard scoring drive to start the second half. Turns out, that would be enough, because the defense suffocated Brady and the Patriots for the game's final 30 minutes. No small feat. 

Like all good coaches, Ryan has lit a fire under his team--and its fan base--and it seems both would run through a wall for him, which is really half the battle. If he can keep this up--and that's a pretty big if-- Ryan could very well replace Bill Parcells as New York's favorite head coach. 

For more thoughts on the yesterday's game, please take a look at my other site, You're Wrong About Everything. 

Damn Braves

I’d like to thank the good lord for making me a Yankees fan. If I had to root for the Braves, I’d be an ornery, frustrated bastard. The Braves, winners of seven straight, have run hot and cold all season. They started the year 33-40, losing some pretty brutal games in the season’s first-half, before recovering with an impressive 44-28 run. This season alone, they’ve had four separate four-game losing streaks and two five-game losing streaks to go along with one four-game winning streak and three five-game winning streaks.

They are maddeningly inconsistent.

Take, for instance, their recent seven-game winning streak, extended last night with a come-from-behind victory over the hapless Mets. The recent streak sounds pretty good, particularly down the stretch in a pennant race. Impressive, at least, until you realize the Braves previously dropped six of seven immediately before their current wining streak. 6 down; 7 up. Nautically speaking, there is little difference between the Braves and an ocean buoy. (Ed. Note: Thanks, Bob Sullivan.) 

This morning, the Braves find themselves a season-high 10 games over .500, 4.5 games behind the Colorado Rockies for the Wild Card, with 16 games to play. If the Rockies go 7-8 over their final 15 games, the Braves would have to go 12-4 just to force a tie. Mathematically, the Braves are still in it. If I were a betting man, though, I’d sit this one out, preseason predictions be damned.

IPK

Two seasons ago, when the Minnesota Twins were shopping Johan Santana, the team’s front office reportedly asked Yankees General Manager Brian Cashman for Melky Cabrera, Phil Hughes and Ian Kennedy. For many fans, this was, in the parlance of sports talk radio, a no-brainer. Cashman, though, took his time making his decision. Why give up, Cashman reasoned, a serviceable outfielder and two promising young arms, especially when Santana’s contract was about to expire? Cashman figured he’d end up paying for Santana twice, first with a package of young, cost-controlled talent and, later, with a lengthy, multi-million-dollar contract. Cashman, to the dismay of many, passed, and Santana was shipped to the Mets for, it must be noted, a lesser package.

At first, Cashman’s decision didn’t look too good. Cabrera, predictably so, regressed. Hughes stunk. And Kennedy, a soft tossing, finesse pitcher, got rocked to the tune of an 8.17 ERA and a 1.916 WHIP. Even worse, he didn't care. The Yankees missed the playoffs for the first time in 12 years, and New Yorkers, true to form, spent most of the season ripping Cashman for his decision not to go after Santana.

Cashman, though, rebounded in the winter, signing CC Sabathia, which helped solidify the starting rotation. (The signing of A.J. Burnett and the resigning of Andy Pettitte helped a great deal, too). Meanwhile, two of the players Cashman refused to part with rebounded from a disastrous season. Mellky, pushed by the addition of Brett Gardner, is playing a serviceable outfiled, and Hughes has been a revelation since moving to the 8th inning.

But what about the third, Ian Patrick Kennedy?

After spending most of the second half of the 2008 season in Scranton, Kennedy was sent to play in the Puerto Rican Winter League, where he posted a league-low 1.56 ERA, seemingly rediscovering the better-than-average control that inspired the Yankees to select him in the first round of the 2006 MLB Draft. By the middle of Spring Training, Kennedy, still only 24, had regained the respect of his manager, and was back in the team’s plans for the future.

A few weeks later, though, Kennedy, pitching well in the minors, left a game with numbness in the middle finger of his right hand, which was diagnosed a vasospasm in his right middle finger. Doctors later discovered an aneurysm in an artery near his right shoulder. His season—and, quite possibly, his career—was thought to be over.

But Kennedy fought back, working his way back to professional baseball. Last night, he pitched three hitless innings in his first Triple-A start since his surgery in May. Kennedy struck out the side in the first inning (Ed. Note: the Durham Bulls made contact on one of his first 15 pitches) and struck out two in the second. He racked up his sixth and final strikeout in the third, sandwiched between a flyout and groundout. After 50 very good pitches, Kennedy’s night was through.

“Everything felt good,” Kennedy said. “I got ahead of guys. My fastball command was better than in my first [rehab] outing. I felt back to normal again, and it’s much more comfortable pitching at that adrenalin rush rather than like my first outing when I couldn’t control it.”

This could be a big boost for the Yankees next season, as Kennedy still projects as a reliable back-of-the-rotation starter. Even if he doesn't crack the rotation, though, it's nice to see the kid pitching again. 

The Tao of Swayze

Last night, my friend Ben texted me about the Patriots' come-from-behind win against the hapless Bills. He wanted to share with me the many wonders of Tom Brady. I texted back: "Can't talk right now. Patrick Swayze died." The news hit me kind of hard, although it wasn't exactly a surprise. Swayze had been battling Stage IV pancreatic cancer for more than a year. 

It was impossible to avoid Swayze as a kid. The man was practically everywhere, starring in such classics as "Red Dawn," "Youngblood," "Road House," "Dirty Dancing," "Point Break," and "Ghost," among other quality flicks. Like just about every other person of my generation, I've probably seen every Patrick Swayze movie ever made. Well, not all of them. This strikes me as odd for a number of reasons. Most notably, his movies centered around ridiculous plots, and he was kind of a bad actor, which is why almost all of his films were, in a word, fucking awesome. 

Patrick Swayze was probably the best bad actor of his generation. Although he earned three Golden Globes nominations for “Dirty Dancing,” “Ghost,” and “To Wang Fu, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar,” Swayze seemed to conquer Hollywood, however briefly his reign, in spite of his limited range as an actor. His celluloid success didn’t exactly stem from a keen sense of craft. I can’t exactly envision him, for instance, creating a back story for Bodhi or Dalton or Jed Eckert, probably because these characters were there for one reason and one reason only: to kick some ass. No, Swayze's talent existed almost exclusively in his ability to look past the underlying silliness of his characters, and just go for it. Swayze, at least for a moment, believed he was Bodhi. He believed he was Dalton. And you damn well know he believed he was Johnny Castle.

How else can you explain pulling off the following lines?

“Nobody puts Baby in a corner.”

“Pain don’t hurt.”

“Ditto.”

“100 percent pure adrenaline.”

An actor better commit to these lines, or the scene's going to end up an absolute train wreck. Which other actor could have made a career out of these unmistakably terrible lines? Each one, though, shoots right to heart of each movie: a young girl’s coming-of-age; one man’s fight for justice (and an honest bartender); everlasting love; to thine own self be true, brah. As disposable and risible as these lines are on the page, Swayze somehow made them believable, palpable, classic. 

Bad and Worse, Meet Worst

I stumbled across this piece of news a few weeks ago, but it’s taken me this long to come to grips with the unholy trinity of Warren Zevon, Mitch Albom and Kevin Smith. A year before he died, Zevon, the most overrated songwriter of his generation, collaborated with Albom on the song, “Hit Somebody,” about a Canadian farm boy who grows up to be an enforcer for a professional hockey team. Albom, a lifelong hockey fan and master of smaltz, penned the lyrics, while Zevon composed the music. I'm sorry, but you have to hear it for yourself.  



As if this weren’t bad enough, Kevin Smith, arguably the worst filmmaker of his generation, is currently in talks with Albom to produce a movie based on the five-minutes-and-thirty-three-second-too-long tune. Theoretically, a movie about a 1970s Canadian hockey goon could be a lot of fun, but this ain’t no "Slapshot." Smith said he envisions the film as being more dramatic in nature, and possibly entering into awards season chatter down the road.

“I never once thought about winning awards or anything, but that movie I think can do it,” Smith said. “If I play my cards right and we get the right people in it, it could be an award-type movie. This the one I really want to do in a big, bad way.”

I've been racking my brains about a worst collaboration. A Tyler Perry-Jason Whitlock-Darius Rucker joint would probably beat this one out. But only barely. 

Big Fan

I'm excited about “Big Fan,” Robert Siegel's new film about an obsessed New York Giants fan who equates the team's win-loss record with his own lot in life. The film, which opens this weekend, stars Patton Oswalt, one of the funniest mother fuckers working today. It's getting some good early reviews, and Oswalt is plugging the hell out of it. The other day, he spoke with Bill Simmons on one of the Sports Guy’s podcasts. During their hour-long conversation, Oswalt touched on just about everything, from his new film, his career, sports films, Comic-Con, comedy and, around the 13-minute mark, how "Friday Night Lights" is arguably one of the best television shows ever written. (“My wife and I were just feeding the DVDs. You can’t stop watching it. It’s just so amazing. Connie Britton and Kyle Chandler. I don’t know why they just don’t give them the Emmys. Just give it to them.”)

"Big Fan" isn’t a sports movie, per se. At its heart, it’s a film about obsession, and how the obsessed—whether it’s sports enthusiasts, foodies, comic book geeks, or as Oswalt told the Sports guys, cinemaphiles, want to disappear completely in their hobbies. “Unlike a Travis Bickle,” Oswalt said of his character, “he’s not desperately trying to reach out and connect to the world. He’s actually built such a comfortable and complete shell, his battle is with the people who are trying to get him to come out of it.”

I think that’s exactly right. If a fan's not careful, sports can take over your life. A point made almost daily on New York's sports radio. The other afternoon a caller phoned in to Mike Francesa to talk about Joba Chamberlain. Before he made his point, he offhandedly mentioned that he was in between trips to the hospital, where his wife, the poor girl, was delivering their first child. The caller figured he had time to offer his two cents on Joba’s recent pitching performances, in between contractions, I guess.

"We all have these passions, and most of us use them to enhance our lives," Oswalt recently told the "Los Angeles Times." "But for some people, they replace a life. When it takes over and you start wanting to exclude people, you've gone to an ugly place."

Sports Writing At Its Worst

There are a ton of bad sports writers out there. But, Mark Whicker, a columnist for "The Orange County Register," has to be the worst. Or at least the only one without a conscience or a minimal sense of propriety. Whicker thought it would be a good idea to catch up Jaycee Dugard, the girl who was kidnapped, imprisoned and raped by her captors for 18 years, on what happened in the world of sports while she was away. Seriously, here's his lede:

It doesn't sound as if Jaycee Dugard got to see a sports page. Box scores were not available to her from June 10, 1991 until Aug. 31 of this year. She never saw a highlight. Never got to the ballpark for Beach Towel Night. Probably hasn't high-fived in a while. She was not allowed to spike a volleyball. Or pitch a softball. Or smack a forehand down the line. Or run in a 5-footer for double bogey.
Now, that's deprivation. Can you imagine? Dugard was 11 when she was kidnapped and stashed in Phillip Garrido's backyard. She was 29 when she escaped. Penitentiary inmates at least get an hour of TV a day. Dugard was cut off from everything but the elements.

How long before she fully digests the world she re-enters? How difficult to adjust to such cataclysmic change? More than that, who's going to explain the fact that there's a President Obama? Dugard's stepfather says she's going to need a lot of therapy — you think? — so perhaps she should take a respite before confronting the new realities. So, Jaycee, whenever you're ready, here's what you've missed:

He goes on to list a bunch of sporting events that took place while Dugard was kept in captivity. Among the highlights, Whicker mentions that baseball fans stopped doing The Wave. Beach balls are no longer popular either. The entire column is insensitive and stupid, but his kicker, four monosyllabic words he'll never live down, is particularly so. 

And ballplayers, who always invent the slang no matter what ESPN would have you believe, came up with an expression for a home run that you might appreciate. Congratulations, Jaycee. You left the yard.

One word comes to mind: douchebag. Whicker has since apologized. 

(Via Via)

UPDATE:

It gets worse. Whicker wrote a similar column in 1991, following journalist Terry Anderson's release. (Via Deadspin).

Pittsburgh Pirates: 17 Years of Suck

Yesterday, while the Yankees were busy putting a stranglehold on the American League East, the Pittsburgh Pirates lost to the Chicago Cubs, ensuring a 17th consecutive losing season, the worst such mark in all of professional sports. All of four of them. I can’t say I’m necessarily surprised at the Pirates two-decades-long futility. Even their promotional gigs and Hot Stove reports are a joke. The Pirates are seemingly redefining the definition of bad. In this decade alone, they’ve lost at least 87 games a year, bottoming out (at least thus far) at 100 losses in 2001.

The last time the Bucs were good was in 1992, when Atlanta’s Francisco Cabrera singled off Stan Belinda to score David Justice and Sid Bream for the tying and winning runs, respectively, in Game 7 of the ALCS. To put that into perspective, 1992 was the same year Pearl Jam’s Ten and Radiohead’s Pablo Honey debuted. And Bill Clinton was still a month away from winning his first term as president. After the ALCS, the team went into a protracted rebuilding phase, letting Barry Bonds sign with the San Francisco Giants, among other questionable moves. They’ve yet to recover. Ron Cook, a sportswriter for the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, sums it up nicely:

Here's one final depressing way to blow the Pirates' ignominious march to history into perspective: Kids who graduated from college this spring aren't old enough to remember when they had a winning team.

"His Principal Crime Is That He Cheered for the Boston Red Sox"

In his soon-to-be published memoir, True Compass, Senator Ted Kennedy writes about his first case as young Boston prosecutor. He was going after a man charged with downing 26 drinks while watching a Yankees-Red Sox doubleheader, who then crashed his car near Fenway Park. (Ed. Note: the defendant was not, in fact, a Kennedy, or a Doyle, for that matter.) Kennedy writes that he figured the case was a slam dunk. But the hometown jury acquitted the defendant minutes after the man's attorney argued his client's "principal crime is that he cheered for the Boston Red Sox." It's hard to argue with that. 

(Via the Daily News)

You're Wrong About Everything

A good friend of mine convinced me to co-write his recently launched New York vs. Boston sports blog. It’s called, fittingly enough, You’re Wrong About Everything. The point of the blog, at least as of this writing, is to offer our respective geographical, sports-based biases up for criticism. It’s mostly going to be a baseball blog, since, as Ben pointed out, the Yankees-Red Sox rivalry is clearly the most active one, but he and I plan on arguing throughout the year about whatever’s on the back page, kind of like he and I have always done. More often than not, we’ll try to see the other person’s point of view, and even acknowledge when one of us makes a salient point (To wit: “Joe Girardi hasn’t quite figured out this whole managing thing”) but we will, of course, go into it the bloggerific debate knowing full well that the other is completely incapable of being reasonable and, most likely, completely full of shit. (“Seriously, man, Jonathan Papelbon is just a total douche”).

Ben and I are, for the most part, reasonable young men, and we’ll more than likely keep our discussions above board. But, as my girlfriend recently pointed out, our little online experiment will be more fun if we talk copious, borderline offensive amounts of shit. In her words, “You’ll need more ‘Jacoby Swallows’.” What can I say? I do as I’m told.

The blog's already up and running, although the design looks like it was put together by one of Brett Pedroria’s little friends.  Oh, man, this is going to be fun. Please check it out whenever you get the chance. In the meantime, I’ll still be posting here as often as I can.

Old Reliable

At no point last night, during Andy Pettitte’s masterful first 6 innings, did I think he would actually pitch a perfect game. That’s just not the type of pitcher he is, at least historically. Attacking hitters with a below-average fastball and a heavy arsenal of curve balls, cutters and changeups, Pettitte’s modus operandi on the mound is, for the most part, inducing contact. Although the Orioles weren’t exactly putting good swings on the ball, they did regularly put the ball into play. One of those hit balls, I figured, would eventually find a hole somewhere. I just didn’t think it would be through Jerry Hairston’s legs. Pitching a perfect game is hard. Just ask Mike Mussina. It’s no coincidence that only 18 pitchers in the history of the game have ever accomplished the feat.

This, of course, doesn’t take away from Pettitte’s dominant performance last night. Quite the opposite, in fact. Last night’s outing underlines how good he’s been this season, particularly in the second half. Since the All-Star Break, Pettitte has been dealing. Undefeated in his last 7 starts, he’s posting a 2.56 earned run average, and, in 59.2 innings since the break, he’s struck out 62 batters, while walking only 15. Good. Lord. His cutter is working like it’s 1996, which sets up his better-than-average off-speed stuff. As a result, batters just don’t look comfortable in the box against him. 

Projected as the team's fifth starter coming into the season, Pettitte has pitched better than I initially thought possible. He's solidified the Yankees’ rotation behind staff ace CC Sabathia and second-in-command A.J. Burnett, just as he did early in his career behind David Cone, David Wells and Roger Clemens, Pettitte's more celebrated--and talented--teammates. Outside of his rookie season, 1996, Pettitte has never been considered the staff ace. He’s always been more of a workhorse, an effective, mid-rotation innings-eater. Unlike his more touted teammates, Pettitte’s never going to light up a radar gun, strike out 20, or, as we witnessed last night, throw a perfect game. But he is a gamer, a fan favorite who's always ready to take the ball. And, more often than not, he's found a way to win. With last night’s victory, the 190th of his career, Pettitte moved ahead of Lefty Gomez into third place on the Yankees’ all-time win list. Only Whitey Ford (236) and Red Ruffing (231) remain ahead of him. He probably won’t catch either man, but third on the all-time list seems just about right for Pettitte, the Yankees' old reliable.