On Baseball: #27 and Beyond

Hello all,

I've been a terrible blogger over the past two months.  I've started several entries, but never finished any of them well enough to post.  That ends today, at least temporarily.  I am fine, for the most part -- adjusting to college is difficult, especially when you're at a school famous for lots of work and tough grading.  I've had a bad run of illness through the first semester, but I won't elaborate too much on that at this point.

This post, much like my last, is dedicated to the New York Yankees.  Considering recent events, however, it's from an entirely different perspective.  On September 13, when I last updated about my trip to the new Yankee Stadium, the Bombers were in first place, primed for a playoff run, but haunted by recent years of postseason futility.  On November 8, I write from the top of the heap -- from the perspective of a fan of the 2009 World Champions.

On Wednesday, November 4 -- more accurately, the early hours of November 5 -- the Yankees beat the Philadelphia Phillies, 7-3, to win their 27th World Championship four games to two.  

The last time the Yankees won the World Series,  back in 2000, I was nine and a half years old, and extremely spoiled as far as being a baseball fan goes.  We had won in 1996, 1998, and 1999 before dispatching the Mets rather easily in the "Subway Series," despite fielding a weak team.  I had almost no recollection of the Yankees being anything other than World Champions, and, when the final out was recorded in the 2000 World Series, I felt an overwhelming sense of -- "Well, yes.  Of course."

The nine years in the interim have been an entirely different animal.  From the heartbreak of the 2001 loss in Arizona to the low point of a third-place finish in 2008, there had been many stories regarding the Yankees, but none had the ultimate happy ending.  We went from almost assuming victory to a sense of, "How long will we have to wait?" a la the Cubs or either of the Sox.

The wait is over, and I could not be happier.  Despite missing the pennant victory due to a bout of swine flu, with the World Series win I can't say I haven't had my fun.  Despite Swarthmore's proximity to Philadelphia, there's a sizable group of Yankees fans on campus who have, for the most part, lived and breathed baseball for the past month.  By the time Mariano Rivera recorded the final out of the final victory, I was already on my feet, as was almost everyone else with me in the lounge (the Phillies fans had retreated to the proverbial den of shame around one out in the eighth).  The subsequent celebration was as to be expected -- people jumping up and down, shouting, hugging total strangers -- but, as it was the first World Series victory that I fully appreciated, I don't think I'll ever forget it.

Four to Twenty-Seven

Much has been made lately of the Yankees' "Core Four" -- a brilliantly talented group of baseball players who have won five championships together since 1996.  

To Yankees fans, they require no introduction.  At left is starting pitcher Andy Pettitte, who won all three clinching playoff games this year and is the all-time postseason wins leader in baseball history; obscured behind the Championship Trophy is catcher Jorge Posada; holding the trophy is Hall-of-Fame-bound shortstop, all-time Yankee hits leader, and future mayor of New York City, Derek Jeter; and to the right is The Greatest Closer Of All Time, Mariano Rivera.

There isn't much to be said about these men that isn't obvious.  Earlier in the year, I devoted an entire post to my love/admiration for/hero worship of Mariano.  Similar sentiments can be extended to the rest of the "Core Four" -- I've grown up watching them play, and I'm thankful for every game. 

These men, however, were all playing in the major leagues when I was five years old.  As I am getting older, so are they... they are all in their mid-to-late-30s, at this point, which is practically rest-home ready for professional athletes.  The proverbial "hill" seems closer for some than others -- but when the first, second, third, and fourth retire (it has to happen eventually), I'll sigh, feel old, shed a few tears for my childhood, and try to look to the future.

I was going to put in another section on the future, but I think my 

computer is telling me to stop.

Look for notes on the "Baby Bombers" -- the core of the 

future, perhaps -- upcoming.

Til next time,

Ana

Notes from 161st and River: A Perfect Day at Yankee Stadium

Hello all,

Foreward: To those of you who don't care about baseball, I apologize.  This post will be long, squeeful, and entirely about baseball.  Run while you still can.

Going to New York to see the Yankees, I had several things in mind which would make the outing absolutely perfect:

• Nice weather.
• A win.
• A well-pitched win on the part of the Yankees.
• Good games from my "favorites."
• Appearances from the epic-fierce back end of the bullpen, Phil Hughes and Mariano Rivera.

The last week has been rather eventful in Yankee-land, what with Derek Jeter breaking Lou Gehrig's 70-year-old team record for career base hits, and the team (playing at 40-15 since the All-Star Break in July, a .727 clip) losing (*gasp*) two games in a row to the last place Baltimore Orioles.  Minimal bleeding though it may have been, getting swept by any last-place team is something of a humiliation, and, fortunately, the job of prevention fell to the ever-reliable staff ace, CC Sabathia.

By 9:30 AM my brother and I were on a train to New York, and at noon we hit the Bronx and met up with my dad and younger brother.    I love the Old Yankee Stadium (RIP, 1923-2008) ... so many good memories there ... but the new one is, in a word, "WOW."  I was legitimately in awe.  As far as sports stadiums go, it's freakin' beautiful.  Heck, as far as any buildings go, it's freakin' beautiful.  I won't even put a picture here, because cameras don't do it justice.   The weather remained at approximately 75 degrees all afternoon, with neither too much sun nor too close to rain.  And we got free knit hats at the door.  Yay.

The game itself was somewhere close to perfect.  

• A win: the final score was 13-3 in favor of New York, although the nature of the game belies the blowout total.
• Good pitching: Sabathia, despite not having electric "stuff," limited the Orioles to 5 hits and 3 runs (only two of which should have been earned ... elaboration to come) over 7 innings.  
• Good games from the "favorites":  Derek Jeter (i.e. Captain Legend) finished the day with three hits and a rather dazzling beginning on a key double play; Mark Teixeira (i.e. Ana's Yankee love, version 2009), despite going 0-for-3 with two strikeouts over the first 7 innings, finished 2-for-5 with two runs batted in and a pretty play on a sharp grounder to first base; Robinson Cano (don't ya know?) recorded 3 hits on 5 at-bats.
  
• Back-end bullpen: With the score 5-3, Phil Hughes pitched a scoreless eighth, including a strikeout.  We were all set for Mariano to pitch the ninth, until the Yankees scored 8 runs and eliminated the need for a good pitcher.   Although I will never complain about a 13-3 victory, the lack of Mariano was the one flaw in an otherwise "perfect" game.
  

It wasn't always clean; Alex Rodriguez got ejected in the fifth for arguing a strike call on the previous inning, and manager Joe Girardi got ejected soon afterwards for taking up A-Rod's argument (note: I love Joe Torre and part of me wishes he were still managing the Yanks, but it's a lot more fun to watch Girardi fight.  A lot more fun). Johnny Damon inexplicably held onto a fly ball to left field with one out as opposed to throwing it back to the infield, allowing the runner on second to score (yes, a two-base sacrifice fly... never seen that before) and adding a run to Sabathia's record that really shouldn't have been there.  We left a lot of runners on base, struggling mightily for a two-out RBI until an eight-run rally in the bottom of the eighth inning (much of which came with two outs).  Brian Bruney, who began pitching the ninth inning, was so ineffective even with a ten-run lead that he wasn't allowed to finish the ballgame. 

However many hits or errors or missed opportunities there were, though, the game was pretty much perfect to me.  I suppose it might have had something to do with a day off after two weeks of college classes and homework piling up so as I can't see over it.  Maybe it was my first visit to the brand new stadium, or maybe it was just the magic of baseball.  My throat is now absolutely raw from a combination of a chest cold I've had all week and 3 1/2 hours of maniacal cheering.  I can barely speak, I have lots of homework to finish tonight, and math class in the morning.  And I'd do it again tomorrow, if I could.

Until later,

Ana

Two weeks and many, many miles later...

Hello all,

I'm now officially a college student.  So much has happened in the past two weeks... school has a way 0f warping time.  At any rate, all is well.  Orientation was a giant bundle of stress... I must admit, I'm not a huge fan of the structure of orientation.  It's 5 days of constant pressure to meet and greet everyone on the entire campus all at once in a blur of stilted "ice-breaker" games and 300-person gatherings in small spaces.  I suppose it's a "quintessential college experience," for what it's worth.

I managed to fall off my bed at about 6:30 in the morning my first night on campus.   My knee was cut up pretty badly, but, assisted by a trip to medical and a strong antibiotic, it's healing up rather well.  Since that time, I've managed to avoid any sort of catastrophic injury, and the knee did give me a nice blanket excuse to postpone my swim test and avoid going to some loud noisy parties I didn't want to go to.

The defining moment of my week, I'd say, was the school wide viewing of The Graduate on the night before classes started.

I mentioned this movie and Swarthmore's tradition with it in my "Why Swarthmore?" admissions essay as a reason I felt the school was right for me.  It was somewhat tongue-in-cheek, of course, but it really was one of the best things about orientation week.   When Elaine turned around and screamed "BEN!" at the church window in the final scene, the noise on Parrish Beach was basically deafening.  I loved it.  It was outdoors, wet, and cold, but it made me very, very happy.

Things have calmed down and settled in nicely since the end of orientation.  I have no complaints about my classes, other than ballet being physically evil if you don't have "ballet muscles" yet.  I'm singing in chorus starting tonight, and, unexpectedly, playing co-first chair flute in the symphony for the fall semester.  We're doing Mendelssohn's Midsummer Night's Dream.  It's simultaneously beautiful and deadly.  I love it, and it's by far the hardest orchestra part I've ever played.

That's all for now.  I have a chorus tonight, an interview for an on-campus job tomorrow, and auditions for private lesson funding on Friday.   I'm a busy bee, but not an unhappy one.

Until next time,

Ana

A Week of Goodbyes

Hello all,

Today is Thursday, and I depart Philly-bound on Monday.  This is technically my first move in sixteen years.  Shopping is done, and plans and hypotheticals are no longer helpful - the mundane aspects of packing and moving are well underway (towels are currently in the wash). 

Yesterday was Muffin Day - four childhood friends and I spent the day making muffins and eating nothing but muffins.  Wreaked some minor havoc on the digestive tract, but as good a "going away party" as any.  This morning, I said goodbye to the home-schooling group where I spent a lot of my early childhood - later today, I'll be seeing a few close friends from last year's summer theatre for the last time before school starts.

There are a good few things I'll miss about home - I have a few good friends I'll miss seeing.  I'll miss the theatre community around here.  I think it'll just be weird having to adjust to a new everything.  But I'm more excited than scared or sad, really.  I'm looking forward to everything college and quasi-adult life has to offer me.  I'm feeling focused and ready to make something of myself.  I hope this lasts beyond orientation!

Or, my new home. =)

Until next time,

Ana

The Hammer of God: A Haphazard Tribute

Hello all,

In an earlier post, I alluded to the fact that I do occasionally venture out of the world of humanities and into the world of sports; specifically, the world of the New York Yankees.  This is not a "sports" blog, therefore, it's not my job to do a game-by-game recap, and I don't know enough about trends and statistics to write anything truly insightful about a numbers game.

However, last night, I was watching a game against the Toronto Blue Jays, a game in which the Yankees rallied in the 8th inning for a 7-5 win.  The game in general was rather unremarkable, but for one event: in the 9th inning, Mariano Rivera surrendered a 1-out solo home run to Edwin Encarnacion.   It was the first run of any sort given up by Rivera in nearly two months (since June 12), and the first home run since April 24. 

The fact that Encarnacion's home run was remarkable at all brings me to the meat of this entry.  Rivera has been pitching the 9th inning for the Yankees since 1997, and many call him the best relief pitcher in baseball history.  Statistically, that's a fair assessment: to date, Rivera has recorded 515 regular-season saves and a career ERA of 2.27.   In eight seasons he has recorded an ERA of below 2.00, and on two occasions has saved more than 50 games in a season.  He has saved 34 career postseason games, has four World Series rings to his name and has played on six pennant-winning teams.  In a word, "dominant" describes his career.

There is a difference, however, between dominance and art.  Even in baseball, one can recognize art.  A good player, even a great one or a legendary one, is not necessarily an artist.  I have watched Mariano Rivera pitch since I was a very, very small child, and he has never struck me as anything less than a master craftsman.  He throws, for the most part, one pitch -- a cut-fastball, usually located with impeccable precision.  On the mound, he exudes calm confidence and austerity.  He exhibits none of the snarling, fist-pumping, adrenaline-driven emotional response so often seen by successful pitchers, especially those who make careers out of pitching the 9th inning.  

I feel, when I'm watching Rivera, almost like I've stumbled upon a painter in a studio, as opposed to an athlete in front of 50 thousand spectators.  The game stops - because you know it's almost certainly over, anyway - and you just watch him.  The same pitch... break a bat on the inside corner, freeze the hitter over the outside ... however he wants, wherever he wants, over and over with the same result.  When, like last night, something goes wrong (or, on the rare occasion, something goes terribly wrong and a blown save results), it's not "a part of the game."  It's remarkable.

Perhaps this level of high praise for an athlete means I take it all too seriously... I have been a Yankees fan since I was four years old, and taking it all too seriously is something I'm willing to risk.  And, besides, in the history of any sport, there are very few athletes like Mariano Rivera.  I feel lucky to have seen him play, and to have been able to spend my childhood rooting for him.  "Mo," "Sandman," "The Hammer of God" ... I find him more than worthy of this modest tribute.

In a more concrete sort of news, another New York win today, 4-3 in 11 innings over the Blue Jays.  A 5 1/2 game lead over Boston in the AL East - looks like another trip to the playoffs!  I can't wait.

Until next time,

Ana

A Streetcar Named Desire (or: Ana goes to Pittsfield) (or: Ana learns to stagedoor)

Hello all,

I took my friend Robin and my older brother and went adventuring today.  I went way out to Western Mass. to take in a showing of "A Streetcar Named Desire" at Barrington Stage Company.  Starring as Blanche DuBois was Tony-nominated Broadway actress Marin Mazzie -- "Mother" in the original Broadway cast of Ragtime, "Lilli Vanessi" in the Broadway revival ofKiss Me, Kate, among other things.  When I heard that she'd be playing Blanche in my current state of residence, I absolutely couldn't miss it.

So off we went, the three of us, stopping for tacos in Amherst on the way.  We got to the theatre after about 2 1/2 hours on the road -- it was a lovely little theatre, quite intimate, we had fantastic seats, eighth-row orchestra level.  But you don't really care about my seats, do you?

The show itself was absolutely incredible.  Christopher Innvar was magnetically repulsive, if you'll excuse the oxymoron, as Stanley Kowalski - I mean that as high praise for a man in a powerhouse role that completely lacks any semblance of refinement.    Kim Stauffer's Stella was adorable, with a childlike stability which seemed to both explain her abuse at Stanley's hands and explain how she managed to remain so loyal to those she loved in spite of her situation.   Also outstanding were Kevin Carolan as Mitch, Jennifer Regan as Eunice, and Chavez Ravine as the blues singer, whose between-scene interludes garnered heavy applause at every turn.

Marin, of course, was divine.  From the moment she stepped onstage, she commanded every ounce of the audience's attention.  Every nuance of Tennessee Williams' fallen heroine was played to a tee - the vanity, the devotion to Stella, the desperation, every aspect of her mental breakdown was believable and justified by impeccable acting choices.  It was as moving a performance as I have ever witnessed (although I do not claim to have seen a large breadth of live professional theatre).

Now for the fun stuff:  Robin and I decided to "stage-door" after the show.  It took us a while to find the stage-door, but we did eventually.  Anyway ... earlier in the day, when we had first gotten on line to collect our tickets, I thought I recognized Jason Danieley (of Broadway's Candide and Curtains; also Marin Mazzie's husband) standing behind us.  I wasn't sure, however, so I didn't say anything until I was at the stage-door and, again, found myself standing next to him.

"I think I recognize you," said I.

"Yeah, I'm Jason," he replied.

"Joe Cable, South Pacific at Carnegie Hall?"  (P.S., Robin calls this one of my most "dorktastic" moments.)

"You got it," said he.  "...I'm related to Marin."

It was, indeed, Jason Danieley, who played Joe Cable at the Carnegie Hall concert of South Pacific.

The subsequent stage-door episode could be entitled, "In Which Ana Realizes She Does Not Know How To Talk To Celebrities."

Marin was the last one out.  She had some friends (along with Jason) at the stage-door as well, so I hung back a bit.  She saw me waiting after a while and came over ... at which point I became completely star-struck, and lost most of my train of thought. 

"*stammer* Uh, Ms. Mazzie ... I'm so thrilled to finally be seeing you live ... uh, I'm such a huge fan of your work... AHH..."

Fortunately, Marin was very nice... she thanked me for coming, asked where I was from, signed my program, and even took a picture with me (although the picture was deleted by my flaky camera-phone [it was terribly blurry in the first place, so no great loss was recorded]).   Although I epic-failed at being smooth of tongue, the experience was pretty freakin' awesome, for lack of a better phrase.

The trip home was late, but rather enjoyable.  Rocking out to the Jackson 5 keeps anyone awake.  Caught the last few innings of Yankees/Red Sox play on the radio.  May write more about the 4-game sweep and 6 1/2 game AL East lead at some other point.  

Until next time,

Ana

Greetings and Salutations

Hello there!

This is, I suppose, my initial foray into the blogosphere, so I'll try to keep it succinct.   People call me Ana; I'm 18 years old; in a matter of weeks I'm taking off nearly 300 miles south to embark on the great adventure known as "college."  This corner of the internet is for musings on the events of my life -- whether or not that could be interesting depends entirely on the day and the reader.

A bit about me:

• One of my two primary extracurriculars is theatre; musical theatre, specifically. My last show was Guys and Dolls, in which I played the role of the missionary Sarah Brown -- my next audition is, hopefully, for a college production of My Fair Lady.
• I've also played the flute for about 6 years. 
• Despite my lifelong New England locale, I'm a die-hard New York Yankees fan (which, I'm sure, will be relevant to some percentage of my posts).  It's how I was raised.
• I've never lived outside a small town, but I have some big-city tastes; therefore, the idea of going to school in a small town directly proximate to the great big city of Philadelphia is somewhat intoxicating.
  

This blog is intended to be full of fresh new experiences and the joy of a quasi-adult.  Or perhaps not.  Only time will tell.

Until next time,

Ana