Writing in a Vacuum

Writers write...always. That’s the old adage I've been unable to attribute to anyone in particular. However, it works for me as I am always writing about something. With that said, if it wasn't for this blog--which is in its infancy--no one would read anything I put down on paper, or on my hard drive for that matter.

Writers are an arrogant bunch, really. We think that just because we authored something which we think it is wonderful, the rest of the world should line up before us to rip the pages from our grasp and scurry off to a corner to read it. Unless you work for an established newspaper or magazine with a built in audience, you're out of luck when asking anyone to take a look at what you've poured your heart and soul into. I've written three novel length manuscripts, along with several short stories, and dozens of posts on this blog. Unless I cram a hard copy into someone's hands and bribe or threaten them to read it, no one cares.

My first two novels were rejected hundreds of times by agents and publishers alike. That's not an exaggeration as I have the letters to prove it. It's becoming abundantly clear to me why those first two manuscripts were rejected as the pacing in the first novel was practically nonexistent (the action didn't begin until chapter two), and the second story didn't have a likeable protagonist. Even Tony Soprano, a murderer who cheated on his wife and ran an organized crime family was an affable, gregarious person who cared about his family. It was hard to dismiss or even dislike him. Tony Soprano was the classic anti-hero and I obviously was asleep for the lesson in writing class as I failed miserably with that second novel. My protagonist was a chump, plain and simple. No one likes a chump.

This latest manuscript is the one which will break through. I am convinced of that. I managed to find one person to read the story and he absolutely loved it. After interrogating him about the plot, characters and other details for weeks afterward, I'm convinced he really took the time to read it and he isn't lying when he says he enjoyed it. That leaves me back to my main point in this post: getting others to read what you wrote.

Yes, one guy I know took the time to read the story before I send it out to agents for potential representation. I want maybe two more opinions to work with, and my wife is a natural candidate for the job. I printed out a copy for her to read three weeks ago and she is on page fifty. She claims that it is 'very good" and that she can't wait to finish the "whole thing" but she's too busy "taking care of our children," blah blah blah, to read it. Another friend has a copy of my story and will read it as "soon as she has time." A lot of time has passed since July, but I am sure the day will come when she finds some extra time to turn the first page.


The problem most writers have is the medium we choose to work in. A terrible artist can display his or her artwork on easels on a street corner and attract attention and opinions from those who walk by, whether they are good or bad. Musicians can stand on the next street corner and play as badly as they want to and still get a reaction from a crowd who has no choice but to hear awful guitar strumming, or whatever. A writer couldn't do any of that. Try standing up the block from the musician or artist with a megaphone and read your work aloud. You'll get hauled away in handcuffs.

Blogs have helped the unpublished writer. Instead of agents and publishers, the language of the blogger contains words such as "search engine optimization," "links," and pings." I'm working on all of that. Many folks have stopped here and left comments and it has me encouraged. Still, I haven't given up on my dream of being published by a traditional publishing house. I have to work hard to perfect my craft and to appeal to the arbitrary and capricious whims of agents and publishers. I'm hoping that this will happen soon, but will be just as happy if it doesn't. Why? Because I have this quaint little blog, which to me is like standing on a street corner with a bullhorn, but I'm not likely to get arrested here.

Technorati Tags:writingblog, fiction, agents, manuscript, publishers, protagonist, writers

The Biggest Event: Epilogue

On August 30, 2006, months after the ceremony in Congressman Peter King's office honoring my father and his WWII service, my mother passed away after a long battle with cancer and Lupus. The sorrow my father experienced after losing his wife of fifty two years was enormous. To this day, he honors her by having masses said in her name at church and finishing all of the projects around the house which both he and my mother planned to do before she became sick. With his wife gone, and with his own lingering health issues, dad has moved on with his life with his children to watch over him.

Back in June of 2007, my wife and I took dad with us to my sister's house as we were all invited to a family event. On the way home that Saturday night, it was dark, our children were dozing in the rear seats of our very large Trailblazer, and my wife sat in the back to accommodate my father as he needed the comfort of the front, bucket seat. As we drove home, dad talked about how both he and my mother both managed to take several trips together and had seen much of Europe and even Hawaii. While speaking of Europe, he paused and looked at me. Then, he said that he hoped to go back to Italy, because the one place he needed to see again was Rome. I said nothing, as I knew that the only time he ever went there was right after he was wounded in combat.

Both my wife and I were somewhat uncomfortable as we didn't want to ask him questions and get him upset, but we wanted to make sure that he knew that he could tell us anything and that we would listen to him. He stopped talking, and I drove along without bringing the subject up again.

A few days later I was at work and a woman co-worker of mine who usually asks how my father is doing stopped by my desk to chat. She's a wonderful person, very spiritual, dedicated to family, and with a genuine concern for others. I told her about my father mentioning Rome that night and his desire to return there. I also mentioned that he'd been bringing up the war a lot of late, just skirting around about exactly when and where in Italy he was wounded. I marveled at how he could remain silent about his experiences for so long, most of his adult life, and in the last year or so he talked the war often and at unexpected moments.

My co-worker said "Of course he's talking about it. This was the biggest event in his life. He's reconnecting with his youth." That sounded simple enough to me, but when I thought about it some more, I understood that he was trying to work out how he felt about the things he did over there. My mother was gone, and he no longer had to care for her every day and his energies could be spent elsewhere. Also, he had more time to think. It is possible now for him to reflect on his youth and come to terms with his pain and anguish over lost friends and months spent in a makeshift Army hospital in Rome.

Only recently, my father asked me to write a thank you letter to Congressman King for the ceremony in his office. Although it was over a year ago, and in spite of the fact that I thanked both him and his staff profusely for their kindness, dad still felt the desire to tell him something, however late it was. The inspiration of his desire to write the letter was the anniversary of my mother's passing.

A while ago, I suspected that dad wanted to get his medals for other reasons than just for the sake of his grandchildren. When he asked me to write a thank you letter to the congressman, he wanted me to include that "it was one of the last moments in my mother's life when she was able to attend a special event." My mother's health took a sharp turn for the worse soon the medal ceremony. There were many visits to doctors, a stay in the hospital for emergency surgery, and then, home again with help from those special folks from hospice who enabled our family to comfort our beloved mother at the end of her life.

Such is the unselfish nature of my father. One additional person benefited from that day than I originally believed. We made the medals and the honors bestowed upon him by the Congressman to be all about him. But, in reality, my father wanted to do something for his wife, the woman he devoted himself to completely. She was ill, and he wanted to show her that he was still strong for her and that there was something else for both of them to look forward to, this ceremony, where the two of them could perhaps share a special moment alone together afterward, without us kids, and feel young again.

The youthful soldier would hold his bride and show her something which would make her proud. The ribbons and medals were for his wife, his grandchildren, and in a small way for himself. This man, this father, husband, and person of deep religious faith kept his secrets to himself and used the biggest event of his life which caused him nothing but pain and grief to leave a legacy for his grandchildren and to see them smile, and to give him and his wife one more day where they could feel like newlyweds again. That man is my father, and that is what I will tell the good Congressman in my letter to him.

World War II World War II Veterans

The Biggest Event: Part III

With my father's blessing, and at his request, I ventured into new territory as I went about getting his war medals for him. I allowed my computer to remain powered off this time as I figured that the internet would be of little use to me. With my phone book in hand, I dialed up the office of Congressman Tim Bishop from my district for assistance. A gentleman on his staff was eager to help me, but was unable to because while I lived in Rep. Bishop's district, my father did not. He suggested, rather reluctantly, that I call the office of Congressman Peter King who represents the area my dad lives in. This kind gentleman added that he'd be more than willing to help if "for some bizarre reason" as he termed it, Rep. King's office "wouldn't do anything for me." But, he stated that he believed that they would jump at the chance to get my father the recognition he deserved.

When I called Congressman King's office, I was met with the same friendly, enthusiasm as I was when I called Rep. Bishop's office. This time, I was calling the right place. All they needed was a letter from my father authorizing them to act on his behalf with the Dept. of Veteran's Affairs, and a copy of his discharge papers which I finally pried away from dad after nearly a decade of asking for them. The gentleman from Rep. Bishop's office called me back a couple of days later to ask how things were going, a very kind gesture, and I told him of the generous cooperation I was receiving from Congressman King's staff. This man wanted to hear more about my father, his service, and to find out how he was doing in general. This was more than a service call, this man cared. So did everyone in Rep. King's office.

About a month later, the medals arrived in Rep. King's office. All we had to do was select a date when the Congressman wasn't in Washington, and when the entire family could meet together for this wonderful ceremony with Mr. King. Dad was happy, almost relieved it seemed, to finally get this over with. Really, I think this is something he always wanted to do, but only if it would benefit someone else. In this case, his grandchildren and his own kids would get to see a side of him we hardly knew. This was our father, a grandfather, who was a soldier in the United States Army during wartime. With wounds he received in battle which still affect him today, he was finally to be recognized for his service to his country, even though, as he insists on stating, they weren't for "valor." There was someone else he was doing this for, though I wouldn't find out until much later who it was.

On February 3, 2006, members of my family drove through a torrential downpour to the office of Rep. Peter King in Massapequa Park on Long Island in New York. Mom was in a wheelchair by then, and getting her out of our giant Trailblazer and across the parking lot in the teeming rain was a bit of an adventure. However, it was worth getting wet to witness this event which was almost sixty-two years in the making. I couldn't believe that this day arrived. Dad was finally going to get his medals. My wife and I took the kids out of school and sent notes to their excited teachers explaining their absences, and told our kids what this day was all about. It turns out that there was no need for an explanation as my daughter who was ten years old at the time, and my son was six, both had an appreciation of what was going on and were proud of their grandpa.

Clad in our Sunday best, we rode the elevator to the office to anxiously await our turn with the Congressman. A reporter from The Amityville Record was invited to interview my father and write a story. While waiting for Rep. King, the young woman reporter interviewed dad, my kids, and I, and eventually the Congressman who offered a kind quote. Everything was set for this momentous occasion, and a few moments later, Rep. King appeared and welcomed us in.

We took plenty of photos, videotaped everything, and sat and listened to Mr. King as he spent almost an hour with us, telling stories about his meetings with president Bush, his visit to Rome for Pope Benedict XVI's inaugural mass and other stories of a personal nature. This affable gentleman created for our family a wonderful memory which my wife recorded on our video camera for posterity.

Dad was presented with a Purple Heart, WWII Victory Medal, European-African-Middle Eastern Campaign Medal, the Good Conduct Medal and the Honorable Discharge Pin.

Then, I delivered a speech for my father which took me some time to write. This is a piece I had rattling around in my head for over a decade as I envisioned this award ceremony taking place. You can read the full text below:

One of my earliest memories was of a time when we were all at the beach as a family. I was about five or six years old; and I remember Dad watching me as I played at the waters edge. A wave came along and toppled me over and I fell beneath the water. To this day, I can recall the fear which I felt as I rolled about in the surf. At one point, I was on my back, and I was able to see sunlight above me and the distorted shapes of others splashing nearby. And then, from above appeared a giant form of a man; a man I immediately recognized as Dad. His massive hand reached down for me, and he pulled me to safety. Dad was my hero.

The entire incident took place in a time span of about ten seconds, yet the scene plays out in my head like an episode of Superman. My fright lasted the appropriate amount of time until the inevitable moment when my Father came to my rescue. That was the natural course of events according to my young mind. Dad was there to protect us; and he did so with ease. I was proud of my father. He was strong, really tall, and had a commanding, deep voice. My friends were afraid of him, and I got a bit of a thrill from that. Yet, the one attribute about him that added to his aura was that Dad used to be a soldier.

There are two photographs of Daddy stashed in Mom and Dad’s house which show him in his army uniform. Both pictures were taken by Grandma on the roof of their home in Brooklyn. At first glance, one would think they were shot on the same day. Yet, upon closer inspection, one can see that not only were they taken at different times, they also portray Dad in startling different circumstances.

One photo shows a young, eighteen year old teenager dutifully posing for a snapshot to be taken by his mother. No doubt Grandma was equally proud and nervous at the same time. Here was her son, fresh out of basic training in his Army uniform about to fight in the war. His uniform was devoid of patches or unit insignia and there was the slightest hint of a smile peeking out from beneath the serious visage of the soldier that Grandma believed him to be.

The other photo shows Dad on the same roof, yet it was taken about a year and a half or more after the first. Here again we see Dad in his uniform. The giant “T” patch of the Texas 36th Division was on his shoulder and Dad wore the same serious, stone faced expression which he offered the first time. However, there was no hint of adolescent cheer. Looking closely, one almost can feel his pain. We know of his injuries. These are wounds which he’s kept quiet for so long they’ve almost become rumors. Yet, the pain persists.

Dad’s strength kept him alive on the battlefield; and it was his strength too which allowed him to raise and protect his family. His bravery in combat was the right of passage into manhood which gave him the confidence to patrol the waters edge and mind a son who depended upon his big, powerful father to save him from monsters and tidal waves. The silent and dignified manner in which he carried himself through his struggles with his injuries both during and after the war defined his method of handling sick kids and medical bills.

Dad worried about us all, and he did so all the time. But, he did it from behind the stoic veneer of a young man in uniform who came home from the war to raise his family and protect them through times of struggle and hardship unique to our big family.

He is as much a hero today as he was sixty two years ago on the battlefields of Italy, or on a rooftop in Brooklyn.

The medals awarded to him today by an esteemed member of the United States Congress, Congressman King, are as much for his service as a parent as they are for his service to his country. At least to me they are.

Dad, I stand here today wishing that I can be the same valiant figure of a man to my own daughter and son. Because of you, one day my children may share a story with their own kids of how their father picked them up when they fell down, and feel a small amount of pride. And, when they do so, I will be in debt to you, as you taught me about strength and manhood. You are an example to us all Dad, and I am proud of you. You are my father, my hero, and I love you.

After we left, proud, satisfied, and off to a nice lunch at a local restaurant, we later gathered at mom and dad's house in the living room where many years earlier we watched "The Wonderful World of Disney" and then witnessed our father re-connect with his violent and painful memories. Dad sat on the couch, and proceeded to tell us war stories for the first time in his life. Without becoming too graphic, he allowed us into his private world to briefly learn about a very private side of him.

We learned that he was shot in the face and in the right arm, left for dead and was almost buried alive, that he was wounded on June 2nd, 1944 and was discharged from the Army hospital in Rome on September 2, 1944. Mount Vesuvius erupted while he was in the hospital and, as dad put it, "the whole war stopped." He told us that when he was finally discharged, he was left without a uniform and had to wear civilian clothes until his division was re-supplied. His orders were to return home to be discharged by the army; but, he wanted to return to unit and to his buddies who went on to fight in France. His injuries were too extensive, and he was unable to handle a weapon, so he was sent home.

A ship was leaving for the United States, and two GI's took him by Jeep to the pier where they made it as the very last people were boarding. If he had missed that boat, he would have had to go into France with his regiment, civilian clothes and all, and then wait to be flown back to the United States.

In the Mediterranean Sea, a German u boat fired torpedoes at his ship, and a US Navy frigate maneuvered in front of them and took the hits. A Navy blimp spotted the u boat and destroyed it with depth charges. He finally made it back home to New York, and enjoyed two weeks in a resort in upstate Lake Placid. New York State treated its returning veterans to this getaway as a "thank you" for their service.

My father's buddies were all eventually killed in action in France.

Since that time, dad has talked about his experiences in battle in greater detail. And, there were times I thought he was reliving the past. The biggest challenge of his life came long after the war and allowed another question to resurface regarding dad and his medals. On August 30, 2006, our mother, dad's wife of fifty two years, passed away after a long struggle with cancer and Lupus. Her death devastated him. It seemed he would never recover from his grief and his incredible loss. The only woman he ever loved was gone and we rallied behind him as we, his children, became strong for him the way he taught us how. I wouldn't find out until a year later the other motive my father had for getting his medals, and it showed how deep and unselfish and devoted dad really is.

The Biggest Event: Part II

For over ten years as an adult I pestered my father about his experiences in the Army during WWII. My grandmother often spoke of how he left the Army and never “got his medals.” We knew he received his Purple Heart after he was wounded; but, she was referring to his campaign ribbons and the like which he never bothered to pursue. It became my mission to see him get some recognition for his service, and to learn for myself, and for his grandchildren about his wartime experiences as part of our family history.

This was a difficult task as he wouldn’t tell me anything about it. For many years, he refused to say what division he was in, let alone where he fought, when he served, or how long he served for. The only information I had was that he was in North Africa and then in Italy. Dad was wounded in Italy as we found out when we were children, but he wouldn’t budge on any of the other details.

In the late 1990’s I scoured the internet and tried to come up with information about battles the Army fought in Italy. He let it slip that he enlisted in the Army when he was eighteen years old. That meant in 1943 he signed up for the Army. Dad lost his father when he was a young boy, aged thirteen, and he was largely responsible for working and paying some of the bills. He graduated high school and immediately went to the recruitment station, only to be told to come back when he turned eighteen a few weeks later. Joining the Army meant a steady income of roughly thirty six dollars a month; enough to help his mom and his siblings.

On September 2, 2001, dad suffered a massive heart attack. Mom was very sick at the time with Lupus, and my father walked around for three days with chest pains, alerting no one to his condition because he was duty bound to care for his wife. Such was the hardened war veteran, one of the “Greatest Generation,” to stubbornly resist asking for help as he was busy nursing the mother of his children. So instilled him in him was sense of loyalty, honor, and faithfulness to his ailing bride, that he went without medical assistance until the pain was too unbearable for him and he finally got help. He did what any reasonable person wouldn't do: he sneaked over to the neighbor’s house across the street and asked if one of them could give him a ride to the hospital to “get checked out.” Also, he insisted that they use his car so he the neighbor wouldn’t waste his own gas.

My parents had six children, five of them living on Long Island with him, two of them only minutes away. Any one of us could have hopped in a car and been there within a half hour to take him to the hospital. Yet, he didn't want to bother us. He simply told mom that he wasn’t feeling well and went across the street to the neighbors. When I heard this, I thought of him as an eighteen year old teenager, lying in the hot Italian sun, clinging to life with two bullet wounds in his body. Maybe he thought that if he could live through that, he could handle anything.

When he returned home from the hospital days later, he sat on his bed with my then two year old son clinging to his grandpa’s side. I asked him again for his discharge papers because I wanted to get him his medals. His response could be heard around the block as he replied “I didn’t get anything for valor. Those are just because I served.” After that outburst, I decided to wait a bit longer.

About a year later, I saw a program on TV about a project where children and grandchildren of war veterans were using video cameras to record the experiences of the parents and grandparents during the war. World War Two vets are dying at an alarming rate and I wanted to record dad's story as well because it was a part of our families' history. One part of me wanted to simply know where he fought and other particulars such as what unit he was in, etc. However, with the same morbid curiosity that one has when we peek at the scene of an accident as we drive past, I had to find out about the battle in which he was wounded.

I actually brought my video camera to the house one day, but I chickened out. Dad was in a foul mood, and since the second Iraq War began, he was even more reluctant to talk about combat as his heart went out to all of those young men and women suddenly thrust into battle. Once again, I needed to wait. Mom's health was deteriorating, and dad and the rest of us dedicated most of our time tending to her health concerns. It seemed I would never find out what happened to my father over six decades earlier. I had to live with the few scraps of details which were handed down to us from my grandmother and from my mother. It wasn't as if dad poured his heart out to them, but he pacified their curiosity over the years with a few anecdotes from his time in the Army.

One story I enjoyed which I often told my friends involved his experiences in basic training. Since my father was a city boy, raised in Brooklyn, New York, the guys in his platoon who were from the south and other remote regions of the country would often tease him about his inability to build a fire or use a rifle. Dad laughed at them, saying that he "knew something that they didn't know" and soon he would be the one laughing. Many of the men he went through basic training with were shipped to the Pacific Theater; but, the few who remained with my father learned in a very unpleasant way about payback.

As a boy, my grandfather often took my father and my uncles deep sea fishing. That meant that dad developed his "sea legs" long before he showed up to the army camp. It was an eleven day voyage to North Africa where he was first shipped off to. All that time, the guys in his platoon suffered with violent nausea due to sea sickness. At one point, so many men were leaning over one side of the ship, the boat was listing. Dad wasn't sea sick at all. In fact, he used that opportunity to stick it to the guys who teased him about his unfamiliarity with the great outdoors during basic training by eating his meals in front of them and asking if they wanted anything to snack on. According to dad, they all quickly apologized, in between dry heaves.

It was that story, and maybe one or two others which whetted my appetite to learn more. Finally, in 2005, I decided that enough was enough. I badgered my father about his service ribbons and medals saying that he should have them because they are part of his past. This time, dad gave up some crucial information, saying that he wanted the medals "If doing it would make me happy." Quickly, he told me that he was in the Texas 36Th Division, 141st Regiment, Company L. As far as where his discharge papers were, he "didn't know." Armed with more data than I had in my entire life, I booted up my computer and found a ton of information on the Internet. It turns out that was a single, handy resource where I found out nearly everything I needed to know: "The Texas 36Th Division Museum" website. From there and the related links, I pieced together where and when he served and the actions he was involved in.

But, missing in all of this was his personal account of the events. I wanted to hear him tell me about what he saw, where he landed, the people he met. With all of the satisfaction I had reading about his Division's history, I still felt left out. There was nothing else I could do. I resigned myself to the fact that he was never going to come around. In reality, it was none of my business what he experienced "over there." Maybe I was being selfish, probing, and too harsh on him. Obviously, his time overseas was too painful to recall, and a good son would let his father alone to keep his secrets to himself. Yes, they were secrets, those awful memories. I was reminded of something an old time cop I worked with told me when I was a young rookie working up in Harlem in the very late 1980's. He said :"There are things you tell your priest, things you tell your wife, and there are some things that will die with just you and your partner." Man, was he right about that. As I likened my own relatively benign history to my father's, I backed off for good.

In early November of 2005, my wife and I took the kids to my parents house for our usual Friday night visit with my folks. After dinner, my father discussed with me his views on the war in Iraq. In one breath he was talking about how to run an effective military convoy, in the next he began describing landing with his regiment in Salerno in 1944. He rattled off grisly details about being surrounded by Germans and men he fought with being killed as if it happened yesterday. He told me about how he and his buddies spent about two or three days in the home of an extended family in the country side. Being from Brooklyn, he spoke Italian and was able to communicate effectively with them to the amazement of his Italian-American GI buddies. When it came to combat, his retelling was personal, private, and not to be mentioned in this space. Still, he never talked about when he was wounded.

After about an hour, I felt exhausted. Dad stood up, walked into his bedroom, and emerged moments later with his discharge papers. He knew where they were all along. "Here," he said "get me those medals. They're for my grandchildren. Please, for my grand kids, while I'm still here." I took this document, which he denied having for years, and made it my mission to get him those medals.

The Biggest Event: Part I

My dad never spoke about the war. Like most soldiers who saw combat he was tight lipped about his experiences under fire. We knew he was wounded as he had only a few teeth in his mouth and had limited mobility in his right arm. But he kept his pain and discomfort quiet for so long, his injuries almost became rumors.
It was especially uncomfortable for my father during the holidays. My uncles would arrive at our home and inevitably bring up their own experiences in World War II which consisted of peace time occupation duties in Europe. The way they acted though, talking as they did about those “damn Nazis”, you’d think they won the war themselves. As dad was quick to point out when he was especially frustrated with them “They never saw a shot fired in anger in their lives.”
When I said dad never spoke about the war, I meant he didn’t talk about combat. He often read entire books about the WWII and watched countless documentaries. My mother once said that maybe he was looking for old friends in those grainy, black and white reels. Perhaps instead he was trying to make sense of it all. One particular Sunday night in my youth stands out in my mind like a vignette because it was the closest he ever came to revealing what happened to him when he was wounded. I know it was a Sunday because we just finished watching “The Wonderful World of Disney” and the telltale fireworks over Sleeping Beauty’s Castle in Disneyland in California were cut short when dad ordered me to change the channel and put on “The World at War” on Channel Thirteen.
Mom hated when he watched this with us kids around. Dead bodies were shown everywhere. Horrifying scenes of death camps, bombings, and soldiers running into battle flickered in front of our young eyes with the full knowledge that our dad had seen much of that. I often marveled at what a giant my father was, and how brave he must have been to scamper across the battlefield with his rifle in his hand and dodge explosions and machine gun fire. Most impressive was that he made it out—with a bullet fragment still lodged in the base of his skull—and was still able to work two jobs and throw a ball to us in the backyard.
That particular Sunday night, my brothers and sisters and I stared at the TV screen, disappointed that we weren’t allowed to watch “Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom” which followed Disney, and instead had to watch another war documentary. And then, something amazing happened. My father was silent, staring intently at the screen. I remember this episode showing Adolf Hitler speaking in Rome from a balcony in pre-war Italy. There was a throng of people saluting obediently below as he spewed his vile hate speech.
“Do you see that building there?” said dad as he jabbed his finger at the screen. We all flinched as we were startled by his action. “Right there", he continued “that was a university before the war.” None of us said anything, including Mom as she looked up from her crocheting.
“And there was a market, and that building was an elementary school.” Dad watched the screen, his mouth agape, as if he spotted something magnificent.
“How do you know all of this, dad?” my older brother asked.
“Because they made the grammar a school a hospital during the war.” He said as he looked around the room at all of us. “That’s where they took me after I was wounded”.
After he was wounded he said; so much information, from one tiny memory shown on a little RCA television.
I don’t remember if any of us said anything after that. In my young mind my father, the soldier, had come to life. Before that, I fantasized about him being just like John Wayne or Lee Marvin in all of those war movies running around with a sub-machine gun, cigar clenched between his teeth, and tossing grenades at the “Krauts" as that pejorative was used in those films. In a single utterance, dad become a vulnerable human; someone who experienced pain.

Technorati Tags:WWII, Veterans, Congressman Peter King, medals, Purple Heart, Italy, Rome, Army, Italian Campaign, Texas 36th Division

A Child's Eye on September 11th

It's difficult to imagine that it was already six years ago when the world changed on September 11th, 2001. Like today, September 11, 2001 was a Tuesday. A clear, sunny day it was with the kids back to school and summer a mere memory as the sunlight faded a bit earlier every evening. My son was just shy of two years old and my daughter was six back then. With the oldest one in school, I had the day with my boy as he was in preschool three days a week. I was off from work, and had to drag my young son with me to the car dealer to get the Chevy serviced when the news hit the wires about a plane hitting the World Trade Center.

There's no need to recount the events of that day. Everything is neatly cataloged in the minds of those affected directly or even indirectly by this cowardly act of violence. But, I'll never forget sitting in a restaurant with my wife and children Friday, September 14th. My son was watching a flat screen TV which was on a wall opposite from where we were sitting. Images from Ground Zero were constant and regular programming for most stations was canceled with coverage of the rescue and recovery efforts, as well as the socio-political commentary on the subject twenty four hours a day. We were seated in a booth, and suddenly my boy stood and began to rant.

"There's danger, danger..." he said. ”Everywhere...hurt." This went on as he pointed to the television screen, acutely aware that something was tremendously wrong in the world, and he was expressing in his own limited way the fear he felt watching the events unfolding around him.

My wife and I tried to calm him down, and others in the restaurant politely turned away as they understood that this wasn’t a typical temper tantrum thrown by a kid. There was urgency in his voice, and it was obvious what he was trying to tell us. No one rolled their eyes at the parents who couldn’t control their son or remarked at the misbehaving brat at the next table. He too was affected by the images shown over and over again on television of the towers crumbling before our eyes with very brave souls trapped within, dying as we all gasped in collective horror.

On Long Island where I live, the roads were closed on 9/11 and only emergency traffic and those cleared by the police were allowed on major highways into New York City. All the air traffic across the entire country was suspended, and the local airport near our home was silent. Noisy military helicopters and jet fighters patrolled Long Island's airspace and people were flying flags, holding candlelight vigils in public places, and given to erecting signs and hasty memorials to the victims. All of this fell on my toddler's eyes and ears and was difficult to digest. He heard all of this and reacted the only way he knew how: by warning his family that there was danger.

This morning, I woke up to put my daughter on the school bus and let my son sleep a bit longer. After she left for her busy day, one in which she was chosen by the school librarian to read a special poem over the P.A. system to commemorate September 11th, I got ready for work as my little boy wandered into my room still drowsy from sleep. He looked at the television, the news anchors were seated at Ground Zero and talking in somber tones about the various memorial services going on around the city. I watched him as he stood there, perhaps remembering his own reaction as a two year old six years earlier, and maybe he experienced a small amount of fear.

"Do you know what today is?" I asked him. He nodded with his eyes still fixed on the TV screen. "It's the day the World Trade Center fell down." He said. Then he paused and looked at me. "Dad, why don't they build those buildings again?"
"Who would want to work in them?" I said, perhaps a bit too sharply.

He shrugged and sat down on the bed. It was then that I needed to sit with him, hold him tight and make sure that he knew he was safe, even though there is still danger out there. There's a war raging in Iraq, Afghanistan, and images of 9/11 rolling around in our heads, even in the minds of eight year olds. Maybe I told him too much, or maybe not enough. But, young or old, understanding danger, remembering 9/11, and preparing for life in a violent world is something we have to do no matter what. Like the two year old who stood in a restaurant, pointed at the TV, and told his sister and his daddy and mommy about the danger that is everywhere, I had to make sure he knew, and remembered, that this day affects all of us. The victims live in the hearts and minds of their families, and the images and ripple effects of war and more and more American deaths in foreign lands remain. The world has changed forever because of 9/11, and a two year old can see that.

September 11th World Trade Center Ground Zero Twin Towers Long Island

Mr. Grudge Returns

Hello Readers:
After a long hiatus to work on other writing projects, Mr. Grudge has returned and will be changing his format from all baseball/Yankees to more of a standard writer's blog. This was the intent all along with this blog, however, one baseball post turned into another, and then...well..I couldn't help myself.

There will still be an occasional baseball post, but it will not be the focus of this space as Mr. Grudge will post mainly topics about writing, and will most likely post some brief works, and ask for submissions from readers. Thanks for reading Mr. Grudge, and I look forward to a long reading and writing relationship with all of you.

~Mr. Grudge~

Don't Say That

It's been a while since I've posted; but it's the summer and there's plenty to do, including watching baseball. Writing about baseball takes time and is not a very enticing activity when the sun is shining outside and the beach is beckoning. The only time Mr. Grudge gets to enter anything into this space is at work...oops, I mean at night.

Speaking of Mr. Grudge's tentative employment at this current company, one of my favorite baseball associates came in to the office where I work discuss the events of the weekend when the Yankees put up football sized scores against the minor-major league Tampa Bay Devil Rays. This writer joked that the explosive offense displayed by the Yanks over the weekend was all of the production for the rest of July and for all of August spent in one spot over a few days, and that no one needs to worry about them getting a hit for the rest of the season. A young man was waiting for assistance nearby, and he scoffed at my mildy amusing little quip.

After that, my baseball buddy and I discussed the relative futility of the Yankees offensive efforts as they have to win better than 85% of their games for a run at a wild card berth (maybe not that much, but close, un-scientifically speaking). One may or may not agree with that statement, but realistically, unless Cleveland sputters and falls completely, the Yankees have to turn it up two notches, not just one, and keep the heat on for the rest of this very short season to have a chance at the wildcard.

The man waiting in our office, whom both me and my buddy were ignoring at that point, reacted to our conversation by saying "Don't say that, don't say that. They're going all the way." Talk about denial. I told him to pull the bill of his Yankees cap back up so he can see better and look at the standings. This team plays sporadically between fairly good and just plain awful. Their upcoming schedule may look soft for a couple of weeks, but that is no guarantee of success. This team hasn't put together enough wins in a row all season to stay above .500 consistently, let alone making a run at the playoffs. The best they can hope for is to become spoilers.

Call me crazy, cynical, uninformed, or whatever else you feel like. But that's writer's opinion, and I'm sticking to it.

Get Rid Of Them All: A Frustrated Fan Rants

Scott Proctor is either very good, or very bad. He's one of those pitchers who Joe Torre can rely upon. That means he gets to trot to the mound every day and throw the ball until his arm breaks off. That does not mean that he gets off the hook for walking in the game winning run against the Baltimore Orioles Tuesday night.

Without recounting the gory details, it was one of those scenarios where this writer, while watching the game with the sound on mute to help keep my blood pressure lower (it's difficult to listen to someone give a play by play of crappy baseball), knew that the Yankees would lose. It was especially infuriating to lose with Proctor walking in the winning run.

When the Yankees return to Yankee Stadium Friday to face the Oakland A's, stadium personnel should dispense with the organ music, and all of the other song clips and sound effects and merely play circus music for the entire game. That would not only make me feel good, it would be appropriate for the way the season is going.

Before the trade deadline, the Yankees not only should trade Proctor, they should donate him to a team in need of a mascot. They could give him a name like "Whizzo The Clown" to describe the hard throwing circus geek who can throw 96 MPH, but couldn't strike out Stephen Hawking at the plate with a bat on his lap. Kids could take turns spinning him in circles and watch him try to throw a ball at a barn-sized wall and miss to simulate the way he pitches during actual games.

I don't want to pick just on Scott Proctor. There's plenty of blame to go around this three ring circus of over-paid, complacent millionaires with visions of millions more of your dollars dancing in their heads. Next time you lay out a week's pay to take your family to Yankee Stadium for a game while sitting up in the nosebleed seats, take a gander at the 200+ million dollar team and see if you don't resent the fact that these clowns are the reason you're paying $12 for a hot dog.

This writer wouldn't mind seeing the whole team shipped off to other teams (where they'd flourish) and replace them all with minor leaguers. I'm thinking that some small market team might need guy who could go three for four with a walk in games where the team is winning 15-1, and go "0" for four in games where they're losing by one run. Can anyone say "Bobby Abreu?" The bullpen doesn't just need a rest, they need to be put to sleep, and brittle Johnny Damon should grow his long hair and beard back and stand in the dugout waving pom-poms because he's not good for much else. The guy has drive and plays hard. However, he's been injured ever since he became a Yankee and this writer doesn't care what else his problem is. Ever wonder why the Red Sox let him go? The reason is staring you right in the face: he's falling apart.

I could go on, but what's the point? There is no October, the team is toast, and it will take divine intervention for them to land a wild card berth let alone (ha ha ha) win the division. You can bet that Joe Torre will lose his Subway commercials with Willie Randolph along with his job as Skipper of the Yankees come October 1st when the Bronx Bombers scatter like school children sent home on the last day of school for the off season. Though, I can see him eventually doing commercials for life insurance for "seniors over the age of sixty five." By the way, notice how I didn't say "post season?" There is none, Yankee fans.

Looking Towards October

The division is out of reach for the Yankees this year it seems. However, the Wild Card may be the most attainable goal for the Bronx Bombers. With the way they're playing, nothing seems possible, though. One of my baseball colleagues at my job observed that the Yankees pulled Joe Girardi from Tuesday night's broadcast in Baltimore. Most likely, it was because the Yankees didn't want Girardi to have to discuss why he turned down the managerial job with the Orioles. Also, the Yes Network didn't want the Girardi story to become a distraction to the game. As my friend quipped, "The way they're playing, they can use all the distractions that come their way."

He's right. The only thing as a Yankees fan this writer has to look forward to is the All Star Game. After that, it's the long slide until the end of the season and my interest then focuses on football and whichever of the "New Jersey" teams are doing well. You just know that there are hunting and fishing magazines laying around the Yankee's clubhouse.

I'm a dedicated and fervent baseball fan, and a fair weather football fan. It's sad, that at this point in the season, I'm already looking for my Jets and Giants tee shirts in the closet. I can't wait to see the commercials during the Super Bowl.

New Image Of Mr. Grudge

Special thanks to Stephen Ingram for the painting of Mr. Grudge. This image has developed over time, and he's captured Mr. Grudge in a good mood. You can view Stephen's Blog, and his terrific drawings and paintings here: http://www.stepheningram.blogspot.com/. Please visit his blog and enjoy!

Mr. Grudge Goes Fishing

Have a great weekend all. Even though this is baseball season, I do my best baseball writing in the off-season. Just kidding. It's V-A-C-A-T-I-O-N time. Go Yankees, I think. Oh, hell. I should care about the lives of millionaires?

Underdogs Instead Of Underachievers

While listening to ESPN's Mike & Mike this morning, Mike Greenberg gave a brief re-cap of the Yankees victory over the Arizona Diamondbacks Tuesday night. Immediately, Mike Golic sarcastically asked "Did they pick up a game against Boston?" The answer of course, is no. He further went on to state that it would take a "colossal" failure on the part of Boston for the Yankees to overtake them and that the wild card was a more reasonable objective for this Yankees team. His tone didn’t suggest confidence for either of those scenarios happening.

Everything Mike Golic stated could very well be true, and the Bombers could wind up bombing even worse than they did for the first two months of this season, injuries or not. However, according to this writer's eye, this team has apparently hit its stride and looks as if they are ready to pounce. Pounce on what, I'm not sure. But, if the wildcard is what they need to shoot for in order to make it to the post season, then so be it. Nobody sneered at the Boston Red Sox when they won the World Series as a wild card team. For some reason, now that the Yankees find themselves in that position where they can only reasonably shoot for the lower tier berth for a chance at the post season, everyone is quick to mock them.

After all is said and done, no one can predict what is going to happen this season. The Yankees, if they continue to persevere, can win the division. With one hundred or so games left, and with solid pitching from their rotation, and maybe a key trade come the July 31st deadline, this team is perfectly capable of of over-taking Boston. There is no rule which states that teams can't continue to surge after they begin to surge. In other words, there’s no reason to suspect that they won’t stop playing this well after they’ve only recently started to play better baseball.

This combined pack of pinstriped mercenaries and homegrown winners constitute a ball club with not only big money contracts, but top shelf talent. They've already been beaten down by injuries, plagued with poor play and listlessness. But, Joe Torre, the man with his hand on the magic buttons which he pushed to orchestrate his teams from 1996 to 2000 to World Championships, has pushed these buttons again, more frantically than before, and many more times, and he seems to have programmed this group to play cohesively and to pitch like a true, professional, Major League starting rotation. It doesn’t hurt that they also have a lineup which can pound an opposing team’s pitcher for six or seven runs per game. The acquisition of Roger Clemens also has brought some momentum to this heretofore inert team. However short lived this momentum that The Rocket brought with him to the Bronx lasts, they now have a fighting chance with him here.

It has been said that there is a sign in the Yankees clubhouse at Legends Field in Tampa which states "Unless you're the lead dog, the view never changes." Well, the Yankees are no longer the lead dog in this race. This writer prefers to think of them now as underdogs. There's a lot to be said for underdogs; and, fans tend to root for the underdog. The question is, will the spoiled Yankees fan root for them?

A Plate Of Crow, With Ketchup, Please

One of the anonymous baseball fans quoted frequently in this blog came to this writer Tuesday morning with a grin on his face. It was a classic "I was wrong" grin which I knew immediately had to do with his position on Alex Rodriguez and the current state of the Yankees. This writer's position on A-Rod has been consistent in that it is my contention the he should not be traded, allowed to leave, or faulted as not being clutch in the post season. We all want the Yankees to be heroes in October, but, they need to get there. This season, more than any other in recent history has illustrated fact more distinctly. Alex Rodriguez is having a phenomenal season, and the A-Rod haters want him to fail in the post season, should the Yankees actually make it there, so they can watch him leave.

That has been the unswerving stance of the aforementioned Yankees fan that arrived at my desk this morning, ready to be contrite. "Is something happening here?" He asked, that wry smile indicating that he was having a change of heart. "Can the Yankees actually have a chance at overtaking Boston?" What my baseball friend was alluding to was that a nine and one half game deficit in early June in the A.L. East does not seem so insurmountable with a hundred or so games left in the regular season. "A-Rod has exceeded my expectations." My friend continued. There was so much he wanted to say, that he was popping off all of his comments sporadically. "I'm ready to eat crow," He said finally, shaking his head. "If he (A-Rod) keeps this up, in September, I'll as for a big plate of crow, covered in ketchup."

After assuring him that I'd be happy to break out the BB gun from my attic to track down and kill such a crow for his consumption, he hesitated, raised a finger and added one caveat "I'll wait until October. If he bats one-fifty, then the deal is off." We both laughed, and he went off to his office, trying to both feel confident about his favorite baseball team and their post-season chances and reconciling his feelings towards a player whom he previously had no confidence in. The joke is that he'll never eat an actual crow, but he's man enough to admit he may have been too harsh in his analysis of Rodriguez in the past.

Needless to say, hoping to keep his offer of culinary contrition alive, I told him as he held the door to the office open and turned back to see me, that it didn't matter what Alex Rodriguez batted in the post-season, as long as he helped get them there. This was a point I was happy to repeat to him for maybe the one hundredth time. He smiled, and walked away. He does not know it, but crow does taste better with ketchup. I've had to eat it plenty of times in my life. Go A-Rod.

Yankees Quick Check: What A Difference A Fan Makes

Those who visit Mr. Grudge are aware of how very seriously he takes the dedicated baseball fan. Over the course of this very difficult 2007 season, this writer has polled the only other resource available, besides print media, websites (Gotham Baseball Magazine, for one) and merely watching games, and that is interviewing fans. For better or for worse, baseball fans carry the history of baseball, readily available to those who will listen, as part of their own personal history. Some tell the story of baseball and how it fits into their analysis of the game, and how it affects their lives better than others. That is why this writer polls the same individuals on a regular basis. Though I don't mention names, or give descriptions of my fan-analyst contributors, I do try to distinguish them by writing about their experiences and predictions etc, at different times. Today is no exception, and I am ready to introduce readers of Mr. Grudge to a personality who has a wealth of baseball knowledge, and a keen eye for trends, trades, and many other things vital to a die hard baseball fan's world such as confidence in one's team.


The gentleman in question, who shall remain nameless, is one of those fans who do not get emotional regarding his favorite team. He's been a fan longer than most of today’s Yankees fan contingent for whom Derek Jeter is the only shortstop they even saw in pinstripes. When everyone else this writer queried over the course of the last few weeks regarding the Yankees deep hole in the A.L. East standings ranted wildly, demanding trades, predicting gloom and the absence of a post season berth, and secretly wishing that Joe Torre be yanked off the bench in full view of the fans the team in the middle of a game with a giant hook, my quiet baseball acquaintance countered with his own view of the Yankees season.

"All they need to do," He said "is chip away at Boston's lead by winning series. They'll get better, they have to, and other teams will hit rough patches. If they reduce their deficit to fewer than ten games by the All Star break, then a wild card berth seems plausible. They don't have to overtake the Red Sox."


This writer didn't believe him then, though he was very confident as he gave me his analysis, offering a knowing nod for reassurance. As of yesterday, after sweeping the Pirates, my friend's scenario didn't seem so far-reaching after all. Their nine and one half games back behind Boston, and Five and one half games behind Detroit, and tied with Minnesota in the Wild Card standings. This is all well before the All Star break. Maybe, the older gentleman was right? Could this be true? An average fan with an above average baseball I.Q. calmly predicts that the Yankees will right their ship and they will give themselves the chance to make it to the post-season. That's the kind of poise and maturity needed for a true baseball prediction.

Of course, one of the others often anonymously quoted in this space commented on the Yankees sweep of the Pirates: "It's only Pittsburgh." He said. To that point, this writer countered "Yes, but they need to beat everybody they face, and they did this time." After that, I gave him a two minute drill down of the man quoted in this space about chipping away at Boston's lead by winning series. He agreed, reluctantly, choosing the path of the cynic rather than believing what is apparent for all to see, that the Yankees have suddenly surged, hit their stride, or done whatever it needs to take to get themselves back on a winning track. This is what good teams do, and what is expected of this team. Way back, a few weeks ago when they were in the cellar with the Tampa Bay Devil Rays, no one was chatting around the water cooler at work wondering what Tampa needed to do to get into the post season. The Yankees are expected to play in October, and the Rays are perennial bottom feeders. The fact is that right now they are one game below five hundred, and there is still plenty of baseball left.

The same Yankee fan who quipped "It's only Pittsburgh" did offer one comment which Mr. Grudge thought useful: "The Red Sox are one Big Papi injury away from big problems themselves." Let's hope Big Papi doesn't get injured, as one does not want to win that way and it is not very sporting to wish for players to be injured so your team can have an easier time of it; although, it would be nice if Ortiz went into a forty or fifty game batting slump.

Mussina Throws, A-Rod Slams

In Thursday's invective laden tirade against Mike Mussina, Mr. Grudge stated in a very un-Mr. Grudge like tone about Mussina: "He's an intense player who's quick to criticize others, has finicky habits about getting ready for his starts, and his skills are diminishing. That's not to mention that he's a bad "clubhouse guy" who keeps to himself and huddles over crossword puzzles with a haughty air or self-assurance."

It's time to apologize, if not to Mussina, who will never, ever read this column, but to my readers for absolutely blowing it. It’s one thing to make bad predictions about a game or an entire season; but, to personally attack a player simply because he hasn’t performed up to his usual level is unprofessional. Mussina did an excellent job of pitching last night and needs to be congratulated. Many people kept telling me that Mussina will come around, and this writer turned into a spoiled Yankee fan, tossing a fit because his favorite team is in the toilet. Mussina has not been the only problem the Yankees had with the few bad starts he produced. And, if the team didn’t sink to the bottom of the AL East in the standings, his performance in those games would not have mattered. With that said Mr. Grudge vows to return to his usual, objective self and not go off on emotional outbursts when one player turns in a bad performance for one game, like Josh Phelps for instance. Just kidding.

After all of my apologizing in the previous paragraphs, my support of Alex Rodriguez has been consistent from the inception of this blog. Mr. Grudge was the one making the case to keep him when everyone else wants to send him back to Texas, or some other baseball version of Siberia. There was one article I wrote criticizing him for wanting to opt out of his contract; but, by and large, my support for him has been constant throughout. This writer believed then, and still does now that A-Rod is a keeper. I've heard others tell me that in spite of the terrific season he is having, including the grand slam he had in the ninth inning against the White Sox Thursday that they'd like to see him do that in the post season. This writer's answer is that the Yankees have a very deep hole to climb out of to even think of getting to the post season, and Alex Rodriguez is one guy that can make that happen. Forget the post season; let's see them get to .500 first. Keep hitting them out of the park, Alex, and mea culpa, Mussina.

Wang Keeps Up The Momentum

Chien-Ming Wang gave the Yankees exactly what they needed facing the White Sox Wednesday night. Not only did he pitch well, he pitched a one run complete game. He looked like the Wang we all came to know and love when he started as a rookie, all the way up until his name started to be mentioned in the same sentence as Cy Young's last season.

The Yankees need momentum. As this writer mentioned in his previous column, quoting the old baseball adage that in baseball, momentum ends with the next day's pitcher, then Yankee fans have every reason to be nervous with Mike Mussina scheduled to take the mound against the White Sox Thursday night in Chicago. Without going on a rant, this writer will just state that he has very little confidence that Mussina will give a good performance. There's no need to compile stats when offering up the observation that Mussina pitches well until he decides its okay to give up a home run or two. His game will sometimes fall apart after that. This season, it seems to happen more often. He's an intense player who's quick to criticize others, has finicky habits about getting ready for his starts, and his skills are diminishing. That's not to mention that he's a bad "clubhouse guy" who keeps to himself and huddles over crossword puzzles with a haughty air or self-assurance.

Maybe it's just a fantasy that fans such as me believe that baseball players cluster together in groups around each other's lockers looking for inspiration, and coaching each other so they can win games. We saw the Red Sox become a bunch of idiots and win the World Series. Johnny Damon, a veteran idiot is a "clubhouse" kind of guy who could possibly bring the same type of mood to this team of Yankees. If Mussina takes a break from poring through his dictionary and thesaurus, he could wander over to the group of guys congregating near his locker and learn that the answer to number one, across "What the Yankees need to rescue their season, eight letters", is pitching.

Unless Mussina is a total flake and cares about nobody but himself, he should go out there tonight and try to keep up the momentum that began a few days ago with young Tyler Clippard and continued with fan-favorite and trusted arm Chien-Ming Wang. It doesn't hurt that the Red Sox have had their own troubles facing the Oakland A's and losing five of their last six games. This is the time to capitalize on all that is going good for the Yankees, and all that is going wrong for their rivals.

Yankees Quick Check: Pitching + Run Support + Defense=Win

Tyler Clippard came through for his seasoned, big league teammates Tuesday night against the White Sox. In return, the defense and the offense chipped in to help him out. This Yankees' season could have been scripted by the late, great, Kurt Vonnegut himself, as this cosmically challenged team found itself fraught with a plague of injuries, poor plays, and silent bats in the lineup. If momentum ends with the next day's starter, the Yankees have stumbled every fifth day with a new, unproven arm sent out to the mound to earn his first major-league win and to keep the team from slipping further down the greased pole that is the AL East standings.

Tuesday night's game represented the prototype game which the Yankees need if they are to get back to .500 and then mount some sort of run at either a wild card berth, or, dare I say it, the division title. There's been a lot written about the talent that's on this team and how eventually these players will begin to play better baseball because "they have to, they're too good." It seems so simple after watching them play Tuesday night that all they have to do is pitch well, play solid defense, and hit in the clutch and their problems will fade away the same way as one forgets a dreadful nightmare somewhere after the time they wake up and before they eat breakfast.

The flip side of this is whether or not the fickle finger of fate decides to torment some other team in their division instead of them. One wouldn't want to see anyone get hurt; but, what if the Red Sox began to slide backwards due to injuries to key members of the pitching staff? What if Big Papi, David Ortiz, fell into a "two for forty nine" batting slump? Things can happen. If Kurt Vonnegut can have theoretically written a "Dead Eye Dick" style script for this Yankee team's unexpected and unprecedented run of bad luck, then some other unseen author could craft a tale of a former underdog team, the Red Sox, which found themselves at the top of the division early in the season, only to find themselves in a rapid skid downward by the All Star Break. It can happen, though this writer would rather see the Yankees get by on their merits, than by capitalizing on unfortunate events which ruin other teams.

My point in all of this is that just as no one could have predicted the karmic catastrophe which befell the Yankees this season, the recipe for extricating themselves from this division standings quagmire seems to consist of fundamental baseball, solid pitching, and timely hitting. Mix some bad luck for their division rivals for good measure.

Good Luck Yankees, I'm Out For the Weekend!

As if anything I do or think will have any effect on the Yankees level of play, I have to take the weekend off with my family. That means, no more crying about the Bombers in the confines of this space, and no more advice from my living room armchair for Brian Cashman and company. Of course, I'll watch the games, such as I can, while attending the many gala events I've been invited to over the course of the next three days. But, I will watch them in much the same way kids view horror movies. That is with my hands over my eyes while peeking through my fingers.

They should get through okay though, the Yankees that is. They seem to respond well to a good pitching performance by their starters of late. The lone exception would be that aging, fragile, touchy, intense, opinionated, clubhouse loner, Mike Mussina. That's another whole column right there. But, that will have to wait until Mr. Grudge returns after this glorious Memorial Day weekend.

It needs to be said, however trite this offering may be in this space, that I offer a special thank you to all of our service men and women in the United States Armed Forces fighting for our country overseas. Also, thank you to all of my readers both here and over at Gotham Baseball Magazine for making this site ever more popular.

Happy Memorial Day.

Yankees Quick Check: Taking It Day By Day

A quick and un-scientific survey of the dwindling number of Yankees fans at my place of employment on Thursday revealed that hope is still alive in Yankees Land. "Day by day, that's the only way I can take them." Reported one of the longest tenured and most stalwart of the fans I surveyed. "They looked good last night," He continued "and they blew it the night before, and the kid Clippard did great against the Mets. Let's see how they do against the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim this Friday. coming up."

He said the "Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim" for dramatic effect. It was like saying "General George Patton," instead of merely "Patton." Tyler Clippard takes the mound again against the younger, more competant of the Weaver brothers for the Angels. The Yankees have a good chance in that game as no one named Mike, Moose, or Mussina will be pitching for them.

Such was the general consensus as I made my rounds, polling my co-workers. Apparently a memo went out to all Yankee fans announcing that this was supposed to be the "opinion of the day" which the Yankee's faithful must cling to, rather than jump off the bandwagon. This writer didn't get the memo. It's frightening to think what the Angels, certified Yankee-killers, will do to this team if the Yankees feel good about themsleves and think they can drop one or two games in a row. This writers cynicism about this season has grown to the point that if the Yankees do win a game, I'm under the assumption that it has more to do with the other team blowing it, rather than the skill of the Yankees. Maybe that's a terrible way to think; but, if it gets me through, one day at a time, then I'll do it. I'll be miserable.

NY Yankees: Hey Moose, Buy A Clue!

Apparently Mike Mussina didn't get the memo. The New York Yankees are trying to battle their way out of a deep hole in the American League East and win their division. Yes, that is a tall order, and if the level of determination they showed on both Sunday and Monday indicated that they were serious about becoming contenders, all of that was lost on the "Moose."

As reported by Kat O'Brien in the Wednesday, May 23, 2007 edition of Newsday, "Mussina has never really gotten on track this season, and he did not do so last night. He gave up six runs in four innings in his first start of the year, then strained his hamstring in his next outing. Once he came off the disabled list, he had two decent games before reverting to inconsistency in his last two." Mussina is quoted as saying: "I felt like my arm had some life the first two," Mussina said. "I haven't felt like I had that life the last two." Not for nothing, if you don't feel like you can pitch before a game, then don't.

If the Yankees were ten games up over the Red Sox instead of the other way around, this writer would feel that Mussina was right to take the ball and give it a shot. At this point in their season, every single game, every inning, every pitch is important. Mussina should have either sucked it up and thrown like he never has before, or given the ball to someone else. Given that all of the rookies who have been called up this season have largely done a terrific job, one of them could have taken the mound on short rest.

Still, Mussina's lousy outing does not get the rest of the team off the hook. The team was back to it's typical (for this season) listless approach at the plate, and allowed Julian Tavarez to squelch their offense. Now they have to face Curt Schilling tonight and they can't win while asleep at the wheel. They need to pretend that this is the post season even though the Red Sox are on cruise control. The Yankees have to pretend that this is a big, important game like game seven of the 2004 ALCS. No, wait, scratch that.

Just when one thought that the Bombers have turned a corner over the last two days, they go ahead and fall flat on their collective face, again. What's Joe Torre's take on Tuesday night's game? "We had opportunities," manager Joe Torre said, "and we just couldn't get the big hit." (Kat O'Brien, Newsday)

This latest tepid performance has raised the level of frustration felt by many Yankees fans to the point where they feel everyone should be traded and Brian Cashman should replace all of them with young guys from Triple "A" Scranton. At least those young guys would play hard, and it would be worth rooting for a team full of players who are thankful that they are playing in the big leagues, instead of a collection of sloths resting on their past laurels, making excuses, and apologizing for nothing in particular except to say that they're sorry. Oh, I'm sorry, that last one was aimed just at Jason Giambi.

Mr. Grudge Is In Gotham Baseball Magazine

Mr. Grudge is in Gotham baseball Magazine. For those of you who love baseball, this magazine is a must read. Click here to catch up on all that is happening in the world baseball in the major leagues, minor leagues, and even fantasy leagues and high school baseball. Of course, please read my column. Also, sign up and enjoy the forums.

Mr. Grudge wants to give thanks to the kind folks at Gotham Baseball Magazine for believing in my writing, and for posting me on their fine website. I encourage all of my readers to visit them and subscribe. Thanks you.

NY Yankees: Plenty Of Baseball Left

The Yankees looked aggressive Monday night against Boston. While they did win 6-2, they left the equivalent of the population of a small city of base runners stranded on base. However, I liked the fact that they ran on Tim Wakefield. Granted, Wakefield’s delivery is slow, and he pitches like he's a union employee on overtime. But, it was a good way to follow up on Tyler Clippard's excellent start against the Mets the day before. If they can keep this type of play up, win or lose, then this writer can keep respecting them as a team.

As Johnny Damon said while being interviewed on the field after the game "We need the fans to rally behind us." Johnny is good in the clubhouse, and he's capable of helping to lead a team of "idiots" to the World Series for an historic win. Maybe his attitude last night can help lead desperate fans who are crying for Torre's head back to their TV sets and to the stadium as the Yankees try as the team tries to piece together a respectable season and a possible post-season run.

As for the fans and writers calling for Torre’s head, I have an answer for them. Let him manage this season until it is over and done with. Its way too early, and he deserves the right to finish the season on his past accomplishments alone and not to be let go because of an almost historic run of bad luck and because of sloppy and desultory performance from some players. Torre has always been praised for pressing the right "buttons" to make his team work. He may have been pressing them a bit frantically last night, like someone dialing nine-one-one, but he pushed the right ones, got the running game going, and got decent pitching from Chien-Ming Wang. That's enough for one ball game, but it also may also be enough to convince his players that the rest of the season is worth fighting for.

Terry Francona, when interviewed by Michael Kay before the game Monday night on ESPN was quick to say the right things. Eager to avoid being quoted in every newspaper, website, and blog across the nation as being boastful, pointed out earnestly that “There’s plenty of baseball left to play.” He was also quick to note that the Yankees “Will heat up soon” or words to that effect. Essentially, Francona was trying hard not to run around with his arms in the air shouting “Yee Ha! The Yankees are toast!” Francona also doesn’t want his team to lean back and take a break and allow the Yankees to somehow catch up to them. They have their own historic comeback, being down three games to none in the 2004 ALCS to refer to in terms of realizing historic upsets.

Francona may very well be right. The Yankees can make a comeback, and it’s too early for them to consider the Yankees out of the race. A week ago, this writer would have thought the entire season was doomed. After last night’s game, the Red Sox remained a comfortable 9 ½ games ahead of their bitter, division rivals. There’s a lot of breathing room still between them and the Bombers. However, a wildcard berth for the Yankees is very probable for the Yankees, and Francona knows that. Also, we all remember the 1978 Yankees who overcame a fourteen game deficit and eventually won their division.

If Boston has to face a Yankees team with a healthy starting lineup consisting of Roger Clemens, Chien-Ming Wang, Andy Pettitte, Mike Mussina, and possibly Phil Hughes in July through August, and, if the Yankees, who appear to awakening from their slumber, continue to play hard, things may not be so easy for the Red Sox down the road. The Yankees have had more than their fair share of injuries to their starting rotation, while the Red Sox currently have only one of their starters on the disabled list. That pitcher is Josh Beckett. As Terry Francona also stated in his interview Monday evening: “It’s good to play well early, but it’s also good to be playing well late in the season,” or words to that effect. Also, there's the possibility that the "injury bug" may catch up to the Red Sox as well. This writer hopes it doesn't as one does not hope for injuries either to the team you're rooting for, or their opponents. However, realistically speaking, such is the game of baseball. Injuries do happen, and at times with alarming regularity.

Last season, the Red Sox lost key players to injuries and finished the season in third place. No doubt that bit of history hasn't been forgotten either by the Red Sox management, or in their clubhouse. Maybe that is why Francona was reluctant to celebrate an early win for his team in the AL East. This writer doesn’t carry a tape recorder in his car and is unable to quote either Michael Kay or Terry Francona directly; but, the message Francona was making was clear. The Yankees can still be a formidable opponent, anyone on his team can succumb to injuries at any time, and there’s plenty of baseball left to play.

NY Yankees: From Devoted Fans: Hope

As I am always eager to do, I speak with other Yankees fans to get feel for the state of mind Yankees fans have. The polling I am conduct is very un-scientific, and often un-verifiable. This is the only way I can gather any real material other than my own thoughts for this blog. Bear in mind, I don't have any press credentials, and the only way I'll have access to anyone on the Yankees roster is if I buy a ticket and attend a game. I don't think anyone on the team will answer any of my questions there either as they wouldn't be able to hear me screaming at them from the "nosebleed seats."

Imagine this scene playing out in the stands:
Me: “Hey A-Rod! How do you explain your recent hitting slump!”
Drunken fan: “Shut up and sit down, you #@&*%^$! loser!”

Here's an example of my reporting methods. After striking up a conversation with a man wearing Yankees gear at my son's Lacrosse practice, I asked them what he thought of the Yankees’ current nine game deficit in the AL East. He immediately chimed in with an optimistic comparison of this team to the 1978 Yankees. I couldn't be sure if this guy in the Yankees cap and jacket was offering his own analysis of the situation, or if he was merely repeating what he heard on a popular sports radio program verbatim. I’d heard the same opinion on the radio as I drove to the practice field in my environmentally unfriendly SUV only minutes before our conversation.

However, I could sense the mood of this man. I could tell this Yankees fan and dad who was watching his son run across the field, lacrosse stick in hand along side my son, actually believed that this 2007 Yankees team could overcome their current nine game deficit and go on to win the World Series. "After all", he offered, "You have to remember that the 1978 Yankees came back from a fourteen game deficit in July behind Boston to enter the post-season and win the World Championship". He spoke with such vigor and authority that he made this writer believe that this team composed largely of listless, paycheck players could match the stellar spirit or talents of Thurman Munson, or Goose Gossage, just to name a couple.

Another Yankees fan, a co-worker of mine had extreme optimism as well, offered a different take, rather than the 1978 Yankees comparison.
“By July the Red Sox will go about a ten or twelve game skid, right around the time the Yankees will become really hot, and then things will change.” He said. Then, for good measure he added “Don’t worry. The Red Sox will fall. They usually do.” I can’t say that I didn’t worry after that prediction. It was hardly based on anything but the gut feeling of a seasoned fan that sees the Red Sox as unwitting dupes standing in the path of his beloved Yankees. Inevitably, he believes, the Red Sox will fall by the wayside so the Yankees can charge past them and on to World Series victory.

If I was new to baseball and to the Yankees I might just believe him. But replay the final game of the 2004 ALCS in your head and you’ll get the same creepy feeling that I’m getting now as this team goes into the Subway Series against the Mets, and then after that (gulp) up against Boston. As of this writing, I’m scouring the internet doing research on how to build a time machine. 1978, here we come.

NY Yankees: Wildcard Or Bust!

As John Sterling, the venerable Yankees radio broadcaster is fond of saying: "You can't predict baseball." For the Yankees, this season proves that adage very poignantly. Who would have predicted that in the middle of May, the Yankees would be eight games behind the Boston Red Sox, and five games back in the Wildcard standings?

Are the Yankees capable of a comeback? In this writer's opinion, no. At least as far as the division is concerned. The Red Sox would have to go into a prolonged slump for the Yankees to overtake them. Plus, the level of play the Yankees have displayed recently has been flat, uneven, and lacking the typical "punch" from their lineup. Big hitters aren't hitting, and injuries struck early and often from the start of the season, mostly to their starting rotation. Many young arms have been plugged into the number five slot in the rotation in the hopes of finding a diamond in the rough; but, some did well, one got hurt, and another others lacked run support. Kei Igawa, their off-season acquisition from Japan, has been sent to Tampa for an overhaul. Such is not the makings of a comeback. It doesn't matter what Roger Clemens can do for the team, he only throws once every five days. The Yankees have to get fired up, and soon.

The Yankees can shave their heads, “Cowboy up”, act like "idiots" (see: Damon, Johnny), or come up with their own, witty, inside joke to inspire them. Whatever it is they need to get, they’d better catch it right away, and hopefully it’s very contagious. Right now, what’s spreading through Yankees Land is shock. The fans can’t believe how deep the trench their beloved team has dug for themselves is. Many are still in denial, asking other fans if it is indeed possible that the Bombers won’t make it to the post-season. The way things look now, it’s probable. Likely? Maybe not; but, definitely probable.

As for the wildcard? My guess is as good as yours. Being five games back in May isn't the worst position to be in. Yet, as I stated in the opening paragraph "You can't predict baseball." On that note, maybe the Red Sox actually can go on a twenty five game skid?

New York Yankees: Not Hitting and Unfitting

The big story for the Yankees this season has been the injuries to their pitching staff, the overuse of their bullpen as a result, and the standings in the American League East which has them eight games behind the Boston Red Sox, and in second place. One other factor in their steady decline which has only recently started to get attention is the lack of hitting coming from key players.

In article by Kat O'Brien in the Tuesday, May 5, 2007 edition of Newsday, the reporter explores the hitting slumps experienced by Bobby Abreu, Jason Giambi and Robinson Cano. Both Abreu and Cano never got off the ground this season. This is especially troubling for Cano as he was in contention for the batting title in 2006.

But, it is not just poor pitching and a lack of hitting plaguing this Yankees team. There looks to be, from a fan’s perspective, a lack of desire on their part. Yankees fans have much to worry about with this team. If they to make up any games against Boston during the rest of May, they need Boston to completely de-rail and go in a major slump, while the Yankees would need to win nearly every series they play. That's a tall order for a team this un-inspired and flat.

This lack of fizz is unfitting for a team which claims they want to go to the World Series. A baseball buddy of mine recently stated: "Why don't we call this team what they really are. They're a bunch of high-paid mercenaries who care only about themselves and don't know how to play as part of a team."

Across town, the Mets are playing terrific baseball, the team is unified, and their shaving their heads and having fun to show it. What do the Yankees need to do to be inspired? There's no one this writer can point to who might be willing to shave his head. Perhaps George Steinbrenner can bend his rules a bit and let Johnny Damon grow his beard and long hair back.

Yankees Fans: Never Celebrate, Just Complain

Perhaps fans of other teams do this too, but I noticed a trend among all of my "Yankees fan buddies". They'll talk to me only when the Yankees are losing or when they are having a bad week. No one will ever come up to me and tell me that they saw the last game that they won and it was great. It's as if they expect the Yankees to always win, and when they don't it's time to gripe and complain like the team will never win another game again. For them, disaster looms not only after every single loss, but even in victories where the Yankees left runners stranded on base in scoring position, or a relief pitcher came in and gave up a run or two. "They can't do that against Boston" they'll say. Granted, although the do Yankees appear to be foundering (as of this writing they are eight games behind The Red Sox, and in third place in the AL East), and signing Roger Clemens may be too little help too late, there is no way these fan/friends of mine are going to be happy unless it is October and the Yankees just won the World Series.

Recently, which happened to be the morning after a Yankee victory, I encountered one of the guys I work with who is a regular participant in the Yankees discussions which take place where we work, and I asked that since the Yankees won against the Texas Rangers the night before, why didn't he come to me with a "happy report" on the previous night's game? He said: "Let's not get too excited. If they can win three against Boston, then I'll be happy. But this team doesn't look like it can handle either the White sox or the Mets, for that matter." He may be right, and I'm inclined to agree with him; but if the whole point of being a fan is to derive some sort of pleasure from a watching a game, then, using my baseball buddy’s yardstick for "fan enjoyment", the average Yankees fan get's no joy at all from any regular season game.

The whole Yankee's regular season is a setup for championship in October. At least that's the way the team's organization from George Steinbrenner on down sees it. This attitude has also trickled down to the fan base as well. No wonder A-Rod got booed so vociferously last year even though he put up good numbers. Nothing is too good for fans of this team. It's "Dynasty or Bust" every single summer.

Is this writer, a Yankee's fan, worried that this team does not have what it takes to make it to the post season? You bet I am. Yet, my love and appreciation for this sport, as painful as it may be, helps me to understand that there are twenty nine other teams in Major League Baseball, and that the Yankees can't win every year no matter how much money they spend toward that goal. Yes, I am worried about the team and their season. Yet, I am also worried about Yankee fans and their incessant griping. To paraphrase an over-used line from the cinema: "Spoiled is as spoiled does."

Doug Mientkiewicz: Yankee's Pick Me Up

One Yankee who is beginning to show more than a blip on the radar screen is Doug Mientkiewicz. Signed during the off-season in a platoon situation with (at the time) either Andy Philips or Josh Phelps, Mientkiewicz has been doing more lately than flashing impressive leather. He's been hitting and making remarkable plays. Tuesday night in the fifth inning, Doug dove for a ball hit by Gerald Laird of the Texas Rangers, and while on his knees, dove towards him for the tag. But when laird missed the first base bag, Mientkiewicz, while still on his knees scrambled and beat Laird to first base for the out. Watching the instant replay, one has to say "wow." That play is the definition of hustle.

The Yankees have been plagued with injuries, mostly to their starting rotation, this season, and now it seems that Jason Giambi may have to miss some games due to a bone spur in his foot. It's good timing that Mientkiewicz is swinging the bat much better these days because it will help pick up the team in Giambi's absence. It's not to suggest that Mientkiewicz is a hitter of Jason's caliber; but, having someone showing as much hustle as Doug Mientkiewicz has lately is exactly what the doctor ordered in this situation. In April, the pitching staff was unable to pick the team up after the spate of injuries which sidelined their starters. Let's hope the Mientkiewicz sets an example for others.

Slow Mo Shouldn't Go

We'll never stop believing in Mariano Rivera. He's been almost un-hittable for so long that when he has bad outtings, such as Monday night's game against the Mariners when he gave up the go ahead run, in the form of a solo home run, in a game tied at 2 to Adrian Beltre, fans are shocked. Quoted in a report on the Yankees MLB website by Caleb Breakey, Don Mattingly said about Rivera: "We expect him to be perfect every time out," Mattingly said. "It's not always going to happen, but it's Mariano. You know he's going to do the job for you."

If you're like this writer who witnessed Beltre's home run against the "Sandman" Monday night, it felt like the wind was knocked out of you. The man is only human. Is his recent spate of melt downs due to age? Rivera is thirty eight years old. He's been dominant for so long in his career that people forget that someday, even the great Mariano Rivera may have to either change roles on the team or retire. What would the Yankees do without their hero closer? They'd lose big games in tight spots, that's what they'd do. Since there is no heir apparent in the farm system or anywhere else on the impending trade market to fill his big shoes, Yankee fans, and the Yankee organization as a whole have every reason to ponder whether or not Mariano has reached the end of his career.

It could be that Mariano is going through a rare stretch. Because he hasn't been used very often this season, his performance may be suffering because of it. A pitcher like Mariano needs to taken out for a spin every once in a while, like a finely tuned exotic sports car, to maintain performance. Mariano has a routine, and the bizarre nature of this Yankee's season has kept him on the bench way too often. In games where the Yankees hand the bullpen a lead after six or seven innings and they almost expectedly give it up, what's a closer to do?

This season, as the ninth inning approaches in a close game, the strains of Metallica's "Enter Sandman" will blare over the Yankee Stadium loudspeakers. Fans will cheer for their hero as he tosses his warm up pitches on the mound. Will he close the game? Will there be another upsetting ending like the one Monday night and others this season? Who knows about that? But, one thing is for certain, Mariano Rivera is a hero, a legend, and we shouldn't give up on him, yet.