Imagine, if you will, that you’ve been tasked with the duty of assembling a ball club. (Not a huge leap for those of you who play fantasy.)  There is a lot to take into consideration. You have to evaluate the worth of each prospect, assess the possible risks that go along with signing him, weigh what you have against what you need, what you want against what you can afford, make both short-term and long-term plans, acknowledging that you may have to sacrifice one for the sake of the other.

Funny, it doesn’t sound all that different from, well, life.

Call me inane, but I would posit that baseball serves as a pretty decent reflection of life. In baseball, you try to put together the best team possible, using a combination of raw data, intelligence and financial resources.  In baseball, as in life, there are those who have an advantage over others from the start. They’re smarter or have access to more capital.

Baseball isn’t fair.  Neither is life.

Still, in baseball, as in life, victory cannot be reduced to a mere matter of more. There are factors for which you can never account, factors for which you can never plan.  Sometimes, you sign Carl Pavano to a four-year $40 million contract, and he spends the bulk of that time on the DL with mystery ailments.  Sometimes, you sign Manny Ramirez to a $45 million contract only to watch him earn a fifty game suspension for the use of performance enhancing drugs.  Sometimes, Carlos Beltran winds up on the DL, putting the punctuation mark on a season that’s already taken a massive toll on the key players in your lineup.

The point is, these things happen. You can’t plan for them, but you have to deal with them.

The Yanks have had to deal with their fair share of issues, and pitching has been among the biggest. With an ERA of 12.30, Wang, supposedly our homegrown ace, has given us cause for concern, even since his latest stint on the DL.  We’ve also seen Burnett, Pettitte and Joba struggle terribly at various points in the season. All in all, we don’t have what you’d call a rotation that inspires a ton of confidence. Yet, lately, things seem to be settling down.  Our pitching staff has averaged a 3.84 ERA during our last four series.  For Wang’s part, he finally managed a decent start, pitching a solid three-run five-inning outing.  (Tonight’s start should give us a better sense of whether this outing was simply a fluke or if it constitutes the beginning of Wang’s renaissance.)  As for relief, between a very reliable Hughes and the recent return of Bruney, we can be cautiously — emphasize cautiously — optimistic about our bullpen.

Of course, that’s just our pitching.  If you can liken baseball to life, then you can liken both life and baseball to that game Whac-A-Mole.  You know the one — often found on boardwalks and in amusements parks.  If you’re anything like me,  you find Whac-A-Mole to be unduly stressful for a leisure activity. As soon as you’ve effectively eliminated one mole, another emerges before you’ve had the chance to even catch your breath.

Like baseball and life.

A-Rod, who has been on a rapid downhill spiral since his return from hip surgery, has recently admitted that he is not quite up to par.  Go figure.  In June, A-Rod is batting .153 with .288 slugging percentage.  We sort of gathered that something was going on.  Of course,  Nady has been out since April.  Melky, who has largely stepped in to save the day since Nady’s absence, has been batting .194 since injuring his shoulder when he collided with the center field wall in Texas last month.

When one mole dies, another finds new life.

At the end of the day, assembling the best team possible is only about a third of the battle.  Learning how to negotiate the unforeseen — the unforeseeable — will ultimately determine your outcome.

The loss of Nady, a seemingly devastating blow at the onset of our season, opened the door for Melky, providing him with an opportunity to prove his worth that he might not otherwise have been afforded.   Now, with both Melky and A-Rod struggling, Nady is making his way back into the lineup, and hopefully he’ll be able to pick up the slack. Meanwhile, Teixeira  has finally taken on a leadership role in the lineup — we all anticipated he would.  He’s a second half of the season guy; he’ll likely keep the momentum going. So, the moles pop up, and you find a way to whack them right back down.

Of course, every Bombers fan was concerned when CC left Saturday’s game with bicep tendonitis. I know he’s set to pitch on Friday, but seeing is believing.  Until we get through Friday, the jury’s still out on his health as far as I’m concerned.  Worst case scenario: our coveted hot stove acquisition  ends up on the DL.  If this were to happen, I would argue that ours would not be the better team because we had him but because we knew how to manage when we lost him.  We’ve got Hughes in the pen, and I’m not convinced that he belongs there. (By not convinced, I mean I’m certain that he doesn’t.)  Obviously, he’s no long-term replacement for CC.  However, if CC does end up on the DL or another Bombers starter were to flounder again, Hughes is more than prepared to fill in the blank.  The point is, things happen.  You don’t bemoan your bad luck; you make it work.

It probably sounds a whole lot like what I’m trying to say “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.”  I’m not.  I hate aphorisms. (P.S. This particular expression fails to take into account a key ingredient in lemonade: sugar.)

Though, I guess if there is an aphorism that sums up my general message, I would say that it’s the old Italian adage, “No matter who dies, somebody has to make the dinner.”

What comes to mind when you hear mention of Chicago?  Those of you with a penchant for the adorable will probably think about Wrigley Field and the lovable losers.  You’ll remember the tragically devoted fans, their Huck Finn-like determination that, sooner or later, “It’s gonna happen.” Others more disposed to root for the underdog will think of the city’s second child, the White Sox.  Sure, they are not the more of an underdog in the classic win-lose sense of the word, but they are truly an afterthought to the majority of Chicagoans. (As previously established, they do not get a Ville.)   Some will wonder at the paradox of good, honest people in the epicenter of that paradise we call the Midwest destroying the one food in the world that is more or less perfect and typically designed to be indestructible.  (I’m going to give it give it to you straight: deep dish pizza is not pizza.  It’s an abomination.)  Or, maybe, you’ll just think, “That city has tornados – and people live there.”  To these people I would respond that Chicago weather has nothing on its politics.

The Windy City, for all its tornados, corruption and bad pizza is one of my favorite urban metropolises.  It has culture, character, Midwestern people, the Lake, and of course, it’s one of those rare few towns that loves its baseball just about as much as New York.  Some of you may recall the trip I took to Wrigley Field Last year. I tried to maintain a comfortable distance from all the cute.  After all, I’m a Yankees fan, and I have my dignity. The bottom line, though, is that it’s just plain old hard to be surrounded by all that earnest enthusiasm and not get a little bit caught up.  Not to mention the fact that the ballpark is just too magical to make you cynical.  The sight of those ivied walls and that old-fashioned scoreboard on a Saturday afternoon in the peak of the summer is  enough to make you say, “Aw, hell. Maybe it is gonna happen.”

This past weekend, I was able to get a slightly different take on Wrigley.  There are a number of houses across the street from the stadium, and since the rooftops offer a view of the park and a good place to congregate, they are more or less the equivalent to a Wrigley skybox.  The owners of these buildings rent the roof space for corporate events, charging a couple hundred dollars a head and offering in exchange a spot on the roof and unlimited food and beverages. This was my Wrigley experience this past Friday.  If some day some one should invite you to such an event, I would counsel you to say thanks, but no thanks, and then buy yourself a ticket for the actual game.

Sure, it was fun.  Of course it was fun.  Ultimately, however, it was the kind of thing that would have been cool to do had the people gathered on the roofs been the owners of the houses and their friends, taking advantage of their proximity to the stadium, anxious to watch the games however they could.  The way I see it, if you’re going to pay money, you might as well get the in-the-stadium feel.  Plus, call me old-fashioned, but I like to be able to see the scoreboard.  I also think it’s a bonus to see who’s at bat without having to turn around and check on a big flat screen television.    While we’re on the subject of flat screens, my take on televisions at the stadium is that they’re a convenience for mandatory excursions away from the seat — trips to the bathroom and the concession stand.  The stadium lounge and bar concept never really made sense or appealed to me.  You want to watch the game at a bar, go watch the game at a bar.  But if you’re going to take the trouble to go to the stadium, isn’t the point to actually be there? For me, the answer to that question is an unequivocal yes.

But you know me.  I’m just an old-timey, curmudgeonly Grinch desperate for a bygone era that I never experienced.  Don’t put too much stock in what I say.

Notwithstanding my desire to be in the stadium and my inability to see exactly what was happening, it was fun to watch the Cubbies take the Indians in the first game of a three-game sweep.  (I am not particularly a fan of the Indians.  Here’s why: their logo, my random affection for the Tigers and White Sox, Carl Pavano, and their usage of “Tribe,” if you know what I mean.)

It was a funny twist of fate that the Indians would be playing the Cubs this year because it meant that both Mark DeRosa and Kerry Wood would return to their old stomping ground, something that was unlikely to happen given their move to the AL. Friday’s game would prove to be something of a disaster for both players, each in different ways. DeRosa ran into the left field bullpen phone trying to catch a foul ball, which resulted in his sitting out Saturday’s game.  (He returned Sunday only to strike out three times.)  Wood’s disaster was more of the traditional variety — he just plain old blew the save.  He allowed a solo home run from Derrek Lee to tie the game in the ninth.  Though, in fairness, had the Indians not allowed the Cubs to score four in the ninth, then it never would have come to that.  That said, Wood also blew the save on Saturday.

The two blown saves cap off what has been an inconsistent season from Wood, who was meant to be among the most exciting of all their free agent acquisitions this winter. His ERA has made a rather dramatic bump from last year’s 3.26 to 5.47.  So, when it comes to his most recent outings against the Cubbies, as the saying goes, “That not just hurts, it stings.”

All in all, Friday’s was a funny sort of game, precipitated by a rain storm of biblical proportions, complete with thunder, lightning and even some of those aforementioned tornados. After an hour and a half rain-delay, it was not only playable, but it was positively scorching.  After an abysmal start from Rich Harden, the Cubs went into the 5^th with a seven-run deficit.  They went onto win the game 8-7 in the 10th. They then went onto sweep the series.  Go figure.  (Note: Carl Pavano skipped his start on Saturday because of shoulder soreness.  He assures us that he isn’t injured, that this is not a sign of things to come.  My prediction?  It begins again.)

The implications of this latest sweep are not so great for the Indians, who have now lost six in a row.  They are last in their division — back a whopping ten games. Sure, mathematically it’s obviously not impossible.  Realistically, it’s looking that way.  With the trade deadline just over a month out, the Indians have put DeRosa on the chopping block.  My hope is that Eric Wedge doesn’t join him there.

I’ve got news for you Indians fans: with or without Wedge as your manager, given the current state of your DL and what you’ve got in your bullpen this season, it’s not gonna happen.

Brett Fav-ruh: A complex and intriguing figure, to be sure.

There are those who would liken Fav-ruh to Hamlet. He is, after all, tragically torn between two dueling voices in his head, each compelling him towards a different decision and driving him to his ruin.  Others, like me, have made the less conventional argument that Fav-ruh is the textbook definition of a sociopath.  (For a refresher, the defining characteristics are superficial charm, the ability to manipulate, grandiosity, a sense of entitlement, lack of remorse or guilt, unreliability, and a lack of empathy. Underline this one:  Sociopaths “seek out situations where their tyrannical behavior will be tolerated, condoned, or admired.”)

Having landed on what I thought was the most obvious of all psychological assessments, I have not bothered to refine my theory.  However, after Fav-ruh recent Joe Buck Show appearance another theory was born.  Joe looked Brett in the eye and asked him if he had plans to continue playing football next season, to which Brett responded to the only way he knew how, with an unequivocal, “Maybe.”  Like any good sports news outlet, ESPN Radio immediately reported the story, adding their own twist to the coverage — a suggestiion that Farvie’s failure to make a clean break from the game was possibly evidence of a “football addiction.”

On behalf of heroin addicts everywhere, you really can’t be serious.

At the end of last season, Fav-ruh concluded that he would not be able to play unless he had arm surgery that he was determined not to have, so he figured he would throw in the towel.  (It was about all he could throw at that point.)   The offseason wore on.  He waited, he golfed, he took poolside photo ops with goofy.  There was talk, rumors abounded about something with the Vikings.  Still, no surgery.  Then, suddenly, about a week ago, at the eleventh hour, Fav-ruh caved, getting the operation he would need in order to play.   According to Fav-ruh, the operation will remedy the problem that had him throwing the ball “there” (pointing one direction) when he wanted to throw it “there” (pointing in another).  Who knew such a surgery existed?

ESPN Radio cited the above along with, well, all the rest of it – the threats to retire, the retirement, crying, the unretirement, the job theft, the destruction of the Jets – as evidence of the football addiction.  There was some kind of comparison to cake eating involved.  It went something along the lines of the following: “If a person eats too much cake and gets sick, he’ll typically remember not to eat too much cake again.  Unless he has a problem with cake addiction.”  I wonder if the people covering this store are aware of the greater likelihood of an addiction to crack than to cake.  Just saying.

Here’s the thing.  I don’t thing Fav-ruh is “addicted” to football. I think that he’s an aging athlete who is struggling to let go and move on to the next phase of his life. It’s one of the biggest challenges that every player will ultimately have to face as his career winds down, and every player meets it with varying degrees of class and dignity.  This may be the one time you ever hear me say something generous about Fav-ruh, but ultimately the challenge to move into retirement is indicative of his love of the game.  Presumably, it reflects his anxiety that he doesn’t know what he would do without it.  That said, it’s immature, short-sighted and fundamentally selfish to make choices from this place of fear.  His decision impacts, not just other individual players, but whole teams and their dynamics.  (Currently, see Minnesota Vikings.)

It’s the eighteenth of June.  The Vikings need better than maybe.  They need Fav-ruh to show up for offseason workouts, which he has said he would not be doing no matter what he decides.  They need him to make a firm commitment before the end of July.  They need him to really be a part of this team. It’s no secret how I feel about Fav-ruh, whether or not he still has any business playing football, the spelling of his name. However, if he’s going to make that choice, he should make it and make it with resolve – enough of this, “Aw, gee, shucks. I just don’t know.”

The first round of the Subway Series has come and gone, and the Yankees have been awarded the bragging rights.  Kind of. We went 2-1 in the series, but I don’t know that Friday’s victory gave us much to brag about.  Still, at the end of the day, 2-1 is 2-1.

I’ve been learning more about fantasy baseball lately, trying to wrap my brain around how, if at all, fantasy team ownership changes a fan’s approach to the game.

Take the aforementioned outing against the Mets, which I attended.  Whether you were there like I was or watching from the comfort of your home (or gym — whatever your preference), if you’re just a regular run-of-the-mill fan, the things you’re apt to remember about that game are the agita; the feeling of dread when Frost-Tip popped up with two outs in the 9th; the overwhelming shock and delight at watching Luis Castillo bungle the play, handing the Yankees the game; and the injustice of K-Rod having earned a blown save — his first as a Met — on a little league-type error.

On the contrary, if you’re a fantasy player, you score an error for Castillo (though, it’s hard to imagine who would draft him) and a blown save for K-Rod. You grumble, but at the end of the season, these just factor into each of your respective players stats for the year.

In yesterday’s somewhat more dignified outing against the Mets, Yankees fans will recall our awe and glee at besting Santana.  Johan Santana –the Finnish Gift from God, for the love of all things holy.  They will also remember the thrill of the nine-run fourth inning, including two-run dingers from both Robbie and Upper-deki.

Fantasy players will mark down a loss for Johan, cursing the game’s effect on his ERA and WHIP.  If Cano or Matsui happen to play for your team, you get to add last night’s home runs and RBIs to their tally, adjust their batting averages, and feel a little bit cocky about your vision as an owner.   Again, at the end of the day, or the season, rather, it will all boil down to the effect of this game on each player’s statistics for the year.  The game itself won’t much have mattered.

That said, while the manner of the win or loss seems important when you’re watching as a die-hard fan for any given team, the reality in fantasy ultimately isn’t so terribly dissimilar from the reality in baseball.  While the emphasis may be different, the focus in fantasy on individual players rather than a team allegiance, the stats mattering more than the wins and losses, there is a common thread. Unreasonable though it may seem to anyone who was watching both Friday’s and Sunday’s games, each boil down to the same one letter — W.  This refers back to something I’ve said before: It doesn’t matter how you play the game, it’s if you win or lose. In a pennant race, a 15-run rout means the same thing as a W that was less earned than given to us by Luis Castillo.  For fantasy players it all comes down to the points you earn in your four, five, or sixteen categories — whatever the case may be. Period.  For baseball fans, all that really matters is your W-L ratio.  Period.

On the flip side, despite the fact that it’s all about the numbers, fantasy does not necessarily preclude players from investing in the drama.  Sure, whatever way you slice it, they’re thinking about the stats.  However, at the end of a season, if a fantasy owner was to lose his league by an incredibly slim margin, he might look back on the coulda shoulda woulda outing that turned to be the difference.  If the closer for your fantasy team is K-Rod, it would be all but impossible not to look back to Friday’s game and moan about the blown save, how it unduly effected your season.   Similarly, Mets fans are apt to look back on that game and grouse about what coulda shoulda woulda been if, as it turns out, their playoff run comes down to a single game.

One fantasy player commented astutely that being an owner was not so terribly different from being an agent.  Your focus is not so much on the performance of an individual team but more on the performances of your various players.  One thing is certain in both cases, though, when you win, if you win, all that’s going to matter to you is that you won.  Period.  There’s apt to be little reflection on the games where you got lucky on a bad call or an error or a lousy outing from the opposing team’s starting pitcher.  On the other hand, when you lose, if you lose, there tends to be a lot more of that kind of reflection.  A lot more contemplation of the bad games, the close calls, the injuries, the ways things should have gone.

In theory, it may not matter how you played the game, but it sure as hell feels like it when you don’t end up the winner.  People can say what they will about the fundamental differences between fantasy and real baseball, but this is a truth universal to both.

I was at the gym last night watching the games. (For the record, if the gym is your thing, I highly recommend this as a game-time activity.  Most health clubs have TVs in the dozens.  Almost invariably, most, if not all, major sporting events on any given evening are on at least one of the screens.  So, you can usually view all the games you like — no channel surfing required.

As I watched the second inning A.J. meltdown, I registered the agitated groans of the exercisers around me. (Yet another bonus to watching the game at the gym: it provides you with an outlet for your frustration should you happen to require one.)  I was fairly disgruntled myself, remembering my recent blog entry.  The one where I predicted that the outing would come down to a closely-fought battle between the two starters.  (I was half right, anyway.  For Beckett’s part, it was an outstanding start.  He shut us out and completely shut us down.)

As it happened, I stopped by Radio Shack on my way home. (I needed some batteries. But that’s irrelevant.)  The guys in the store happened to be watching the game as well. Radio Shack, by the way, is another terrific place to watch multiple games on multiple screens. I’m just saying, if that’s your fancy, and you’re not in the mood for wing-eating or beer-guzzling, there are alternatives.  (This is why I mention my various locales. I thought it might duty to inform you of your options.  You need only be a little bit creative.)  I got to talking to one of the sales clerks about the travesty that was unfolding before our very eyes, and he grumbled, “A.J.  Man, I tell you.”  That guy’s the worst.”

And it was true, watching this game affirmed for me the proposition I had made in an earlier piece that it might make more sense to be shoving a pie in the face of the guy who was blowing the game for the team rather than winning it.  (Seeing as that A.J. was the brains behind the whipped cream pie operation, it’s hard to imagine he could possibly object.)

I tend to get on board with most — most, not all — of our players once the season gets rolling.  What do you want from me?  I’m an unabashed homer.  I don’t, however, forget who I did and did not think was a good idea from the start.  A.J. was never, in my mind, a good idea.  Nor was Pettitte.  As a whole, I’ve always had reservations about this year’s starting rotation. (While there’s not much to be done about it, I still think it’s a mistake to leave Hughes languishing in the bullpen.  To quote Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, “Big. Huge.”)  I try to play cheerleader most of the time.  A.J. makes it tough. Time and time again, he makes it tough.

The upside to last night, however, was the draft.  This gives us the opportunity to look ahead to our future rather than simply regret the mistakes of our past. Yesterday, an article in Pinstripe Alley, made the argument against a focus on pitching — a dramatic change in our past approach to the draft.  It is however, apparently, the approach we decided to go with.  For our first round draft pick — number 29 overall — we went with 18-year-old high outfielder Slade Heathcott.  Heathcott is a power hitting lefty from Texarkana, who is just coming off of ACL surgery.  His scouting report shows “few weaknesses” — he’s got speed and the ability to play any of the three outfield positions.  There are two red flags: a troubled upbringing and signs of academic maladjustment.  However, as previously established, there is no one more sensitive to the needs of the bad boy ballplayer than I am.  As long as he doesn’t Carl Pavano us, I can be sympathetic.  More concerning, however, is Slade’s previous love of the Chowdas.  I’m sorry, but you’re from Boston and you love the Chowdas, you’re a victim of geography.  You’re from Texarkana and you love the Chowdas, you’re a victim of poor decision-making skills. (And presumably also the victim of alienation born from insults like, “I don’t want you playing with that Heathcott boy. He’s part of the liberal elite.”

For our second round pick, we went with a catcher, John Murphy. Somewhat surprising given that we have quite a few already in our farm system. Still, Murphy seems a good prospect. Having recently made the transition from the outfield, he was recruited more for his bat than anything else — he’s a solid line-drive hitting righty with good plate discipline.

After watching Burnett and his $82.5 million arm make such an abysmal start, it’s nice to look forward to the future, to daydream about all the young talent we have growing in our farm leagues. To hope that we don’t squander it in exchange for players who are too old to do the  job anymore.

Still, it’s easy to get lost in the bitterness of a defeat — especially when it’s the sixth consecutive loss at the hands of the Chowdas.  However, last night’s game does not change the reality that the Yanks are on a tear and moving in the right direction.  I simply return to what Johnny Damon, in all his sagacious wisdom, had to say about this series against this Chowdas: “It’s time to win some games against them.”

Johnny Damon has a number of skills.  For one, he is exceptionally adept when it comes to hitting dingers to the short porch in right field at the new Stadium.  He is really good at making seamless transitions in disparate hairstyles. But, perhaps, above all else. Damon is a man who knows how to state the obvious.  (For example: Remember that time he told us murder was worse than steroids?)

Today’s obvious statement was in reference to this week’s series against the Chowdas.  When asked about our current 0-5 record against the team whose name we do not speak, Johnny commented, “It’s time to win some games against them.”

Like I said, obvious.

Well, obvious to me, anyway.  To Jeter, a little less so apparently.  In the language we’ve come to know and love as Jeterese, Derek commented, “It doesn’t matter. I’m pretty sure they’re not thinking about what happened before. We couldn’t care less what happened the first five games. It has no bearing on this.”

Right.  Except that’s not true.

After an extremely shaky start to the season — the kind that gets hysterics all worked up sometime around early May– the Yankees appear to have realigned themselves.  The introduction of A-Rod to the lineup seems to have been a major catalyst.  Teixeira has, of course, also started performing to expectations. (FYI, he was always going to.)  The only hurdle we have left to surmount is a victory — preferably a series victory — against the Chowdas.

Derek, ever the diplomat/wet blanket is right in one sense: This game does not count any more than any other game.  To that end, we should just want to win to win.  Yet, there’s a reality at play here, whether or not Jeter wants to acknowledge it.  This rivalry exists. It’s heated, it’s fun, and it matters to people.  Certainly to the fans, if not all of the players.  So, in my mind, yes, actually, it’s time to win some games against them.

(Note:  I’m supporting the logic of Damon over Jeter.  It’s likely hell has frozen over.)

The real question mark of the evening is going to be in the pitching department.  During his last outing at Fenway on April 25, A.J. struggled. (And by struggled, I mean he got spanked.  And by spanked, I mean he gave up eight runs during a two-inning meltdown.) Mariano is also out for the night, having pitched three in a row.  This is always a devastating blow, though significantly less so against the Red Sox.

But here’s the good news: It’s likely we’ll call on Alfredo Aceves to fill in for Mo in the 9th.  The more I see of this guy, the more I like him.   He is apt to be a critical component to our long-term future success.   Plus,  A.J. is coming off a run of two consecutive wins, during which he has brought his rapidly increasing ERA down from a 5.28 to a 4.69.  I predict he will continue trending in this direction. If I had to guess (hope), I’d peg this game as a pitching battle rather than a hit parade.  On both ends.

Ultimately, though, whether it’s with one run in extra innings or ten within the first, tonight is about the W.  Period.  I’m not going to mince words about it. This is the Chowdas, and we’re the Yankees.  This rivalry is part and parcel of the reason we love to love the Yankees. Bragging rights are part of why we love to play this series.  Game 7 of the ALCS 2003 is why we’ll always love Aaron Boone — even though he’s just Aaron Boone.  Meanwhile. It’s June 9 and we’re still 0-5.

So, bottom line, like Johnny said, it’s time to win some games against them.

Today, a Detroit judge will listen as the Old Tiger Stadium Conservancy pleads its case, asking for more time to acquire the funds necessary to carry out its plans to preserve the remaining, decaying corner of the Old Tiger Stadium.

Call me maudlin, overly sentimental — you wouldn’t be wrong — but I think this judge should hear them out.

As it stands, the city has no plans for the space.  No strip mall or shopping center will be erected on the hallowed grounds of this historic field.  If this weren’t the case, perhaps it would make the whole initiative to raze it a bit more palatable.  No one wants to see a piece of history replaced by a Nordstrom or a Chili’s.  However, in times such as these, it would be challenging to refute a solid economic argument or a plan to revive the bedraggled neighborhood.

But there are no such plans being formulated.  Go to Detroit and listen carefully.  You’ll hear very little discussion of new structures and community revitalization. At the moment, Detroit is a city crumbling to the ground.  What better way to punctuate this idea than to needlessly tear down this old stadium, which for so many years served as a beacon of hope to the people of Detroit in even its darkest hours.

During the 1930′s, against the backdrop of the Great Depression, Tiger Stadium became the lone bright spot for a city more or less enshrouded in darkness for the better part of a decade.  In 1934, with the unemployment rate rising at staggering rates, the people of Detroit watched on, glued to their seats,  as their beloved Tigers clinched the pennant.  And it gave the city hope. The following year, the Tigers went on to win the World Series.  Again, the city could hope.  In 1937, second baseman Charlie Gehringer earned the batting championship and the AL MVP.   In 1938, my grandfather, Hank Greenberg, slugged his way towards Babe Ruth’s home run record — narrowly missing the target — keeping the city on its toes all the while.  Tiger Stadium — then Navin Field — was the site for these victories. And these are only a few.

Later, in 1967, with racial and economic tensions mounting to a fever pitch, the riots broke out.  With the city in flames, the Tigers battled their way through the season — pennant contenders all the time. It was a time of chaos and questioning, and the Tigers served as the city’s anchor yet again. The following year, they returned to win it all.

Since the new stadium has gone up, the old one has been more or less left to rot. Most of it has been torn down already and what remains is a sorry reminder of a storied past that no longer exists.  So why leave it there to languish?  Why not just put it out of its misery once and for all?

There is, in fact, a reason.

While the city may not have a vision for the stadium beyond its destruction, there are those who do.  The Old Tiger Stadium Conservancy has been plugging away at raising funds for a plan that would use the old stadium as “a public park for recreational and cultural programs, primarily youth and amateur baseball.” Additionally, the building itself would be transformed into a banquet hall, museum and offices. The conservancy includes such notables as Senator Carl Levin and former Tigers announcer Ernie Harwell.  The plan costs upwards of 30 million dollars. As it stands, the groups has a 3.8 million dollar federal earmark.  On Tuesday, Detroit’s Economic Development Corporation voted 7-1 to proceed with plans to demolish what is left of the old ballpark, claiming that the conservancy had failed to meet the required fundraising deadlines.  Repeatedly.  Members of the conservancy came in with an eleventh hour injunction.  They assert that with their newly established historic designation, they may have access to $20 million in tax credits and that it’s only fair that they be allowed the time to try.

Detroit is a city that has been badly beaten down.  A city that appears to be generating little good news of late.  To tear down the stadium at this juncture in Detroit’s history in order to make space for yet another vacant lot sends a strong message to the city.  Not necessarily the right one.  According to the Economic Development Corporation, the only real reason to rush demolition is anxiety about a rise in the cost of demolition.  This seems  insufficient grounds to discontinue the efforts of a group that has worked relentlessly for years on a project that has great potential to revitalize a neighborhood.

Old Tiger Stadium has the opportunity to serve as Detroit’s symbol of hope yet again.   If the efforts of the conservancy are successful, the rising cost of demolition will have been a moot point.

How can something so Wang feel so right?

(Sorry, I couldn’t resist. And this from the girl who has a running beef with writers who choose titles like, “David’s Got The Wright Stuff.”)

The point, however, is that Wang is back in our rotation.  Supposedly, so is his sinkerball. On behalf of those of us who have been pacing the floors and tearing our hair as we’ve watched Wang languish in the bullpen this past week, can I get an “Amen?”

I’d like to say that no one is happier than I am about this development, but it wouldn’t be true.  Jorge Posada, apparently Wang’s number one fan, is elated beyond all measure.  He commented, “Wanger is our number 1.  He’s still, for me, the number 1 pitcher in this league. I think he’s proved it, he’s been there…he’s our guy.” You’ve heard the same from me, but since a lot of people seem disinclined to take my opinion as gospel, hopefully Jorge has cleared up any doubt. If you’re not listening to Jorge, I don’t know who you’re listening to.

Phil Hughes would likely fall into the “not-so-elated” category, seeing as that he’s the one who’s been eliminated from the rotation in onrder to make room for Wang. But Hughes isa good sport, which we like. He claims he saw it coming and that he “took it fine.”

I’m glad to hear that, but at the risk of beating a dead horse, there are others I would have picked before Hughes to clear out of the the rotation. You know who I’m taking about. Starts with a “J,” rhymes with baba. I hate to stoke the flames of a new controversey, but if people remain committed to not going in that direction, there remains another option: Starts with a “P” and rhymes with shmettitte.

CC Sabathia is becoming a regular den mother over at the Yankees clubhouse — the go-to guy for any off-campus field trip.  The man has a penchant for planning that makes me believe that his children must lead an intensely structured life comprised of lots of educational activities.

Last week, the Sabathia-sponsored outing came in the form of yet another trip to see the Magic.  (It was a favorite activity during spring training.)

The difference, of course is that they weren’t in Florida anymore. This time, the field trip took place in was Cleveland — the kickoff to CC’s first weekend home since he signed with the Yanks.

The unfortunate result was the reopening of my least favorite Lakehouse conversation of the year — LBJ to the NYK?  And what better time to start asking CC about his willingness to recruit King James to play for the Knicks than in the middle of the Cavs run for the Finals?

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, but the failure to acknowledge Cleveland as a real team that LeBron actually plays for — now — it’s offensive.

I love my city, but, last time I checked, New York didn’t make it to game 6 of the playoff Semifinals this year. In fact, I’m pretty sure that the Knicks were not actually in the playoffs this year.  Or last year. Or in any year that happened recently.  Fortunately, when asked if he’d be willing to help the effort to bring King James over from the great Midwest, CC did me proud and responded, “Nah.  I don’t want no part of that.”

Nah.  That’s right, CC.  You sure don’t.

CC did, however, want a big part of the annihilation of the Tribe this past Saturday.  He pitched a no-hitter into the fourth.  There were a few hiccups to follow — CC ultimately gave up three runs — but it was a solid outing all told.  And the win accounts for his fourth in five starts.  CC, it would appear, is getting into his groove.  Right alongside everyone else.

One of the more notable things about CC’s return home was his reception.  To say it was warm would be an overstatement, but he certainly wasn’t met with the kind of bitterness one would expect given the circumstances.  There was the odd boo, but they didn’t exactly kill him with cruelty.  Chalk this up to the fact of their Midwestern-ness – maybe they’re just nicer, more forgiving than we are.  Chalk it up to the fact that CC’s just a little too likable to hate.  (In the world of professional sports, is the decision to sign with the team that grossly overpays you the most really so much of a Cardinal sin?)  Or maybe the fans were just plain old distracted by the reality that, somewhere in Orlando, the Cavs were fighting for championship contention.  Whatever the case, it wasn’t nearly as ugly as one might have anticipated. And CC showed us that he can rise to the occasion, even under the most stressful of circumstances.

The Cavs, unfortunately, did not fare quite as well as CC. And presumably no one was more disappointed by this devastating elimination than Bomber Brett Tomko, who said, “Even though I’m a Lakers fan, I’m a closet Cavs fan in the back of my heart.”

If the Lakers had met the Cavs in the Finals, it would have been interesting to probe into Tomko’s meaning. From where I sit, it’s a phrase that actually cannot be translated into any discernible team loyalty.

It’s time for another dose of that medicine that I like to refer to as “Why doesn’t anybody listen to me?”  And you’re about to get a heaping spoonful.

Warning: If you’re tired of talking about Joba, you’d be best to click on your merry way.  Because, yes, I’m going to do that again.

I’ve stated often and insistently that I don’t get why we would possibly be using Joba in the starting rotation.  Of course, when Wang went on the DL, it silenced that debate – and quick.  But, with Wang back, healthy and on top of his game from what we can gather, I’m going to have to insist on revisiting the question:  Why would we possibly be using Joba in the starting rotation? And Wang in the pen.

Seriously. Just shoot me in the head with a t-shirt gun.

Tired as we all may be of hearing it – we need the reliable bridge to Mo more than we need a shaky starter who’s on limited innings. And to leave our best homegrown starter – a guy who doesn’t know from relieving — languishing in the bullpen is nothing short of lunacy.

I get that no one wants to put a potential four-pitch ace in the bullpen.  It feels sort of like putting baby in the corner. But for all the talk of how Joba is still developing, we don’t seem to be seeing much development. True, he isn’t catastrophic – all the time. But he doesn’t have the same velocity as a starter, and he’s not exactly an overwhelmingly dominating presence.  Why would we learn to live with that pitcher when we’re aware of the existence of the other one?  The one who emerged on the scene a couple years back and blew our minds with the dazzling brilliance of his fastball, the stunning practical non-existence of his ERA.

True, maybe Joba gets there as a starter.  But as my crazy French Introduction to Human Right professor was fond of saying, “Zee proof is in zee pudding, and we haven’t tasted zee pudding yet.”