Meet the Mets

Brendan and Uncle Paul

Brendan attended his first Major League Baseball game on Saturday and watched the Mets lose to the Braves at Shea Stadium. He had absolutely no idea where he was, but it was an important milestone nonetheless.

Non-New Yorkers may not know that it's the last season in the current stadium for both our home town teams. The passing of Yankee Stadium is much more notable, I must say. It's an historic and iconic stadium. Shea on the other hand, looks like it was plunked down by the same pre-fab company that must have designed every other stadium built across the nation in the 60s. Worse than strip malls...

Be that as it may, Terence has now been able to take his son to the same place his own father took him to watch their beloved Mets do their thing. No doubt Grandpa Voltz was enjoying a Schlitz and smiling down.

By the way, although I'm not ignorant in all sports (most of you realize I know a thing or two about football and golf), I think Brendan followed the game as well as I could have. The last time I was at Shea, I was intently watching the field through binoculars when the crowd errupted. I had to ask Terry what happened. He seemed puzzled, "Aren't you watching?" I let him know I had been using the binoculars to follow some napkins that were blowing through the outfield as I tried to figure out how fast they were moving. All the while, I conjured fuzzy memories of high school physics. I remember thinking, "Isn't there some phenomenon that distorts perception of velocity from a distance? What's it called? What's it called? Doppler effect? No, that's sound. What's it called.... Why are people cheering?"

Because Terry will undoubtedly post this in the comments if I don't say it myself, I will also preemptively admit that I kept referring to the catcher as the shortstop. In my defense, there was some logic to the mixup. The catcher stands in front of the backstop. Backstop. Shortstop. Whatever. As long as there is cold beer and mustard for the dogs, I'm happy with just the napkins in the outfield.

(Sorry, H. I know this is a particularly painful post for you to read. On many levels.)

Let's hear it for the boy. No - not that boy...

Tiger Woods won the PGA Championship today. Not a big surprise. He went into the day with a three stroke lead, and it's hard for anyone to catch up to him once he's on a roll like that on red shirt day. To me, the more interesting story about this tournament was John Daly's performance on Thursday, but that's long since disappeared from the headlines. Allow me to bring you back.


On Thursday crowd favorite John Daly seemed to be making a run at the title and was on the leader board going into Friday. It was particularly notable because 1.) he doesn't even have exempt status anymore (although he's got a life long invitation to this tournament as one of it's past winners) and 2.) even worse: instead of playing in the practice rounds earlier in the week with the rest of his earnest competitors, he was at the casinos playing slot machines.

I saw him interviewed off the green of one of the holes during play on Saturday. They were playing in EXTREME heat, so with a nod to his reputation he was asked how much water is in his bag. He replied, "There's four diet cokes, 12 packs of cigarettes, there's flints and lighter fluid - enough for nine holes - and then we worry about the golf balls and other stuff."

Watching him on the tour is funny and sad, inspiring and frustrating. His peers seem to feel the same way, with notable players (including Tiger) acknowledging that Daly's raw talent is likely greater than their own. His destructive habits get in the way of his own success.

An affable and humorous soul, he telegraphs his flawed life unabashedly. He scraps by on that sheer and obviously enormous talent. What else could explain how he manages to stay on the tour despite a serious gambling problem (he admits he's lost between $50 and $60 million over the past 15 years), severe alcohol addiction (he claims he drank a fifth of Jack Daniels every day of his 23rd year) and several tumultuous marriages (he's on his fourth, and in June he showed up at the Stanford St. Jude Championship with scratches and cuts on his face after claiming his wife had attacked him with a steak knife the night before.)

He's fatter than any two other golfers you could find on the tour. To this he applies his usual brand of self deprecating humor. He refused to partake in the British Open Champions Dinner because "You can't get this fat boy into a suit." He has stated the only reason he does not lift weights is because the health club does not let him smoke there.

As much of a train wreck as he is, his no-nonsense, what you see is what you get attitude makes fans just love this underdog. There was a perfect quote in the San Jose Mercury News: "If Tiger Woods is a Rembrandt, John Daly is a paint-by-numbers Elvis on black velvet. Tacky, for sure. Yet there's something oddly endearing about it..."

Speaking of perfect quotes, here are some winners from Daly:

"I don't think I've ever stepped into a gym - they won't let me smoke there. I just thank God Miller Lite isn't as fattening as most beers. If I cut back on beer, though, I'd look anorexic."

"I learned you can't drink whiskey and play golf."

"I said to myself, 'I'm gonna marry that girl.'...She said, 'I don't like blonds and I don't like golfers, but I do like fat boys.' So I knew I had a chance."

"I was never able to just have three or four beers. One's too many and ten ain't enough."

“I still say they made that movie after me,” (about Tin Cup, which really does seem like it's about him. Fun movie if you like golf. I've seen it at least 10 times.)

Check out this New York Times article about John's amazing Thursday round and some background on his 1991 "zero to hero" victory in this same tournament.

Mickey's got game

Update on the geriatric pitchers.

93 year old Mickey Werner won the day in yesterday's game. These guys are amazing. Take a look at the videos in the attached articles.

Newsday coverage (my only problem with this video is the unfortunate AV synch with "80 years of ball under his belt)

Eyewitness News coverage

That's a lot of innings

I covered a lot of ground this weekend, and even though I slept late, I admit I was really tired today. But then I heard a story on the radio that made me realize I have absolutely no right to feel even the slightest lack of energy. I would be happy to be doing anything at 93, let alone playing softball. I hope they have a lot of cheerleaders at the game tomorrow - these guys deserve them.

Pitchers Ages 93 and 86 Faceoff in Senior Softball League

BALDWIN HARBOR, N.Y. (AP) -- As Yankee fans wonder if Roger Clemens still has what it takes at age 44 -- two pitchers in the Long Island Senior Softball League will be facing off -- 93-year-old Mickey Werner going against 86-year-old Paul Rotter.

The game is at 11 a.m. Wednesday at Baldwin Park in Baldwin Harbor.

Werner, a retired New York City Phys-Ed Teacher, has been playing ball since 1927 --the year Babe Ruth hit 60 homers.

Rotter, a resident of Woodmere, is a retired Special Education Teacher and has been playing ball since 1936 - when Joe DiMaggio was a rookie with the Yankees.

The teams are sponsored by the Bristal Assisted Living Communities and are made up of players at least 68 years of age.

The combined ball-playing experience on the two teams is 2,880 years, according to a spokesman for the teams.

Link to the article

Lids and loyalty

Some of you may know, there was a big foofarah over the fact that Tom Brady was seen strolling yesterday hand in hand with girlfriend Giselle Bundchen while wearing a Yankees baseball hat. This is a big no no for the QB of the New England Patriots. Fans are passionate about the Boston-New York rivalry, and this brew-ha-ha had interesting timing with a recent Traynor event.

My brother, Brendan, is a Yankees fan. All his friends from college are Boston fans. When these teams go head to head, it's all night calls and text messages between them all. The ribbing doesn't end.

Last Saturday my brothers' high-school friend, JP, called my brother to say he was going to that night's Boston/Yankees game in the Bronx. Brendan joked around and told JP to make a sign for him.

Shortly after the game started, Brendan called me cracking up and tells me to put on the game. Sure enough, there is JP - in the second row right behind and to the right of home plate holding a cardboard sign saying "I [heart] Pie [the mathematical sign] Traynor." Pie is my brother's nick name. Obviously, the college crew from Boston all got calls as well.

JP was on camera every time they showed someone at bat - and he held up that sign for every single play. Hilarious.

As for Tom, I think folks should worry less about his hat and more about the fact that another woman is about to have his baby (ex girlfriend Bridget Moynahan is due at the end of the summer). How's that for loyalty?

The eternal power of fans and foes

I don't know how I missed this one last Thursday, but it explains a lot. (Click the title to read the full article)

Tiger Woods Reveals He Is Zach Johnson

For those that don't know, to say my father was not a fan of Tiger is an understatement (there was an incident involving a boulder moved by spectators that my dad never got over. I won't go into it). Ever since my dad passed away, Tiger's career has been uncharacteristically inconsistent. We Traynors are convinced it's my dad's heavenly intervention.

It's fact - Tiger's wins usually coincide with other earthly events that would compete for Bud's attention. For example, Tiger won the British Open last year the same week we held the Fourth Annual Bud Traynor Classic at Bethpage. Bud was too busy focusing on the weather patterns above the Red Course to be diverted by Tiger. Naturally, Tiger took first place at St. Andrews.

So I admit I was a little hurt when Tiger didn't win the masters last week. Doesn't my dad care at all about my recovery?! He's focused on making sure Tiger doesn't get a green jacket when I am sitting around recovering from brain surgery? Really? I envisioned a future fraught with expensive therapy sessions.

But now I see what happened. Thanks, dad. Feeling better already.

Congratulations, Zach!

31 year old Zach Johnson won the Masters today at 1 over par (tied for the highest winning score in the history of the tournament).

My favorite 2007 Masters moments:

1. When Tiger (not realizing he was on camera?) screamed at his caddy for misreading the wind and calling the wrong club on 17. This very well may have cost Tiger the green jacket.


2. When Zach Johnson, in response to a question about how having a baby in January had changed him, responded with with no guile whatsoever that it had given him a new appreciation for women and mothers. I wish Hootie had not yet retired simply so he could have heard that statement uttered in the hallowed halls of Augusta first hand. I'm sure it wasn't lost on Billy Payne.