Before we were swept away by every passion that would occasionally or eternally define us, we were defined by our passion for baseball.

Still years away from double digits and a squeak too old for dinosaurs and certainly too young for dinosaur rock, barely waist-high to the World of Fathers, pre-political and pre-sexual and only having eyes for Quisp, we made it our mission to learn and love baseball. We sat in front of Motorolas and shrieked like the children we were and encoded events and numbers just like the adults did.

And nothing had ever made us feel like adults before, I mean nothing, even the summer’s Apollo Dreams Come True left us feeling awed and small; but baseball was beautiful and sensible and ripe to be shared with the adult world.

Baseball also gave us our first sense that there was a loyalty to a locale. We had a team, that team belonged to us, all because of an accident of residence, we were suddenly aware that we were from New York, or we were from Boston or Baltimore, or we were from Los Angeles or St. Louis. We knew America through the geography of team loyalty.

And baseball came with a story, too, and not just a story, it came with a history, a timeline, and a sequence of events to be learned and memorized. Before I knew all the tragic and fascinating legends of America, before I knew who John Wilkes Booth was or who Judah P. Benjamin was or who Julius and Ethel Rosenberg were, I knew of the rich history of baseball, full of wartime deprivations and sepia’d heroics and racism and the died young and the aged and honored. I could barely ride a bike but I knew of Kenesaw Mountain Landis and William Shea and Horace Stoneham and Curt Flood. And it was entertainment, too, on Channel 9 and on WHN and even in Life Magazine, before I was swept away by accounts of the great Hollywood/Vaudeville diorama, when I knew not of Welles or Jolson or Jerry or Dean, I knew of the amazing characters and actors and comedians who made baseball an enthralling show, Dizzy Dean and Lindsey Nelson and Casey Stengel and Yogi Berra and other beautiful names that did not seem improbable to a child.

And baseball was news before I could even comprehend the power of news, when Spiro Agnew was just a rumor, baseball caused me to care deeply about the actions of adults who were strangers to me, and inspired me to carefully read the names of these men in newspapers and listened closely to hear their names on the nightly news.

Which is all to say: when I had only just stopped believing in Santa Claus, when I barely understood death and still made my parents swear they would never die, when sex was a curiosity to be inspected in the bath and not an ugly or spectacular obsession, when the rules of life were simply to be fed and evade the wrath of teachers and parents and to avoid skinning a chin or knee, I had baseball, my first complicated lover, the first non-self object of interior obsession and first non-fantasy facilitator of social interaction.

I had my first point of entry into anything that could reasonably be termed an adult or social world.

And my team was the Mets. Any child could identify with their underdog story, any child could feel pride in those bright blue and orange colors and the post-mod stadium they played in: all these heroes on a field in the shadows of the space age and sky-high small-world World’s Fair towers! It was a time of perfection, cheap beauty and triumph and tragedy were provided every day, the Mets taught us about winners and losers and characters and even taught us numbers and compelled us memorize a TV schedule and made us wonder what kingly men drank Rheingold, and before we had turned 8 we could tell you who Jane Jarvis was and who Joan Whitney Payson was and we could point to a map and know this is where the Seattle Pilots played, and they spoke French at Le Parc Jarry and they stood for another strange anthem there, we knew this, too, and we could identify the handsome young mayor who threw out first pitches, and Hanoi was far, far away but we knew where Wrigley Field was and where the miraculous Astrodome was and where Metropolitan Stadium was and who was this Pear Bailey and Louis Armstrong sitting in the box seats with smiles and hats? And thanks to baseball

In 1969 when I was 7

My world exploded with thoughts and facts and memories in Living Color (cue NBC Peacock) and all the vague mist of earlier recall becomes just an occasional snapshot or snatch of dialogue. 1969 was my first year as a person who interacted with an outside world of events, and the New York Mets were my ladder, my frame, my guide, my dictionary, my calendar, and thanks to the Frame of Baseball the homunculus that lay dormant within my child body arose and found a voice.

And 45 years ago yesterday the New York Mets won the World Series

And it was a weekday, and the news spread across the dark-olive yellow seats of the school bus with more electricity than the revelation of a snow day, and we hoisted our bodies out of windows to carry the news, and we cheered because all children are underdogs and we identified with this unlikely triumph. Finally, after early childhood mumbles and toys that seemed like baby toys alongside the new baseball mitts and clean crisp baseball cards of our 1969 world, we had found an adult voice, with which we burped eternal cheers and the confident shale of statistics. Let me say again that in that beautiful year, age 7 and informally exempt from understanding the joys of Woodstock and formally immune from the darkness of Vietnam and completely susceptible to the extreme high of the moon shot, my homunculus, my sense of self as a fully formed adult inside a small-persons body, is born in Shea Stadium’s deep bowl, and forever Shea’s smell of stale beer and air-borne cigarette smoke would be the smell of adulthood; and every detail of Baseball ’69 gave me new language and assigned thoughts to words and emotions to thoughts.

I was alive prior to 1969, I just don’t remember it. The New York Mets were the agent of my memory; before that everything is just scraps. But New York Mets, you were my first Kinks, my first Beatles, my first kiss in a Spring Street doorway, my first time I heard the Ramones or the Velvet Underground, my first first that I can attach language too, that I can assign an adult feeling to, my first sequence of events fully bronzed into memory where there is a before and an after and, thanks to the New York Mets, an always.

Q&A: Heather Quinlan Talks About Her ’86 Mets Documentary and the Kickstarter Campaign to Get it Made

I am perfectly happy to disregard the fact that it’s selling something, because it reminds me that what is really important about Derek Jeter is what he means to the fans, what he means to the people of New York, what he means to the everyday Yankee fan of every age, class, and race. The artful black and white images of the honest joy of the fans and seemingly honest humility of The Captain make us forget that the commercial is made by billionaires, starring a millionaire, to sell us quadrillions of something we probably don’t need. I can overlook the omniscient shadow of Cloud Mammon because the damn thing is so well made and so on point; I can easily discount these corrupt motives because it is a pitch-perfect representation of what a superstar means to his fans, and an extraordinary model, no matter how unrealistic, of how a superstar should interact with his fans. Seriously, the damn thing could be selling Mark Chapman Brand Tampons and it wouldn’t make a difference. The commercial is so good that I can regard the, uh, benefactor – that is Gatorade – as merely the modern versions of the Medici Family, making great art possible.

However, it still does not quite make me forget the following:

Let’s say some gamblers offer the manager of a Major League team, oh, a hundred thousand dollars to put an inferior player in the line-up in the hope that it will affect the outcome of that day’s game. Even better, what if these same gamblers get to the manager before the season begins and say to him “Hey…we will give you, oh, FIVE MILLION if you play this guy all season…yeah, I know you’re gonna want to bench him some days, and shit, he may even have rather stunning O-fer streaks that make you want to send him down to Triple A, but no matter what, keep this guy in the line-up.” In fact, my fictional mobsters might even go so far to say “We have already cut a deal with your boss, and if you even think of benching this guy, you will lose your job.”

Now…HOW is THAT any different from a team making MILLIONS UPON MILLIONS UPON MILLIONS of dollars in marketing, merch sales, ticket sales, TV deals, media deals, etcetera, by making sure that an inferior player plays every day, even if it has the real potential to affect the on-field quality of that team and possibly alter the teams’ chances of making the post-season, QUESTION MARK.

Jeff Buckley probably could have contributed more to the Yankees’ line-up in the second half of the 2014 season than Derek Jeter. But the option of benching Jeter was considered unthinkable. This means two things: 1) Someone (and there are a lot of “someones” here, from the Yankees to MLB to Jeter’s sponsors to the clubs in other MLB cities whose TV and live-gate numbers would have been significantly impaired by a Jeter non-appearance) made a lot of money by keeping Jeter in the line-up, so much money that the idea of benching him for the sake of fielding a better performing ball-club was unthinkable; and 2) The Warm’n’Fuzzy side of baseball has more meaning, at this point, than the actual nuts’n’bolts of the games (and I sincerely hope I will never use two ‘n’ contractions in a single sentence again).

Both of the above options are probably true, and when push comes to shove, I find the latter more offensive. See, money is money and money always talks, but in the long run, honesty does stand a chance against money.

Marc Bolan, one of the many dead people who probably could have made more of a positive on-field contribution to the Yankees season than Derek Jeter did.

And the Yankee brass knew this (and most definitely the MLB brass, too), knew of our desire, hell, OUR NEED, to bask in the glow of pinstripe-branded sweet melancholia, when they decided that they would sacrifice competitive baseball in exchange for the BILLIONS they would make by whoring out Jeter and the Yankee legacy. In a sense, this is as bad as any game-throwing scandal in the history of baseball – I mean, a whole season was compromised — except we were willing and happy participants who all agreed to look the other way, who all agreed that nostalgia and a season spent happily basking in the land of warm’n’fuzzy was more important that legitimate competition.

And any sport that favors nostalgia over competition is already halfway dead.

Though I do like that goddamn commercial.

The gravest keepers of baseball’s most somber secrets, those who hover around (and above) the game at a Templar-like level of secrecy and power, are beginning to talk in tones hushed but firm that September 28, 2014 may not be Derek Jeter’s last game as a player.

Moe Berg, who is honored by the ultra-mysterious baseball super-cult called Nos Custodire Moe Berg Sepulcrum

First, a tiny dollop of back-story to explain how I have gained access to these secrets, and to underline my credibility: Many years ago when I was working in Los Angeles at a major record label, I made the acquaintance of a fellow from a group called Corporis Fraternitatis Giamatti. In exchange for access to master tapes of unreleased material by some very major rock bands, this person would give me remarkable inside information on MLB injuries, potential trades, home-team favorable groundskeepers, even stadium PA system operators who would feed tones through the system that could disturb an opposing pitcher or batter (but were undetectable to the human ear). There was more to this transaction, by the way: The CFG, in league with a sometimes allied, sometimes rival organization called Nos Custodire Moe Berg Sepulcrum, would sell bootleg CDs gleaned from these musical rarities (this was before the ubiquity of free downloads and streaming). With the profits, they would finance some of their more shadowy operations, including deeply entrenched groups that sought to overturn Interleague Play and the DH Rule; one of the more extreme splinter cells, Земля за Sabermetrics, was determined to use every means possible, including violence, to end night baseball (it was rumored that Земля за Sabermetrics were involved in the 1996 on-field death of umpire John McSherry). This was all very interesting and very, very hush-hush.

But back to Jeter. I have gleaned the following from my various sources at the above-named organizations, with some of the more specific details drawn from an Irish-American super-fan sect called An Cumann na Veeck mar atá i Wreck. By the way, I do not fear reprisal from these organizations whose secrets I disclose, since I have held on to some Bon Scott Back In Black demos that they very badly want.

The following plan is to go into effect after Jeter’s “final” game (presumably in Boston on September 28, though this arrangement is flexible, depending on whether the Yankees choose not to play Jeter following their September 25 home finale):

After he leaves the field and the post-game press conferences, Jeter will be discretely placed in the custody of a long-time Yankee fanatic named Jose D’Arimathea. Jeter will discard any clothing in which he could be recognized, and slip into a shroud-like hoodie that D’Arimathea has designed and prepared just for this occasion.

D’Arimathea and the disguised Jeter will than withdraw to a small basement apartment on Moshulou Parkway in the Bronx that D’Aramithea has outfitted specifically for this purpose. They will be assisted in this clandestine operation by a local bar owner named Nick O’Demus, who is the member of a secretive fantasy baseball operation called the Sandlot Hedrin.

After his final out, Yankee super-fan Jose D’Arimathea carries an exhausted Jeter to D’Arimathea’s basement apartment on Moshulou Parkway (artists’ rendering)

Once installed safely in the cave-like apartment, Jeter will rest, deeply and very quietly, for a short period of time.

After three days, a female fan of Jeter (who will be present at the initial stage of Jeter’s furtive transportation from the Stadium to D’Arimathea’s apartment) will arrive at “the cave,” only to find that the door is open and Jeter is no longer inside. Since great care will be taken to lock the apartment door from all sides to insure Jeter’s privacy, the open door and the absence of Jeter will come as a great surprise to the visitor. The female follower will tell D’Arimathea, O’Demus, and other disciples of Jeter that he has risen from his slumber, in defiance of the pre-ordained plan and natural law (the door to D’Arimathea’s apartment had been considered impenetrable, both from inside and out).

Soon, many people, Yankees fans and non-fans alike, will report sightings of Jeter playing ball in the Caribbean Winter Leagues. Although these reports will seem barely credible at first, soon the whole Baseball world will be buzzing with multiple accounts from plausible sources of sightings of Jeter on ball fields from Mazatlan to Mexicali, Culiacan to Hermosillo. Jeter’s play will be strong and consistent, and he will perform at a level of skill and athleticism he has not performed at for years.

These sightings will be so far apart in terms of distance (yet in such close proximity, time-wise) as to be hardly believable; but the witnesses will insist – indeed swear on their life – that they have seen Jeter walk again on the diamond.

The Three Wise Alou Brothers, who will trek to the Domican Republic bearing gifts for the reborn Jeter

These sightings will last exactly 40 days. During that time, there will be occasional glimpses of Jeter off the diamond; in fact, he will appear to a small group of fishermen in the small village of El Cuyo, Yucatan, and help the locals land a particularly large haul of Mosquitofish. He will also encounter a cynical, Jeter-hating blogger named Sol Tarsus, who will be so overwhelmed by seeing Jeter back on the playing field that he will abandon his Jeter-mocking ways, re-name himself after legendary Yankee Paul O’Neill, and spend the rest of his life preaching Jeter’s greatness.

After 40 days, Jeter’s mysterious and almost miraculous “resurrection” tour will end as abruptly as it started. Those fortunate enough to have seen Jeter, post-retirement, in uniform on the baseball fields of the Caribbean, will have their lives changed forever, and they will have a renewed faith in the power and glory of Derek Jeter, a faith that will warm them and inspire them for the rest of their lives.

And Peter of Gammons will proclaim: “He has risen! Remember how he told you, while he was still with you in the Bronx: ‘The Son of Sanderson must be delivered over to the hands of statisticians, be criticized and on the third day be raised again.’ ”  And Jim of Rome will say “Then Jeter came to them and said, ‘All authority in Cooperstown and in Bristol has been given to me.  Teach them to obey everything I have commanded you, with the possible exception of an endorsement I made for Florshiem. I mean, really, can you imagine me wearing anything from Florshiem? And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.’ ”

To commemorate yesterday’s Baseball All-Star Game, and the surprise appearance of Minnesota Archbishop John C. Nienstadt to grant Derek Jeter the privilege of dispensing the rite of Extreme Unction in the name of the Catholic Church (making him the first non-cleric to have been bestowed this honor since Charles Lindbergh), I thought I would take a few moments to comment on the Great Man’s final circuit around the playing fields of North America.

As he marches off into the sunset of a well-earned retirement, Derek Jeter, one of the truly honorable men of Baseball, has collected many tributes and gifts from the teams that have respected him as an opponent and honor his contribution to the game.

Watches, cufflinks, donations to his favorite charity, a surfboard, a set of golf clubs, a ten gallon hat…this is just a very small sampling of the gifts presented to ol’ No. 2 as he visits ballparks on his season-long retirement tour.

As admirable and deserving of praise as Jeter is, I must confess that I believe that some of the honors he is receiving are getting a bit out of hand.  Here are some of the recent gifts that raised the eyebrow of this Jeter-watcher (and, in parentheses, the team that presented the gift):

*  10 ounces of Gold bullion in the shape of Baseball-loving President William Howard Taft (the Washington Nationals)

*  A 1995 Pontiac Seville, containing inside of it a 2014 Chevy Spark (from the Detroit Tigers, commemorating Jeter’s first and last season in baseball)

*  Gold, Frankincense, and Myrrh and a wooden plague noting in Aramaic that Jeter is King of the Baseball Players (Atlanta Braves)

*  A Daily wake-up call from Eddie Money singing Jeter’s favorite song,  “Two Tickets to Paradise” (from the Baltimore Orioles; later rescinded when it was discovered that this was a terrible misunderstanding based on a Orioles public relations executive confabulating the song “Gangsta’s Paradise” with the name of L’il Wayne’s record label, Young Money; a distressed Eddie Money still offered to call Jeter every day and tell him what Money had watched that morning on the Weather Channel and what flavor Ramen he had bought that week from the food aisle of Rite Aid)

*  Renaming Jeter’s favorite Disneyland attraction, The Country Bear Jamboree, “The Country Bear Jeteree” (Los Angeles Angels)

*  Presenting Jeter with the actual jackhammer used to remove the Hollywood Boulevard Star of his least-favorite actor, Ron Silver, who Jeter famously dismissed as “The Poor Man’s Al Pacino”  (Los Angeles Dodgers)

*  A comfortable shroud to wear during the three days between Jeter’s retirement and his surprise re-appearance at something like, oh, the Source Awards or Fallon (Kansas City Royals)

*  A short film of former pitching ace Randy Johnson dressed as Jim Varney, saying “Hey Vern!  Hey Vern!” for eight minutes (Seattle Mariners)

*  An audio recording of Yankee great Mickey Rivers reciting Shakespeare’s “What a piece of work is Man!” speech from Hamlet  (New York Mets)

*  Marge Schott’s dog, Schottzie, stuffed, with his eyes replaced by glass balls that light up the number two when someone “pets” Schottzie (the Cincinnati Reds)

*  A Rocking Chair and a donation of $50,000 in Jeter’s name to the Make-A-Wish Fund (Florida Marlins)

*  Eddie Money’s Daughter (Philadelphia Phillies)

Yesterday, July 8, was the 45^th anniversary of my first visit to a Major League Baseball game.  Of course, it would have more been appropriate to write about this on the actual date, but I was too busy ranting about the Damned, my zealous distaste for Roger Waters, and my virtual deification of Scott Walker (I said DEIFICATION, not defecation, clean your eyes out).

On July 8, 1969, my father made a plan to take advantage of a Synagogue-sponsored trip to nearby Shea Stadium.  As a man richly aware of both the tradition of baseball and it’s long history of generating father-son moments, I am sure he was deeply cognizant of the significance of a  “First Game.”  We missed the bus – I don’t remember why, but our connection to Temple Emmanuel in Great Neck was tenuous at the best of times – so we set out on our own.

The Mets were playing the Chicago Cubs.  It was a Tuesday.  There was nothing, I mean absolutely nothing, remarkable back then about weekday day baseball games; and if I had any question regarding why my father was so readily able to miss work, I didn’t ask then and I have only a frisson more curiosity about it now.

The Mets were just beginning to significantly challenge the Cubs’ stranglehold on first place in the (newly created) National League East, and I was at least a little aware of the significance of this contest.  I was seven years old, and that season I was following baseball intently for the very first time.

A witty, warm litany of the details of the game (as fascinating as they may be in hindsight) and a wistful roll call of the names of the extraordinary men who played that day…

… is not forthcoming.  You can look that stuff up, if you want.  The event, it’s memories, are bigger than that game; my memories are more common yet more individual then the no-doubt noteworthy achievements of that day; my memories of July 8, 1969, when the Chicago Cubs played the New York Mets at Shea Stadium, are more Rothko than Rockwell, and that’s as it should be.

My memories are fragmentary and impressionistic, befitting the recall of an event that took place when I was seven; and this is part of the instant nostalgia aspect inherent in baseball:  we meet the game as children, usually under the tutelage of a father or older sibling, whose impression is likewise warmed by the fires of remembrance and the instant joy of the event.   This scenario is replayed every day.  Nostalgia is literally built into the event.

Did I ever think I would be an old-ish man waxing nostalgic about the smoky ballparks of his youth, and the baggy-uniform’d men who paced the green fields and sandy diamonds?  Yes, of course I did.  The presence of future-nostalgia is absolutely inherent in baseball, implied in its’ nearly ancient rhythms and virtually unchanging uniforms and rules, as it is in no other sport.  The game is, essentially, the same game that was played 110 years ago, 90 years ago, 70 years ago, 45 years ago; the same cannot be said of any other sport — would today’s basketball fans even recognize the 1940s/50s game, plated jerkily by bony Jewish men and Midwestern farm boys, as the same game played today?  Do we not marvel at the un-masked, un-armored footballers and hockey artists of the past?

Instant, future nostalgia is also implied in the sense of camaraderie baseball brings about, and the pause-filled, rolling pace of the game; it is only breathless incrementally, incidentally.  It is perfect for sharing with friends, parents, even strangers, and therefore your companion (be it in the grandstand or in front of a TV screen) is as much a part of the memory as the game itself.

Even at a remarkably early age, we are conscious of this built-in nostalgia.  Just a year later, when I was 8, I recall sitting in the upper deck of Shea and staring down at Hank Aaron below me in the outfield, and very intently committing the image to memory, knowing he was a historic man.

On July 8, 1969, I remember a seat in the back of the mezzanine, in the comfy shadow of the upper-deck overhang; no sun scratched my 7-year old face, and the deck close above us made the cheers echo and roar with mythic rumble.  I remember the salty smell of beer and cigars (a smell that still, instantly, brings me back to the ballpark); and, perhaps oddly, perhaps not, I remember hats.  I recall seeing a lot of hatted men, that is, men wearing the kind of hats we associate with archival sportswriters or mid-60s businessmen.

(Years later, I argued about this with a friend; were men in 1969 still sporting hats?  Could that be possible?  Well, I remember hats.  If someone else attended a weekday baseball game in the summer of 1969 and doesn’t recall hats, they can write their own column, or investigate the edge-curled snapshots of their own sepia-tinged memories.)

I remember a dense crowd; and a little fact-checking, nearly half-a century after the fact, reveals an attendance of 55,096.

I remember cheering specifically for Mets’ catcher J.C. Martin, who, for some reason long-lost in the necessary fog of the decades, was my favorite Met.  I suspect this had something to do with ownership of a precious baseball card.

I remember a come-from behind victory for the Mets in the 9^th inning, and an enormous roar of jubilation.

Somewhere in there, surely, there was a hot dog or three consumed; a wending of the way through the crowds with my father’s large, tan hand clutching mine; happy and knowing glances between tall father and small son at the small and tall victories on the field, set to the happy chug of Jane Jarvis’ organ; somewhere in there, surely, was father-son discussion of an upcoming trip to the moon, to launch just eight days hence, which surely occupied my imagination as much as the pile of Topps cards in my bedroom; somewhere in there, surely, there was studying of a scorecard, and patient instruction regarding its purpose and completion; and somewhere in there, surely, was a triumphant march back to the parking lot (a field of concrete so large in it’s breadth it actually frightened me) with others, fathers, sons, fatherless sons and sonless fathers, those slacking off from work and those altogether unemployed, all celebrating a triumph both unexpected and inevitable.

In other words, it was pretty much exactly like every child’s first baseball game.

It was just like yours, wasn’t it?

The score of yours doesn’t matter, either; it doesn’t matter that you were watching Killebrew and I was watching Clendenon, or that I was cheering from J.C. Martin and Gary Gentry and you were cheering for Jim Palmer and Clay Darymple.  It really, truly doesn’t matter, and I urge you not to cloud your most beautiful memories with the joyless ice of facts.

It was July 8, 1969, and I already know all the details that matter.

While the Pier 4 beach (photo) and Pier 2, with its athletic facilities (see photo after the jump) have been accessible to the public for several days now, they will both be officially opened this Thursday (May 22) afternoon.

From Brooklyn Bridge Park:

Our program will kick off promptly at 3:30pm with a celebratory ribbon-cutting, followed by clinics and programs on our bocce, shuffleboard, handball and basketball courts.

Pier 2 is the Park’s second active recreation pier, and features five acres of active recreation courts for basketball, handball, shuffleboard and bocce, as well as a full size roller skating rink, swings, picnic tables, restrooms and fitness equipment. Pier 4 Beach is a unique sandy shoreline that allows park visitors to access the East River for non-motorized boating and educational programs.

The ribbon-cutting will take place at the entrance to Pier 2. All are invited to this free event.

Source: Brooklyn Heights Blog
http://brooklynheightsblog.com/archives/67374

Source: Brooklyn Heights Blog
http://brooklynheightsblog.com/archives/66448

On Friday, Mark Morales of the Daily News reported that St. Francis Brooklyn men’s basketball player Anthony White was arrested recently by the New York Police Department in response to domestic violence charges. White, 19, a sophomore guard for the small college located in Brooklyn Heights, was alleged on February 3 to have choked his 20-year old girlfriend and to have destroyed her personal property after accusing the woman of infidelity. According to the Daily News article, the victim further alleged that she had been the victim of a sexual assault in December 2012 by three St. Francis players.

One of the three players was identified as Terrier freshman Wayne Martin, who was accused of unwanted sexual advances. The charges against Martin, who played at South Shore High School and was not enrolled at St. Francis in 2012, were subsequently dropped.

According to George Arzt of George Arzt Communications, a spokesman designated by St. Francis to respond to media inquiries, the college will have no statement on this matter beyond Tuesday’s announcement from President Brendan J. Dugan, in which he acknowledged the suspension of five students “for allegedly violating the St. Francis College Code of Conduct.”

In a telephone interview on Friday, Arzt stated that because the charges against Martin were dropped, he will be available to play on Sunday, when St. Francis plays LIU Brooklyn in the annual Battle of Brooklyn contest that will be held at Barclays Center.

Arzt stated that White, who has been charged with assault and criminal mischief, will not be available for Sunday’s game. Furthermore, Arzt admitted that he was not certain of the status of suspended players Brent Jones and P.J. Santavenere, both juniors. It is possible that a decision regarding their availability will be made prior to tip-off.

According to Arzt, the fifth St. Francis student who was suspended was also on the Terriers’ squad, meaning that the rash of suspensions impacted more than one-third of the program’s players. That student, whose name has not be released, was suspended for five days but has apparently been reinstated.

For a small Catholic school that prides itself on adhering to precepts handed down from St. Francis of Assisi, accusations regarding arrests and sexual misconduct are both entirely out of character and a devastating distraction to what promised to be one of the more successful campaigns in recent memory.

“While the investigation is still going on, I’m not able to comment,” said Terrier Athletic Director Irma Garcia, who has been in charge of St. Francis Athletics since 2007. “I can’t say anything that could affect the investigation. The administration at St. Francis is committed to protect the rights and privacy of all the people involved.”

Source: Brooklyn Heights Blog
http://brooklynheightsblog.com/archives/65649

Sports guy Michael Randazzo is courtside with a report about college hoops.

This week Brooklyn hoops fans experienced heart attack inducing thrills on consecutive nights, as both LIU Brooklyn and St. Francis College had players hit for game-winning three pointers at the buzzer.

On Wednesday night at LIU’s Steinberg Wellness Center, Blackbird junior guard Gerrell Martin knocked down the winning basket with less then a second on the clock to beat Lamar by 82-79.

The following evening, after a long range three by Lafayette’s Bryce Scott knotted the score at 62, St. Francis senior guard Alex Isailovic returned the favor, hitting the game winner with .07 ticks remaining to send the crowd at the Generoso Pope Center into spasms of joy.

“Both teams with walk-off three’s on back-to-back nights? That might never happen again,” commented David Gansell, St. Francis Director of Sports Information.

In an equally unlikely occurrence, at the microphone for both games was David Freeman, who has called LIU home games since 2002 and just happened to be filling in on Thursday for Jaden Daly, St. Francis’s regular PA announcer.

According to Freeman, the probability of teams winning back-to-back games in such unlikely fashion is hard to comprehend.

“Never heard of such a thing,” explained Freeman, who has announced local sporting events for the past 13 years. “The thing I can say about it is that the two of them [games] were as completely opposite as you could expect—yet on the same token, they were both buzzer-beaters for the home team to win. That’s unexplainable.

Having watched Jason Brickman, LIU’s incomparable point guard, lead the Blackbirds to countless wins, Freeman was not surprised by Martin’s winning shot on Wednesday.

“With Brickman on the floor, you feel like they can score at anytime, because he’s going to find a way to get the ball to the right people,” said Freeman. “I was sitting directly behind Martin. The minute he got that ball and it left his hand, I knew it was good.“

From his courtside vantage point Thursday, Freeman expected the St. Francis game to end differently.

“They [the Terriers] had really struggled the whole game, so I was thinking they would play for the tie,” Freeman said. “When [Isailovic] put the ball up with seconds left it was ‘I hope there’s not enough time for the rebound to get picked up.’ And then you realize that the shot was good. It was really surprising to me.”

The Blackbirds and the Terriers face each other twice in 2014: on January 9th at the Pope Center, and on February 16th at Barclays Center, which will be the site for the annual Battle of Brooklyn matchup.

Given past exploits, there’s no telling what might happen when these two cardiac causing teams collide.

“Both those teams take this game very seriously,” said Freeman, who in his role as Barclays’ college basketball announcer will call February’s game. “I’m not aware that there are any two Division 1 schools in the country that can walk to each other’s campus from a few blocks away.”

“To think that two big rivals could have that [a buzzer-beating basket] happen to them is absolutely possible—[but] it’d be even more ridiculous if it could happen again.”

LIU’s Gerrell Martin goes up for the winning shot against Lamar on December 18.
LIU PHOTO CREDIT: Bob Dea

Source: Brooklyn Heights Blog
http://brooklynheightsblog.com/archives/64560

The Brooklyn Nets played their first pre-season game at Barclays last night, Saturday October 12th. The starters played few minutes and the game was basically tuning up both physically and mentally and building chemistry. They obviously have a way to go to get to know one each others game but you can see it getting better. The ball movement looked good for the short time the starters were on the floor. As time goes on, the starters will increase their minutes on the floor and Deron Williams and Jason Terry will participate. They both have minor injuries and should be ready to play in a week or so. Time will tell. They will be extremely cautious with Deron and not rush him into playing action. The goal is the playoffs and the season is a long 82 games. No need to play him until he is 100%.

This video consist of questions and answers for Kevin Garnett and Paul Pierce, as well as, all the bench players who will crucial if the Nets are to challenge Miami, Indiana and Chicago for the Eastern Division Championship.

The Brooklyn Nets are preparing for the start of Season Two with impressive additions to their already competitive team. Joining stars like premiere point guard Deron Williams, sharp shooting Joe Johnson, and All Star Brook Lopez are “The Truth” Paul Pierce, “K.G.” Kevin Garnett, “AK47″ Andrei Kirilenko, “JET” Jason Terry and backup point, 6’7 Shaun Livingston. This is a tremendous arsenal that has been brought together thanks to the very deep pockets of Nets Owner Mikhail Prokhorov. In fact, the Nets are paying more in “over the cap” penalties than 95% of the other NBA teams total salaries. He is very serious about winning an NBA championship.

This video includes my personal analysis, as well as, video from Media Day during a question/answer period with Brook Lopez, Deron Williams and Joe Johnson. Part Two will follow shortly with the Nets other two starters, Paul Pierce and Kevin Garnett, later followed by questions for the bench players who will be crucial if we are to challenge Miami and Indiana for basketball supremacy.

@Lonchpad_McQuak basically, I think New Yorkers will always prefer the Knicks, but the international community might buy into a Net more

— Hardwood Paroxysm (@HPbasketball) September 2, 2013

@HPbasketball Prokhorov should win owner of the century.

— Althea Marie Lapus (@AloeLapus) September 2, 2013

Nets Blog: Kevin Garnett and Brett Yormark will both be in China later this week, KG on a sneaker promotion, Yormark looking for business opportunities. Meanwhile, Brook Lopez is somewhere between Singapore and Tokyo, the 11th and 12th stops of his international summer, this time helping out in the NBA 3×3. The Brooklynettes are on their way back to Brooklyn after joining Lopez in Singapore. Oh yeah, the Nets sponsored a trip to New York for the Russian U20 team two weeks ago, opening Barclays and the PNY Center to them. Andrei Kirilenko and Lopez met with them.

Meanwhile Moore’s old stomping ground Hardwood Paroxysm pronosticates about the coming season for the Nets:

What the Nets’ season will ultimately come down to, in all likelihood, is whether or not they can stay healthy and who they get matched up against in the playoffs. KG, Pierce, Terry and Kirilenko are getting up there in age, so it’ll be important to manage their minute loads to keep them fresh for the stretch run. Brooklyn mortgaged a lot of its future to bring the Boston guys to town, but like the Nets themselves, we’ll worry about that at a later date. For now, this is a team that has likely vaulted itself into serious contenderdom, and that’s a hell of a way to spend your summer.

The video above tells me a lot about why I love the Mets. One commenter complains that it’s unfair to “Marvelous Marv” Throneberry who, apart from his mishaps in fielding and base running, managed to smack 16 homers for the Amazins in ’62. I think Throneberry has his revenge in the banner shown at 3:10: “Cranberry, Strawberry, we still love Throneberry.”

I started to write this post last week. Since then, the Mets avoided a sweep by the Braves, then won the opening game of their four game series with the Yankees. From this I know two things: the Mets this season can occasionally beat their traditional nemeisis in the NL East, and their season record with the Bronx Bullies won’t be 0-4. I’m keeping my enthusiasm in check.

Update: Mets score a second 2-1 victory over the hated Yanks, thereby sweeping the home end of their four game series. The remaining two games are in enemy territory, but at least we’re assured of an even split of the season’s series. I’m trying very hard not to get too enthusiastic.

Source: Self-Absorbed Boomer
http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/tzVM/~3/z2ciNhlyAU0/could-this-years-mets-rival-those-of.html

Hello Playoffs: Nets vs. Bulls Game 5

Now it gets interesting(?)

Storified by Brooklyn Bugle· Mon, Apr 29 2013 18:13:20

Response to Knicklyn on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and tumblr had been enthusiastic, so enthusiastic that Sorisi recently started selling a line of Knicklyn gear, an endeavor that is about to come to a screeching halt.

From Sorisi today:

“Knicklyn has been pressured by a popular sports league to temporarily restrict the online sale of all “Knicklyn” goods and apparel or face substantial legal action.  Despite meeting with and receiving clearance from several trademark lawyers prior to the launch of the site, this large sports association still feels the “Knicklyn” logo infringes upon their trademarks and intellectual properties.  We have attempted to reach an amicable agreement with said sports league but were left with only two options; either pay millions of dollars in licensing fees, or shut down all together.”

Reached by phone on Sunday, Sorisi sounded discouraged but undaunted.

“This isn’t a big deal,” he said. “It’s not going to slow me down.”

While unsurprised by the NBA’s action, he didn’t think it would come quite this quickly, and he pointed out that the objection is not with Knicklyn itself, but with the decision to sell goods that could represent copyright infringement.

He toyed with some design changes to his merchandise, but decided ultimately to suspend sales as he contemplates his next moves.

“This is only a temporary setback,”  he said.

And given the response to his announcement about ceasing sales, which Sorisi characterized as “great” and “positive,” along with an article in the NY Post about this recent development, he might be right when he says, “This isn’t a bad bump. It’s a good bump.”

Read Sorisi’s full letter here, and let us know what you think. Corporate behemoth strangling creative expression and fandom? Or legitimate copyright infringement?

Originally posted on January 27, updated January 28 with additional information.

(photo via Entertainment Rundown)

Nets Vanquish Knicks in Final Meeting

The Nets eek out a win against the Knicks at the Garden on MLK Day 88 -85

Storified by Brooklyn Bugle· Tue, Jan 22 2013 04:02:59

And you watch as a new team moves across two rivers to take up residence in what had long been Knicks territory, and you watch as they dominate the local press, and you watch as this heretofore suburban team attempts to re-invent itself by embracing urban cool.

You’re a lifelong Knicks fan. So what you do?

If you’re Mike from Gowanus—who’s got the perfect name for a sports-talk radio caller—you create…Knicklyn.

Knicklyn is a website…and a state of mind.

“I’m a resident of Brooklyn,” said Mike, who asked that his last name not to be used, preferring to keep his site separate from his professional life. “I’m a devout Knicks fan. And when the Nets moved, I just felt that a lot of people were supporting the Nets kind of blindly, which I get, because there’s a lot of pride in the neighborhood.

“But I felt that there had to be people out there that wanted to be able to relate to the team that they’re loyal to. It’s a pride thing.”

Knicklyn was born when Mike started “fooling around” with some graphic art, which eventually grew into a website. It grew virally, he said, as Knicks fans in Brooklyn found the site, so he expanded into a Twitter feed, a Facebook page, an Instagram account.

This week, Knicklyn started offering hats and stickers for sale, in response, said Mike, to user requests.  Aware of his brand as the Knicklyn logo started to spread, he wanted to capitalize on the interest before someone else latched on to it.

“With so many social media streams,” he explained, “the art was starting to spread without any real credit, and before anyone could compromise the integrity of what I was trying to do, I started to produce some products.”

While admitting to some resentment about the people who have jumped from the Knicks to the Nets, Mike, a marketer by day, acknowledges the success of the Nets’ marketing scheme.

“I thought it was a little gimmicky—‘Hello, Brooklyn!’—but in Jay-Z, they chose the best person possible to be the face of the team; a lot of people from the neighborhood can relate to him,” he said.  “They did everything how you should do it, but some people see through it and their loyalty remains with the team they grew up with.”

During Knicks games, the 26-year-old tweets commentary, engages in ardent debate with other fans, and after each victory, “tapes” the logo of the opposing team. Knicklyn’s Facebook page has more than 1,600 likes, and its Instagram account attracts regular commenters along with requests for Knicklyn gear.

In short, Knicklyn is doing exactly what Mike wants it to.

“Knicklyn is about bringing community together,” he said, “people who have the same passion and loyalty to both my neighborhood and my team.”

Brokelyn: Somebody alert Marty Markowitz! Some enterprising trickster has struck a blow for Knickerbocker supremacy with the above “Knicklyn” sticker. Not only is this an attempt to put a Knick foothold back in Kings County, but they were even able to slap it in the Barclays Center subway stop. Who are you, mysterious sticker bandit, and where else have you tagged up in an attempt to take back the borough for basketball fans with taste?

For folks using the power of the Google, they’ll know it’s to plug a dude’s Twitter feed and Facebook page.

And of course he’s got some merch to pimp out:

via Knicklyn Facebook page

Update: Yup, Knicklyn has an online store.

The duo’s first stop on their tour is Flatbush’s legendary sports apparel shop Get Set.

“Will they know you in here?” Humphries, who was famously married for to reality star/now Kanye West galpal Kim Kardashian for 72 days, asks Kent as they walk in.

“They key is for them to get to know you,” Kent replies.

After strolling around the store, signing autographs and checking out sneakers the pair end up at the Family Affair barbershop on Utica Avenue. Humphries agrees to get a little shape up from barber Tiki, who is clearly a good sport judging by the fact that he’s wearing a Nets cap in the video.

The 7 minute plus video has about 1500 views on YouTube as of this writing, but that’s enough to generate some truly biting comments from the peanut gallery, including some serious chin music from this guy:

Formatique
if you listen closely you can hear everyone on the internet try to think of kanye joke

An odd twist to the story – Johnson was named the NBA’s Eastern Conference Coach of the Month for October and November this year.

#Nets Say Buh Bye to Avery Johnson

Storified by Brooklyn Bugle· Thu, Dec 27 2012 19:48:42

Yet, fans took to Twitter for the usual trash talk. Run DMC’s Rev Run took over the Knicks’ feed for the night and for Nets fans that may have been the only interesting thing to happen all night.

Nets vs. Knicks at MSG 12/19/12

Storified by Brooklyn Bugle · Wed, Dec 19 2012 18:17:51

The Knicks beat the Nets this time around 100 – 97.

#Nets vs. Knicks Redux

The Battle of the Boroughs in the BK part 2.

Storified by Brooklyn Bugle · Tue, Dec 11 2012 17:44:44

Gothamist reports today that employees of some Brooklyn Starbucks stores, including the Montague Street branch, are being asked to wear Brooklyn Nets hats to promote the team who are now playing at the controversial Barclays Center:

Gothamist: One employee at the Montague Street outpost told us the Nets advertising “started a couple of months ago when the stadium opened up,” and that wearing them is “required because the boss paid a lot of money for them. [Employees] don’t like them much because they’re big and constantly fall, but we have to [wear them] regardless.” However, a barista in DUMBO told us that they are not required, adding, “I don’t even follow sports, I just like the hat.” At press time, we hear they are keeping the mermaid logo at Starbucks, but are we that far away from it being replaced by the terrifying Brooklyn Knight?

Photo via Gothamist

Source: Brooklyn Heights Blog
http://brooklynheightsblog.com/archives/52498

Humphries fouled Celtic Kevin Garnett, bumping him to the floor in the process. Boston point guard Rajon Rondo intervened and the trio brawled their way into the stands.

Nets forward Gerard Wallace also joined the melee. He, Humphries and Rondo were ejected.

Brooklyn watched and tweeted. Oh and the NBA treated us to a bizarro world Spike Lee joint as well.
(Photo: JShaltz)

#Nets vs. #Knicks #BKNvsNYK

The Knicks come to Barclays Center. People tweet about it. Are we having fun yet?

Storified by Brooklyn Bugle · Mon, Nov 26 2012 19:11:16

Their announcer of 18 years, Ian Eagle, had to wait a little longer to make his Brooklyn debut, calling his first game on Monday when the Nets lost to the Minnesota Timberwolves.

Eagle became part of the Nets broadcast team in 1994 and joined the YES network, the Nets’ television home, 10 years ago. And though he grew up in Queens, coming to the Barclays Center is a sort of homecoming.

“My dad was from Brooklyn,” Eagle said last week, preparing to head out of town to cover the NFL.  “He went to Erasmus Hall for high school, and that was his life, growing up in Brooklyn.”

“After my father got divorced, his first wife lived in Brooklyn, and I spent weekends in Brooklyn with her for the first five years of my life. I remember going to Prospect Park, getting off at the Church Avenue station; she had an apartment on Caton Avenue, and Brooklyn made up a lot of my childhood memories. It definitely made an impression on me.”

Eagle also spent time in Mill Basin, as a teenager frequently visiting a sister who lived there. “I used to go out there about a once a month,” he said. “Growing up in Queens, the only frame of reference I had for an indoor mall was Kings Plaza.”

Eagle’s first impressions of his return to Brooklyn are equally favorable.

“I’m really impressed,” he said. “It’s very tastefully done, not over the top like a lot of the newer buildings. It feels intimate, and the lower bowl feels very close to the action. I went upstairs, too, and for a basketball game, I don’t think there’s a bad seat in the house.”

Of the move across two rivers, from New Jersey to Brooklyn, Eagle said that the first task was persuading the players that it was a good idea. “The biggest challenge initially was convincing players that Brooklyn is a legitimate destination,” he said. “That happened pretty quickly.”

“There’s automatically a fan base in Brooklyn,” he went on. “Knicks’ ans aren’t going to give up their allegiance, but Brooklyn is a proud area, and a number of fans have already accepted this team.

“That’s a byproduct of the pride within the borough. There’s a different vibe with this team.”

While Eagle is enthusiastic about the move, he has no plans to move from his New Jersey home to the Brooklyn.

“I have a 15-year-old and a 13-year-old, and the timing just doesn’t work. But I’ve already done the drive a couple of times and it really hasn’t been that bad at all,” he said.

“I’m Mr. Traffic,” he continued. “I listen to all the traffic reports.”

The Nets’ next home game is Sunday at 3 pm against the Orlando Magic.

Brooklyn Borough Prez Marty Markowitz has issued a statement on the cancellation of Sunday’s NYC Marathon, which would have grazed Brooklyn Heights in Downtown Brooklyn…

I applaud Mayor Bloomberg and New York Road Runners for doing the right thing for New York City and the Marathon after considering everyone’s opinion as well as logistical information. I spoke with the Mayor’s Office and Road Runners President Mary Wittenberg—a woman for whom I have great respect—and shared my personal concerns, and those expressed by Brooklynites. Mayor Bloomberg and his staff have done an outstanding job of leading our city through these challenging times, and this decision had to be among the most difficult they’ve had to make over the last week. Let’s continue the recovery process and make every effort to return normalcy to our city.

Source: Brooklyn Heights Blog
http://brooklynheightsblog.com/archives/51101

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