Panic mode

I kind of went into panic mode there…. I just messed up.

– Justin Turner.

The ellipsis there replaces Turner detailing the plan the infielders discussed before the fateful play in the Mets’ 4-3 loss to the Marlins on Tuesday: Throw to second on a hard-hit grounder or to home plate on a soft one.

When the ball found his glove, Turner did neither of those things. Instead he moved to tag baserunner John Buck between first and second, then froze when Buck froze, then threw the ball in the general direction of but nowhere actually near first base. Turner described it best: Panic mode.

It happens to the best of us. Only when I go into panic mode, I scramble onto the express train when I need the local or order something I’ll regret at a restaurant because the waitress is standing there and I haven’t really thought about what I want but I need to pick something now since who knows when she’ll be back and aw, screw it, “Fajitas,” BUT I DON’T EVEN REALLY LIKE FAJITAS!

The downside to playing baseball professionally is that when you enter panic mode, thousands of people see it, then you have to tell them about it afterward. The upside is just about everything else.

These things happen. Again. Three straight gut-punch last-inning losses. Say what you will about the 2011 Mets, they’re not boring.

Sandwiches of Citi Field: Shack-ago Dog

I was sort of aimlessly roaming Citi Field’s concourses looking for an as-yet-unreviewed sandwich to eat when a friend pulled me on to the front of the line at Shake Shack. Obviously that’s not an opportunity I’m willing to pass up, but since I’ve already had the burger, I went for the Shack-ago Dog.

This brings up an important point: A hot dog is a sandwich.

Several readers and friends have insisted otherwise in the last couple of weeks. But if you believe that’s the case, define “sandwich” for me. I’ll amount that I operate under a particularly liberal definition of the term, but a hot dog should be an obvious sandwich to even the most conservative sandwich stalwarts. I guess if you’re really picky you could argue that a hot-dog bun is only one piece of bread, but so is the roll they use for cheesesteaks. And everyone agrees a cheesesteak is a sandwich, right?

The only reason anyone has given me that even makes a tiny scrap of sense is that we have a name for a hot dog — several, actually — and it doesn’t include the word “sandwich.” So, they say, a hot dog is its own thing, distinct from a sandwich. But that doesn’t make sense. No one calls it a BLT sandwich, but there’s no doubt a BLT is a sandwich.

Look: a hot dog is a piece of meat — or in some cases “meat” — shoved in bread. It’s about as sandwichy as sandwiches get, no matter what we call it. Here’s the Shack-ago Dog:

First off, note that the green thing coming off the end of the bun there looking for all the world like a green hot dog is not a hot dog. That’s a pepper. The actual hot-dog part of the hot dog is buried underneath there somewhere.

The Shack-ago Dog is a split-grilled hot dog with relish, mustard, peppers, tomatoes, onions, celery salt and two different types of pickle. I ordered mine with no onions.

For whatever reason, the people of Chicago strongly prefer that you not add ketchup to your hot dog. I resent that, as I do not like to be told which condiments I’m allowed to use on my sandwiches. But in deference to that city’s rich tubed-meat tradition, I ate the Shack-ago dog as it came.

It’s delicious. I thought I would regret snagging a spot on the front of the Shake Shack line and not using it for a wait-free burger, but this dog is a worthy alternative. The pickles give it crunch, the peppers give it spice, the mustard makes it tangy, and the tomatoes and relish make it sweet.

The hot dog itself is secondary to the condiments, but I think that’s the way it should be. At best, a hot dog is a meaty conduit for toppings, there to add some snap and a hint of salty hot dog flavor.

Also, split-grilling hot dogs needs to catch on beyond Westchester and (apparently) Chicago. More surface area. It’s a no brainer.

Ding ding dong

Groundbreaking investigative journalism: I overheard Willie Harris sending a request up to the Citi Field control room to change his at-bat music for the rest of the season, so I jumped on it.

From here on out, Harris will use Kool & the Gang’s “Get Down On It” and Don Omar’s “Danza Kuduro.”

Before this he had used, among others, Phil Collins’ “In the Air Tonight.” I think he noticed me judging him when he said it.

I asked him what his favorite closer music was, and he said it was Brian Wilson’s “Jump Around” or Eric Gagne’s “Welcome to the Jungle.” I suggested Dr. Dre’s “Keep Their Heads Ringin’.” Harris downloaded it and played it in the clubhouse.

“Someone uses this as closer music?” he asked.

“Not yet,” I said. “But how awesome would that be?”

“I might use this,” he said. “I have to think about this.”

Sweet.

Lyrics not safe for work or family-friendly stadium environments. But hey, there has got to be a radio edit:

Last night’s game and offensive woes, briefly

Am I the only one that thought last night’s game was kind of awesome?

Yeah, the ending sucked for the Mets. But there’s some sick fun in a 10th-inning Mike Stanton lazer-shot grand slam on a 3-2 pitch that absolutely had to be a strike because there was no open base for Stanton because of a Daniel Murphy mental hiccup. Throw in that the Mets had tied the game in the bottom of the ninth on a moonshot from Lucas Duda, and that Stanton himself had earlier gunned down Jose Reyes at the plate, and it all adds up to an entertaining if ultimately disappointing August game between divisional rivals.

Stanton appears tailor-made to be a great Marlin. As a 21-year-old already crushing the ball in the big leagues, he looks like he’ll be better than most we’ve seen from that (or, hell, any) club. But his massive home runs and mighty whiffs befit the style of hitting we’ve come to associate with that team. Guy makes Dan Uggla look like a contact hitter.

As for the Mets’ recent offensive woes: I wouldn’t get too concerned. The absence of Carlos Beltran leaves the lineup looking quite a bit thinner, but the Mets are still hitting the ball. They’ve managed at least eight hits in each of their last three games, they just haven’t strung them together in any fashion that produces multiple runs. They appeared a bit flummoxed by Jordan Zimmermann, but for the most part they have put the ball in play.

But it doesn’t sound like anyone’s too worried. These things tend to even out, and there’s a lot more evidence showing that the 2011 Mets can hit than that they can’t. They have to try it without Beltran now, but now they’ve got David Wright.

As for Murph: It happens. More often with Murph than most, it seems, but it’ll take a hell of a lot to convince me that his mental mistakes on the basepaths and in the field cost the Mets more runs than his bat provides. It’s all a tradeoff. I’m sure you could dig up some slick-fielding, weak-hitting first baseman without too much trouble, but you’d rather take your chances with Murphy and his 126 OPS+.

As for that: There’ll be plenty more time to discuss Murphy and his future with the club in the offseason. But for all the talk about how his bat will play anywhere, I’d be at least a little concerned about how well his bat will actually play in the future if he’s walking so infrequently. No one should complain about a guy who’s hitting as well as Murphy is, and a .320 batting average seems to imply he’s seeing lots of pitches to hit. But not many guys can sustain this type of production over time with a walk rate as low as Murphy’s 5.8 percent.

Of course, Murphy’s plate-discipline stats don’t make him out to be any type of free swinger, so there’s probably a bit more to it than that. Lots more on this to certainly follow in the future.

Sandwich of the Week

This one came recommended by Ryan. I’m still looking for your sandwich recommendations. I misplaced a pad I had with a list going on it, so if you’ve sent them in the past, feel free to pass ’em along again, especially if you happen to know of a good sandwich that’s reasonably accessible from Midtown.

The sandwich: Chicken Parm hero from Manganaro’s Hero Boy, 38th and 9th in Manhattan.

The construction: Chicken cutlet with melted fresh mozzarella and marinara sauce on a hero.

Important background information: Every time I’ve seen Manganaro’s Hero Boy mentioned in any media, it is noted that the place is not affiliated with Manganaro’s Market next door. I suppose this is to avoid confusion. Now you know. Apparently there was some family spat in the past that doesn’t much affect my sandwich today.

Second, it’s worth mentioning that I eat some form of chicken parm sandwich more often than I eat any other sandwich besides peanut butter and jelly. Most of the best take-out places near my home are pizzerias, so whenever I want a change of pace from pizza I wind up with chicken parm. Plus the best of the crappy lunch places near my office makes a decent chicken roll, basically chicken parm wrapped in pizza dough.

At Hero Boy, the chicken cutlets sit in chafing dishes already topped with melted mozzarella but not swimming in sauce as you see elsewhere. They ladle the sauce onto the sandwich last, presumably to prevent sogginess.

What it looks like:

How it tastes: Good. Very good, even, but I feel like chicken-parm heroes have a pretty high floor. They are fried chicken covered in cheese and tomato sauce.

Let’s think on this: How would you craft the ideal chicken parm hero? I’d start by fresh-frying my chicken cutlet. Hero Boy’s were sitting out in the chafing dish, but there was enough traffic in the place that I imagine they don’t sit there long.

The chicken cutlet tasted reasonably fresh, and keeping it out of the sauce until the moment of sandwich completion meant the breading stayed crispy. That’s a nice touch. On my perfect-world chicken parm, I might season the breading a bit more than they did here, but that’s nitpicking. It was tasty.

The mozzarella was good: melty, stringy, a touch chewy, and delicious. I think on that exemplary version of the sandwich I wouldn’t put much effort into melting the cheese, but that’s a personal preference. The way it worked out at Hero Boy, the cheese was evenly distributed over the chicken.

The bread fit the sandwich perfectly. It was soft and fresh, and strong enough to hold up despite the tomato sauce and without rendering the whole thing too dry or bready. Did its job but stayed out of the way. A great role player in this sandwich.

The sauce — at Hero Boy and at basically everyplace I’ve eaten a chicken-parm hero in the last year — calls to mind a problem that has tortured me since my life-changing experience at Ricobene’s. In isolation, the sauce is fine; it adds moisture and a bit of tangyness and sweetness to the sandwich.

But I fear that though the chicken parm hero has a very high floor, it might also have a limited ceiling due to the narrow range of flavors involved. Marinara sauce is great; I grew up on it. But there’s nothing on a standard chicken-parm hero to give it that extra bit of oomph I enjoyed at Ricobene’s thanks to the spicy giardiniera. So I wonder if someone should experiment with a spicier sauce, bolder flavors.

Except when I think about it, there are plenty of delicious sandwiches out there that aren’t spicy. Is it possible that the breaded steak sandwich at Ricobene’s has set my standards for parmigiana heroes inordinately high? Because the chicken-parm hero at Hero Boy, like most chicken parm heroes I’ve had since September, left me wanting. I might have to move to Chicago.

What it’s worth: $8, and it comes with chips.

How it rates: 80 out of 100.

Three things about Pete Incaviglia

1) Pete Incaviglia is the reason baseball players cannot be traded within one year of being drafted.

2) Somewhere in my parents’ basement, there’s a binder containing some 20 1987 Topps Pete Incaviglia rookie cards. My brother and I thought Pete Incaviglia was going to be totally sweet. He was, but not in the way that would make his rookie card valuable.

3) An old edition of Baseball Prospectus referred to Pete Incaviglia’s position as “Thunderstick of Yore.” I thought this was a particularly cool sounding phrase and tried to sell it on my then-band as a band name: The Thundersticks of Yore. We considered it, but played our only gig under the name “The Lewis Effect” at a festival in Pennsylvania called Ratstock, opening for the long-established Long Island blues-rock band The Good Rats. We sucked.

The tender Pelf

It seems like there’s a growing sentiment among Mets fans and media that the team could and/or should non-tender Mike Pelfrey this offseason, cutting him loose instead of paying him the $5 million or so he’d likely earn for 2012.

Pelfrey is enduring a down year in 2011. Most of his peripheral stats are similar to the ones he posted in his last three seasons, but he has allowed more home runs than he usually does and his park- and league-adjusted ERA+ is at 83, well below the league average. Pelfrey yields a lot of contact so fluctuations in his performance shouldn’t surprise anyone, but his groundball rate and average fastball velocity have been on a steady decline since the 2009 season.

That is the case for non-tendering Pelfrey. That and the nagging insistence that Pelfrey’s a head case. This year people — including his pitching coach — seem to have latched on to the notion that Pelfrey withered under the pressure of being named the staff’s ace. But let’s be honest: If it wasn’t that it would’ve been something else. The pressure of being a father. The pressure of being a Scott Boras client with free agency looming a few years away. The pressure of being extremely tall.

I suspect that Pelfrey’s supposed mental issues have been overdiagnosed because a) he is among the rare, brave professional athletes willing to speak candidly about his own mental health and b) he does all sorts of strange things with his mouth and tongue and hand on the mound, which don’t actually indicate much about the man except that he has one particular nervous habit, but provide armchair body-language experts all the fodder they need to start sizing Pelfrey up for a straightjacket.

Anyway, that’s all besides the point. Whether psychology actually affects Pelfrey’s pitching more than that of his peers is immaterial: The problem if it exists doesn’t appear to be more damning or more correctable than Pelfrey’s lack of a swing-and-miss pitch, unless, I guess, Pelfrey has some mental block against learning a swing-and-miss pitch. This can go on forever.

What we know for sure about Pelfrey, on paper, is that the sum total of his last four years of service to the Mets add up a slightly below league-average innings eater. He averaged 196 innings a season from 2007-2010 and will, barring injury, reach something near that total in 2011.

If the case to non-tender him is based on the red flags presented by the declining ground-ball rate and velocity, I guess I understand it, though I’d like to see how the rest of his season plays out. If it’s based on Pelfrey’s underwhelming season or mental weakness or whatever, I don’t buy it at all.

I recognize that the dude is frustrating to watch, but I’m not sure 200 innings — even slightly below league-average ones — are something that can be easily replaced for less than $5 million dollars if there’s no obvious candidate to promote from within. If the Mets had a ton of starting-pitching depth I could understand not wanting to spend that money on Pelfrey, but none of their pitching prospects seems likely to break camp with the 2012 club.

This isn’t a decision for today, naturally, and we’ll have a clearer picture of the offseason in the offseason. But they’re going to need someone to pitch, and Pelfrey’s practically guaranteed to do that — if not particularly well, then at least frequently.

 

Tigers hosting Zubazpalooza

Yesterday, Jered Weaver took exception to what he believed to be Magglio Ordonez admiring a home run hit down the line at Comerica Park. So a couple innings later, Carlos Guillen did this. Weaver got ejected after he threw the next pitch at Alex Avila’s head, but none of that matters now.

When I went to the Tigers’ website to pull up that Guillen homer, I found out that they’re hosting Zubazpalooza on Wednesday. For $23, you get a ticket to the Tigers’ game, entrance to a pre-game party, and a pair of Zubaz.

Come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of a ballpark giving away pants before. It’s interesting, because it tacitly encourages fans to change their pants at a baseball game. I guess Zubaz are baggy enough that you could pull them on over whatever you’ve already got on, but that seems kind of steamy for the summer.

Rico Brogna lays it down

Barry Bonds in recent years has been a heated debate. Should he or shouldn’t he get in the HOF? And if the answer is yes, should Barry be a first ballot HOF? C’mon man! This guy was unbelievable, PED’s or whatever! There is one thing you need to ask yourself, “Is Barry Bonds and his performance on the field during his career worthy of HOF entry? As my son would say (he’s 8 years old), “Duh!” ‘Nuff said. Barry is simply one of the best to ever play this great game. No maybe, no but what about the help he might have gotten, and no, well, lets put him in but make him wait. I see clearly now, the powers that be are playing HOF God? C’mon man! If Barry is not an automatic, in any era, no matter what help he might have gotten, Hall of Fame baseball player, than I’m done with this Cooperstown thing.

Rico Brogna, CBS New York.

How ’bout Rico Brogna, huh? I knew I liked that guy.

Via Repoz.