As a Single LP 1: George Harrison, All Things Must Pass

Artist: George Harrison

Album: All Things Must Pass

Released: November 27, 1970

Length: 2 hours, 5 minutes

Vinyl Discs: 3

Might as well start with a doozy, right? 2 hours. 3 LP's. Whew.

Backstory: George, known as the quiet Beatle, or if you watched the Get Back documentary, the super whiny one that Paul pushed around, had a treasure trove full of tunes by the time the Beatles busted up in the year of our tiny dictator’s birth (Anno Dictato 1970). 

And… he put them all . . . all . . . all on this record! All of them! Include some Sides E and F sludge. Man. 

George was in a truly spiritual frame of mind in the late 60’s. He was hanging with Norah Jones’ dad and meditating and taking some acid and most relevantly, incorporating a sitar and other Indian classical instruments into rock and roll. It wasn't just the sound of it, though. He was imbued with religion and Hare Krishna and peace on earth. 

The lyrics of All Things Must Pass are mostly about: God, loving God, praying, and really loving God. You hear a song and start to think it’s an ode to a gal, and ah yeah, it’s instead a paean to a god. Which is obviously perfectly fine. There just isn’t a ton of complex lyrical content. All Things Must Pass is really about one thing. Dear lord. 

When you’re a Beatle (you’re a Beatle all the way?), you have lots of things:

Talent. 

Money. 

Fame. 

Wives.

Gold records.

Access to famous recording studios and producers.

But also really gifted friends. Ones who will oblige you and play on your records. This album is star-studded, to include:

• his future wife-swipin' buddy Eric Clapton
• 5th Beatle Billy Preston
• 4th Beatle Ringo Starr
• Gary Wright ("Dream Weaver," "Love Is Alive")
• Klaus Voormann, German bassman extraordinaire
• Jim Gordon, stud drummer til he lost his fucking shit
• Peter Frampton, age 20
• Pete Drake, pedal steel (played on "Lay Lady Lay," "Stand By Your Man" so many more)
• Badfinger dudes
• Bobby Keys, super sax man on Exile and 100 others

Hell, it goes on, see here -- to the point where Dave Mason said he doesn't know what tracks he's on because "there were so many people in the studio." So they all got together in London town and pumped out a plethora of rock music. 

My story: I never really listened to this album before this year. Everyone knows “My Sweet Lord,” and a few of you know about the landmark lawsuit that the Chiffons’ levied at George for ripping off their hit “He’s So Fine.” Score 1 for ABKCO, later seen destroying The Verve.

Other tracks you know from this solo debut include the title track and especially the stellar “What Is Life" -- my favorite all-time George-solo tune and one immortalized in Goodfellas.

   

I am mostly a post-Beatles fan of Paul and Wings, even with some of his slight fare and silly love songs (actually love that one).  Over the last couple of years, I have honed in on Lennon's work before and after his "Long Weekend" and Hollywood Vampires stint and A Toot and a Snore in '74 sagas -- a chapter of Whitneypedia worth mining another time. 

And Ringo is just Ringo, god bless 'im. You can hear everything worthy he's done since 1970 in 14 good minutes. ("Photograph" is outstanding, albeit footnoted with Harrison's co-write.)

George? I never gave him the time. Even though his name is G(h)eorg(h)e.  I know.

Until this project. And I'm glad I dug in. Here we go, with a newly re-arranged and massively truncated album that rivals any Après-Beatle offering. 

George Harrison, All Things Must Pass as a Single LP

Side A (22:12)

1. What Is Life 

This song just seems like a killer album opener to me. And so it is now. 

2. I Live for You

I follow it up with… an outtake? Yep, good shit. Pete Drake pedal steel. Get some. 

3. My Sweet Lord

At #3, we go with the big hit. Hare Hare Krishna Kishna, the thing about the Lord, he’s so fine. 

4. Ballad of Sir Frankie Crisp (Let It Roll)

My favorite discovery on this little journey! Frank Crisp, a “microscopist,” and the original owner of Harrison’s London home. Now that is lyrical fun! Love this tune. Let it roll, indeed. 

5. Run of the Mill

Now this one really deviates from the peace and love! A nifty little tune with some brass, it sounds pretty Beatles-y. Maybe because it was written when the Fab Four were breaking up; it’s a major slap squarely at Paul. Love it. You go, George. 

6. Awaiting on You All

Okay, let’s hustle back to the pew. A rocking little number. Lyrics remind me of our pal Hightower’s ex-gal Allison, who’d joined a cult and shaved her head in the late 1990’s. He went to see her and was catching up, and he told her he was a schoolteacher. She replied curtly, “Okay, but wouldn’t it be better if you were teaching people to chant to God?” 

Side B (20:19)

1. Isn't It a Pity (Version 1)

A lovely song. A long song. A Phil Spector-long song. It’s 7:11. You know, like they were recording so long, so late at night, they had to go get Twinkies and burritos and Cokes and then made the song that runtime. Ringo, Billy Preston, Gary Wright. Version 2 is shorter and has Clapton. Eh, I like this one.

2. If Not for You 

A cover of a Dylan tune. Is it a cover if it’s by your friend and he only released it one month prior? I don’t know. I like George’s version way better. A toe tapper, and his slide sounds great. Listen for a young Peter Frampton on acoustic guitar. (If you can.) 

3. Hear Me Lord

Really enjoy this one. This is a beautiful spiritual with killer keys (piano, keyboard, and amazing organ) and some electric licks from E.C. A great cut. 

4. All Things Must Pass

Closing it out with the title track. I wish I loved this song more than I do, but it’s integral to the album and a good message for today.

Wow. What a tight little banger. Wait, what? Seriously, though, it's too bad Sir Martin, a gheorghe in his own right, didn't stop by Abbey Road Studios in the summer of '70 and hack away at the scraps to make this sharp piece of British steel. 42 minutes and 31 seconds lean. 

Listen away until the next time. Let it roll.

New Recurring Feature: Les Coole's As a Single LP Series

Bloated. Self-indulgent. Lacking self-control and self-awareness. A massive ego trip. 

These are labels often used to describe (a) me, (b) my blog posts, and, most pertinently, (c) double and triple albums throughout rock'n'roll history. Yes, for decades, 99.9% of original release pop and rock LP records were single vinyl discs to be played at 33⅓ rpm, and they usually held 20 to 22, no more than 23 minutes a side. Along the way, though, there were occasional, more robust submissions of multiple discs – those in the .1% – with varying success. 

[Of Note: compilation and live albums are exempted for obvious reasons. They can and should go long. Doy.] 

The Double Album. What a statement. Our work cannot be contained within a single disc! We have more! You need more! The push-back from fans and critics often would become a personal statement about the artist(s), like “The audacity that you wouldn’t pare this down to the standard listening length! Where is your sense of rock album decorum?” 

And let’s face it, sometimes that backlash is warranted. Sometimes recording artists need someone tastefully judicious like George Martin or Rick Rubin sitting there going, “ Nope… nope… nope…” and x-ing out the tracks that clutter up what could be a svelte, sleek piece of musical brilliance. 

The artists need that, but they don’t always get that. You have people like Billy Corgan musing, “We had one solid record and one hit record… let’s go massive double album, baby!” And while I’m sure someone at Pumpkinland (actual studio name) at that time must have told him he shouldn’t, nobody told him he couldn’t. 2 hours and 1 minute of Pumpkins. Phew. 

Then, sometimes you’re The Clash, who boldly released the punk rock Hall of Fame double album London Calling (1 hr 5 mins) in 1979 to incredible fanfare! Success against the odds! And then, validated, just threw the kitchen sink onto tape onto their triple album Sandinista! a year later and didn’t hold back (2 hrs 24 mins). Wowsers. 

For all of that, there are instances when the scope creep does work. In addition to the aforementioned magnum opus from The Only Band That Matters, London Calling, the Stones’ high-water mark to a vast number of fans and critics is Exile on Main Street (1 hr 7 mins). Others are out there. Tommy. The Wall. Songs in the Key of Life. 

Goodbye Vinyl Brick Road 

When vinyl fully gave way to cassette along the way in the 1980’s, the double album became less of a big deal. For one thing, it happened less frequently – there was no decade in music as senselessly sprawling, as dilated and diluted with decadence as the 1970’s. Punk rock at its inceptive core was at least in part an angry reaction to 10-minute epic raga saga songs on double albums belted out in flairs and heels with feathered butt cuts. Punk begat new wave, and the 1980’s were a go. (“It's called the 80's, and it's gonna be around forever!”) 

Brevity was suddenly the wit of soul, rock, pop, and other genres in the 80’s. [Except for reggae. And “Purple Rain.” And “Rock Me Amadeus (Salieri Version).”]

Also, cassettes could handle the load on one unit! For the most part, cassette tapes could run up to 45 minutes a side, so even The Minutemen’s Double Nickels on the Dime and its whopping 43 songs was a single tape! (They’re short songs… 1 hr 14 mins.) But wow! 

[Oh, but not Sandinista. That’s two tapes, buddy. Talk about extravagant, boyo.] 

In this cool new medium, runtimes on tapes could elevate beyond the previously established ceilings and nobody really knew or cared. In fact, with the advent of dual cassette stereos and boomboxes, you could have a Maxell (way better than Memorex) 90-minuter with Murmur on one side and Reckoning on the other! And I did! 

Those were great days. Oh, minus the underreported impact from the loss of amazing album art, as liner notes and gatefold album covers were basically eradicated. Also crappy was the inevitable snapping of the tape and the resplicing with scotch tape and a pencil. And the eventual faded warble that cassettes’ sonic brilliance became with overuse. But hey, no scratches like on records! Glad that scratches are gone for good! Oh. Wait for it… 

All Music Media Things Must Pass 

Ah, yes. Then came CD’s. Mind-blowing for the audiophiles. 

Compact discs in the late 80’s and early 90’s were another sea change for squeezing albums onto media. Roughly 74 to 80 minutes on music, so a number of the “double albums” in the original issuance became 2-CD sets. (A little better for album art; still not the same.) 

ooh, the original master recording

Multi-disc releases were boxed and organized a number of different ways, from the big fat double jewel case (could handle 3 or 4 discs but usually just a deuce) to cardboard experimentation to just 4 CD cases that get strewn about in your collection and lost. 

Lose Your Illusion 

So I give short shrift to double albums on CD. Even moreso for streaming. By a looong shot. Doesn’t matter any more. Feels like progress, eh? It’s not. Hell, albums of any kind are secondary items. All the world’s a jukebox and we are merely players of that jukebox now. Only Mr. KQ and a few others spend quiet time with an album and its art. Kudos to that. 

And the seemingly arbitrary time limits of yesteryear? Well, they protected us from overlong kitchen-sink stuff. Hey folk, here’s the demo of the 1st-take acoustic (with oboe) instrumental version of “Layla.” And then Takes 2 and 3 of that. Sweet. 

You know what’s better? Concise? Taut? Crisp? Powerful? Sharp? 

23 minutes on Side A. 

23 minutes on Side B. 

Flip it. Flip it again, if it’s really good shit. 

So… the current malaise has to be remedied. Who's gonna do it? You? You, Lieutenant Marls? I have a greater responsibility to our collective gheorghian music entertainment than you can possibly fathom. 

As such, without anyone asking for it, this is an exercise I have performed for you, albeit one that’s been done – not to death, but ad nauseum in certain music forum spaces on the world wide web. And everyone out there has different opinions, as it damn well should be. So therefore I cannot offer a definitive take on it . . . except that I’ve been hanging with Dave for 37 years so far and so, therefore, this is indeed truly definitive! 

I offer you a premier look at: 

Les Coole’s The “As a Single LP” Project 

:wherein I take double and triple albums of the rock and roll canon and give you a pared-down, svelte, bad-assed rendering of what these records would be like on a single vinyl platter. As in, a Side A and a Side B.  Wander down the road with me if you will. 

Stay tuned. Like right away, the first edition is set to pop, accompanying this post 1-2 like . . . like it's a . . . yep.  A double album. 

I Light My Torch and Burn It

My first-born child turned 24 today. They are a constant source of amusement and amazement to me. By leaps and bounds, they're braver than I've ever been socially and emotionally. They're fearless in their expression and the way they show up in the world. 

Recently, they started a Substack where they share musings and ideas. It's generally very poetic, sometimes profane, often uncomfortable for a middle-aged cis person. And it's fascinating. 

With their permission, here's the text of a recent post based on three decades-old photos of their father. That being me.

in this one he’s a floating white-shirted torso - the hazy grain of the flash, of the badly lit bar, of wherever he was, swallows his legs, and the ink of that creeping dark leeches onto his shirt, coating it with red shadow. he reaches up like a child, right palm flexed in a high-five, or telling god to STOP, or maybe he’s pulling a bow and arrow, left arm tensing the string back, fingers parted lazily. there’s these flecks of brightness dotting the space above his head, unintelligible radiances, probably the glow of yellow bulbs, not planets or stars or halos. it seems he’s been dancing, by the way the fabric of his shirt is wrinkled and pulled, by the way his sleeves are bunched and rolled up to his elbows. he’s got sweat on his brow, and that innocent wonder in the eyes reserved only for the very young and the very drunk. there is no tension in the face; his lips are parted, his mouth is soft, he is not smiling. i want to thank whoever took this photo profusely for saving this privacy. for showing me something i would have never known otherwise, would have never even thought of.

*.

in this one he’s with a friend. it must be new years, they’ve got party blowers in their mouths, making noise in each other’s direction. it’s a playful gesture, boyish. the man boy on the right has a kind of cowboy thing going on, and he’s pretty in the face, muscles of his jaw hard and frozen in motion. dad is on the left and i love him for it, love him for the fat under his chin, love him for the creases in his neck and the acne on his face, the party horn clenched tight between his lips. the plaid on his shirt is a weird pink and red. his face is pink and red, his eyes are drunk again. maybe somebody told them to pose. i’d like to think that it was just something that they did, mister cowboy unfurling his party blower like a paper tongue, dad’s green horn honking in the din of the bar, a silly, beer-bloated goose.

*

he’s alone again in this one. is it strange to keep these from him. is it strange to want to show him, beg for the stories without knowing which one’s to ask for. is it strange to project my new boyhood onto his old boyhood. he had something i can’t have and in breaking into these privacies even for a second i can get closer to him and closer to me. he’s decapitated - head bending down and over the fence he’s trying to conquer. or he could be vomiting, undoing the drinking. it’s unclear. he’s pressing himself up, lifting his weight off the ground, midmotion. red shorts, no shirt. march sixth nineteen ninety five. the flash lights up the leaves in the foreground, silvering them. there’s a road in front of those leaves, a curb, where is he, a flat plane of land and then the fence, and the night behind that fence, the night cutting his head off, looks almost like a man, like he’s leaning into the end of the world.

From this proud Dad's perspective, that kid can write. And think. Also, it's possible that I had an unhealthy relationship with alcohol in my twenties.

Black Eye for CBS

Turns out that former “60 Minutes” executive producer and CBS news hound Bill Owens was more correct than he knew. He resigned from the network last April, you might recall, citing increased corporate meddling toward the long-running news magazine show. In a note to staff, he wrote that it became “clear that I would not be allowed to run the show as I have always run it, to make independent decisions based on what was right for ’60 Minutes,’ right for the audience.” 

Less than three months later, CBS’s parent company, Paramount Global, agreed to pay $16 million to Donald Trump’s foundation* to settle a lawsuit the president filed against the network and “60 Minutes” alleging election interference over an interview with Kamala Harris. Didn’t matter that most legal experts thought the lawsuit frivolous and that CBS would have won. What mattered was that Paramount Global was working on a deal to be sold to mega-corporation Skydance Media and needed approval from Trump’s hand-picked FCC for the new conglomerate, which would be run by a gent named David Ellison, son of billionaire Oracle founder and Trump buddy Larry Ellison. 

[*Ed Note: the fund for his cosmetics, not any sort of philanthropic venture, for as we know, that prick wouldn't lift a finger for someone else]

Bari Weiss is German for Barry White

Sixteen mil is sofa cushion change in an $8 billion merger. Now comes word that CBS News will install Bari Weiss, 41, as editor-in-chief as an offshoot of Paramount’s nine-figure purchase of Weiss’s digital media outfit, The Free Press. Prior to TFP, Weiss did three-year stints as a columnist and opinion writer at the Wall Street Journal and then the New York Times. She left the Times in 2020 and on her way out the door dropped a public resignation letter in which she claimed she was subjected to a hostile work environment and harassed for her views by liberal colleagues. 

Weiss calls herself a centrist liberal who is “politically homeless” due to intolerance Left and Right, but many media knowers describe her as right-leaning and chummy with conservatives. Curiously, conservative Times voices David Brooks or Bret Stephens haven’t been similarly offended or constrained, yet we’re supposed to believe that a centrist was heckled out of the building because “intellectual curiosity is a liability at the Times,” she said. 

Weiss attracted millions of dollars from mostly anonymous donors for The Free Press startup, which began in 2021 as a newsletter but whose subscriber list and valuation grew quickly. Its purchase has been reported in the $150 million range, down from a reported $200 million ask this summer. It bills itself as “Honest. Independent. Fearless.” Yet she and it are heavy pro-Israel and routinely anti-“woke” and skeptical of social justice in society and academia. They regularly call out the worst excesses of the Left, while thinner on criticism of the Trump administration and conservative positions. 

Jay Michaelson, a respected author, rabbi, activist and blogger, wrote recently that there’s little evidence that she’s liberal or even centrist. He said that she tracks conservative and has long been guilty of stoking societal divide with questionable conclusions and sloppy logic and editing, all under the guise of free speech. 

Weiss’s appointment comes on the heels of Paramount recently naming a former Trump appointee and conservative think tank leader to be CBS ombudsman. The network’s long-running Sunday morning show Face the Nation also was instructed to change editing practices after Homeland Security Secretary and animated sack of hair Kristi Noem complained that she didn’t like the way her answers were edited and presented in a segment. 

Weiss’s Zionist leanings have left many to wonder how that will affect coverage of Israeli action and Palestinian suffering in Gaza. With Ellison openly talking of massive layoffs, many CBS News staffers are reportedly somewhere between concerned and freaked. 

If much of this comes across as a lot of newsroom inside baseball, that’s understandable. But as the site’s media grump, I’d argue that Weiss’s leadership may present not only a major shift in tone and practice at a marquee network, it also further chips away at the myth of a monolithic liberal media. Certainly, there are left-leaning sites and publications and plenty of liberal voices at various outlets. But corporate acquisition and consolidation have created huge umbrellas under which newspapers and news organizations work. Decisions are made now for bottom line reasons, irrespective of what they mean for newsrooms and journalistic standards and independence. News organizations are corporate commodities, not an essential component for a functioning democracy. 

Consider that last December, ABC’s parent company, Disney, also settled with Trump for $16 million after private citizen Trump sued ABC for defamation over George Stephanopolous’s imprecise language in discussing the E. Jean Carroll verdict. G-Steph said that Trump was “liable for rape” when the verdict was that he was liable for sexual abuse. The presiding judge said that the distinction between the two was semantic, but Disney settled and issued an apology anyway for several reasons, according to the New York Times: Disney feared that its brand would take a further hit after jousting with Florida governor Ron DeSantis and subsequent criticism and boycotts from conservative officials and customers; the Mouse Empire was also concerned that a Trump FCC would go after ABC’s news license; and it didn’t want to risk a trial that might go to the Trump-friendly Supreme Court. Disney’s a $200-billion brand, and again, $16 mil is pocket change. 

Seven months later, Paramount settled, rather than stand behind a First Amendment defense, signaling that government bullying is an effective tactic for squeezing free speech in general and journalism in particular when spread sheets rule the day. When Stephen Colbert called it for what it was, he was told that his late night show was going to be cancelled. Purely a financial decision, Paramount execs said, because the show loses money. Uh huh. Then, after Jimmy Kimmel’s fairly innocuous remark about MAGA attempting to score political points following conservative activist Charlie Kirk’s killing, FCC chair and Trump crony Brendan Carr talked about going after Kimmel and ABC’s broadcast license, and the network suspended him for a week. 

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by MouthyGirl (@mouthygirl)

Trump has done exactly what he promised, using the Presidency to go after those he considers enemies and those he thinks crossed him. He has banged the “fake news” drum for a decade over unflattering coverage, and with a weaponized justice system and a pliant regulatory structure, sometimes all it takes is the threat of government action or scrutiny to affect news decisions and slant reporting. No one knows what CBS News and “60 Minutes” will look like in six months or a year. Change is coming, with new corporate oversight and a hand-picked, conservative provocateur in charge of a thinned work force. The stopwatch is still tick-tick-ticking, but is it marking time or a more ominous countdown?

In Defense of Shame

We live in the time of an epidemic of shamelessness. Good people of all stripes who have the capacity for feeling shame watch helplessly horrified as cretins with no sense of humiliation wantonly stomp on the poor, the downtrodden, the differently abled, the people of color, the gender noncomforming, the queer. Really, if you don't fit into a very small box: white, "conservative", "Christian", you're an enemy of the Shameless.

I come here today to praise shame, and to plead for its return to our public discourse.

I've been meaning to write this post for a while, and Lord knows there's been plenty of fodder for it since our most recent long national nightmare descended that gilded escalator. I could've chose any one of dozens of insults the President* has spewed over his time in the political spotlight. Might've talked about Boebert, or Taylor Greene, or the abasement of Rubio, or lying about the size of the inauguration way back in 2017. In hindsight, we should've been louder.

Most of those violations of ethical norms seem quaint now. 

The new proximate cause of my shame about our lack of shame is this week's humiliating display by Pete Hegseth and his boss, with a side of Stephen Miller's dweeby fake toughguy turn.

If you've been living like Luke Skywalker, or been smart enough to spend your time watching sports, listening to music, reading books, and generally avoiding the news, here's the story on the former. Hegseth, who desperately wants you to call him the Secretary of War because he's dumber than a bag of hammers and less nuanced, summoned hundreds of generals and admirals from their posts around the world to an in-person meeting at the Marine Corps base in Quantico, VA.

Given the extremely unusual nature of the meeting and the significant security risk inherent in publicly bringing nearly all of the country's senior flag officers and their key staff together in a single location, initial speculation suggested that the meeting was to be extremely important. Friends, it was not.

Once the plan for the meeting made the news and got some attention, Hegseth's boss wanted some of that sweet, sweet camera time, and glommed onto the occasion. The officers sat together, their ranks thinned of black, brown, and female colleagues by Hegseth, in an auditorium at the Marine Corps Museum, a monument to valor, courage, and honor, and listened to his type of abject nonsense:

The stone silence of the room of military professionals that greeted this intended applause line was among the cringiest moments of a festival of awkward.

Often in his rambling, chest-out, rah-rah harangue, Hegseth praised lethality above "woke", saying things like, "You kill people and break things for a living. You are not politically correct, and don’t necessarily belong always in polite society.”

That first sentence will be news to the 85% of the leaders in the meeting who are responsible for the boring (to Hegseth) but absolutely vital elements of effective military organization like logistics, healthcare, financial management, procurement, education, communications, information technology, and on and on and on. The second sentence built on Hegseth's guidance to ignore rules of engagement and kill bad guys. Which elides the fact that rules of engagement protect our troops as much as they do enemy combatants. If we have no honor, no guardrails on the battlefield, we have no moral legs to stand on should our enemies decide that if torture, violence against civilians, and wanton murder are good enough for Americans, then they're good enough for them, too.

I won't get into the Commander-in-Chief's remarks, because a) you've heard them all before, and b) I'll be goddamned if I besmirch this here web cottage with that bloated fuck's voice. But I'll let Ronny Chieng make fun of Hegseth for your amusement:

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by The Daily Show (@thedailyshow)

All of this is to say that it's just gobsmacking to hear a man who's failed at nearly everything he's ever done other than be telegenic proudly lecture a room of professionals any one of which is his intellectual and moral superior and not feel the merest scintilla of shame. Not one ounce. It's incomprehensible.

Equally so the recent ranting of naked mole rat slash sentient penis Stephen Miller, who was heard (I won't make you watch it for the sake of your sanity) to say before an audience of law enforcement officials, "All that bullshit is done, over, it's finished. The gangbangers you deal with - they think they're ruthless? They have no idea how ruthless we are. They think they're tough? They have no idea how tough we are. They think they're hardcore? We are so much more hardcore than they are."

The irony of this ballsack of a coward posing as hard man, this Jiminy Glick playing Jason Momoa is obvious. The root of his pathology a bit harder to divine. But the lack of humility, of the ability to feel shame, that's on full display to all of our great detriment.

Shame on us, brought by men and women who feel none. May the tables turn sooner than later.

Baseball Playoff Backstories

Quick hitter for you baseball fans out there. I used to be one of those, that is until the Mets eviscerated me. Like clockwork.  Yet again. 

First round of baseball is always fun. Especially for longtime fans of the game when it comes to certain matchups. Check it. 

4-seed Yankees vs 5-seed Red Sox 

This one does not need a lot of explanation. It needs way less than it gets, actually. Yanks/Sox, blah blah blah. These two teams are bitter foes to much fanfare in general, but nevermore than in the postseason. 1978 went one way, 2004 went another. They actually squared off in the early rounds of the 2018 and 2021 postseasons, but when those match-ups don’t feature Bucky or Papi or have the fireworks of the old days, it gets plenty of mass media attention for those 3-5 days and then gets quickly dispensed in the minds of those outside of the Northeast. 

Little known fact: the Yankees and Red Sox both made the playoffs in the same season for the first time in 1995 – the first-ever year with wild cards. What you don’t recall, unless you’re rob, is that the Sox got skunked by the Tribe in three, mainly because they trotted out Zane Smith, Erik Hanson, and Timmy Wake. (The Rocket was presumably still having another trip to the buffett at Wendy’s SuperBar.)

What you do recall is this: (sorry, Teej):

   

But all eyes are on this series now. 

3 Dodgers vs 6 Reds 

Did You Know??? Between 1972 and 1978, the Dodgers and Reds finished 1-2 in the AL West every single year. The Big Red Machine won the division 4 years, the Big Blue Wrecking Crew 3. It also happened in 1970, 1985, 1988, and 1990 – with those years being split 2-2 each. Sparky vs Tommy, Charlie Hustle, Steve Garvey, Joe Morgan, Ron Cey, George Foster, Dusty Baker, Johnny Bench, Reggie Smith, and many more… and that was just the hitters. What a terrific rivalry with some (red) legs to it… that faded from view as soon as the league restructured itself in 1994. LA stayed West, Cincy went Central, and that was that. 

They have never played each other in the playoffs. Get some. 

3 Guardians vs 6 Tigers 

In 2024, Cleveland beat Detroit in the ALDS, 3 games to 2. Before that, these two teams had never met in the postseason. Until the advent of the wild card in ‘95, they never could have. They also never finished 1-2 in division in the 70’s like the Reds and Dodgers, so there wasn’t the same rivalry. 5-6 was more the norm. Cleveland was turrrrible for the entire 1970’s and 1980’s with two exceptions: on the 1987 Sports Illustrated cover that touted them as the best team in the AL (that was April; they went 61-101) and in Major League (1989). 

The Tigers were marginally better, taking the division in ’73 and ’87 and winning it all in 1984. (Never since; a drought longer than the Mets’! Yes!) But there was never a close pennant race between these two clubs until 2013, when Detroit eked out a 1-game title. Of course, Cleveland got dispatched in a 1-game WC and the Tigers lost to the Red Sox in the ALCS . . . who went on to win the Series . . . again . . . neat. 

This year the Tigers blew a midseason division (and league) lead that was miles and miles long, and the Guardians took the AL Central by a game. 

Detroit took Game 1 yesterday. Game 2 starts now. Go. 

4 Cubs vs 5 Padres 

Oh, man. Here is all you need to know. The Cubs had last won in 1908 when they squared off against the upstart Padres in the National League Championship Series 1984. The Cubbies were the best team in the NL that year, winning 96 games and making believers of the Northsiders. They won Game 1 of the best of-five against San Diego, 13-0. Took Game 2 as well. Off to the west coast, where the Pad Squad took Games 3 and 4 – the latter on a 9th inning homer. 

In the deciding Game 5, the Cubs were up 3-2 in the bottom of the 7th with ’84 Cy Young winner Rick Sutcliffe on the hill. (Sutcliffe had been shipped out by Cleveland early in the season after posting a 4-5, 5.15 numbers, only to go 16-1, 2.69. Oh, the Tribe.) 

With a man on, a grounder as routine as it gets went to the normally sure-handed Cubs 1B Leon Durham. (Durham was a 2e9 in Strat-o-matic that year. Very solid.) 

It went like this.

   

Should’ve been handled, cost them the lead. Then Sutcliffe imploded (single/double/single) and that was that. Drought extended. 

This is the first postseason match-up between these two clubs since. Giddyup.

So there is baseball life after seeing your favorite team collapse from playoff shoo-in to afterthought. 

Still sucks. 

Monday Morning Motivation

May this week bring you a moment or several that approach Shane Lowry's Sunday evening. The burly Irishman guaranteed Europe's retention of the Ryder Cup with a birdie on the 18th hole at Bethpage Black Golf Course in Farmingdale, NY to earn a draw against American Russell Henley. Catharsis on a world stage. Maybe yours won't be as dramatic, but I wish it for you regardless.