Huffing and Stuffing (Your Face): Clyde’s New Steakhouse

Some news needs little explication, like this Facebook page trumpeting next Monday’s opening of Clyde Frazier’s Wine and Dine, a steakhouse/sports bar/NBA emporium/shrine to Clyde (he’s Clyde, not Walt, on these pages) on 10th Ave and 37th St.

For those who aren’t aware of Clyde’s sterling Knicks’ career and linguistically unique announcing style, click here. Those of you who imagine Clyde’s silky voice and painfully constructed rhymes as you drift off to sleep, enjoy tidbits like the following:

Once inside, a 14-foot high scrim provides a continuous reel of Clyde battling against other hardwood legends such as Phil Jackson and Wilt Chamberlain.

Oh, yes.

Jake Of All Trades: A Match Play Redemption

My college guidance counselor had a derisive saying for people who were familiar with many subject areas but had no one area of expertise: Jack of all trades, master of none. I suffer from a similar problem when it comes to sports — I know a lot about almost every relevant global sport without focusing on any one game. For once, I’d like to play up that fact. So every Monday, I’ll break down a sporting event from the past week that won’t lead SportsCenter or make the Sports Illustrated cover but is fascinating nonetheless. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll read about a sport or athlete too “unsexy” for most people to write about at length. Enjoy.

For all their complexities, sports are pretty simple once you get to know them. The rules and the forum of competition don’t change, even as the athletes do. Basketball doesn’t add a four-point line once a week, and soccer doesn’t become a shootout contest at a few special tournaments a year. The game is the game, the rules set in stone (or in the pages of long, banal rulebooks).

Then there’s golf. Specifically, match play golf.

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Broken Glass: The A.J. Burnett Saga

On July 17, 2010, I attended Old Timer’s Day at Yankee Stadium with a friend. The fans, always a little extra buzzed on Old Timer’s Day, were at a fever pitch because of the death of George Steinbrenner just a few days before. The place was aching for a win.

Instead, we were treated to a temper tantrum. Starter A.J. Burnett gave up three runs in the first two innings, then inexplicably did not come out to the mound for the third. “What the hell happened?” my friend asked, echoing the angry warbling of the Bleacher Creatures around us.

Only after the 10-5 loss did we find out why Burnett’s day was so short. After the second inning, he retreated in the clubhouse and smashed his hands on a set of double doors in frustration.

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