Hugo Chavez.

By the time the Hall of Fame came to grips with the issue of how to present Latino baseball, there were already seven Hispanic players in Cooperstown (eight if you include Ted Williams)--Martin Dihigo, Roberto Clemente, Orlando Cepeda, Rod Carew, Luis Aparicio, Juan Marichal and Tony Perez—with more on the way. Catcher Ivan Rodriguez, shortstop, Alex Rodriguez, pitchers Pedro Martinez and Mariano Rivera and sluggers Manny Ramirez and David Ortiz are sure bets; Vladimir Guerrero, Roberto Alomar and—if the voters get past their steroid use--Sammy Sosa, Rafael Palmeiro and Miguel Tejada have a shot. And there are more where they came from.

Telling the story of Latino baseball was never going to be as easy as tossing a little pepper into the great American melting pot. But Dale Petrosky and his boss, Jane Forbes Clark, complicated matters by going into it with a partner, the CITGO Petroleum Corporation. The Hall announced that CITGO would be the sponsor of permanent Cooperstown exhibit on Hispanic baseball.

The Hall had not previously taken on partners in its museum, but Ernst&Young had sponsored the traveling “Baseball as America” show, and Jane Forbes Clark had pronounced it an example of “a great American tradition—that of patronage—providing support for the artistic and intellectual endeavors that better our society.” But CITGO wasn’t Ernst&Young. It is the national energy company of Venezuela, which means that it is controlled by Hugo Chavez.

How this happened is a mystery, even to Jeff Idelson, the current president of the Hall. “Chavez and his political views didn't come into play when we were considering the sponsorship with CITGO," he told me. Idelson is an experienced public relations expert and I’m sure he wouldn’t lie. Evidently, the two Republicans running the Hall of Fame joined forces with the biggest American hater in the Western Hemisphere without giving it a thought.

In April 2006 the !Baseball Beisbol! project was launched with great fanfare. "We want to explore the growing Latino influence in the game, the way the game is played and loved throughout Latin America," Dale Petrosky announced. "Over the next five years, we want to bring the rich history of Latin American baseball to the largest American audience ever."

Frank Gygax, CITGO Chief Operating Officer, confirmed that his company had given a five-year commitment to the Hall of Fame, and contemplated a long and happy partnership. "We hope this display will find a permanent home in Cooperstown," he said.

For the next few months, a temporary “panel” exhibit was displayed in major league parks, under the Hall of Fame/CITGO banner. This early edition of !Beisbol Baseball! was seen by fans in Atlanta, Boston, Baltimore, Detroit, Houston, Milwaukee, San Diego, Tampa Bay and Cincinnati and it was still  circulating when Hugo Chavez appeared before the United Nations General Assembly in September. There, in an unforgettable televised speech, he denounced George W. Bush, President of the United States (and former owner of the Texas Rangers) as the incarnation of Satan.

"The devil came here yesterday," Chavez said from the podium of the UN General Assembly, "and it smells of sulfur still today…As the spokesman of imperialism, he came to share his nostrums to try to preserve the current pattern of domination, exploitation and pillage of the peoples of the world…The American empire is doing all it can to consolidate its hegemonistic system of domination, and we cannot allow him to do that. We cannot allow world dictatorship to be consolidated."

Chavez’s feelings about the US were not exactly a secret.

The previous May, as !Baseball Beisbol! toured the country, Chavez accused America of committing genocide. Somehow this had escaped the attention of the Hall’s Board of Directors, but the televised diatribe at the UN was hard to miss. Not all of them loved George W. Bush, but he if was an imperialist, what did that make them?  They suddenly noticed that Chavez was accusing Major League Baseball of "exploiting" Latino raw material, in the form of talent, for decades. He was even talking about taxing the majors for the privilege of mining ballplayers.  Who had decided to go into partnership with this guy?

Of course nobody asked this question out loud; Cooperstown is a shrine, and shrines keep their secrets.

Besides, the answer was clear. President Petrosky had proposed the deal, and the Directors themselves, led by Jane Forbes Clark, had approved it.

The agreement with CITGO was suspended in the spring of 2007 and then very quietly cancelled.   There was virtually no press coverage.

In March of 2008, the Hall of Fame announced that Petrosky was out. "The resignation is the result of our finding that Dale Petrosky failed to exercise proper fiduciary responsibility, and it follows other business judgments that were not in the best interest of the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum."

"Fiduciary" is the English word for Chavez.

Once again, there was barely a ripple in the media. One of America’s most iconic national institutions had made, and cancelled, an alliance with Hugo Chavez, and nobody noticed.

Jeff Idelson, who was one of the few people who had counseled against the deal, was appointed president. When I asked him what had happened, he answered that, “it is our policy not to reveal financial considerations.” According to him, the project fell apart because the Hall of Fame couldn’t find suitable locations—an odd answer considering that the permanent exhibition was intended for Cooperstown.

Petrosky went quietly. "After almost nine productive years at the Hall of Fame, I have offered my resignation to the Hall's Executive Committee, and it has been accepted," he said.

"The Hall of Fame is a world-class institution, and I am proud of all we have accomplished through vision, hard work, and teamwork. I serve at the pleasure of the Board, and accept the judgment of the Executive Committee."

Petrosky moved to Texas, where he was hired by George Bush’s old team, the Rangers, as director of marketing. CITGO swore on a stack of bibles that the cancellation had nothing to do with Hugo Chavez. Jane Forbes Clark said absolutely nothing. It is good to be the Queen.

This spring, the Hall of Fame will mount Viva Béisbol! It will, in Jeff Idelson’s words, “explore the exciting story of Latin American baseball, viewing the game through both its cultural history in the Caribbean Basin and the impact of Latino players on Major League Baseball.” Presumably there will be no problem finding space for it.

“We have not yet begun to look for sponsors for this compelling exhibit but plan to do so in the very near future," Idelson said. Castro, anyone?

Adams and Eastwood in Trouble with the Curve.

In the often illustrious career oeuvre of Clint Eastwood, Trouble with the Curve is a minor entry, a cinematic footnote. Worse yet, the screenplay and first-time direction, by Mr. Eastwood’s friend and long-time producing partner Robert Lorenz, seems like a loyalty benefit, a lazy afterthought. After such post-Dirty Harry triumphs as Unforgiven, Mystic River and Million Dollar Baby, color it disappointing. 

Eastwood plays Gus Lobel, a miserable old codger whose sharp-tongued snarl and cracked Gravel Gertie grumble makes him sound like the same sourball he played in his previous also-ran, Grand Torino. Gus is a grizzled talent scout with the Atlanta Braves with more wrinkles in his face than the gray hairs on his balding head. He’s sick, and he’s seen better days, but even if the apple won’t bite, he’s not giving up and he’s not giving in. Gus may breakfast on tinned Spam, trip over chairs and other simple household obstacles and harrumph his way through the Medicare years, but he can still spot a future baseball star from an airplane. Time is passing him by (he doesn’t even use a computer, which makes him a T. Rex after my own heart), but Gus can still hear the mark of a great pitcher by the crack of a bat. The problem is, his eyesight is failing so fast that he can’t always see what he’s doing, even when he hears it. One of his greatest discoveries was a batter who has lost his stride. Now the Braves are questioning his judgment. They want to draft a hot young rookie batter using new technology (shades of Moneyball), and with only three months to go before his contract expires, Gus wants one last chance to prove his value. If he can’t see what he’s supposed to be appraising, he could be fired. He needs help, and the only person he can call on is his resentful daughter Mickey (Amy Adam). Gus has always been a self-absorbed absentee father with poor parenting skills, and Mickey is now a successful Atlanta lawyer—on the verge of becoming a partner in her firm—who doesn’t want anything to do with him. But in the kind of plot contrivance you find only in the movies, Mickey knows more about baseball than her father. Go figure. Reluctantly, she takes her first weekend off in seven years, showing up on Gus’ scouting trip to North Carolina and straining her credibility with the competitive sharks in line for her promotion in order to save her dad’s reputation. When the hotshot pitcher the Braves want to hire fails to impress him, Gus has to find a way to buck authority that could alter the future of baseball.

Half domestic family drama, half gentle sports saga with the saga part missing, Trouble with the Curve is less riveting than it ought to be. Amy Adams more than makes up for her ill-fated appearance in the abominable The Master,and I must admit I laughed at the sight of macho Marlboro Man Eastwood busting up a chair, kicking it into a corner and calling it “feng shui.” But the hearty moments are rare, and Randy Brown’s screenplay fails to resist sentimentality. (In one scene, Gus visits his wife’s grave and speaks the lyrics to “You Are My Sunshine,” bordering on embarrassment.) A star of this caliber has earned the right to an off-day at the movies, but I guess I have come to expect a whole lot more. Meanwhile, Mickey falls for a former Red Sox pitcher named Johnny “The Flame” Flanagan (a miscast Justin Timberlake), who scouts for a rival team. This is called conflict. The estranged father-daughter relationship, however, just plods along between innings. Against Gus’ objections, the Braves overrule him and pick the pitcher he considered flawed. Now it’s up to Mickey to prove to John Goodman, Robert Patrick, Matthew Lillard and other accomplished cast members playing friends, enemies and assorted cynics on the Braves management staff that their prize catch cannot hit a curve ball. She also presents her own discovery as a replacement, just in time for a corny ending I did not find entirely convincing. If you believe an accomplished, self-made woman gives up a law partnership to manage the career of an unknown, then there’s this lifetime championship trophy with your name on it in the National Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, New York, that I can sell you cheap.

rreed@observer.com

TROUBLE WITH THE CURVE

Running Time 111 minutes

Written by Randy Brown

Directed by Robert Lorenz

Starring Clint Eastwood, Amy Adams and John Goodman

2/4

Yankees General Manager Brian Cashman watching spring training last year in Tampa. (Photo: Getty)

On Sunday afternoon, Brian Cashman, general manager of the New York Yankees, stood by the dugout at George M. Steinbrenner Field in Tampa watching the team take batting practice prior to a spring training matchup against the Detroit Tigers. A pair of dark glasses shielded Mr. Cashman’s eyes from the bright Florida rays, but his mostly bald crown was exposed. A man walked up to Mr. Cashman and gave him a warm greeting.

“What’s cooking?” the man asked.

“My head,” Mr. Cashman replied tersely.

The 44-year-old GM has plenty of reasons to feel the heat aside from the temperatures in Tampa, which topped 80 degrees nearly every day this month. Mr. Cashman spent much of the offseason dealing with a sex scandal that saw photos of his alleged pajama pants make the blog headlines and found him in court facing an alleged mistress he claims stalked and harassed him.

In addition to his personal problems, his team’s future is far from set. As of this writing, the Yankees are in sixth place in the American League spring training standings and the team’s time in Florida hasn’t yielded a definitive rotation of starting pitchers.

For the past few seasons, the Yankees have earned a reputation as a high-scoring haven for power hitters. Big bats like Mark Teixeira, Alex Rodriguez, Robinson Cano and Curtis Granderson have helped the team live up to its Bronx Bombers nickname and for the past three years have kept it among the top three run-scoring teams in baseball. Offense looks to be a nonissue for the Yankees again in 2012, but pitching is primed to be problematic.

If Opening Day were tomorrow, the Yankees’ rotation would probably start with ace CC Sabathia, Freddy Garcia and two new acquisitions who compiled losing records last year, Michael Pineda and Hiroki Kuroda. The final spot will be filled by some combination of Ivan Nova, who enjoyed a strong rookie season last year, Phil Hughes, a widely touted prospect who has yet to live up to his promise, and Andy Pettitte, a Yankee legend who was coaxed back from retirement.

Suzyn Waldman, one half of the Yankees radio play-by-play team with John Sterling, dismissed worries about the team’s rotation at a breakfast event with fans Sunday.

“You’ve got seven guys going for five spots. That sounds pretty good to me,” said Ms. Waldman, who along with Mr. Sterling is often accused of rooting a little too hard for the home team.

In Steinbrennerland, however, nothing short of a World Series championship is seen as satisfactory. Having a press corps and fan base accustomed to dynasties doesn’t help. Ms. Waldman described this all-or-nothing ethos on Sunday.

“If you don’t win, the season was a failure. That’s how the mindset is here,” she said.

Spring training, which ends next week, is a brief respite from the media frenzy and rowdy fans that put an unusual amount of pressure on the Yankees once the regular season gets under way. Jon Tillis, a deputy with the Hillsborough County Sheriff’s Department who has worked every Yankees spring training game since the team came to Tampa in 1996, said he could “count the number of people I’ve had to throw out of here on one hand.” When a fan asked him if he would want to try working in the Bronx, Mr. Tillis shook his head and laughed.

“Nope,” he said without hesitation.

Off the field, the players stay at the nearby Westin Hotel, where “No Autographs” and “No Pictures” signs in the lobby keep prying fans at bay. A staffer told us Mr. Sabathia and Mr. Nova have taken to unwinding by renting jet skis on the hotel beach. We asked her if Mr. Nova was any good.

“Not the first time, but he warmed up to it,” she said.

hwalker@observer.com

Pitt.

Sure, it’s the familiar formula about a losing team (the Oakland Athletics) catapulted to glory by a tough, idealistic general manager (controversial Billy Beane, immortalized in a compelling performance by Brad Pitt, at the top of his game). But thanks to the awesome collaboration of two brilliant Oscar-winning screenwriters, Steven Zaillian (Schindler’s List) and Aaron Sorkin (The Social Network) and one polished director, Bennett Miller (Capote), expect a vacation from clichés and a home run in the final inning with the bases loaded.  Based on the best-seller by writer Michael Lewis, Moneyball details the unconventional strategy devised by Beane shortly after the A’s lost the American League Division Series to the New York Yankees in 2001. In a sink-or-swim decision, he compared the other teams funded by huge budgets with his own team owners and outdated scouts who couldn’t afford to recruit champions, and weighed his options: “We’re the last dog bowl in the room—and you know what happens to the runt of the litter? He dies.” During a strategy meeting to beg favors from the Cleveland Indians, he notices a fat nerdy young economics graduate from Yale named Peter Brand (Jonah Hill) who specializes in team management based on player analysis. To everyone’s amazement and derision, he becomes fascinated by such an oddball and actually hires him as his dorky new assistant. Brand hits the computer and comes up with 25 names they can afford. They rebuilt the team with tapped losers, traded for damaged players and bargained for defective rejects, then switched their positions on the field. Even Art Howe, the pessimistic new team coach (startlingly bald Philip Seymour Hoffman) was hired with a one-year contract because it’s all their budget would allow. Shy, almost socially autistic, and definitely inept in business, Peter nevertheless juggled figures in his head and came up with a scheme that revolutionized major league baseball. “Adapt or die” was the new motto. It was a colossal gamble, but suddenly the game was blackjack and Billy, 44, and his new assistant, 25, became the players who changed the casino rules. Treating baseball as science instead of reverence, they called their eyebrow-raising experiment “moneyball” and the press massacred them for it. But when the Oakland A’s won 19 games in a row—the longest winning streak in baseball—the team soared to American League stardom. The rest is history.

It’s a story that holds up beautifully in the re-telling, but the best thing about Moneyball is the human element. Billy Beane is not soft-pedaled into a deity, and Brad Pitt takes impeccable precautions not to underplay his abrasive personality. Except for caring about his daughter’s respect and a grudging fondness for his remarried ex-wife (Robin Wright, in a one-scene cameo), there’s nothing about his personal life. He shows no hidden compassion for his players as human beings, trading and cutting them at will with no advance warning, and flies into rants and smashes up the furniture at will. You may not admire him, but you can’t help but like Brad Pitt, even when he overdoes his trademark mannerism of saying almost every line with his mouth full of food and drink. (At last week’s Toronto International Film Festival, he admitted he doesn’t even like baseball.) Chubby Jonah Hill is perfect casting as Peter Brand, the computer doofus obsessed with statistics, but his own private life is a blank page, too. Hoffman is largely wasted in the dugout, looking grouchy. Still, in the crack pacing, smart dialogue and exhilarating camerawork by Wally Pfister, any quibbles of mine are minor. This is a subtle, elegant and altogether triumphant film about a subject I thought I was tired of, told with an artistry and freshness that is positively thrilling.

rreed@observer.com

MONEYBALL

Running Time 133 minutes

Written by Steven Zaillian and Aaron Sorkin

Directed by Bennett Miller

Starring Brad Pitt, Robin Wright and Jonah Hill

3.5/4

Highlights:

• Derek Jeter nicknamed the kid "Squeegee." Because Mr. Jeter thought said batboy looked like a Squeegee.
• Mr. Jeter used to greet the batboys as "bee-yotch-es."
• When Bill Clinton dropped by the clubhouse, Mr. Jeter's only words for him were "Hey, Mr. President, you staying out of trouble?"
• Mr. Jeter sent his trainer to pick up women he was attracted to in bars, rather than initiate contact with them himself.
• Jorge Posada once tipped the batboy $7,000 at the end of the year. Alex Rodriguez? $1,400.
• Former Yankees manager Joe Torre used to bet on horses. From the dugout. During games.
• Whenever Yankees owner George Steinbrenner was in the house, the code used was "RED ALERT."

The most endearing tale, however, may be reserved for designated hitter and outfielder Hideki "Godzilla"  Matsui, the otherwise quiet and reliable 2009 World Series MVP, who the Yankees let go the next season on a one-year $6.5M contract to the Los Angeles Angels in a flub that still stings Yankees fans to this day. This wonderful anecdote about Mr. Matsui's mystique-shrouded clubhouse demeanor—which little was known about, as he was never much of a talker, even for the Yankees—may only serve to make Yankees fans miss him more.

The setting is a locker room meeting before Game 7 of the 2004 ACLS, which the Yankees lost to the Boston Red Sox, who went on to win the World Series. And, scene:

At the end of the meeting it was traditional for Joe Torre to ask Jorge Posada what we were going to do. He would reply, "Grind it!" This time -- I guess to make Hideki Matsui feel more part of the team -- Torre turned tohimat the end of the meeting.

"What are we going to do?"

Hideki paused for just a second before replying.

"Kick ass. Pop champagne. And get some ho's."

Reminder: Mr. Matsui emigrated from Japan to play for the New York Yankees in 2003. It took less than two seasons with the Yankees before he got to that point.

There is truly nothing in the world like a pinstriped baseball player of New York.

fkamer@observer.com | @weareyourfek

Baseball's having a hell of a (money-oriented crime) related week.

According to the release (which touts the fact that he used to play baseball, because even SEC button-ups need to feel the glory of a successful at-bat), Mr. DeCinces and his co-conspirators made $1.7M off of the sale of the a company called Advanced Medical Optics Inc. to Illinois-based Abbott Laboratories Inc. The former third baseman—active in Major League Baseball from 1973 to 1987 most prominently for Baltimore—agreed to pay $2.5M to the SEC to settle the charges. His insider trading skills sound inversely porportioned to his baseball skills, which earned him a place on the AL All-Star team in 1986. From the SEC:

DeCinces, who lives in Laguna Beach, Calif., received confidential information about the acquisition from a source at Santa Ana, Calif.-based Advanced Medical Optics. DeCinces immediately began to purchase shares of Advanced Medical Optics in several brokerage accounts, buying more throughout the course of the impending transaction as he received updated information from his source. During this time, DeCinces also illegally tipped three associates who traded on the confidential information – physical therapist Joseph J. Donohue, real estate lawyer Fred Scott Jackson, and businessman Roger A. Wittenbach.

Even better? Cliche that jocks are idiots: perpetrated.

Donohue made $75,570 when he sold the stock on the same day as the public announcement. DeCinces later asked Donohue whether he had sold his stock and congratulated him.

Anyone congratulating anybody else on making $75K on insider trading is also, very likely, the kind of person stupid enough to be caught. Mr. DeCinces—worth $1.99 at Sears, mint condition—and his aspirants should take some tips from known goldbug and Mets kinda-owner David Einhorn. Or really, anybody with skin in the (baseball) game who's made money elsewhere legally. Or at least more discreetly. From a 2008 MLB.com piece on his (second) life after third base:

"People don't really understand what it takes to be a professional athlete. It takes a lot of dedication and preparation in order to be successful and I took those traits and went to the business world with that same preparation."

When reached by The Observer, a spokesman for the (43-64) Baltimore Orioles declined to comment on Mr. DeCinces hall-of-fame status with the ball club until "they have gathered all the facts."

SEC Charges Former Professional Baseball Player Doug DeCinces and Three Others with Insider Trading [SEC]

Previously:DeCinces enjoying life as businessman. [MLB.com]

fkamer@observer.com | @weareyourfek

Derek Jeter came of age during a time now referred to as baseball’s “steroids era.” It was a time of astounding home run records, achieved by players with thick forearms and broad shoulders—the result, we were led to believe, of their commitment to fitness. Of course, we now know otherwise. All those records are now regarded as false, the product of cheating on a vast scale. A sport that revels in its history and that is custodian to some of the athletic world’s best-known individual achievements has been left to figure out how to account for fallen heroes and their tainted achievements.

Sports historians, however, will not be able to dismiss the steroids era with broad generalities about those who made their reputations during a tainted time. That’s because they will have to account for those who went about the business of excellence the right way. They will have to account for, among others, Derek Jeter, whose legacy of achievement and performance under pressure is no more awe-inspiring than his dignity, class and integrity.

No other Yankee has recorded as many hits as Derek Jeter has. Given the transitory nature of the sport, it is unlikely that his feat will be outdone any time soon. The Yankee captain has been a Yankee lifer and will remain so until he calls it a career.

But the measure of Derek Jeter’s importance goes beyond the record book, and even beyond the five World Series rings he has won. It goes beyond, too, his personal highlight reel—the dive into the box seats to snag a foul ball, the famous flip play at home plate and even the dramatic home run for his 3,000th hit.

Derek Jeter’s importance, as a player, as a Yankee, as a New Yorker, is as a symbol of all those qualities some believe have been lost forever in the hypercommercial, hypercompetitive world of professional sports in the 21st century. He has played by the rules, he has been loyal to his fan base, and he has managed to do the right thing at the right time.

He is a refutation of our most cynical thoughts. For that, more than anything else, we owe him thanks.

Mr. McKay said that the company's moniker, fictitiously identified on its Web site as referring to a "Paraguayan entrepreneur and financier," was selected largely at random by Mr. Ferrell.

So no, conspiracy theorists: The young star from the Dominican Republic, whose $3 million 2009 signing bonus was the largest the Yankees have ever given an amateur or a position player, isn't simply a comedic counterpart to Talladega Nights' Ricky Bobby or Eastbound and Down's Kenny Powers, both released by Gary Sanchez Productions. Nor is he a complete hoax, à la George Plimpton's famous pitcher-slash-yogi Sidd Finch. "Oh, that would've been genius!" Mr. McKay said. "But no, the kid can legitimately play and his name is legitimately Gary Sanchez. How bizarre."

The station is running baseball highlights, and the subway cars have been plastered with ads from wheels to room. For that real bleacher experience, the seats inside the cars have been made to look like those at Yankee Stadium. MTA boss Jay Walder heralded the move in a statement as a crucial addition to the agency's $127 million (and growing) ad portfolio:

The MTA earns more than $100 million per year from sales of advertising space, mostly through traditional print media, but this traditional advertising has suffered as a result of the recession. Our uncertain finances mean that we have to think creatively to maximize the value of our physical assets. One way we are doing that is by creating more dynamic advertising opportunities.

The Times spoke to one Jersey bank analyst who said he'd watch the thing at home if he could. “It’s too bad I can only take this train one stop,” Anthony Polini told the Gray Lady.

Whether on-board TV will be rolled out system-wide—maybe they could start showing movies on the A-Line, as it makes it blah blah blah—remains to be seen. Perhaps there hasn't been more because, as Mr. Walder suggests in his statement, nobody has any money to buy advertising at the moment. (NO KIDDING!)

The agency has debuted similar ad schemes at Times Square before, such as wrapped cars and turnstile advertising, but they have yet to proliferate. It's a mixed blessing. Do New Yorkers really need to be assaulted by even more omnipresent advertising? Then again, anything to stave off further fare hikes.

Indeed, it looks like this latest gambit won't be enough to keep the MTA from jacking up unlimited Metrocards once again, as both the Post and Times report. Apparently there has been little interest in the proposed 90-ride, $99 "unlimited" card, so the agency will likely go with a truly unlimited card at the previously announced $104.

A final decision will not be made before October, but consider that the agency has yet to pull back from a card hike. And, that cards will now have gone up three times in as many years, from $76 per month in 2008. That's an increase of 37 percent, or 12.33 percent a year. At that rate, Metrocards will cost $232 by the end of the decade. Here's hoping the MTA can sell a lot of airtime before then.

Last night, for instance, a harmless question The Brooklyn Paper at a minor league baseball game somehow yielded this response:

"I remember I came here the Friday before 9-11," Giuliani said in response to a simple question about which team he would be rooting for in the game between the [Brooklyn] Cyclones or the Staten Island Yankees. "There was a beautiful view of the World Trade Center - there was a nice view of the towers from Staten Island's ballpark, too."

Earlier this month, he told Matt Lauer that he was opposed to the mosque two blocks from ground zero, and spoke on behalf of the 9/11 vicitms' families, "who I happen to know and have gotten to know really well."