Using Up the Leftovers

Quick! Here's a bunch of stuff I was too lazy to write about earlier in the week!

• Ever since Eric Bruntlett's game-ending feat on Sunday, I've been fascinated by the history of the unassisted triple play. It occurred seven times between the years of 1909 and 1927, which would certainly make it uncommon, but frequent enough that you wouldn't expect it to become one of the rarest events in baseball. I mean, in 1927 it happened on two consecutive days! Then, almost as if it were feeling overexposed, the unassisted triple play seemed to have gone into a self-imposed exile for 65 years, emerging only briefly in 1968. It wasn't until Mickey Morandini in 1992 that the UTP finally felt comfortable enough to reappear, and since then it's made another six appearances. I'm not enough of a baseball fan to understand what accounts for that massive gap between the twenties and nineties. Rule changes? Several generations of lousy infielders? One of those whimsical baseball curses? It's quite baffling.
  
• I think I'm spending a little too much time on certain internet message boards: after leaving a congratulatory note on the Facebook page of a friend who just got engaged, I felt a small sense of accomplishment that mine was the first comment.
• More perils of the internet: I recently read a spoiler that revealed the ending of Martin Scorsese's upcoming Dennis Lehane adaptation Shutter Island. I don't know what pisses me off more: the fact that the movie and book may have been ruined for me, or that the big twist is exactly what I figured it would be.
• Lastly, I feel ashamed to admit that I had never heard of Ellie Greenwich before Wednesday, when news broke of her death. Little did I know that she had a long list of songwriting credits, including many of producer Phil Spector's most indelible hits. "Then He Kissed Me" is, for my money, just about the perfect distillation of what a pop song should be (and, to continue the Scorsese theme, the soundtrack to that classic scene in Goodfellas), and "Be My Baby" ain't that far behind it. With his recent murder conviction (and long history of bizarre, often violent behavior) it's a bothersome thing to call oneself a Phil Spector fan, but have no such reservations about calling myself an Ellie Greenwich fan.