A night for Posada and me to forget

Jorge Posada has been a great Yankee ... has had a great career ... has enormous pride.

But he's 39 and hitting .165.

No doubt there are other factors affecting this story that came to a head Saturday night -- Posada's less-than-perfect relationship with manager Joe Girardi, GM Brian Cashman dealing with an aging star.

But the bottom line is this: Posada needs to accept his role, whatever the team determines it is, or walk away.

Clearly, May 14, 2011, was a low point in Posada's career.

While Posada was begging out of the Yankees lineup, I was heading to South Beach for a date. A friend up North wanted me to meet his tenant. He said she was a nice girl, a lot of fun.

A night earlier, she sent texted me the Pretty Woman line about her being "a sure thing." She also told me to make sure I saved my energy for the date.

I was so offended by her forwardness, I knew I needed to discuss things with her face to face. (Wink.)

I met her at 6 p.m. She was a fairly attractive (ahem) blonde for a 49-year-old. Of course, nobody would assume she was 48.

She told me she didn't drink, but she had bought a bottle of wine so I could have a drink or two before we went to dinner.

I had a drink, and she proceeded to tell me about how her first marriage ended when the husband ran off with his secretary, her second husband died of cancer, her father currently is sick with cancer, and her daughter got pregnant at 17.

I had a second drink.

She mentioned that a psychiatrist told her she was bipolar, which immediately meant the therapist didn't know what he was talking about. After all, who would prescribe all that medication?

If not for my friend setting up this date, I would have pulled a Posada right there. Instead, I stayed in the game. We went to dinner.

We walked across the street to a steak house. I let her order for both of us. My mistake.

Oh, the salad, steak, salmon, mashed potatoes, mushrooms and my two glasses of wine were very good.

Not sure they were $235 good, but they were good.

As I was paying the bill, I asked what she wanted to do. She asked me the same, and I mentioned that I could drive home. (In fact, I would have walked back to Fort Lauderdale if necessary -- good thing she had warned me to save my energy.)

I walked her back to her building -- she went upstairs, and I went home.

We were together for about three hours, 45 minutes -- she spoke for 3:35. And she had an annoying habit of jabbing me to emphasize something she said -- I guess she was planning to win on points.

She probably sensed I wasn't too interested in her, or she wasn't too interested in me ... or both.

Oh, did I mention she asked me if I ever did Ecstasy? I think that was during dinner, but at that point, nothing she said or asked could have fazed me.

Yes, May 14, 2011, was a night to remember ... or forget.

Be a man, Bubba

Woke up this morning to hear Bubba Watson saying he had reached out to Tiger Woods' people to explain comments made about Woods' game.

Then I heard a smug Woods say, "We'll talk," when asked about Watson's remarks.

Give me a break.

Bubba, YOU HAVE NOTHING TO EXPLAIN! Everyone is entitled to an opinion, dammit. Even when it concerns his Hole-iness.

As for Tiger, let's see him string together four quality rounds or perhaps win a tournament before worrying about what others are saying about his game.

Even when the guy was at his peak, it was a joke how other players and Tour officials were on pins and needles around the guy.

Seve Ballesteros seemed to be around forever. He hit the international golf scene in the mid-1970s, and had been years removed from his best golf when he died over the weekend at 54 -- 54?

That, more than anything, is the saddest part of the Ballesteros story. After achieving so much between the ropes and influencing meaningful changes to the game -- Ryder Cup including all of Europe, more Europeans playing on the PGA Tour -- Seve would be a great ambassador for golf, as well as for his beloved Spain.

What Arnold Palmer was for U.S. golf, Ballesteros was for Europe.

I loved the charisma and flair that others have been talking about while reflecting about Seve. I also loved that he thrived at the Open Championship, where golf is played the way it had been intended -- on the links, battling the course and the elements.

During my previous life while covering the Westchester Classic for the New York Post, I followed Seve during a round. It's still one of my favorite memories.

On one approach shot, he put the ball within 3-5 feet of the hole. As he walked to the green, a fan yelled, "Pick it up Seve. That's good."

Ballesteros, striding confidently, turned toward the fan and smiled widely. Later, he was in the interview room sitting relaxed and answering all questions, including one of mine. (I'm sure I forced one, just to say I interacted with the great Ballesteros. :) )

The guy simply had "it."

And to paraphrase a popular line, God blessed Nicklaus and Woods with talents second to none. But the people loved Palmer and Ballesteros more.

Shame on the Lakers. Losing comes with the territory, and even great teams get blown out occasionally. But to lose to the Mavericks in such a classless way, inexcusable.

At the ballpark Monday night, I heard that Roy Halladay not only does not speak to the media on the day of a start --an approach many pitches take -- he also doesn't talk the day BEFORE a start.

What's next? The second coming of Steve Carlton?

I'm not one who makes a habit of defending athletes, but what exactly did Reggie Bush do wrong on Twitter?

Bush Tweeted: “Everybody complaining about the lockout! Shoot I'm making the most of it! Vacation, rest, relaxing, appearances here and there! I'm good!” and “Right about now we would be slaving in 100 degree heat, practicing twice a day, while putting our bodies at risk for nothing.’

The guy was being honest (despite backtracking later).

Guess he would have been better off had he lied and Tweeted something like, "Lockout becoming stressful. Sad because it hurts fans. Hope we get back to work ASAP."

Rough night

Had a rough night sleeping last evening thanks largely, I believe, to two dreams I had.

In the first one, I pissed off Arnold Palmer and Jack Nicklaus. (Didn't mind pissing off Jack, but Arnie ?????).

Palmer and Nicklaus each had his own golf course. Each "course" comprised of one hole, and the courses were right next to each other.

Arnie's course was all about the Masters, with awards and photos adorning it. Not sure what I did, but it affected me greatly that I upset Palmer. So, I camped out outside Palmer's course.

Across the street was the home of a married couple, with the husband trying to get my attention.

The couple was interested in a threesome and held the belief every hole should be played with two woods -- and we're not talking golf here. Naturally, that's where that dream ended. :)

Then I remember driving on Staten Island and being told Bruce Springsteen's concert scheduled for night on S.I. had been cancelled. The news affected my plans because I was a member of the E Street Band.

Next thing I know, I'm following a co-worker and her husband through a revolving door at a hotel. I catch up to them and she tells me the concert was cancelled.

Then I woke up feeling very tired.

OK, amateur psychologists, have fun.

Gov. Cuomo and my typo

One afternoon during my previous life as a N.Y. Post sportswriter, I visited the newspaper's Lower East Side office to find out the then-governor of New York had visited the building earlier that day.

Besides that, he said he was a fan of my work

Gov. Mario Cuomo stopped by the newsroom and, among other things, said he liked reading "Charlie McCarthy's coverage of St. John's basketball." I was flattered, but hardly surprised -- after all, Cuomo was a St. John's grad.

The assistant sports editor, a guy who thoroughly enjoyed ball-busting, couldn't wait to give me this tidbit: the governor had pointed out there was a typo in my story that day.

The following Saturday, I was working part-time on the NBC set used for the pregame and halftime shows for Notre Dame football games. I was among five or six people whose jobs were to find out details on other games.

Soon after arriving, we were watching the in-house feed and found out Cuomo was in the building to be on the Today show or the local NBC morning show. (I forget which one.)

One of my co-workers heard my story about earlier in the week, and enticed me to go up a few floors and introduce myself to the governor.

As my friend and I walk out of the elevator, I see Cuomo and a bodyguard approaching. I extend my hand while saying, "Governor!" -- with the bodyguard looking me over closer than any woman ever did.

I introduced myself. For a split second the governor paused, then smiled and grabbed my hand. "Oh ... Charlie! How are you? Great to meet you."

While we got in the elevator, I told the governor I heard about his visit to the Post. We briefly talked about then-St. John 's coach and mutual friend Lou Carnesecca.

Cuomo smiled and said, "You didn't go to St. John's, did you?"

"No," I said. "NYU."

"I knew it couldn't be St. John's when I saw the typo," he said.

Ouch. Corrected by and dissed by the governor of New York in a matter of a few days.

Then again, I didn't tell him I never voted for him. :)

Oh, brother!

In those moments when I wish I could turn back the clock, very often I yearn for a one-way ticket to the Hampton Bays of Long Island during the summers of 1985-86-87.

It was during those years that the beach, women, alcohol and housemates including current Yankees broadcaster Michael Kay and ESPN/ABC NBA voice Mike Breen all added up to three summers of fun, sports talk and stories that will last till we're all gone.

As an early- to mid-20s guy who let loose with his friends, you can be sure I never did anything to embarrass myself on the East End of Long Island.

Well ... never is a strong word. :)

There was this one time I met a cute girl from Poughkeepsie, N.Y. Even got her number.

I waited till midweek before calling her. When I did, her brother answered and told me she wasn't home.

Naturally, I did what any red-blooded, nervous young man would do. I left a number.

Unfortunately for me, I read the number that was written on the piece of paper in my hand. That's right, HER NUMBER! I read back the girl's home number to her younger brother, AND HE TOOK IT!

My excuse was being a bit nervous. But as for the brother, was he that dumb? Or was he making look and feel stupid?

I never will know. I was too embarrassed to call back and correct my mistake.

I did see the girl again, but we never went out. I can't blame her for not wanting to date a guy who couldn't even leave his number.

Caught smoking at a funeral

We all have memorable moments -- good, bad, funny, enlightening -- during our lives. This blog offers a chance to write about some of mine. (Please, no yawning.)

Let me say this at the top -- I honestly didn't mean to upstage the guy in the coffin. I knew it was his day. Really, I did.

Before I explain further, a little background ...

One of the perks of being an altar boy while attending parochial school was the occasional break from class to serve at a funeral Mass.

Not only that, the funeral servers usually received $5-$10 dollars for performing their duties. I never really understood why cash was involved, but being a good Catholic youngster, I certainly didn't question the Church. :)

Fast forward to this particular morning, when a family was saying good-bye to a loved on.

Shortly after the service began, I found myself holding the holy water while standing next to the priest and in front of candle stand. Unlike today, when most churches have electric candles, my church still had the real thing: nothing but flames and wax.

That last point is a key point.

Unbeknownst to me, the hood of my robe dipped into a candle and caught fire. I quickly deduced this after one of the pallbearers -- a full-time fireman, part-time funeral home employee -- pushed the coffin out of his way while hurriedly leaping around it and then smothered me to the ground.

All we needed was the coffin to tip over, the top open with the guest of honor hitting the tile floor. Now that would have made for a funny blog.

I immediately was relieved of my duties that morning, and spent the next hour in class with my head on my desk, wondering how much hair had been singed. (After all, these were my pre-Procede days.)

The fireman burned his hand and went on disability.

The guy in the coffin took things lying down.

Most memorable sports moments I've covered or attended

As a reporter:

The "Steve Bartman Game" (Florida Marlins at the Chicago Cubs, NLCS 2003 Game 6)

Michael Jordan's 55 point-effort at Madison Square Garden on March 29, 1995, just six games into his initial comeback

Chris Webber signals for a timeout but Michigan has none remaining in its loss to North Carolina in the '93 NCAA Championship Game at New Orleans

Duke defeats "invincible" UNLV in the 1991 NCAA National Semifinal at Indianapolis

Tate George's game-winning shot that lifted UConn over Clemson in the '90 NCAA East Regional semifinal at East Rutherford, N.J.

Dan Marino's fake spike that beat the N.Y. Jets in '94

2004 NLCS between St. Louis Cardinals-Houston Astros (StL. in 7)

1993 Masters (Bernhard Langer won)

1991 U.S. Open (Hazeltine; lightning strike killed a fan)

Mets right-hander David Cone struck out 19 Phillies on Oct. 6, 1991

Centennial of Golf in America Celebration at St. Andrew's (N.Y.) -- Ben Hogan, Byron Nelson, Arnold Palmer, Jack Nicklaus were among the attendees; I rode up in a limo with entertainer Dinah Shore :)

Interviewed Kareem Abdul-Jabbar in his NYC hotel suite -- he wasn't overly friendly

Jack McDowell flips the bird to Yankees fans

As a fan:

Game 6, Mets-Red Sox '86 World Series -- Bill Buckner's nightmare

Mark Messier's three-goal "guarantee win" game against the N.J. Devils in Game 6 of the '94 NHL Eastern Conference Finals

USSR defeated U.S. hockey team 10-3 at MSG two weeks before USA won the gold medal an the 1980 Winter Games

In the pre-DH days, attended a game in which the Yankees had three catchers in the lineup -- OF Thurman Munson, OF Rick Dempsey, C Ed Hermann