Maybe, Just Maybe…

There are secret societies throughout our culture: you just have to know where to look. Some, like the Masons, cross cultures. Others, like the Skull and Bones of Yale, are culturally exclusive. Rumors abound to their habits, practices, and by-laws. Most of us know of these fraternal organizations, but very few of us know about their inner workings. An air of exclusivity casts a pall over what actually occurs at meetings, making them even more mysterious. It is an honor to be asked to join, and with membership, comes privilege. Much has been written and glorified in film about the Masons, and Skull and Bones.

Dan Brown has made a nice living off his written speculations regarding the Masons. The Skull and Bones was prominently featured in the Matt Damon film The Good Shepherd. The movie infers that the newly formed CIA was outfitted with Skull and Bones members. At one time, there was speculation that Skull and Bones were privy to who really killed John F. Kennedy. There is another fraternity that’s not so secret. However, what goes on within its ranks is as guarded as that of either the Masons or Skull and Bones. Who is this other clandestine organization? Why it’s Major League Baseball.

Please don’t be so naïve as to be surprised at this revelation. I have spent much of the last six years researching Major League Baseball on many levels, pertaining to many topics. One thing I have learned is that for nearly one hundred and fifty years, the powerbrokers of the sport only allow the public access to what’s “good” for the game; most recently, the Congressional hearings focusing on the abuse of steroids by players. The committee was only going to find out what the honchos at MLB wanted them to. For evidence, you need only look as far as the now infamous “list of 200,” the supposed “leaked” findings of players who had tested positive. This is not new behavior. It’s been going on for years.

As far back as the nineteenth century, owners, who were the only ones who did the regulating, often kept each other in the dark when it came to future plans for the sport. This blog does not allow me the space to cite each specific example, but I assure you there are many. One issue you may be aware of, is over ninety years of America’s courts denying that baseball was a business which protected the owners from anti-trust and monopoly laws. It was only until baseball was firmly entrenched as America’s Game, that the Supreme Court relented, and finally ruled against the owners, ushering an era of escalating player salaries and player freedom. When one entity can wield that kind of power, it may not shock you as to the “Dan Brown-like” supposition I will now set before you to consider.

The New York Yankees are, and over the course of time, the most successful sports franchise in the history of organized sports. Their success is not just measured in wins and losses, or their global popularity, but the Major League’s financial well being. The Yankees have won forty American League pennants, and twenty-six World Series Championships. The franchise winning percentage is .568. The Yankees since 1901, have won an astounding 2281 more games than they have lost.

The Yankees are so popular, that when Iraqi television aired the program Sport of the Week, ratings are highest when the Yankees are featured. Neighbors would gather around those fortunate enough to own TVs, just to catch a glimpse of this storied franchise.

For years, the Yankees have had the highest payroll in the Major Leagues. They are literally, “the best team money can buy.” This is not said with resentment, but with envy. I admire their success, though I am a staunch Mets fan. No matter what my personal feelings may be, I cannot deny that the Yankees are one of the finest teams assembled year in year out. It is for that reason alone I want to see them achieve their goals without their accomplishments being tainted.

Much has been written recently concerning the poor umpiring that has marred the American League Division Championship, the American League Championship Series, and now the World Series. Sure, a couple of calls have gone against the Yankees, but the majority have gone in their favor. Phil Cuzzi’s 11th inning “inexplicable game-changing miscall” of a hit that was hit by Twins catcher Joe Mauer, that was ruled foul, though no replay was needed to see it was fair. The Yankees went on to win the game. Would the Twins have won that game? No one will ever know. Had they won, would that game have served as the springboard for more wins? No one will ever know. The umpire made sure neither scenario would ever take place. The game changing bad calls continued in the American League Championship Series between The Yanks and the Los Angeles Angels.

The Angels did plenty to sabotage their chances to win the series. They didn’t need the umpires assuring the outcome. I personally witnessed two calls in one game that were such blatant examples of incompetency, coming on the heels of the series against the Twins, to question how legitimate was the umpiring? Both calls, as with the Mauer hit, did not require instant replay. Knowledge of the rules, and decent eyesight would suffice. Why was this happening on baseball’s biggest and most scrutinized stage? A light bulb came on. Major League Baseball needed the Yankees to win.

Major League Baseball finds itself in a very unfamiliar position, though they refuse to acknowledge it. Football is more popular than America’s Game. The reasons are too numerous to go into here. Attendance figures for the 2009 season dropped by 16% from 2008. Baseball will say it was the economy. Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t the economy pretty putrid in 2008 as well? MLB bases attendance figures in both leagues on the total number of tickets sold, not the number of people who walk through the turnstiles. That figure was lower still. The television contract agreement for airing baseball games is coming to an end. New negotiations are in the works for a renewal. MLB is hoping for an increase. I have a newsflash. Network TV does not want to see all those empty seats behind home plate when games are aired. Those seats are not for “fans,” they are for corporate write-offs. Advertisers don’t want to spent mega-dollars when ratings are down. Their money dictates how much networks will pony up to MLB for broadcast rights. Network money is all that keeps many franchises afloat. If less people are watching, and less people are going, why does MLB think networks will pony up? Let’s take a look at what makes fiscal economic sense. Oh, that right, the Yankees do.

The networks did not want to see the Twins against the Angels. That would have been a ratings nightmare, the same for a Red Sox versus Twins League Championship Series. The Yankees are MLB’s ratings savior. Their fan base is global. As long as the Yankees advanced, hope remains for a new TV contract bonanza. The Yankees will get great ratings, they always have. It’s like death and taxes, it’s one of those things you can be sure of.

Is all this speculation plausible? No one will ever know. This kind of premise exceeds Watergate secrecy by a long shot. Woodward and Bernstein would never, ever, get to the bottom of it. Major League Baseball would make sure. If there ever was an inquiry, MLB would swear umpires are beyond reproach. If that didn’t pacify the masses, MLB could point to the human error element that makes baseball endearing. They’d point to all the other bad calls that altered baseball history as evidence to dismiss any claims of foul play. No pun intended. I can smell the bullshit now.

The Yankees didn’t need any unsolicited assistance. They play like a well oiled machine. I think the Yankees should win each and every game on their own. They don’t need help, they’re that good, and for this excellence they should be commended. I am not surprised no sports journalist has broached this hypothesis. I am quite sure if they did, their career would be over. MLB has that kind of influence.

Using instant replay will not change what goes on behind closed doors at the Major League Baseball offices. The system for assigning umpires may change, but that is for MLB to decide without input from anyone on “the outside.” MLB will not ever bend to anyone when it comes to saying what is best for their sport. What MLB will definitely admit to is that the New York Yankees are the best thing to ever happen to baseball. MLB used to rail against George Steinbrenner and his business practices. You don’t hear much criticism anymore. MLB knows who its cash cow is; they don’t have to pass it off as counterfeit.

So sit back and watch the rest of the World Series secure in the knowledge that everything is above board. Can the outfield be considered a “grassy knoll?”

Worth the Price of Admission

Every now and again something occurs that brings to mind a phrase, or cliché that seems to fit the exact scenario that plays out before your own eyes. A sporting event often serves as the backdrop where something so extraordinary or so entertaining happens that you’re inspired to say aloud, “That was worth the price of admission!” Granted, the idiom may be a bit antediluvian, but there is nothing more hip, more up to date, or more precisely descriptive. Such a deed took place last Friday evening at Joe Robbie, Pro Player, Dolphins, Landshark, Sell the Naming Rights to the Highest Bidder Stadium where the Chicago Cubs were playing the Florida Marlins.
Attending a baseball game is one of my very best favorite things to do. I use the derivative of attend because I am not always totally engrossed in what goes on between the foul lines. I was fortunate enough to go to a game at Wrigley Field in Chicago, where, in addition to receiving the good news my sister-in-law was going to have a baby, the Cubs pitcher Jon Lieber, threw a seventy-nine pitch, one hit shut out, with a forty-three minute rain delay thrown in for good measure. The game did not get my undivided attention as it normally does; there was an important conversation that held priority that day. A conversation of equal importance took place between myself and my sister-in-law’s husband several days later during a Chicago White Sox game at Comiskey Park. I don’t even remember the outcome of that game, much less anything significant enough that it should be stored somewhere in the dank, dark recesses of my memory bank.
Sometimes I go to a baseball game just for the company, the game is an afterthought. There was probably a time or two where something great did occur, but I was too drunk to care, but not likely. Even in an altered state of conscientiousness great baseball moments witnessed first hand have a way of permanently etching themselves on one’s psyche. I was quite drunk the night Reggie Jackson hit a home run off Ron Guidry in the rain in his return to Yankee Stadium as a California Angel, and I’ll never forget that night. While Reggie rounded the bases, I stood upon my seat, (not really my seat, I often resorted to graft when it was necessary to improve my vantage point) shouting “Steinbrenner sucks!” defiantly waving my middle finger at the owner’s private suite located not very far away. Soon, fity thousand people were chanting along with me. My reason for this antic; George Steinbrenner did not resign Reggie; rather, he let him go to the Angels via free agency, after all Reggie had done for the Yankees. That bastard! I’d show him! My childish act warranted a mention in Reggie’s autobiography.
I have seen a no-hitter pitched, albeit a little buzzed, and from a seat situated somewhere near the space station Mir. I have seen several World Series games. My seat at the one that took place in Philadelphia between the Phillies and the Orioles was so high up in the stands, that when the fireworks were shot off at the end of the game, they exploded below where I was standing. I didn’t watch much of that game at all. I didn’t give a shit about either team, and the seats sucked. But for the most part, I have intently watched the majority of the over five hundred Major League baseball games I’ve attended. Last Friday night, I’m really glad I did.
My son and I had made plans back in May to go to a Marlins-Phillies game on July 19. A friend of mine is a member of the event staff at Joe Robbie, Pro Player, Dolphins, Landshark, Sell the Naming Rights to the Highest Bidder Stadium. He offered that whenever I was interested in going to a game, I should let him know, he’d get tickets for me. Nice! It also helps that attendance at most Marlins games is roughly the same as the number of people in the express lane at a busy Publix supermarket. My thinking is, just put asses in the seats so it looks better on TV, since they pay the big money for broadcast rights. Hell, that’s the only reason the Marlins still exist at all, the television revenue money from Major League Baseball. So go ahead Marlins front office, get your employees to lure as many people to a game as they can. My son, Bryan Clark, and I, would be the beneficiaries of my friend Morty’s, generosity. Then it fucking rained. We’d have to make it another day before my son went back to Gainesville.
We planned for Saturday, August 15, versus the Colorado Rockies. It wasn’t the hated Phillies, but both the Marlins and the Rockies are fighting for the Wild Card playoff berth in the National League; that should make the game interesting enough. So okay, I’ll just wait until then. I didn’t need to.
Much to my surprise, Cory invited me to accompany him and my friend Gregg, to the Cubs-Marlins game this past Friday. I was stoked. The Cubs are vying for the Central division title, the lingering animosity stemming from the Steve Bartman affair in 2003, this would be a good game I inwardly predicted. I was not disappointed in the slightest.
Gregg was tardy picking us up due to some work related brain damage that necessitated a conference call on a rare day off. That would mean we’d miss the ceremonial multiple first pitches that have become so commonplace. We’d miss some elongated version of the Star Spangled Banner sung by someone of little notoriety. We’d miss the majority of the first inning, a personal pet peeve. I hate showing up after the game has started. The company made this minor annoyance just that, minor.
On the way to our seats we had a running commentary on what a not so “fan friendly” environment Joe Robbie, Pro Player, Dolphins, Landshark, Sell the Naming Rights to the Highest Bidder Stadium is for a baseball game. We got to our section and chose to sit in seats that weren’t as good as the ones we purchased, for a myriad of reasons, none of which I’ll go into here. It would only confirm what you probably suspect about my neurosis. We people watched, sarcastically commenting at every opportunity. We bitched about the goddamn Marlins cheerleaders. Can you imagine, fucking cheerleaders at a baseball game, sacrilege! We bitch about the lack of replays on the World’s Largest Hi-Def monitor. We poked fun at everything and everyone within our field of vision that was suitable for ridicule. For a welcome change, this pursuit was made easier by the “announced” attendance (meaning paid, as opposed to how many really showed up) of over twenty-five thousand patrons. Police converged on a local Publix to quell the riot in the express lane.
Our extracurricular activities aside, the play on the field was pure theater. We may have arrived late, but not late enough to miss the third inning, because what we witnessed was definitely worth the thirty dollar admission price. I bet you were wondering when I was going to get around to this.
In the top half of the third inning, a Chicago Cub belted a long drive to straight-away center field. As taught, Cody Ross, the Marlins centerfielder, turned his back to the plate, and ran as fast as he could. A dull roar began to build from the Cub contingency; a collective anticipatory groan came from the Marlin rooters, both of relatively the same octaves, just different intonation. One side was speculating whether the hit would be a double or a triple, the other side wishing to keep the offensive damage to a minimum. The two similar noises grew louder the further the ball went, and the faster Ross covered ground. Running full speed, to the deepest part of the ballpark, Cody Ross did his best Willie Mays impression. Up, up the nearly white sphere until it reached its apex and began its slowly descending arc. When there was no more room to run, the ball came to rest in Ross’ outstretched glove, to delight of the hometown crowd, and to the disappointment of the Cub faithful. All that was missing was an overconfident base runner who had strayed, and then Ross could have fired a perfect strike to the base the runner had vacated, for a double play.
Miraculous comes to mind when considering the difficulty of the catch. The dull roar turned into a cacophonous vocal explosion. For a split second, I couldn’t utter a sound, dumbfounded by what I’d just seen. I recovered from my stupefied state, and attempted to cheer, applaud, and search for the sufficiently appropriate adjective to describe what went down. Cory, Gregg, and I congratulated each other on the expertise of another. I started to comment that the catch “was worth…and Gregg finished the price of admission.” You know what they say about like minds. I could have left right then, the outcome of the game yet to be determined, my money well spent, but I didn’t. We stayed. It’s a good thing too, because the leaping, backhanded grab of a screaming line drive off the bat of another Cub for the third out was tremendous in owns right, but a little anticlimactic. By the end of nine innings of play we saw splendid pitching by both starters. We saw a couple of home runs, one by a Marlin, and one by a Cub. We saw a couple more defensive gems. We saw the Marlins win by a score of 5-2.
We also saw a rather stout woman in a replica Cub baseball jersey with the name “Moosecow” stitched across the shoulders. Cory and Gregg had already made fun by the time I brought it up. I guess I was too absorbed in watching the game.

It All-Star-ted in Chicago

Back in 1933, Arch Ward, the sports editor of the Chicago Tribune, convinced the reluctant Major League Baseball team owners to stage a game between the National League and American League All-Stars. This event would coincide with Chicago’s Century of Progress Exposition. The country was mired in a horrendous economic downturn. Fans were staying away from the ballparks. Baseball needed a shot in the arm to reignite fan interest. The Major League All-Star game was it. Stoked in the tradition of “America’s Game,” baseball’s long standing identification with everything patriotic, appealed to the sensibilities of citizens of every socio-economic class. This year’s All-Star game struck the very same chords under similar circumstances.
Owners, as always, have witnessed a decline in attendance figures due to the economic downturn. In many of the owner’s eyes, and that of baseball executives, the institution of baseball has been tarnished by player’s use of performance enhancing drugs. They have to put up a united front whether or not they believe this to be true. The 2009 Major League All-Star game was going to begin the healing process, for fans, for America, for the game itself. Somewhere someone is playing the Battle Hymn of the Republic at this very moment. What better place for this to happen than St. Louis, the Crossroads of America.
The sports fans in St. Louis are some of the finest to be found anywhere, particularly when it comes to baseball. This was quite apparent during player introductions prior to last night’s game. St. Louis is a National League town, even though the perennial American League doormats, the St. Louis Browns played there many years back before finally realizing St. Louis was Cardinal territory, and the franchise moved on to Baltimore. When each AL substitute was introduced, they received applause that qualified as more than cordial. The look of wonderment on Nelson Cruz’ face as he soaked in the moment, told you everything you needed to know about how gracious the fans are. And these same fans turned it up a notch for those who had a St. Louis connection. Homegrown Ryan Howard of the Philadelphia Phillies got a resounding round of applause. The fans cheered loudly for former Cardinal Jason Marquis, who now pitches for the Colorado Rockies. Even Prince Fielder got a nice ovation, even though he plays for St. Louis’ closest competitor, the Milwaukee Brewers. Perhaps the cheers were leftover recognition from the previous evenings Home Run Derby victory. Only the Chicago Cubs Ted Lilly was booed due to the intense rivalry between the Cards and the Cubs. The same response occurred when the starting lineups were introduced.
The boo-birds could be heard when Jason Bay, of the Boston Red Sox was introduced. Before going to the BoSox, Bay was a stalwart for the Pittsburgh Pirates. Maybe St. Louis’ alliance to the National League runs deeper than we’re aware of. Josh Hamilton received quite an ovation. Out of respect for all he has endured maybe? The fans really roared when AL starting pitcher Roy Halladay was introduced. Cardinal fans appreciate an old school throwback bulldog kinda guy. All applause that greeted each ALer paled to what these fans bestowed on most National Leaguers.
Granted, unlike Fielder’s surprising acknowledgement, Brewer Ryan Braun got jeers instead of cheers. The fans saved all their energies for hometown heroes Albert Pujols, who received a rather lengthy standing ovation, and Yadier Molina, the Cardinal catcher. Fox announcer Joe Buck, obviously so used to fan apathy, did not need to resort to the prompt “Here you go St. Louis,” prior to Pujols introduction. No prompt was necessary. The din rose the moment the number two hitter, Chase Utley, took his place along the first base line. Now that sufficient interest for the game had been generated, Major League Baseball went about the task of repairing its image.
In conjunction with the All-Star theme, the “Go Beyond” program was recognized. The program was outlined by President of the United States, Barack Obama. Following him were the four living Presidents, each profiling an “All-Star” among us. These laudable individuals were community service workers on steroids if you will, irony intended. George Bush, Bill Clinton, George H.W. Bush, and Jimmy (why not James or Jim, oh that’s right, Jimmy is more folksy, has that “common man” appeal) Carter, all spoke of the wonderful volunteer efforts of four, of the group of about twelve people, who joined the ballplayers on the field. Once the touching pre-recorded message completely aired, with everyone already applauding madly, again feels the need for a prompt. Buck implores the crowd that is already on their feet, to stand and show their appreciation for these great folks. It cheapened a really stirring moment if you ask me. Particularly when at the precise instant Buck is urging the fans to rise, the camera is zoomed in on a father, who is wiping away a tear while his arm is around his son. He should have remembered what his father taught him, to not say anything, and let the moment speak for itself. However, it was nice Joe Buck was the announcer in the city where he grew up, and his father, Jack Buck, earned his prowess as a great broadcaster. Game on.
Sheryl Crow sang the Star-Spangled Banner. I’ve always wanted to kiss her where she pees, but now, while still hot, she’s stands for so many causes, I don’t find her as appealing as I once did. Got to give her props though, My-T-Fine at age forty-seven. Joe Buck then introduces “the President of the United States of America,” Barack Obama. Just the way Buck said it makes you feel all kinds of patriotic. Talk about reverence, sheesh!I thought a live military band was going to start playing Hail to the Chief; then the camera would pan to the crowd to see all members of Congress standing and applauding. Amid a smattering of boos quickly overwhelmed by cheers, Obama walks out to the mound, not in front of the mound, onto the mound, to throw out the ceremonial first pitch. He wore a Chicago White Sox warm up jacket, jeans, and sneakers. Very cool. Unlike past Presidents who tried too hard to convince us they were one of us; Obama really comes off like he is. A little weak armed, Obama at least got the ball to Albert Pujols on the fly. Obama’s small fist pump gesture, confirmed he had not totally embarrassed himself, an expression of relief rather than reaffirmation of aptitude.
In the top of the first, San Francisco Giant Tim Lincecome, was the National League starting pitcher. Lincecome immediately tried to do his best impersonation of former Giant Atlee Hammaker. For those of you who don’t recall Hammaker’s ignominious lone All-Star appearance in 1983; he yielded seven earned runs in two-thirds of an inning, four of those on the only grand slam home run,(by Fred Lynn) in All-Star game history. Lincecome’s teammates on defense also did their best imitations, looking remarkably like Charlie Brown’s all-stars. Before you knew it, the National League was in familiar territory, down by two runs. They’d eventually pull ahead, but then reality set in. American League pitchers combined to set down eighteen straight, six innings worth of NL All-Star hitters.
Unlike the NBA All-Star game, the NHL All-Star game, and the NFL Pro Bowl, officiating is taken seriously. There is no relaxing of the rules in order to increase scoring or prevent injury. The other major sports tend to eliminate the term “defense” altogether, all in the name of fan entertainment. Players get away with things they normally wouldn’t, or shouldn’t during regular season contests. Not so in the baseball All-Star game. Just ask Roy Fosse, or Ted Williams, or Pete Reiser, all injured while participating in the Midsummer Classic. Plate umpires call balls and strikes just the way do every game. Last night, several pitchers dealt with the incredible shrinking strike zone. And if you don’t think the players are into it, you should have seen both squads up against their respective dugout fences while Phillie, Ryan Howard, battled the Twins, Joe Nathan, with two men on for the NLers. Alas, Nathan won that confrontation much to the dismay of the National League stars.
The Players attending last night’s contest were selected by the fans and managers, just like they were seventy-six years ago. The fans, and the game of baseball were uplifted by the contest last evening, just like seventy-six years ago. Hope was instilled in America, if just for a little while, just like it was seventy-six years ago. The game and the nation began to heal, just like it did seventy-six years ago. And the National League lost again last night, just like they did seventy-six years ago. Shit.

Can’t Anybody Here Manage This Game?

Yes, I know another blog where the focus is on baseball. Some of you may say baseball is boring, or aren’t there more important things that can be addressed than baseball. Well, if you consider the premise that baseball is a microcosm of society, or it’s truly America’s game, or if you judge the attendance each year, or how much attention what goes on in the world of baseball gets in the media; then no, there aren’t more important things to address in this space this week.
If you ask Bryan Clark, a friend of my son’s and rabid Florida Marlins fan, which by the way are very few and far between; I’m quite sure he would say that no, there is not much more important than focusing on baseball, particularly when the subject is the Florida Marlins.
Bryan is a knowledgeable baseball man. He knows the ins and outs of the game. He is a student of the game, its history, and how it should be played. Last night he must have felt betrayed by those in positions of authority who decide things that affect a games outcome. If I were he, I would have been left scratching my head. As a matter of fact, I’m still scratching my head. And due to the extended period of time I’ve done this, a hole has been bore through to my skull. What follows is what has fallen out.

Casey Stengel once uttered the words “Can’t anybody here play this game?” in 1962 as he oversaw a collection of misfits, has-beens, and castoffs named the New York Mets. That year the Mets would win forty games; they would lose one-hundred and twenty. Casey Stengel was their manager who was once heralded as a genius when he guided the supremely talented New York Yankee teams featuring Mickey Mantle, Roger Maris, and Whitey Ford, among others. But, as Hall of Fame pitcher Warren Spahn once said, “I played for Casey before he became a genius.” Stengel was also the manager of a less than notable Braves squad.
It has often been said that too much credit goes to the manager when a team wins, and they take too much of the blame when a team loses. It the case of the Florida Marlins, perhaps some of that blame is warranted. Fredi Gonzalez is the Marlins manager. He replaced a gentleman named Joe Girardi, who was fired right after he won the National League Manager of the Year Award. That should tell you something about those who oversee the manager. One of the rumors that circulated concerning the grounds for dismissal had to do with what was perceived as misuse by Girardi’s of the Marlins young pitching staff, principally the overworking of soon to be kabillionaire (the Marlins certainly aren’t going to make him one), Josh Johnson.
Johnson had a splendid rookie season cut short by arm woes. He eventually underwent “Tommy John surgery.” He has rebounded magnificently, becoming one of the premier pitchers in the National, perhaps even, both leagues. Fredi Gonzalez must be looking over his shoulder because I can’t see any other reason why he would pull out twenty-three year old Andrew Miller last night after he had only allowed one hit, and throwing only eighty-three pitches. I do know it wasn’t to show how much confidence Gonzalez had in his bullpen.
On July 21, 1970, San Diego Padres manager Preston Gomez, pinch-hit for his pitcher Clay Kirby. Kirby was three outs away from throwing a no-hitter. Granted, Kirby’s team trailed 1-0 against the New York Mets. Ironically, the Padres and the Mets are the only two National League franchises that have never had a pitcher throw a no-hit game. The pinch-hitter, Cito Gaston, struck out. The Mets went on to score two more runs off the Padres relievers to win 3-0. Gomez was so thrilled by this outcome, and his infinitely adept managerial savvy, that he duplicated this move while manager of the Houston Astro’s in 1974.
Don Wilson was pinch-hit for after throwing eight no-hit innings just like Kirby four years before. This time the Gomez led Astros trailed 2-1 to the Cincinnati Reds. Oddly enough this move failed for a second time, and the Astros lost, final score 2-1. Did not Gomez take history in school? How many times have you heard “those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it”?
You can say a one-hitter is not the same as a no-hitter. No shit, really? But, when a pitcher who’s twenty-three, has only gone seven innings once before this year, is in the midst of the finest game he has ever pitched, when you have the opportunity to rest your bullpen for at least one more inning, why wouldn’t you? How about instilling some confidence in one of the two most coveted players you obtained in a trade that sent Miguel Cabrera and Dontrelle Willis to the Detroit Tigers, Cameron Maybin being the other. Wouldn’t you let a kid who’s six feet six, and two hundred and fifteen pounds surpass the sacrosanct “one hundred pitch” threshold under these conditions? Besides, the one hit Miller did give up was a double to start the game. He allowed no hits thereafter.
Have managers become so deathly afraid of letting pitchers pitch that they’re willing to sacrifice a game, and the starting pitchers confidence, all in the name of job security? Has every fucking manager in the Major Leagues bought into this babying of starting pitchers? Thanks Billy Martin, thanks Tony LaRussa.
In 1980, Oakland A’s manager Billy Martin, had a young, strong set of live arms for his five man starting rotation. Martin also had an affinity for refraining from using relief pitchers. However, he also had an imbecile for a pitching coach in Art Fowler, a drinking buddy from his days as a New York Yankee player. Instill confidence Martin did. That’s the upside. The downside was all five pitchers eventually developed arm trouble, cutting their careers woefully short. Were they cut short due to overwork, or was it lack of conditioning?
Texas Ranger president Nolan Ryan, Hall of Fame pitcher who logged nearly fifty-four hundred innings pitched, notched over fifty-seven hundred strikeouts, and issued almost twenty-eight hundred walks, who once threw, to his best guess, two-hundred and sixty two pitches in one game, has lifted the one-hundred pitch count limit for all Ranger starters. No more pussies on his staff as long as he’s calling the shots. Ranger managers can breathe a sigh of relief. You can be sure Ryan will never hire current St. Louis Cardinal manager Tony LaRussa, to lead his team.
Back in 1986, LaRussa took over as manger of the Oakland A’s (Martin was fired in 1982). LaRussa has been acclaimed as a statistics guru. He decided to establish pitchers with distinctive roles coming out of the bullpen. If his team was ahead, there’d be a setup man to pitch the eighth inning, and a closer to pitch the ninth. The idea of a closer was not a new one, but using him for one inning only in most circumstances was. Piching officially became very specialized, and with the unbridled success this system enjoyed, other organizations soon followed LaRussa’s lead. Now it seems at the expense of starting pitchers capable of much more than they’re allowed. In the case of the Florida Marlins, perhaps we have to consider the source.
Fredi Gonzalez, though chock full of young eager players with young eager legs, he is hesitant to steal bases. He is hesitant to put on the hit and run. He is hesitant to bunt for a base hit. Great, and now he’s hesitant for a young pitcher to make his bones by allowing him to finish what he starts, even though, did I say this, allowed one hit, took only an hour to get through the first five innings, was ahead 6-1, and threw only eighty-three pitches. I know I already said it, but it was important enough to repeat. Did Fredi Gonzalez say to himself, “Oh my god, we have a game that could finish in under three hours, well I’ll have to do something about that”?
The outcome of this timidity? Needless to say, the Marlins bullpen faltered, in grand fashion I might add. The first batter setup man Leo Nunez faced hit a home run. Matt Lindstom the closer, he of three walks and a grand slam home run in less than one inning against the Phillies fame, didn’t fare any better. Eventually the Orioles tied the game at 6-6. The Marlins luckily won in the 12th inning, 7-6, and the Miami Herald and ESPN chose not to mention Gonzalez’ little magic act called the disappearing backbone trick. A baseball team’s play is a reflection of its manager, if that is true then the wishy-washy Gonzalez has led his team to a wishy-washy .500 record. Get a pair Fredi, or the blame you’re assigned may be justified.

Bush League Draft

Bud Selig, the commissioner of Major League Baseball, will do anything to make sure baseball gets back to the top of the American spectator sports food chain. Once America’s game, football has slowly overtaken baseball in terms of fan enthusiasm and loyalty. Sure, NASCAR draws more fans to each event, but football has a much broader appeal. That once was true of baseball. Bud Selig would like to see it happen again.
Major League Baseball has always had a rather elitist attitude toward the status they maintained in the American sports psyche; taking a pro-active approach toward changes when that status was threatened. In order to generate more fan interest, and establish additional credibility, Bud Selig thought it would be a good idea to televise on his new MLB Network, baseballs amateur draft. A noble endeavor for sure, but was it a successful venture?
The fraternity of Major League Baseball has always been adverse to change, throughout history steadfastly adhering to the status quo. When radio was invented, baseball owners and executives resisted broadcasting game coverage being of the mind attendance would go down if people could stay at home and listen to the games. The powers that be never believed radio broadcasts would increase attendance, bringing those who never considered attending a game would be drawn to ballparks by the excitement conveyed via the airwaves. The same reactionary attitude held true years later when games were aired on television.
The baseball establishment fought tooth and nail to keep games from being broadcast. They never foresaw the revenue that could be generated. All they saw was fans staying away from parks in droves. It’s a wonder baseball became the success it did with these narrow minded pinheads running things. Today, TV revenue is all that keeps some clubs afloat financially. The only forward thinking baseball ever did was developing the All-Star game concept in order to make more money when fan turnout was down due to the Great Depression. When interest in professional sports all-star games waned, new innovations were added to make the event more appealing in an effort to expand the customer base.
When the NBA ALL-Star game wasn’t enough, the Slam Dunk and Three Point Shootout, and later Skills, and Rookie All-Star competitions were added. Major League Baseball lagged again. The success of these attractions caused baseball to add the Home Run Derby, which proved to be a huge hit, no pun intended. However, what the NBA and NFL had that MLB didn’t that appealed to its fans was a draft. After yesterday, the reasons why are clear.
Granted, it’s difficult to bring credibility to anything when you’re wearing a dead animal on your head, but Bud Selig did his best. However, unlike the NFL Draft, who stage their extravaganza at Radio City Music Hall, and the NBA, who rotate their location, MLB’s first ever televised draft took place in that baseball hub and cultural center, Secaucus, New Jersey, at the MLB Network Studios, Studio 42 to be precise. There were a couple of drawbacks to this.
First, unlike the NBA and NFL drafts, there wasn’t any room in the studio to accommodate fans. So when a draft choice was announced, scouts, team representatives, employees of the MLB Network, for all I know the cleaning staff, had to cheer and applaud the choice. After the first couple of selections, it seemed that the designated cheerleaders like a sitcom laugh track, had to be prompted at the appropriate moment. Being in such close quarters, this allowed for everybody in the studio to hear what the analysts had to say. It made for a certain level of awkwardness. Speaking of awkward…
…so mired in remaining stagnant, Bud Selig had forgotten what century we’re in, declaring the draft pick for 19-uh, 2009. He almost allowed himself to grin at his faux pas, but that would have meant he could laugh at himself, and shit, if he can’t laugh at that thing on his head when he looked in the mirror, he obviously couldn’t laugh at a verbal faux pas. Not to be outdone, one of the MLB Network baseball experts, I know he’s a household name, but it escapes me right now, and no, it wasn’t Harold Reynolds. Harold Reynolds wouldn’t ever refer to Josh Johnson, the anchor of the promising young starting rotation of the Florida Marlins, Jonathan Johnson.
Perhaps he meant Jonathan Papelbon. That’s understandable, since Johnson is a starter, while Papelbon is a closer. Maybe he meant Randy Johnson, since he recently faced the Marlins. Besides, Josh is only about half Randy’s age, while Josh is only four years younger than Jonathan. This whole explanation makes about as much sense as televising the draft.
Televising a draft is predicated upon fan interest. The casual fan may tune into either the NBA or NFL drafts because they are familiar with who is being drafted. For the most part, players have been followed throughout their collegiate careers, not so with the baseball draft. The names called yesterday and today are unfamiliar to all but the most dedicated baseball fan. Also, many of the players selected have been chosen directly out of high school. Almost all of those players have yet to receive any national recognition. So unless you’re a teammate, friend, coach, or family member, the name called isn’t going to mean anything. In addition, are the variables to consider. Can a team sign the player drafted? Is he going to go to college if we don’t offer the right money? Will he ever make it to the Majors, that’s important when investing millions.
The NBA draft is two rounds, short and sweet. The money for these young men will be pretty substantial. Some will have an impact, some won’t. The NFL draft is seven rounds. Many of the players drafted will also have an impact, but some won’t. However, the money doled out in the higher rounds will bear fruit. Sure, there is the normal share of busts from the first round, but many will still see considerable playing time even if they’re cut loose when they don’t pan out. Baseball it’s a horse of a different color.
The draft is fifty rounds. The first round draft choices command crazy money and the likelihood they will ever play in the Major Leagues is remote. Some succumb to injuries; some never make it out of the minors. Since the draft’s inception in 1965, on average less than one quarter of first round draft choices ever see playing time at the Major League level. This was why we were supposed to be riveted to our television sets yesterday? This was the next big idea to come out of the league office?
There was a surreal feel to the whole thing; from the obscure names being announced very ceremoniously, to the locale, to the coverage. Televising the draft had to be the brain child of team owners; because Bud Selig couldn’t have thought this up on his own. He doesn’t fart without the owner’s permission. There hasn’t been a bigger toady since Grover Dill, Scott Farkus’ sidekick in A Christmas Story. If you ask me, the whole thing was very bush league, from the top of the commissioner’s head to what’s inside of it. Maybe the NBA or the NFL can come up with something else that Major League baseball can use to promote their sport.

Down in Front - Part Two

Let me begin by stating that first and foremost, I am a baseball fan. Last week’s blog was not intended to disparage the Florida Marlins franchise, but to bring to light the uphill struggle facing them in terms of media respect, fan base and the prospect of a new stadium. With that said; I ‘m appalled at what the Marlins have had to, and continue to endure. They deserve much better.
Currently, the Marlins sit atop the National League East standings with the best record in baseball at 11-3. That’s after having lost their first two games of a three game series in Pittsburgh against the Pirates. Who, by the way, play at PNC Park which opened in 2001. I mention this because the Marlins have yet to have their own stadium, while the Pirates have had two in the last thirty years or so. Also, they played in front of approximately two thousand fans the last two nights due to the cold weather, about the same as the Marlins will be playing in front of come July due to the ghastly hot weather. But the Pirates probably won't find themselves contending by then. The Marlins, if the bullpen holds up, will still have hope.
Prior to their trip to Pittsburgh, the Marlins concluded a three game sweep of the Washington Nationals. The Nationals also play in a new stadium. In terms of attendance, the Nationals as they say, “can’t draw flies.” A three game sweep away from home is always special regardless of the opposing teams capabilities, or in the case of the Nationals, lack there of. However, what makes the Marlins sweep of the Nationals all the more remarkable was that each game was a come-from-behind victory won in their final at bat. For the Marlins fan, you can’t get any more exciting baseball than that. Yet, the Marlins will return “home” to sparse crowds, and the weather hasn’t even gotten really foul.
To add insult to injury, despite the Marlins amazing play in Washington, the sports portion of Sunday's local CBS4 News broadcast lead story was the upcoming Miami Heat first round playoff game. This was followed by the results of the Los Angeles Lakers-Utah Jazz game. Then came the Marlins and their third consecutive miraculous win. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe Los Angeles is located in California, and Utah is located next to Nevada. That means that the basketball game took place in the west. The Marlins play baseball in Florida, outside Miami, in the east. CBS4 News operates out of, wouldn’t ‘cha know it, Miami! It really sucks when local news doesn’t deem the Marlins accomplishments worthy enough to be the lead sports story. Rodney Dangerfield got more respect than the Marlins. And Marlins President David Samson, predicts sell out crowds for every Marlins game the first year in their new ballpark. If you believe that, I have a stadium deal to sell you.
In their short existence the Marlins have won two World Series titles. They currently feature a team loaded with youth, and a starting pitching rotation that’s arguably one of the best in the Major Leagues. In 2008, the Marlins finished second in the National League in team home runs behind the Philadelphia Phillies. They wound up fifth in the Majors trailing the Chicago White Sox and the Detroit Tigers from the AL. This, despite playing in cavernous, heavy air, wind swept, Dolphins Stadium. And nobody was there to see it.
They have one of the finest all-around players in the game in shortstop Hanley Ramirez. They have speed to burn in new acquisitions Cameron Maybin and Emilio Bonifacio. What they don’t have is fans.
According to Harold Reynolds of the MLB Network, and formally of ESPN; South Florida has the finest and most competitive youth baseball program in the Nation. He once commented that other areas of the country aspire for their youth baseball to reach the level of those found in Broward and Dade counties. On any given Saturday local city parks are jammed with spectators to witness a particularly competitive youth contest. Rival high school baseball games generate above average crowds even if you exclude the parents of the participants. Miami Hurricanes baseball, usually a national power, regularly draws ample support. Why can’t professional baseball attract these same folks?
Last week the venue was discussed. Back in 1991, Wayne Huizenga answered the critics of South Florida summer heat by stating that there would be no 1:00 start times for games in July and August. Those games would be moved to 4:00. That proposal didn’t last very long. You see, 4:00 is just about the time showers begin at that time of year. Fortunately, until the last couple of years, the Marlins have had tremendous luck avoiding rainouts and weather delays. Another reason the 4:00 start time didn’t hold fast was television. Since television pays the bills, it’s really up to them when games should be started, not team ownership. It’s said the weather plays a roll in keeping fans away. But isn’t it brutally hot in St. Louis in July and August? How about New York, Boston, Detroit? Don’t those cities experience hot, humid weather that makes even breathing unbearable at times? As a hedge against the stifling heat and inclement weather, the new ballpark will have a retractable roof. That way the weather won’t factor into why people won’t show up right? There is more to this lack of attendance than meets the eye. Consider this; the Marlins aren’t the only South Florida team slighted.
The Dolphins couldn’t pack Dolphins Stadium for a playoff game. Frequently, home games are in danger of being blacked out on television due to lack of ticket sales. Only local business owners buying up remaining tickets at the eleventh hour allow for folks to watch the games at home.
The Miami Hurricane’s storied football team wasn’t always able to fill the Orange Bowl. It is unlikely that they will fill their new digs, Dolphins Stadium.
The Miami Heat basketball team rarely played before a full house this season. The only team that draws better than anticipated is the Florida Panthers hockey franchise. It seems attending sporting events is not high on the population’s “things to do” list. What makes David Samson think his unreasonable guesstimated attendance figures for Marlins games at the new ballpark are sweet enough to feed them to Miami city commissioners like so many M&Ms?
I went directly to the offices of Major League Baseball to see if someone there could shed some light on this issue. What I found was no one had changed the bulb since 1991.

To be continued next week. Unless the NFL Draft offers some good shit, then two weeks from now the Marlins Stadium issue will be addressed.

"Down in Front" Part One

Going to the ballpark is a veritable wonderland for the baseball fan. It’s of little consequence that it’s a Little League game at a local park, or a Major League game at an elaborate professional venue. The sounds, smells, and sights are for all intents and purposes the same, just varying degrees assault on the senses. However, there are occasionally times the ballpark experience is either lacking something, or something occurs that detracts from the event.
At a Little League game, a loud-mouth drunken father can put a damper on the festivities. Perhaps an obnoxious coach who’s harassing the umpire, and berating his players can also sour the mood. These things can happen at a Major League game, but in this context they often provide comic relief.
A manager losing his mind at an umpire can be quite entertaining. A manager publicly deriding a player can provide fodder for countless headlines for days. It’s always amusing to see grown men acting like children while playing a game. The same can be said for spectators.
A bumbling, stumbling sot affords a momentary respite between innings. This sort of behavior when it turns ugly, gives the car wreck rubberneckers a chance to strain their collective gaze on the hooligans, often egging on the combatants. Under most circumstances these goings on do not detract from the overall fan experience. Then again, there’s watching a ballgame at Joe Robbie, I mean Pro Player, no, Dolphins Stadium.
Just the name of the place should make the true baseball aficionado cringe. It’s named after the football team that plays there. The truly sad part of the naming fiasco is that the Florida Marlins baseball team had been playing their games there for thirteen years when the name was changed to Dolphins Stadium. Nothing like making your tenants feel unwelcome. The stadium owners are only too glad to collect the rent, but that doesn’t mean they’re going to embrace the teams existence. Geez, the least they could do is put up a big sign that says “Home of the Miami Dolphins and the Florida Marlins.” There are other drawbacks about playing Major League baseball at a football stadium, or playing Major League baseball in South Florida for that matter.
Since the venue was designed for football viewing, the seating configuration is typical of any stadium built for football only. There are large sections of seats made up of long rows of individual seats. When the stadium undergoes its transformation to accommodate baseball, home plate is situated where all but approximately 30% of the fans in attendance must keep their heads turned to view the action on the field. This is awkward, and it can be uncomfortable for any lengthy duration. I have rectified this minor annoyance by purchasing seats in a section where turning your head to watch the game isn’t necessary. Granted, occasionally a batted ball will momentarily disappear from sight, but overall less bothersome than a literal pain in the neck.
Some rows have as many as twenty-four occupants. This is quite inconvenient for both those wishing to enter or exit the row, and for those trying to watch the game. Here is where South Florida fan decorum comes into play if you will. You’d think that folks would wait until between innings, or between batters; hell, I’d even be happy if these people would wait until it was between pitches before they decided they had to get in or out of their designated seat. This is compounded by the fact that like Los Angeles Dodger fans, many Marlins “fans” show up for the game anywhere from the first through third innings. They leave anytime after the bottom of the sixth. Most of the fans I have observed have absolutely no idea what proper baseball watching etiquette is, nor do they care. The same holds true for the ushers. At other stadiums around the country, and I have been to many, ushers will hold back those wishing to return to their seats until an out has been made. Employees at Dolphins Stadium seem to be unfamiliar with this concept. They ignore the feelings of those who wish to watch the game with minimal interruptions, and condone the rudeness of the selfish. This shouldn’t come as any surprise really.
New forms of fan displeasure have cropped up not only in South Florida, but it seems to be a phenomenon that can be found happening elsewhere. “Fans” recently started to boo a manager’s visit to the pitcher’s mound. I maybe can understand booing the visiting team’s manager for delaying the game, but booing the home team manager? Throws over to first by the pitcher for either team elicit boos. Is this our immediate gratification society rearing its ugly head? Are these “fans” pissed off because this strategic act prolongs the game and they have some place else to be? I wish they’d avoid the game altogether, and go to that other place to start off the evening. No such luck.
The baseball “fans” in South Florida just like in other cities, like to do “the wave.” I hate the wave. It is disruptive to those watching the game. It began in Seattle during a Seahawk football game. Those in Seattle are welcome to have exclusive rights to “the wave’s” use. The first wave was started during a timeout. Football timeouts can be rather protracted. It makes perfect sense to pass the time by getting the crowd involved in something during this stretch of downtime. Between pitches is not down time, between innings is. But no one starts the wave between innings. It is always started while the game is going on. I refuse to partake. I used to join in the “Let’s go Mets” chant while at Shea Stadium.
This type of cheer is used as a motivational tool for the team that’s at bat in the hope that some offense can generate some runs. Marlins “fans” chant “Let’s Go Marlins” whenever the spirit moves them. Not when the team is trying to produce hits, but also when the team is trying to produce…defense? I don’t get it. I don’t get other stuff that goes on at Dolphins Stadium.
The Marlins have cheerleaders. The Marlins are a baseball team. Cheerleaders are normally associated with football. College and high school cheerleaders are involved in a variety of other sports, but not baseball. What marketing genius thought this was a good idea to have cheerleaders? Especially for a team that averages only 16,000 in paid attendance per game. Many games less than 5000 patrons show up. For this you need cheerleaders?
Dolphins Stadium is grossly understaffed. The last two games I’ve been to, only three vendors total visited our section selling their wares. Two of the three were the same nut vendor, the other hawked beer. This necessitated a trip to the concession stand. The ones nearest the section I was seated were closed in this fan-less-friendly environment. Maybe the new stadium experience will be different.
The Marlin ownership recently got approval from the Miami city commissioners to erect a new stadium in the “Little Havana” section of Miami on the site formally occupied by the Orange Bowl. The only suitable form of accessibility to this area is by helicopter. Driving there will be a nightmare due to the lack of mass transit. Parking your car will be worse. Accommodations are being made for only 5000 cars for a 37,000 capacity stadium. That's over seven per car. And they say SUV's are going out of vogue. If the charge for parking for a Miami Heat basketball game at American Airlines Arena is any indication, prices should be astronomical. As far as I can tell, “fan friendly” this new project is not. I like the team and its players. They play exciting inspired baseball. I wish it was packaged better. Time will tell.

Opening Day and Finals Night

The pomp and circumstance surrounding the opening of the Major League baseball season is unrivaled. Buntings and banners adorn stadiums across the country. The green grass of playing fields is mowed in checker boarded aesthetic symmetry. It is the most sacred of days for a baseball fan whether they are rabid or casual. Children are withdrawn early from school. Men and women call in sick to work. Opening Day should be a national holiday.
The start of the professional football season doesn’t have an Opening Day. The same is true for professional basketball and hockey. They all have their first games, but nothing as grand as an Opening Day. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.
I have attended 34 consecutive baseball home openers somewhere. Most have been in New York at Shea Stadium. A few took place at Yankee Stadium back during Reggie Jackson’s tenure with the club. The last sixteen have been played in Florida at a football stadium reconfigured for baseball. In 2002, I was fortunate enough to be at Shea for the Mets home opener, and then back in Florida to see the Marlins ring in the new season. I have had the privilege of sharing the Opening Day experience with my son Cory for the last twenty-one years. As he pointed out, his Opening Days can now buy beer legally.
Numerous Opening Days have been shared with another companion, my friend Gregg, the possessor of the sacred Sugarless Peppermint Bubble Yum Bubble Gum. I have been fortunate enough to be in the company of both many times. There was one year Cory and I went to Shea, while Gregg attended the Marlins inaugural Opening Day. That was April, 1993. Cory and I would move to Florida the following June. It was the only Marlins home opener we’ve ever missed. That night Gregg in Florida, and Cory and I in New Jersey, would watch his alma mater, the University of North Carolina win the NCAA basketball championship.
Opening Day holds many special memories for me. In 1987, at Shea Stadium, the banner was hoisted signifying their World Series Championship over the Boston Red Sox in 1986. In 1988, the twenty-fifth anniversary of the opening of Shea Stadium was celebrated with a scoreboard video montage of Shea’s greatest memories accompanied by The Beatles song In My Life. They would run this clip before every game that year. Each time I got choked up, and each time I got goose bumps every time the ball went between Bill Buckner’s legs. The memories of Opening Day at Shea 2002 were equally as moving.
It was the first Opening Day in New York following the 9/11 tragedy. Emotions ran high, and rather close to the surface. The rendition of the Star-Spangled Banner was made rousing by the 55,000 in attendance signing joyously along. So when Art Garfunkel sang God Bless America in the fifth inning, it was no surprise that those 55,000 voices drowned his out by the end of the first bar. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.
Opening Day 2009 will also stand out as special. First and foremost, this year Gregg brought along his two daughter’s Carly and Jamie, for the first time. The day before, Cory and I guessed how many ceremonial “first pitches” would be thrown out this Opening Day. Formally a tradition of particular significance, the first pitch had become so commonplace at a Marlins game, that I’ve witnessed seven such pitches to start a game. An honor started by President William Howard Taft, the Marlins and their PR department had reduced the importance of the act to that of casting a fishing line in the ocean. If someone was a big enough team sponsor, some suit, or their kid got to throw out a ball.
This year was different. As our group, which numbered ten this year, made their way toward the Stadium about fifteen minutes prior to game time; an announcement was made that one such corporate dignitary was about to throw out the season’s ceremonial first “first pitch.” I breathed a disheartened sigh. I figured by the time we all reached our seats at least five other “first pitches” would be thrown. This was not the case.
When we sat down all members of both the visiting Washington Nationals, and the Marlins were introduced. After the Nationals aligned themselves along the third base line, and the Marlins along the first, a small boy with a glove made his way to the front of the pitchers mound. His name was Sean Romero. His father was an F-15 fighter pilot stationed in Iraq. To everyone’s surprise, his image appeared on the stadium Jumbotron. His message was short, telling Sean that while he would be ringing in the new season in Florida, he would be ringing it in Iraq. He told Sean that he loved him and would see him soon. Only the black of heart were unmoved. The kid got a standing “O.” We remained standing while the band Chicago covered The Star-Spangled Banner. No one really cared that the audio didn’t work properly, because a tad too early, a formation of F-15 fighter jets performed a “fly over.” Let the game begin.
What a game it was. Sterling defensive plays, stolen bases, and the long ball. Marlins first baseman Jorge Cantu belted one. Adam Dunn who should be Washington’s first baseman after the way he played left field, hit one to the next town over.
Emilio Bonifacio, who the Marlins acquired in a trade with Washington, was starting his first game as the Marlins third baseman. He was the reason Cantu had been moved to first, even though Bonifacio is a shortstop. His home run was of particular note. In the forth inning, he lofted a fly ball deep in center field, over the head of the Nationals Lastings Milledge. Had Milledge caught the ball, it would have been spectacular. But, what resulted was even more so. Once Bonifacio saw that Milledge didn’t make the play, he turned on his jets and sped around the bases. The crowd went ballistic, not sitting until they coaxed him from the dugout for a curtain call. Welcome to South Florida. It was the first Opening Day inside-the-park home run since Carl Yastrzemski did it in 1968. Bonifacio finished the day 4-5, with two RBI’s, and three stolen bases. Quite a debut. Hanley Ramirez added an exclamation point with a grand slam in the bottom of the sixth. The crowd whipped into a frenzy, clamored for another curtain call, and it was granted. Ramirez dutifully stepped from the dugout and tipped his cap in grateful acknowledgement. Everyone went home a winner. For at least one day the Marlins were in first place…tied with the Mets. What a day, but it wasn’t over yet, there was still the night.
Just as in 1993 Gregg, Cory, and I planned on watching the North Carolina Tar Heels play for the National Championship. This time we got to do it together. We weren’t separated by an entire coastline, only by seven or eight miles. After a quick stop at home, Cory and I picked up his friend Jarred, and we all made our way to Gregg’s to see if history would truly repeat itself. We weren’t disappointed.
By the time everyone had gotten comfortable UNC was up by twenty on the Michigan State Spartans. Each time the lead shrank below that watermark Gregg squirmed. Occasionally a phrase will fit the scenario precisely. The axiom “all over but the shouting” would have fit if uttered any time after the first ten minutes of the forty minute contest. The Tar Hells had too many weapons at their disposal. If Michigan clamped down on Tyler Hansborough, they’d go to Ty Lawson. If Lawson got squeezed, Wayne Ellington stepped up. The 89-72 final score was closer than the play of the game. North Carolina had won its fifth National Championship in basketball.
Fifteen years ago, my friend celebrated his hometown baseball team’s first victory. Fifteen hundred miles away my son and I watched the New York Mets win their first game of the season. Separately, we shared our friend’s joy when his school won the NCAA Championship.
Monday, together we saw the Marlins and North Carolina do the same, just as we had years ago. This year, we celebrated tradition, friendship, and camaraderie.