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.

It's My Party, and I'll Cry if I Want To

For those of you who have never read, or are sporadic readers of my weekly blog, let me say again, I am a registered member of the Republican Party. I was once a member of the Young Republicans of Morris County, New Jersey. I attended fund raisers with Rodney Frelinghuysen and then Governor Tom Kean. My first presidential ballot was cast for Gerald Ford; a decent, upstanding man, and a loyal public servant, who inherited such a shitstorm from Richard Nixon, it’s no wonder he couldn’t accomplish anything during his abbreviated term. He wouldn’t have got elected on his own even if he’d have been able to walk on water. The voting public was so blinded by the nefarious behavior of Nixon and his cronies, that we would have elected the devil himself had he been the Democratic nominee. Instead, we got stuck with Jimmy Carter for four years. By the way, for all you naysayers, history has proven that Ford’s pardon of Nixon WAS the first step toward healing our country. History will not be so kind to Jimmy Carter.
I voted for Ronald Reagan once I served out my probation. I voted for the Bush’s, Dad and his impaired son. I watched as my party has gone from keeper of the flame of capitalism, foreign policy mavens, with a reputation for steadfast resolve; to a party that can best described as disorganized, antiquated, conservatism, with a hint of the absurd. I have not, as Arlen Specter bravely did, switch parties, as yet; though I do believe the Republican Party in its current state, no longer resembles the one I formerly embraced. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, there is talk that Sarah Palin may make a run for the nation’s highest office in 2012. Are you fucking shitting me?!!!!!!!
For those of you who have never had the pleasure of listening to her acute oration skills, her finely honed ability to reason, her well articulated turning of a phrase, well, let me clue you in. She is an idiot, a dope, an imbecile, a moron, a dolt, a dullard, an inane drone, a pinhead, a ying-yang, devoid of any productive cranial activity, and until recently, held the highest public office in the state of Alaska. Why is she no long governor? Because she quit. At least that’s what I got out of the sometimes rambling, sometimes unclear, sometimes disjointed, resignation/self-praise speech. Even the moral charlatan Rush Limbaugh, that bastion of self-righteous, ultra-conservative, so far to the right wing politics that he’s on the other side of the Greenwich meantime line, was at a loss for words when asked what to make of Palin’s resignation, and what it might mean. The only time Limbaugh is without comment is when he’s eating. Limbaugh’s partner in crime, Bill O’Reilly, who’d just returned from vacation, sidestepped the Palin resignation, choosing instead to weigh in on the hoopla surrounding Michael Jackson. When was the last time you heard of Bill O’Reilly avoiding to opine about anything that had to do with the well being of the Republican Party. Other notable Republicans were as perplexed as these right wing pundits, yet they dared to comment.
Iowa Republican Senator Chuck Grassley, called Palin’s resignation “astounding.” Karl Rove, former political adviser to George W. Bush, said that he and other GOP strategists are “perplexed” by Palin’s “bombshell” as USA Today called it. Meghan Stapleton, Palin’s communications director, said “she expects Palin to remain active as a speaker and campaigner. Oh be still my palpitating heart, I hope I can get a ticket to her next speaking engagement, that ought to be enthralling with the tremendous grasp of Palin has on the English language. Stapleton also added that Palin is “working to complete her memoirs due out next spring.” I wonder if it’s more than one page. Do they let people write memoirs in crayon? There must be a ghost writer even if it’s a pop-up book. If you think I’m being too harsh, let me sight some examples from her resignation speech and you can draw your own conclusions.
She opened with a short history lesson most middle-schoolers learn about William Seward and his role in the purchase of Alaska. She then cites Alaska as strategic due to it being “the air crossroads of the world,” whatever the hell that means. Call me crazy, but when was the last time you flew over Alaska when you went anywhere in the world? Palin states she is “determined to take the right path for Alaska even though it is unconventional and not so comfortable.” From what I understand, quitting something is about the most comfortable out you can take. Palin used the phrase “no more politics as usual” no less than five times by my count. A copy of the speech as written was obtained from the governor’s office. In the text there are innumerable words typed in capital letters. I’m assuming this was done so Palin knew where to put emphasis. However, this seems almost to have been done on an arbitrary basis at completely unnecessary times. See for yourself at www.huffingtonpost.com, who, by the way, weren’t the only media source to offer their observations.
Ruth Marcus from the Washington Post had this to say. “It’s fair to say I’ve been no fan of Palin’s since John McCain picked her (if she thinks John McCain did the picking, she’s mistaken, approved her is a better term) as his running-mate, and my estimation of her has only gone downhill from there. I think my hostility has to do with our shared gender: I’m eager to see women succeed in the political arena, as elsewhere, and I think McCain’s cynical choice of Palin and her faltering performance since has served to set back that cause.” So there. And if you’re one of those folks who’s sitting there saying, “Oh, that’s just the liberal media talking,” think again. Who owns the “liberal media,” and to whose party are they affiliated?
Marcus is as confused as I am over what Palin cites as her reason for quitting. On her follow up Facebook posting Palin said that she was being held to a higher standard than others who left their jobs for a “higher calling.” The media failed to understand “it’s about country,” but a sentence later she suggested it was about family. Marcus wonders if Palin is “planning to stay in the spotlight or get out of it?” The Anchorage News speculated that Palin might have resigned in order to “elevate her profile” for a possible run at the 2012 Republican Presidential nomination. But the paper goes on to hypothesize about what caused this abrupt turn of events. The paper cited that perhaps she found the “ethics inquiries paralyzing.” Marcus concurs with Palin’s home state press stating Palin’s “unconvincing explanation [for resigning] combined with refrigerator-magnet wisdom – “Don’t explain: Your friends don’t need it and your enemies won’t believe you anyway” – underscores the image of a woman unable to withstand the heat of political pressure.” How about her bizarre basketball analogy? I know her she had coaches everywhere cringing. Then she moves to a football analogy that was empty and vague about calling an audible. The only audible Palin called was not telling anyone was moving from basketball to football with a reference to football. Confusing isn’t it. Don’t worry you’re not alone.
Mary Matalin referred to Palin’s strategy as “brilliant,” Bill Kristol said Palin was “crazy like a fox.” These two observations only served to tarnish the legitimacy of both analysts, and erode their credibility. If they are trying to convince me in any way shape or form that Sarah Palin is the future of the Republican Party based on this recent move, well then let me paraphrase Palin’s last “hey look! I know some more history” quote from Gen Douglas MacArthur, I am not retreating [from the Republican Party], I am advancing in another direction,” until it can get its shit together.

Till Death Do Us Never Part

The saying goes that “the first condition of immortality is death.” In this era of Pop Culture idolatry, it is not surprising that the featured story of every newscast last week, both local and national, focused on the passing of those who attained varying degrees of demigod status. Each individual occupied their unique niche on the landscape of the American psyche. Of the four, all but one underwent at least one metamorphosis before ending up in a quite different form than the one that captured public attention. For all their noteworthiness, they still wound up the same as the rest of us will one day end up, albeit with much more fanfare.
The lives of Farrah Fawcett, Ed McMahon, and Michael Jackson, have had their lives, and in the case of Farrah Fawcett, their death, played out in glorious technicolor across every form of media. Not a week went by when a picture of any of the three could be seen adorning the covers of gossip magazines located at the supermarket checkout. A headline often accompanied the photo, claiming some cataclysmic event had befallen them. This was done is such a fashion that you would feel guilty without knowing all of the grisly, and occasionally fabricated details, making it a “must read” for those who want to be “in the know.” I didn’t, nor did I care if I wasn’t.
If you didn’t get your fill via the written word, or if you fell into “just barely able to read” category these publications consider their target audience; all major networks, and several cable stations, offer tabloid “entertainment television” programs that air each and every night, chronicling each burp, fart, and bowel movement of your favorite celebrities. What a full life one must lead that in order to complete their tapestry of cultural fulfillment a daily dose of celebrity gossip puts a finishing touch to such a rewarding canvas. And then one of the cultural icons dies…and those, whose lives are so dull, get the opportunity to delve even further via the magic of television. So long have they peered into the fishbowl, they feel connected, though the closest they’d ever been, or got, to having a relationship, was strictly vicarious. Take note all you stalkers.
Billy Mays was different. Billy Mays was a salesman for many years prior to him becoming a TV pitchman, or salesman if you will. Billy Mays didn’t morph into anything; he stayed the same, but with a larger clientele. It’s been speculated that Billy Mays died of a heart attack. As of this writing, that has been neither confirmed nor denied. However, if you ever watched or listened to Billy Mays try to convince you to buy something, a heart attack is a very reasonable assumption. There was no assuming necessary when it came to Farrah Fawcett’s cause of death.
Right from her first diagnosis, revealed in print and on television, cancer killed her. You heard about her courageous and epic struggle against the dreaded “Big C.” A made-for TV movie chronicled the last few weeks of her life until she became too weak, or too withered; where following her battle would border on the macabre.
Over the years we watched Farrah go from eye candy on a sex-ploitation television series, to pin-up queen (I tossed a couple of salads to that poster), to serious actress. We sighed a collective “Awww” when she married Six Million Dollar Man, Lee Majors. Not me, but there were those who, for whatever reason, gave a crap. From the comfort of living rooms across the country, these same camp followers felt sadness when the happy couple stopped being happy. The euphoria returned when Farrah and Ryan O’Neal wed, only to exit again when they too, divorced. But, as so duly reported, their romantic spark was rekindled, her adorning fans rejoiced. And then she had the bad luck to die the same day as Michael Jackson, who would steal every grandiose sympathetic headline.
Nothing hogs the spotlight like sudden early death to spoil someone else’s. I use the word sudden, because if you had been a faithful follower of Michael Jackson, you shouldn’t have been too surprised given his track record. “Unexpected” is not a word I would use in association with the announcement of his death. Plagued by years of prescription drug use, tormented, subjugated, overflowing with idiosyncrasies and insecurities, it’s no wonder he made it this long. Still, the death of Michael Jackson, the self-proclaimed “King of Pop,” is cause for all of us to at least say “whoa!”
A newsperson rhetorically asked the general viewership what exactly Jacko’s legacy would be. Would Michael Jackson be noted for the wonderful music he created, the dancer extraordinaire, the amazing showmanship; or would he be noted for his bizarre behavior, his suspected pedophilia, and his truly wacky attempts at altering his physical appearance? I am of the opinion it will closely resemble that of the “King of Rock and Roll.” The eccentric, overweight, drug abusing, womanizer, has left a body of work, and an ever-longing fan base, that has been passed down to the next generation. Children not yet born will know of, and perhaps grow to adore the music of Michael Jackson, much in the same way as current followers of the music of Elvis, and Jim Morrison and the Doors.
Michael Jackson was once the lovable front-kid for the famous singing Jackson Five brothers. He struck out on his own to become the man-child mega-star, who made music videos an art form. His sisters, though talented, owe Michael their careers. Had they been siblings of anyone else, they may have been forever doomed to a life of obscurity. Perhaps they would have been better off. Or do people like that; though they’ll firmly deny it, crave the paparazzi’s attention. A life in the limelight is better than no life at all. I say be careful what you wish for. Even in death, there will be numerous forays into the saga of Michael Jackson. The media will leave no stone unturned. The never-ending coverage will easily surpass that of Anna Nicole Smith. Why couldn’t they have died on the same day? That would have spared us all that Anna Nicole bullshit.
There will be books and movies about Michael Jackson’s life; some authorized, some not. One thing is for sure, like Elvis, Michael Jackson became a parody of himself, and will be immortalized in some films depicting him as such. Personally, I think Elvis, if he were alive, would think the portrayals of the fat, bloated, buffoon, humorous. But, I can’t really picture Michael Jackson ever laughing at what others consider to be his foibles. Too bad, he gave people so much material to work with.
It is only fitting I save for last, the one who died first. Ed McMahon always walked in someone else’s shadow. He will never be known first and foremost, as the host of StarSearch. McMahon only got that gig because he parlayed “Here’s Johnny” into a career. The longtime sidekick on The Tonight Show, became one of the most recognizable faces in America by playing straight man for Johnny Carson. McMahon met with limited success in films, struck gold as the spokesperson for Publishers Clearing House and some fly-by-night life insurance company. All these engagements paid phenomenally well, yet McMahon spent it all. His home was facing foreclosure. How does that happen after thirty years on The Tonight Show followed by umpteen years as host as one of the most successful programs on the new Fox television network? American Idol owes Ed McMahon and StarSearch a debt of gratitude. Ed McMahon died as he lived; in the shadow of others. I wonder if he was jealous, hoping just once to not have to share the spotlight. Once a second banana, always a second banana.
As this is being written, actor Karl (nice nose, not) Malden and former champion boxer and cokehead Alexis Arguello, have died. More fodder for the tabloids and the respective television counterparts. If it’s any consolation for any of these recently deceased is, with the help of the media, they, like those in this piece, will not have to "go gentle into that good night.”

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.

Sports Mélange

Several topics have piqued my interest this week. A couple are bits of media fueled sensationalist mindlessness, deserving of little attention. One item could be construed as important to baseball fans; one is not if you are a student of the game. One is important to sports fans who hang out in bars, another is important to everyone who has ever hung out in a bar, or been behind them. They are all thought provoking to some extent. I will try to do justice to all four tidbits without putting you to sleep, though the topics themselves may.
Francisco Rodriguez, New York Met, and closer par excellence, was recently taken to task by no less an authority on pitcher’s mound decorum, than the illustrious Brian Bruney, set-up relief pitcher for the New York Yankees. Bruney publicly declared that the histrionic displays of Rodriguez are “a tired act.” This is coming from a man who has thirteen career saves to Rodriguez’ two-hundred and twenty-five, though they are only one month apart in age. You may say that Bruney is not a closer; hence the difference in career saves. Maybe Bruney was being groomed as a closer to replace an aging Mariano Rivera, but lacked the talent. Now Bruney is judged by the relatively new statistic “holds.” Well, hold this.
Bruney was in college gaining an education and honing his skills while Rodriguez was making a name for himself during the Los Angeles Angels post season run to the World Championship. Since that was the case, Bruney with his infinite intelligence, should reserve his commentary just by his sheer wisdom should know better. In the unlikelihood Bruney should reach the level of ability Rodriguez seems to possess, his criticism would hold a little more validity. But to disparage a man who has been to the mountaintop of his profession, and yet still has the same passion, and youthful exuberance for the game after eight years, is an absolute waste of four years in college. You should ask for your money back. You say you learned to play the game differently? You hail from the quaint city that Kindergarden Cop was filmed in.Where did you learn the game of baseball? In the suburbs, in an organized youth program, at some well maintained city park facility? Maybe Rodriguez learned the game in some garbage strew vacant lot, with only a milk carton for a glove, a sock wound with tape for a ball, with the well being of his entire family at stake, depending on his success. And with each professional success he is grateful for his unbelievable good fortune. Bruney says he doesn’t know Rodriguez personally; well maybe he should get to know him before he pops off. Didn’t they teach you that in college?
It has been reported Sammy Sosa tested positive for steroids in 2003. So what, that was six years ago. I’m currently reading Ball Four by Jim Bouton for the twenty-something time. Bouton states that baseball players will take anything. To paraphrase, “If there was a pill that guaranteed a pitcher twenty wins, but took five years off their life, they’d take it.” These words were published in 1971. Nothing has changed. Why can’t anyone get over that? Recently, many Olympians, as well as Danika Patrick, were offered a similar scenario, and they too agreed that if it meant winning a race, or a gold medal, they’d take the pill. That’s what competitiveness will do to young people who don’t have an eye on fifty years down the road. Why can’t anyone get over that either?
With Roger Federer winning the French Open in tennis, Kobe Bryant garnering his forth NBA Championship, and Tiger Woods playing in the U.S. Open this week in his pursuit of Jack Nicklaus’ eighteen Major Championship record; sportswriter Greg Cote, of the Miami Herald, thought it would be appropriate for him to offer his list of all-time greatest athletes. This topic has been debated for years, and will continue to be debated ad nauseum. It’s always fun, but there should be some ground rules first.
Is the athlete just the best because of his accomplishments in his sport, or is he to be considered against other athletes? Cote decided to match all athletes against each other based on their accomplishments in their particular sport. Cote considers Michael Jordan to be the best athlete of all-time. Very good but the only sport he played with any success was basketball. That makes him a greater athlete than Jim Thorpe who was an accomplished professional football player, professional baseball player, and Olympic gold medalist in the decathlon and pentathlon? Are you kidding me?
Nobody asked me but the criteria should be more specific. Shouldn’t sheer athletic ability be measured? Like athletes who have gained a certain amount of success at more than one sport should be considered. What of the athlete who has participated at the professional level, considering the difficulty in achieving that goal? Dave Winfield is a great athlete. He played basketball at the University of Minnesota. He was drafted by the Minnesota Vikings of the NFL before settling on baseball, where he attained Hall of Fame status. Ron Reed and Dave DeBusschere played both pro basketball and baseball, with Reed opting to stay in baseball, and DeBusschere basketball. Bo Jackson was a track star at Auburn before he went on to win the Most Valuable Player awards in both the Major League and Pro Bowl all-star games; in the same season mind you. Deion Sanders achieved all-star status in professional football and baseball also. Frank Thomas was an honorable mention All-American tight end before making baseball his career. More recently Julius Peppers excelled for the nationally ranked Tar Heel basketball team, but decided that pro football is where his true talents lay. Michael Jordan failed miserably at professional baseball, and not even at the Major League level at that. Is he the greatest athlete ever? Greatest basketball player, I would agree, greatest athlete no. If you want to include did an athlete change the way their sport was played, did they make their teammates better, did they excel at all aspects of the game; all these things need to be considered. Was Muhammad Ali the greatest fighter ever? Statistics say he wasn’t. Did he revolutionize the sport? Not really, Sugar Ray Robinson was doing what Ali did much earlier. Did Ali change the face of boxing? Absolutely. Does that make him on of the greatest athletes ever, no. You get my point. Save this for a barroom, not a column in a newspaper.
Lastly, there is the DUI manslaughter plea by Donte Stallworth. Before you scream he got off easy consider this. Stallworth has cooperated with authorities from the onset. He passed his roadside sobriety test, but failed the later blood test. He killed a man who was jaywalking across a major eight lane thoroughfare that was divided by a concrete median. Had Stallworth been of the mind to take his case to trial, with a good attorney, the outcome could have been more surprising than the sentence he received. Stallworth, believe or not, did the right thing in the eyes of the court. He reached a quick financial resolution with the family of the deceased. Almost immediately, he then entered a guilty plea to the charge of DUI vehicular manslaughter. He was truly remorseful when sentence was handed down. He will go and serve his thirty days in jail, and be out before the start of training camp. He will suffer emotionally for the rest of his life. He will be on probation for nine years. He will have community service to do. He has lost his license for the rest of his life. The shame will be immeasurable. How do I know what goes through a person’s mind after this sort of tragedy? Two of my friends have experienced the same thing, DUI manslaughter. One had to do time in jail, the other didn’t. Both were equally traumatized, and the memory follows them forever. It is very painful indeed to hear them share what they feel. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Jim Leyritz should be following the Stallworth case closely, but I don’t think he is.
He is too concerned about establishing his innocence, and clearing his name. Leyritz is intent on showing in a court of law that it was the dead individual, who was also drunk, was at fault, and not he. Leyritz admits to being intoxicated, but it was the drunken woman who’s to blame. In my opinion, this is not the way to go. There are other circumstances surrounding Leyritz that cast a pall over this case as well. Since the only place to gather this information is through news sources, it’s best I not pass judgment yet. But, Leyritz could be taking a pro-active approach to the situation to enhance his chances in court, so far he is not. That’s too bad. I’ll venture a guess if he does not win his case, not only will his name remain tarnished, he’ll do a helluva lot more than thirty days in jail. That’s too bad. I’ve met him. He seems like a really nice guy who does lots of good stuff for kids. Maybe those very same kids will learn something else besides baseball due to his current predicament. I hope I haven’t bored you with all this brain clutter.

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.

“I’m Goin’ to Disney World!”

In 2008, approximately 17,000,000,000 people visited Disney World’s Magic Kingdom in Orlando, Florida. This years figure could be lower, but I doubt it. Disney World is one of those vacation destinations that no matter the state of the economy, people go. They come from across oceans; they visit from the next county over. Students take class trips to Disney World. Newlyweds honeymoon at Disney World. Family’s scrimp and save all year so they can pack up the kids, and spend one of their precious weeks of vacation at Disney World. In good times and in bad, people continue to flock to Disney World. It’s almost a rite of passage. To become properly immersed in popular American culture, Disney World is a prerequisite.
Frequently they visit more than once. The arrival of each new family member requires a visit to Disney World. Some parents seem to think that newborns will truly appreciate the entire splendor Disney World offers. Like a newborn colt walking only minutes after it’s born, shortly after a child’s birth, reservations are made for their first trek to this hub of entertainment. The proper age for a child to enjoy all that Disney World has to offer is open to interpretation.
Some parents will swear that their one year old had the time of their short lives not being able to go on the rides-the changing table in the “family” restroom does not constitute a ride- not recognizing the beloved characters Mickey and Minnie Mouse, nor is the infant, contrary to popular belief, thrilled to be dressed up in one of the innumerable Disney character outfits available for a small king’s ransom at one of the thousand retail outlets strategically situated around the park. The parents may have had the time of their lives bringing baby to Disney World before its eyes even have the ability to focus, but the child did not, and you’ll never convince me otherwise. It is the parents who will glow with unmitigated delight over the hundreds of photos they took of their drooling? crying? screaming? sleeping? kid on its first trip to Disney World. Three is good age for the first hajj to entertainments answer to Mecca. Two is a cute time. The kid might be duly impressed and unable to quell their excitement; but all things considered, the child will never remember anything about that first trip past the age of ten. With any luck, by that time, the child’s parents will add another sibling, and another trip will take place. It is doubtful any recognition of the fond moments of the inaugural visit will come flooding back. However, new memories will be made, and those should last a lifetime, unless they’re spoiled by the undivided attention the parents must devote to the drooling, sleeping, crying, screaming new baby brother or sister. Three is the age. The child can go on all the kid rides, and some of the bigger ones if accompanied by Mom or Dad. All Disney characters walking around the park will elicit squeals of utter joy upon their detection. At three the child will be filled with wonder and awe at virtually every turn. If not, the kid will return again and enjoy the king of theme parks from a different perspective. I did.
This year, Disney World instituted a “celebration program” granting anyone who is celebrating a particular event the choice of perks. Whether you’re celebrating an anniversary, birthday, graduation etc., you have the choice of free admission, fast pass access, which gives the celebrant and up to six members of their party, priority access to rides and attractions; or discounted multi-park tickets. This program is for Florida residents only, that’s me. I celebrated my birthday this year at Disney World-free of charge for admission. There’s no need for fast pass access. Since I’m handicapped by a missing appendage, I get favored admittance anyway. This came in quite handy on my previous visit as well. Yes, I’ve made previous trips to Disney World. However, I’ve only been twice before, fourteen and thirty-eight years ago; I qualify for control group status nonetheless.
I visited Disney World in 1972, the first summer after it opened; I was fourteen. I returned in the summer of 1994 with my son and a friend in tow. It was my son’s first Disney experience; he was nine and a half, I was thirty-seven. Since my first visit occurred so late in my youth, I did not suffer from coolism concerning certain aspects Disney. I was not too cool to go on rides under normal circumstances would be considered gay by the current generation of corresponding age. I did not need to be stoned to meet Mickey and the rest of Walt Disney’s creations. I thought the parade down Main Street was neat at the time. If I was fourteen today, I’d probably categorize the parade as “stupid” and “for babies” suppressing all outward emotions lest be perceived as a big pussy for enjoying it.
My second visit was not for me, but for my son and his friend. Don’t get me wrong, I got a kick out of doing all sorts of stuff with the boys, but the appeal was in observing the enjoyment they derived from the wonderful world of Disney. This year’s trip I was initially reluctant to make. My wife was the one who was gung ho about it. She originally wanted to go for her birthday back in February. That wasn’t feasible. However, as my birthday approached she started to grease the skids about a Disney trek. After some thoughtful consideration, I agreed. She could have her Disney excursion, and I’d go along for the ride, or so I thought. You know how it goes, “The best laid plans of mice and men…” and all that shit.
When I mentioned to my son, now twenty-four, of our plans for my birthday he was surprised, but not overly so. He stated that recently there had been a rash of people he knew choosing to revisit Disney World. His tone reflected a “what’s up with this new Disney thing?” attitude. Well, I’m here to tell ya, I had a blast.
My wife and I arrived prior to the park being opened. We occupied one of the 12,213 parking spots available around the 30,500 acre site, only several dozen others joined us at that early hour. I was enamored with all the usual stuff. The rides like Splash Mountain, and Big Thunder Mountain Railroad were way cool; others like Jungle Cruise, Pirates of the Caribbean, and the Liberty Square Riverboat held their special appeal. I once may have found them boring or insignificant, now I appreciated them for what they were; momentary respites of light entertainment from a tiring afternoon of walking in the hot sun. Yes, after a little cajoling from my wife I relented and did the “it’s a small world” deal. The song still drove me batshit, but I zoned it out while admiring the attention to detail the construction the attraction consisted of. Much to my chagrin, for a third time Space Mountain was not open. I’m sure if I ever get to ride on it, I will be immensely disappointed, particularly after the anticipatory build for all these years. You know, I even found the people I came in contact with entertaining.
Upon arriving I was issued a button with my name on it that announced it was my birthday. From the moment I stepped through the gates every employee of Disney World hailed me with hearty birthday greetings. I obligingly thanked them. However, after nearly six hours of it the luster wore off a bit. Even other patrons took to wishing me a happy birthday which was nice.
The bodily shape of many of these patrons reflected the current health crisis afflicting parts of the world today. The disease of overactive elbow was glaringly apparent. Knifis forkis noninterruptus was well represented in many cultures. The last time I heard that many different foreign languages spoken in one place was on a school class trip to the United Nations. And if it wasn’t a different language I heard, it was a different accent. I was fortunate enough to hear a conversation that consisted of a trio of New Zealand, Australian, South African? accents dominated by one thick New York intonation.
While stopping for a cigarette, I got to hear the self-appointed spokesperson of the mindset of the average American concerning the current state of affairs in this country. He was sharing these narrow, ill-informed, baseless, insights with our friends from abroad. No wonder the rest of the world thinks we’re a bunch of assholes. I was appalled that this was the undeclared designated representative viewpoint this group of folks would come away with. After our man from NYC got done with his tale of gloom and doom, I wanted to chase down those three newly enlightened visitors, and tell them that man that just took up fifteen minutes of their lives was full of shit. His paranoid ranting was nothing but fear driven nonsense fueled by the evening news. But I didn’t bother; I was having too good a time to let one nincompoop ruin my birthday. I’m sure there were many others possessing scorched brain pans among the forty-odd thousand in attendance that day. I just hope our foreign guest don’t run into them.