What was so promising on Thursday night blew up today. A charitable presentation: a group of older, scared people simply cannot see what the possibilities are. They are captives of a world view that is drawing down. I have come to see life as a diamond (of course; I am a baseball fan). We spend the early part of our lives growing out into the world from the little point that is our entry into the world. Everything expands until somewhere in mid-life, we turn the corner. Usually it's not even perceptible to us when we make the turn. But from that moment on, our world begins to draw down again, until advanced age or illness or some brand of dementia or a combination of them all makes our world very small again. Some of these poor folk are well down the road of life's reduction. Perhaps the younger folk, who haven't to this point participated in meetings, will learn their lesson from this.
The paperwork has been requested to make a change of scenery. Didn't want to. Don't look forward to it. But I can't afford this anymore, in any of the ways "afford" can be interpreted. Such is life.
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Thursday, December 27, 2007
D-Day, Part 1, Part 2
So, the fateful meeting got put off a week...what's a few days amongst friends?
Tonight we got down to business. And they looked at the situation, discussed it, and did everything that needed to be done. As we are so Methodical, there are additional steps for the various aspects of the results. But that said, my committee stepped up and our church grew up a little bit tonight. They are making a very positive salary proposal. They are making an extremely positive staffing request. They are proposing a goal for the new year that is brilliant. They flatly rejected the continuing complaints of the one household (required in each church-and you're really lucky if it's only one) that is unhappy with the current shepherd. In fact, in my 24th year at this task I have never, ever, had a committee take such a strong position against frivolous complaints, and in favor of affirming my work. Their generosity-financial and in spirit-is an energizing experience for the new year.
I had hoped and prayed for the opportunity to stay and work in this community with these good people. We ain't there yet, but we're way down the road in that direction!
Resolution number one comes Sunday afternoon. Stay tuned...
Tonight we got down to business. And they looked at the situation, discussed it, and did everything that needed to be done. As we are so Methodical, there are additional steps for the various aspects of the results. But that said, my committee stepped up and our church grew up a little bit tonight. They are making a very positive salary proposal. They are making an extremely positive staffing request. They are proposing a goal for the new year that is brilliant. They flatly rejected the continuing complaints of the one household (required in each church-and you're really lucky if it's only one) that is unhappy with the current shepherd. In fact, in my 24th year at this task I have never, ever, had a committee take such a strong position against frivolous complaints, and in favor of affirming my work. Their generosity-financial and in spirit-is an energizing experience for the new year.
I had hoped and prayed for the opportunity to stay and work in this community with these good people. We ain't there yet, but we're way down the road in that direction!
Resolution number one comes Sunday afternoon. Stay tuned...
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
PEDs, Again
Performance Enhancing Drugs. Perhaps the most complicated issue that has ever invaded the game of baseball. Six days after the Mitchell Report was released, the matter has only gotten more complicated. Let's start with the statistics. Baseball is, after all, more about the numbers than any other game. Numbers are history. They define the legends, the very goods, the adequates and the Chico Esquelas (I saw a picture of Garret Morris this week, in honor of his turning 70 this year!). Now that we know that the pitchers were gluteus maximus-deep in the steroid pool as well as the hitters, are we to have more respect for the home run totals? Should we just disqualify those numbers beyond age 37 or 38 (standard decline time for over 125 years of baseball) that saw individuals getting better into their mid-40s? Should every user be Joe Jacksoned or Pete Rosed? But even those banned for life still have their numbers in the record books...and the numbers are what's cooked with PEDs.
Mentioning Pete, I don't want to hear from him about this. If Pete had any integrity, he would have owned up to betting on the Reds in 1989, owned up to an addiction, asked for baseball's help in getting through treatment. If he had done those things, he might still be banned, unable to work in baseball, but I'd bet (pun intended) that his placque would hang in Cooperstown today. Americans love nothing more than the fall of the high and mighty, followed by the phoenix-like rise of the fallen. I'm so skeptical of Pete at this point that it wouldn't surprise me if we someday found out that he really didn't bet on baseball, and only admitted doing it to get another book contract (My Prison Without Bars, $24.95 at a bookstore near you! Surely remaindered for $.99 by now.) For all of that, he is right, however. PEDs skew the on-field result. They mess with the game in a way that he never did. And yes, no known steroid user can possibly be inducted at Cooperstown ahead of Pete Rose.
Another issue: we still don't know the extent of the matter. Apparently all the teams have Kirk Radomskis, and most of the players have one or more Brian McNamees. And with the movement of Free Agency Era players, names and phone numbers of eager, willing assistants have obviously been passed from millionaire and would-be millionaire to the next 250 of the same. There can be no possible accurate accounting of how many of who did what when it comes to PEDs. This may be the reason that Senator Mitchell advocated the amnesty that he recommended. Since you can't name them all, how can you selectively punish some? Bud? Are you listening? Anyone? Anyone?
As for individuals, how bad does Andy Pettitte's confession make Roger Clemens look? In fact, the more people who own up to McNamee's role in their behavior, the more the Rocket looks like he has a faulty fuse. But I don't want to let Pettitte off the hook just yet. Baseball players are pretty smart as professional athletes go, and it is clear that the new crop of identified users has studied up on the idiocy of the original crew. Only Clemens seems to be reenacting Raphael Palmeiro's finger-wagging, "I never did it" routine. No one has suffered Mark McGwire's amnesia or Sammy Sosa' misplacing of his English. Instead, Pettitte, Brian Roberts and Fernando Vina (trying to hold onto his ESPN gig) have each acknowledged, and framed, their usage. Pettitte and Vina tell stories of using to get well, to be able to get back from injury to help their teams, and allowing bad judgement to aid their recoveries. Brilliant! How much better would Big Mac be remembered if he had said that as his foot-woes became worse in his late 30s, he felt he owed it to the good fans of St. Louis to try to play every day as people drove in from all over the Mid-West, spending their hard-earned money to see him hit. And it was wrong, and he wished he hadn't done it. I'll tell you what would have happened: Cal Ripken and Tony Gwynn would have had a big, redheaded third at last July's induction ceremonies. The agents and publicists have these guys much more prepared to respond to the embarassment and fear of being exposed in 2007.
Then there is Bonds. Again, Barry isn't under federal indictment because he used steroids or HGH. He is facing trial and jail time because when he was asked by the feds about his behavior, he lied to them. As with Marion Jones, learn the lesson: tell the cops what you did. None of the current crop of baseball players is going to be stupid enough to lie to the authorities like Bonds did. Even Clemens will tell the truth if some special prosecutor puts him on the stand under oath. After all, Jason Giambi may have gotten booed in Yankee Stadium and everywhere else after his grand jury testimony, but the Giambino will never see the inside of Leavenworth over steroids.
At the same time, Bonds' performance has regained some amount of credibility. If only hitters had been using, and the poor pitchers were all under assault by these swelled-headed, hulking, testicularly-shrunken louts, then nothing's been a fair fight since about 1990. But if the pitchers were shooting up with something resembling the same amounts and frequencies, then the hitters weren't so far ahead of them. As the old saw holds, you can't compare the numbers of different eras; never more true than today.
The numbers also raise the issue of awards. Curt Schilling wrote today on 38pitches.com that Clemens should forfeit the 4 post-1997 Cy Youngs if he was a user. Here's the best example I know of. (At this moment, a disclaimer is needed: Albert Pujols has not been publicly accused. That's all that can be said.) In 2001, Pujols finished fourth in NL MVP voting. He finished behind Bonds, Sosa and Luis Gonzalez, three men widely associated with PEDs. Albert was second to Bonds in 2002 and 2003. He was third in 2004 to Bonds and Adrian Beltre, another widely suspected player. Albert won the MVP in 2005. Now, there's an argument to be made about who would have gotten the votes if these guys hadn't been in the running, but it certainly is a possibility that Albert Pujols would have won the National League MVP award in each of his first five seasons if the illegal substances had not been in play. What would such an incredible accomplishment have meant to a guy who is not known (today) to be dirty? How do you undo the injury he has suffered? The Olympics have a history of awarding medals to the highest finisher who didn't cheat. Should baseball do the same? It makes a good deal of sense.
No matter how ready I am to see this settled and done, we are a long, long way from that point. And it sure looks to me like this will remain the biggest story in baseball for another year or two, minimum.
Mentioning Pete, I don't want to hear from him about this. If Pete had any integrity, he would have owned up to betting on the Reds in 1989, owned up to an addiction, asked for baseball's help in getting through treatment. If he had done those things, he might still be banned, unable to work in baseball, but I'd bet (pun intended) that his placque would hang in Cooperstown today. Americans love nothing more than the fall of the high and mighty, followed by the phoenix-like rise of the fallen. I'm so skeptical of Pete at this point that it wouldn't surprise me if we someday found out that he really didn't bet on baseball, and only admitted doing it to get another book contract (My Prison Without Bars, $24.95 at a bookstore near you! Surely remaindered for $.99 by now.) For all of that, he is right, however. PEDs skew the on-field result. They mess with the game in a way that he never did. And yes, no known steroid user can possibly be inducted at Cooperstown ahead of Pete Rose.
Another issue: we still don't know the extent of the matter. Apparently all the teams have Kirk Radomskis, and most of the players have one or more Brian McNamees. And with the movement of Free Agency Era players, names and phone numbers of eager, willing assistants have obviously been passed from millionaire and would-be millionaire to the next 250 of the same. There can be no possible accurate accounting of how many of who did what when it comes to PEDs. This may be the reason that Senator Mitchell advocated the amnesty that he recommended. Since you can't name them all, how can you selectively punish some? Bud? Are you listening? Anyone? Anyone?
As for individuals, how bad does Andy Pettitte's confession make Roger Clemens look? In fact, the more people who own up to McNamee's role in their behavior, the more the Rocket looks like he has a faulty fuse. But I don't want to let Pettitte off the hook just yet. Baseball players are pretty smart as professional athletes go, and it is clear that the new crop of identified users has studied up on the idiocy of the original crew. Only Clemens seems to be reenacting Raphael Palmeiro's finger-wagging, "I never did it" routine. No one has suffered Mark McGwire's amnesia or Sammy Sosa' misplacing of his English. Instead, Pettitte, Brian Roberts and Fernando Vina (trying to hold onto his ESPN gig) have each acknowledged, and framed, their usage. Pettitte and Vina tell stories of using to get well, to be able to get back from injury to help their teams, and allowing bad judgement to aid their recoveries. Brilliant! How much better would Big Mac be remembered if he had said that as his foot-woes became worse in his late 30s, he felt he owed it to the good fans of St. Louis to try to play every day as people drove in from all over the Mid-West, spending their hard-earned money to see him hit. And it was wrong, and he wished he hadn't done it. I'll tell you what would have happened: Cal Ripken and Tony Gwynn would have had a big, redheaded third at last July's induction ceremonies. The agents and publicists have these guys much more prepared to respond to the embarassment and fear of being exposed in 2007.
Then there is Bonds. Again, Barry isn't under federal indictment because he used steroids or HGH. He is facing trial and jail time because when he was asked by the feds about his behavior, he lied to them. As with Marion Jones, learn the lesson: tell the cops what you did. None of the current crop of baseball players is going to be stupid enough to lie to the authorities like Bonds did. Even Clemens will tell the truth if some special prosecutor puts him on the stand under oath. After all, Jason Giambi may have gotten booed in Yankee Stadium and everywhere else after his grand jury testimony, but the Giambino will never see the inside of Leavenworth over steroids.
At the same time, Bonds' performance has regained some amount of credibility. If only hitters had been using, and the poor pitchers were all under assault by these swelled-headed, hulking, testicularly-shrunken louts, then nothing's been a fair fight since about 1990. But if the pitchers were shooting up with something resembling the same amounts and frequencies, then the hitters weren't so far ahead of them. As the old saw holds, you can't compare the numbers of different eras; never more true than today.
The numbers also raise the issue of awards. Curt Schilling wrote today on 38pitches.com that Clemens should forfeit the 4 post-1997 Cy Youngs if he was a user. Here's the best example I know of. (At this moment, a disclaimer is needed: Albert Pujols has not been publicly accused. That's all that can be said.) In 2001, Pujols finished fourth in NL MVP voting. He finished behind Bonds, Sosa and Luis Gonzalez, three men widely associated with PEDs. Albert was second to Bonds in 2002 and 2003. He was third in 2004 to Bonds and Adrian Beltre, another widely suspected player. Albert won the MVP in 2005. Now, there's an argument to be made about who would have gotten the votes if these guys hadn't been in the running, but it certainly is a possibility that Albert Pujols would have won the National League MVP award in each of his first five seasons if the illegal substances had not been in play. What would such an incredible accomplishment have meant to a guy who is not known (today) to be dirty? How do you undo the injury he has suffered? The Olympics have a history of awarding medals to the highest finisher who didn't cheat. Should baseball do the same? It makes a good deal of sense.
No matter how ready I am to see this settled and done, we are a long, long way from that point. And it sure looks to me like this will remain the biggest story in baseball for another year or two, minimum.
Monday, December 17, 2007
D-Day Part 1
Thursday is Decision Day, Part 1. The immediate course of the old career will be determined. The committee that deals with little things like salary proposals will convene to make the 2008 recommendation. I pushed this as close to the end of the year as is possible in our system, so that the financials will be about as complete as they can be. Results: the third straight Best Financial Year Ever for our little arm of the Lord's Work. Now, it's really put up or shut up. I have done the missional, serve-at-a-discount thing for three years. That's ok. But now, we're looking down the barrel of three kids in college at the same time this fall, and the options are gone. After two salary cycles, we're still $12,000 behind the old assignment, which was a dying, no-hope type of situation. It is time for this thriving, growing, rolling in dough place to act like what it has become.
I cannot claim that I'm a big enough person that last year's disappointment hasn't been hard to carry around at times. When you have a double digit surplus, and they moan that 4% is absolutely all they can afford, they just aren't telling the truth. But thie time, another inadequate sharing of the proceeds of good work will mean a change of venue. I can't see how they won't step up, but then again, I thought the same thing last year. Last year's 12% budget surplus has become about 22% this year. Last year's decision to stick it all into a savings account will not fly this year. And what has become a financial emergency for me is turning into a tragedy for the church. They just can't afford any more to hang around that starter or never-made-it type of salary, given the church that they now are. And I don't know if they get that or not.
Pardon an ego moment here, but the growth in the town predates my arrival by a good 8 years. Why didn't the church grow before? Why didn't the membership rise? Why didn't the attendance swell? Why didn't the program grow? Why didn't the giving increase (18% in new dollars this year)? The people in the pews didn't suddenly begin to be friendly. They didn't conjure up a new, shiny space in which to worship. An immodest evaluation: only the guy in the pulpit changed. They really need to understand that I came down about three salary levels to serve here. They cannot afford to return to the level they are paying for. If they don't come up, I'm out, and they are out of luck. It seems a very, very simple fix: just turn loose of some of what we've accomplished together, and we can keep going.
Please! I don't want to go anywhere! Give me the option of staying!
I cannot claim that I'm a big enough person that last year's disappointment hasn't been hard to carry around at times. When you have a double digit surplus, and they moan that 4% is absolutely all they can afford, they just aren't telling the truth. But thie time, another inadequate sharing of the proceeds of good work will mean a change of venue. I can't see how they won't step up, but then again, I thought the same thing last year. Last year's 12% budget surplus has become about 22% this year. Last year's decision to stick it all into a savings account will not fly this year. And what has become a financial emergency for me is turning into a tragedy for the church. They just can't afford any more to hang around that starter or never-made-it type of salary, given the church that they now are. And I don't know if they get that or not.
Pardon an ego moment here, but the growth in the town predates my arrival by a good 8 years. Why didn't the church grow before? Why didn't the membership rise? Why didn't the attendance swell? Why didn't the program grow? Why didn't the giving increase (18% in new dollars this year)? The people in the pews didn't suddenly begin to be friendly. They didn't conjure up a new, shiny space in which to worship. An immodest evaluation: only the guy in the pulpit changed. They really need to understand that I came down about three salary levels to serve here. They cannot afford to return to the level they are paying for. If they don't come up, I'm out, and they are out of luck. It seems a very, very simple fix: just turn loose of some of what we've accomplished together, and we can keep going.
Please! I don't want to go anywhere! Give me the option of staying!
Friday, December 14, 2007
The Mitchell Report
Today has been a day of great heat, but little light in the world of Major League Baseball. Former Senator George Mitchell of Maine, director of the Boston Red Sox, member of the board of the Walt Disney Company (the parent of ESPN), the arbiter of the peace in Northern Ireland, is also a former federal prosecutor, former Federal judge, and most importantly, former Majority Leader of the United States Senate. He was tapped almost two years ago by Allan H. (Bud) Selig to investigate the presence of performance enhancing drugs in baseball.
We already knew that steroids had changed the landscape of baseball permanently. We knew that Mitchell had at least the appearance of at least two conflicts of interest. Would he name Red Sox players? He serves the team as a director. Would he damage the value of ESPN's relationship with MLB? He is on the Disney board. Could he get anything done? He did not have subpoena power. And all of the loudmouths are being heard now. What good did it do? What did we get out of this? He went too far, or not far enough. He encouraged Selig to do everything possible to avoid punishment for past behavior, opting instead to push for using the knowledge of past mistakes to shape a cleaner future. Ken Rosenthal is upset over the Mitchell Report, which pretty well guarantees it was a good thing to undertake.
All of the wind and fury misses the point. This project wasn't about getting Roger Clemens' name out of the rumors and into the record. It wasn't about further burying Barry Bonds, or covering his enhanced anatomy by putting 75 others in the boat with him. It wasn't to solve all of baseball's problems. No, not all of them. Just the biggest one: Congress.
Bud and MLB President Bob Dupuy have been summoned to Capitol Hill again; they will appear next week. One congressman has already called for Bud's oily head. (Now that's a real demonstration of what Mick Foley used to call "testicular fortitude": a member of the United States government telling anyone else that they should resign their position due to incompetent performance.) But the Kommisar-for-Life and his right-hand guy are going to swear to tell the truth, look warmly at the members of the committee, and tell them, over and over and over, "We are serious about steroids and all the rest now! See? We hired your guy to investigate it all!"
Members of Congress want TV face time. They want to look like they are protecting the youth and children of America. They like to lecture the powerful who have been dragged in and turned into whimpering puppies by congressional subpoenas. But they do not insult, attack or belittle their own. Especially not one of their own as prominent as George Mitchell. Bud's people were either prescient enough, or just plain lucky enough, to benefit from the change in congressional majorities in the last election. If anyone was going to attack Mitchell's work, it surely won't be the members of his own party who now run the show. You should expect to see the small, mousy Selig (so close to Zelig) hide in the long, broad, dignified shadow of the former Democratic leader of the Senate.
This is why Mitchell was chosen. This is sportswriters' screaming about imagined conflicts of interest doesn't matter. Because those who can compel testimony, take away the anti-trust exemption, regulate, regulate, regulate, and force the owners to open their books will take George Mitchell's word for it that the truth has now been told, and the corner of enforcement has been turned. No one in congress will attack George Mitchell's integrity. No one in congress will accuse George Mitchell of ineptitude. No one in congress will throw dirt on one of their own. That's why Bud hired him. That's why Bud was on TV this afternoon telling one of his questioners that it really didn't matter how expensive this investigation has been. Because he knows that when he sits before the members of congress next week, he's bringing protection with him. Kind of like Michael Corleone walking into the committee room to hear Frank Pantangeli's testimony in Godfather II, with Pantangeli's older brother, fresh off the plane from Italy, on Corleone's arm. Frankie Five Angels proceeded to forget that he'd ever even heard of Michael Corleone.
When Bud shows up with the Honorable George Mitchell on his arm, all of those congressmen/women who have expectations of having big law firm/lobbying jobs when their terms are ended will promptly forget that they ever heard of Winstrol or HGH or McNamee or Radomski. And then, Bud will have gotten his money's worth.
We already knew that steroids had changed the landscape of baseball permanently. We knew that Mitchell had at least the appearance of at least two conflicts of interest. Would he name Red Sox players? He serves the team as a director. Would he damage the value of ESPN's relationship with MLB? He is on the Disney board. Could he get anything done? He did not have subpoena power. And all of the loudmouths are being heard now. What good did it do? What did we get out of this? He went too far, or not far enough. He encouraged Selig to do everything possible to avoid punishment for past behavior, opting instead to push for using the knowledge of past mistakes to shape a cleaner future. Ken Rosenthal is upset over the Mitchell Report, which pretty well guarantees it was a good thing to undertake.
All of the wind and fury misses the point. This project wasn't about getting Roger Clemens' name out of the rumors and into the record. It wasn't about further burying Barry Bonds, or covering his enhanced anatomy by putting 75 others in the boat with him. It wasn't to solve all of baseball's problems. No, not all of them. Just the biggest one: Congress.
Bud and MLB President Bob Dupuy have been summoned to Capitol Hill again; they will appear next week. One congressman has already called for Bud's oily head. (Now that's a real demonstration of what Mick Foley used to call "testicular fortitude": a member of the United States government telling anyone else that they should resign their position due to incompetent performance.) But the Kommisar-for-Life and his right-hand guy are going to swear to tell the truth, look warmly at the members of the committee, and tell them, over and over and over, "We are serious about steroids and all the rest now! See? We hired your guy to investigate it all!"
Members of Congress want TV face time. They want to look like they are protecting the youth and children of America. They like to lecture the powerful who have been dragged in and turned into whimpering puppies by congressional subpoenas. But they do not insult, attack or belittle their own. Especially not one of their own as prominent as George Mitchell. Bud's people were either prescient enough, or just plain lucky enough, to benefit from the change in congressional majorities in the last election. If anyone was going to attack Mitchell's work, it surely won't be the members of his own party who now run the show. You should expect to see the small, mousy Selig (so close to Zelig) hide in the long, broad, dignified shadow of the former Democratic leader of the Senate.
This is why Mitchell was chosen. This is sportswriters' screaming about imagined conflicts of interest doesn't matter. Because those who can compel testimony, take away the anti-trust exemption, regulate, regulate, regulate, and force the owners to open their books will take George Mitchell's word for it that the truth has now been told, and the corner of enforcement has been turned. No one in congress will attack George Mitchell's integrity. No one in congress will accuse George Mitchell of ineptitude. No one in congress will throw dirt on one of their own. That's why Bud hired him. That's why Bud was on TV this afternoon telling one of his questioners that it really didn't matter how expensive this investigation has been. Because he knows that when he sits before the members of congress next week, he's bringing protection with him. Kind of like Michael Corleone walking into the committee room to hear Frank Pantangeli's testimony in Godfather II, with Pantangeli's older brother, fresh off the plane from Italy, on Corleone's arm. Frankie Five Angels proceeded to forget that he'd ever even heard of Michael Corleone.
When Bud shows up with the Honorable George Mitchell on his arm, all of those congressmen/women who have expectations of having big law firm/lobbying jobs when their terms are ended will promptly forget that they ever heard of Winstrol or HGH or McNamee or Radomski. And then, Bud will have gotten his money's worth.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Who Is He?
A tale of two seasons:
2-0; 34 games; 16 saves; 33 1/3 IP; 23 hits; 8 runs, all earned; 12 BB; 29 K; 2.16 ERA
2-2; 20 games; 0 saves; 18 2/3 IP; 26 hits; 14 runs, all earned; 9 BB; 22 K; 6.75 ERA
Two seasons, but only one pitcher: Eric Gagne. The first half, as closer of the Texas Rangers, he was good enough to return a package that included a promising 25 year old pitcher, Kason Gabbard, and a fast 26 year old outfielder, David Murphy. Upon his arrival in Boston, Gagne blew up. He was terrible. Granted, his role changed. He wasn't about to be put in Jonathan Papelbon's spot, so he became a setup man, the 8th inning guy. Even that was problematic: Hideki Okajima was wicked awesome pre-Gagne, merely very good upon being pushed back to the 7th after Eric's arrival. No one, including Gagne, can ever argue that Tito Francona didn't give him a chance. Terry kept running him out there long past the time the Fenway Faithful began to boo with a passion normally reserved for the MFYs.
All of this reflection is, of course, occasioned by the decision by the Milwaukee Brewers to sign Mr. Gagne to a one-year $10 million contract. I'm going to let that sink in for a moment. Now I'm going to say it again: Eric Gagne has 10 million extra-extra-large coming for 2008.
The problem: who is he? Is he the capable, surgically restored closer that the Rangers had prior to July 31? Or is he the ticking time bomb who always seemed to explode about the time he reached the mound for the Red Sox? Gagne will be 32 the first week of January. He had three great seasons as the closer for the Los Angeles Dodgers. But he is now two major surgeries and three seasons removed from those dominating days. And right now, with the cash falling out of the pockets of Major League Baseball's owners, it is apparently even within the reach of smaller market teams to spend questionably, if not downright foolishly. Doug Melvin has said that he paid more money to avoid more years on the deal. If that isn't a plain proclamation of the economic state of the game today, then I don't know what is.
I have a very warm spot in my heart for Ned Yost, and Bob Uecker is one of the great figures of the game, so I hope this move doesn't blow up on the Brewers, but if I were a betting man...well, I know where my money would be. And it wouldn't be on Gagne. Or in his pocket.
2-0; 34 games; 16 saves; 33 1/3 IP; 23 hits; 8 runs, all earned; 12 BB; 29 K; 2.16 ERA
2-2; 20 games; 0 saves; 18 2/3 IP; 26 hits; 14 runs, all earned; 9 BB; 22 K; 6.75 ERA
Two seasons, but only one pitcher: Eric Gagne. The first half, as closer of the Texas Rangers, he was good enough to return a package that included a promising 25 year old pitcher, Kason Gabbard, and a fast 26 year old outfielder, David Murphy. Upon his arrival in Boston, Gagne blew up. He was terrible. Granted, his role changed. He wasn't about to be put in Jonathan Papelbon's spot, so he became a setup man, the 8th inning guy. Even that was problematic: Hideki Okajima was wicked awesome pre-Gagne, merely very good upon being pushed back to the 7th after Eric's arrival. No one, including Gagne, can ever argue that Tito Francona didn't give him a chance. Terry kept running him out there long past the time the Fenway Faithful began to boo with a passion normally reserved for the MFYs.
All of this reflection is, of course, occasioned by the decision by the Milwaukee Brewers to sign Mr. Gagne to a one-year $10 million contract. I'm going to let that sink in for a moment. Now I'm going to say it again: Eric Gagne has 10 million extra-extra-large coming for 2008.
The problem: who is he? Is he the capable, surgically restored closer that the Rangers had prior to July 31? Or is he the ticking time bomb who always seemed to explode about the time he reached the mound for the Red Sox? Gagne will be 32 the first week of January. He had three great seasons as the closer for the Los Angeles Dodgers. But he is now two major surgeries and three seasons removed from those dominating days. And right now, with the cash falling out of the pockets of Major League Baseball's owners, it is apparently even within the reach of smaller market teams to spend questionably, if not downright foolishly. Doug Melvin has said that he paid more money to avoid more years on the deal. If that isn't a plain proclamation of the economic state of the game today, then I don't know what is.
I have a very warm spot in my heart for Ned Yost, and Bob Uecker is one of the great figures of the game, so I hope this move doesn't blow up on the Brewers, but if I were a betting man...well, I know where my money would be. And it wouldn't be on Gagne. Or in his pocket.
Friday, December 07, 2007
A Wonder Autumn Night
I have seen, and more to the point, heard, most all of the significant artists of the rock and roll era. Paul McCartney, The Rolling Stones, Elton John, Eric Clapton, Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, U2, REM, The Eagles, and Don Henley as a solo, James Taylor, Billy Joel, ZZ Top, BB King, Buddy Guy, Van Morrison, Al Green, Paul Simon, Merle Haggard, Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, and Bob Dylan more times than I can count anymore (14, I believe), are all among the performers/bands that I have seen on multiple occasions. One glaring omission on my concert resume was Stevie Wonder. Stevie is, of course, one of the towering figures of American music. He is our Paul McCartney in terms of his prolific command of melodies and lyrics, and our John Lennon in his use of his platform to change the course of history through protest.
He is universally admired for his refusal to be limited or defined by his blindness. That complete and total lack of self-pity was instilled by his mother. She would not abide anyone (including Stevie himself) treating her son differently from any other child, and through that insistance she enabled him to accomplish everything that he has done. He has won 25 Grammy awards, sold more albums (eleven top tens) and singles (29 top tens) than can be counted, and been a reliable performer for more than 40 years now. When Paul Simon won the Album of the Year Grammy in 1976 for Still Crazy After All These Years, he thanked Stevie Wonder for not putting out an album that year. Stevie had won Album of the Year in 1974 for Innervisions, and 1975 for Fulfillingness' First Finale; he would win again in 1977 for Songs In the Key of Life.
I had never seen Stevie perform until his visit to the FedEx Forum last Sunday night. He walked onto the stage, guided by his daughter, Aisha. She was the little girl giggling and splashing in the bathtub as the subject of Isn't She Lovely, now grown, and one of her dad's backup singers. He began by introducing his daughter, and talking about how all of the men in the audience were probably ogling the very attractive Miss Morris. He told us to be careful, as, "I carry a shotgun. Blind man with a shotgun, yeah; Bang! Hah, Steve, you missed me. Bang!" That was his line. He has always put others at ease about his blindness. If it's not a problem for him, why should it be for anyone else?
He explained that this tour started on May 31, 2006, with the death of his mother. After the worst day of his life, he decided that he wouldn't play, write or perform any more. Then, he saw her come to him in a dream between her death and the funeral. She said to him, "Boy, you better get your ass up and get to work!" And the tour started. Stevie said that he was traveling the country to thank everyone who had supported his music, and allowed him to give his mother a better life than she could ever have had otherwise. It was truly a sweet moment. He than sat down and played.
And played, and played, and played. For the next two hours and 45 minutes, Stevie told stories, had fun, and played that spectacular music that he has shared with the world since the early 1960's. There were only two songs in the whole show whose lyrics I didn't know. We all know Stevie Wonder, but when you sit in his audience, listening to him go from hit to hit to hit, it is stunning. He performed two 45 minute medleys with everything a major song following major song. One of those sets:
My Cherie Amour
Uptight (Everything's Alright)
I Was Made to Love Her
For Once in My Life
Do I Do
Sir Duke
I Wish
You Are the Sunshine of My Life
Superstition
The other lengthy medley was just as impressive.
And it was fun. I don't know that I have ever had more fun at a concert than on Sunday last. The first McCartney show I attended, at the Liberty Bowl in 1993, was close, but an evening with Stevie Wonder is a blast. Even when he preached a far better sermon during the song Visions (from Innervisions) than I had delivered that morning, it was fun. And how great is it to see someone who has been famous all his life, and still lives up to the image in person that he has carried all those years. His audience reflected his universal appeal, with equal numbers of black and white in attendance. The only down note of the night: Memphis' notorious indifference to musicians was on full display, as the house was barely more than half full. Even that didn't affect Stevie, as he acknowledged our traditions with a talkbox medley of Soul Man, Shaft and Return to Sender, followed later by Sitting On the Dock of the Bay. He also threw in a little nod to the dear and departed Godfather of Soul, with Say It Loud-I'm Black and I'm Proud. Anybody who can conjure up Sam and Dave, Isaac Hayes, Elvis, Otis Redding and James Brown in the middle of his show is plenty good enough for me!
Do yourself a favor: if you ever have the chance, get thee to a Wonder show! He will lift your spirits; he will challenge your conscience; he will entertain you; he will play a significant portion of the soundtrack of your life; he will insist that you sing along with him, and, at points, instead of him. And unless you are very, very careful, he may even have you up dancing!
He is universally admired for his refusal to be limited or defined by his blindness. That complete and total lack of self-pity was instilled by his mother. She would not abide anyone (including Stevie himself) treating her son differently from any other child, and through that insistance she enabled him to accomplish everything that he has done. He has won 25 Grammy awards, sold more albums (eleven top tens) and singles (29 top tens) than can be counted, and been a reliable performer for more than 40 years now. When Paul Simon won the Album of the Year Grammy in 1976 for Still Crazy After All These Years, he thanked Stevie Wonder for not putting out an album that year. Stevie had won Album of the Year in 1974 for Innervisions, and 1975 for Fulfillingness' First Finale; he would win again in 1977 for Songs In the Key of Life.
I had never seen Stevie perform until his visit to the FedEx Forum last Sunday night. He walked onto the stage, guided by his daughter, Aisha. She was the little girl giggling and splashing in the bathtub as the subject of Isn't She Lovely, now grown, and one of her dad's backup singers. He began by introducing his daughter, and talking about how all of the men in the audience were probably ogling the very attractive Miss Morris. He told us to be careful, as, "I carry a shotgun. Blind man with a shotgun, yeah; Bang! Hah, Steve, you missed me. Bang!" That was his line. He has always put others at ease about his blindness. If it's not a problem for him, why should it be for anyone else?
He explained that this tour started on May 31, 2006, with the death of his mother. After the worst day of his life, he decided that he wouldn't play, write or perform any more. Then, he saw her come to him in a dream between her death and the funeral. She said to him, "Boy, you better get your ass up and get to work!" And the tour started. Stevie said that he was traveling the country to thank everyone who had supported his music, and allowed him to give his mother a better life than she could ever have had otherwise. It was truly a sweet moment. He than sat down and played.
And played, and played, and played. For the next two hours and 45 minutes, Stevie told stories, had fun, and played that spectacular music that he has shared with the world since the early 1960's. There were only two songs in the whole show whose lyrics I didn't know. We all know Stevie Wonder, but when you sit in his audience, listening to him go from hit to hit to hit, it is stunning. He performed two 45 minute medleys with everything a major song following major song. One of those sets:
My Cherie Amour
Uptight (Everything's Alright)
I Was Made to Love Her
For Once in My Life
Do I Do
Sir Duke
I Wish
You Are the Sunshine of My Life
Superstition
The other lengthy medley was just as impressive.
And it was fun. I don't know that I have ever had more fun at a concert than on Sunday last. The first McCartney show I attended, at the Liberty Bowl in 1993, was close, but an evening with Stevie Wonder is a blast. Even when he preached a far better sermon during the song Visions (from Innervisions) than I had delivered that morning, it was fun. And how great is it to see someone who has been famous all his life, and still lives up to the image in person that he has carried all those years. His audience reflected his universal appeal, with equal numbers of black and white in attendance. The only down note of the night: Memphis' notorious indifference to musicians was on full display, as the house was barely more than half full. Even that didn't affect Stevie, as he acknowledged our traditions with a talkbox medley of Soul Man, Shaft and Return to Sender, followed later by Sitting On the Dock of the Bay. He also threw in a little nod to the dear and departed Godfather of Soul, with Say It Loud-I'm Black and I'm Proud. Anybody who can conjure up Sam and Dave, Isaac Hayes, Elvis, Otis Redding and James Brown in the middle of his show is plenty good enough for me!
Do yourself a favor: if you ever have the chance, get thee to a Wonder show! He will lift your spirits; he will challenge your conscience; he will entertain you; he will play a significant portion of the soundtrack of your life; he will insist that you sing along with him, and, at points, instead of him. And unless you are very, very careful, he may even have you up dancing!
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