Sabathia's still in. Strike one to Tek. At 1-2 he grounds out to Peralta.
Crisp swings for strike 1. The 0-2 ball put Sabathia at 100 pitches for the night. At 2-2, Coco grounds to Blake.
Julio Lugo hasn't done anything in the postseason. How about now? Strike 1. All three batters this inning have seen first pitch strikes. Lugo strikes out swinging at 0-2.
Sabathia had as good an inning as a pitcher can have this time. Still, he's at 106 pitches for the night.
Inning: 13 pitches, 10 of them strikes. Game: 106, 67 strikes.
This guy ain't bad, either!
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Bottom 5
Lofton leads off...and takes ball one. Beckett goes 3-0. Beckett recovers to get him on a fly to left at 3-1. Lofton pays a visit to the mound as he heads back to the dugout. Typical baseball jawing, little else. Just a thought, but when Manny's on your team, you might want to be slow to criticize other hot dogs.
Ball one to Gutierrez. On 3-2, Josh's 6th K, this one looking.
Blake's up...and ball 1. No first pitch strikes this inning. At 2-0 Blake singles to center. Josh had retired nine in a row before this hit.
Top of the order and Sizemore now. There's a first pitch strike. On the second pitch, a seeing-eye single between Pedroia and Lugo; Blake to 3rd.
Cabrera is next. He fouled a curve for strike one. Gas for strike two. And on the third pitch, you, young Mr. Cabrera, may be seated.
Josh is stunning!
Inning: 19 pitches, 11 strikes; game, 67 pitches, 46 strikes. Longest inning in this game, and he still has thrown 26 pitches fewer than Sabathia.
Ball one to Gutierrez. On 3-2, Josh's 6th K, this one looking.
Blake's up...and ball 1. No first pitch strikes this inning. At 2-0 Blake singles to center. Josh had retired nine in a row before this hit.
Top of the order and Sizemore now. There's a first pitch strike. On the second pitch, a seeing-eye single between Pedroia and Lugo; Blake to 3rd.
Cabrera is next. He fouled a curve for strike one. Gas for strike two. And on the third pitch, you, young Mr. Cabrera, may be seated.
Josh is stunning!
Inning: 19 pitches, 11 strikes; game, 67 pitches, 46 strikes. Longest inning in this game, and he still has thrown 26 pitches fewer than Sabathia.
Top 5
This inning starts the third time through the order. Will that mean anything?
Pedroia's up...and strike one. Great play by Peralto to backhand a vicious shot on 0-1.
Youk grounds the first pitch to Blake for the second out. I thought this was the guy who sees more pitches than anyone else in baseball?
Papi takes ball one, feinting a bunt with the shift on. He's done that a few times this year. At 1-1, Papi singles to left against the shift. The ball was to Blake's right as he stood at the shortstop's normal position.
Manny takes strike one. When Fox reflects on Manny's peculiarities, they break into "Don't Worry, Be Happy" in the background. That's an insult? If Manny is Rain Man, pitchers are his Judge Wapner, and pitches are his toothpicks. Sabathia wild pitches to fill the count; Papi goes to 2nd. The Indians seem bent on pitching to Manny here--be hard to walk him on 3-2. Willis comes out to talk. How good is Manny? Ball two was a 98 mph fastball that would have been a called strike three to anyone else. Kind of like the old story about Ted Williams facing the rookie pitcher. Ted walks three times; the kid goes 3-0 on the fourth appearance. He yells in to the ump, "When are you going to call a strike?" "Young man," the ump responded, "When you throw a strike, Mr. Williams will hit it." Manny walks, unintentionally.
Lowell takes a curve for strike one. On the fifth pitch of the AB, Lowell missed a two-run double down the left field line by about an inch and a half. Mike is hit by the next pitch to load the bases.
Kielty has a great record against Sabathia. This would be a great time to see some of that! He takes strike one. Sabathia's 1-1 pitch was about a million mph, and about 10 feet high. He's overthrowing badly enough that Fox showed Willis on the bullpen phone. The count goes full. Everybody'll be running now...and it does no good, as Bobby hits a can of corn to Gutierrez in right.
Three more left; another squander of epic proportions.
Sabathia's in trouble: inning, 24 pitches, 14 strikes; game, 93 pitches, 57 strikes. One more inning, maybe. But does it really help to get to Lewis, Betancourt, et al?
Pedroia's up...and strike one. Great play by Peralto to backhand a vicious shot on 0-1.
Youk grounds the first pitch to Blake for the second out. I thought this was the guy who sees more pitches than anyone else in baseball?
Papi takes ball one, feinting a bunt with the shift on. He's done that a few times this year. At 1-1, Papi singles to left against the shift. The ball was to Blake's right as he stood at the shortstop's normal position.
Manny takes strike one. When Fox reflects on Manny's peculiarities, they break into "Don't Worry, Be Happy" in the background. That's an insult? If Manny is Rain Man, pitchers are his Judge Wapner, and pitches are his toothpicks. Sabathia wild pitches to fill the count; Papi goes to 2nd. The Indians seem bent on pitching to Manny here--be hard to walk him on 3-2. Willis comes out to talk. How good is Manny? Ball two was a 98 mph fastball that would have been a called strike three to anyone else. Kind of like the old story about Ted Williams facing the rookie pitcher. Ted walks three times; the kid goes 3-0 on the fourth appearance. He yells in to the ump, "When are you going to call a strike?" "Young man," the ump responded, "When you throw a strike, Mr. Williams will hit it." Manny walks, unintentionally.
Lowell takes a curve for strike one. On the fifth pitch of the AB, Lowell missed a two-run double down the left field line by about an inch and a half. Mike is hit by the next pitch to load the bases.
Kielty has a great record against Sabathia. This would be a great time to see some of that! He takes strike one. Sabathia's 1-1 pitch was about a million mph, and about 10 feet high. He's overthrowing badly enough that Fox showed Willis on the bullpen phone. The count goes full. Everybody'll be running now...and it does no good, as Bobby hits a can of corn to Gutierrez in right.
Three more left; another squander of epic proportions.
Sabathia's in trouble: inning, 24 pitches, 14 strikes; game, 93 pitches, 57 strikes. One more inning, maybe. But does it really help to get to Lewis, Betancourt, et al?
Bottom 4
Strike 1 to Martinez. Ground out to short on the second pitch.
Strike 1 to Garko. At 1-1, he taps back to Beckett.
Peralta grounds the first pitch to Youk.
That's as fast and dominant an inning as a pitcher can have.
6 pitches, 5 strikes. Game: 48 pitches, 35 of them strikes.
This guy's good! And keeping the pressure on Sabathia.
Strike 1 to Garko. At 1-1, he taps back to Beckett.
Peralta grounds the first pitch to Youk.
That's as fast and dominant an inning as a pitcher can have.
6 pitches, 5 strikes. Game: 48 pitches, 35 of them strikes.
This guy's good! And keeping the pressure on Sabathia.
Top 4
Another great benefit of Beckett's great 3rd: Sabathia's right back out there after his 26 pitch top of the inning.
Kielty starts things off looking at strike one. On 1-1, Bobby singles sharply to right.
Tek's up...and jumps back from ball one. He singles to left on the second pitch.
Coco's got to do something here...time for a little NL ball? He bunts foul on the first pitch. I'd have him try again. Lugo's been much better in RBI situations than without runners on base. They do, and he pulls it back from an inside pitch. Again! Two more runs here, and Josh can cruise. He does, and it's foul again. With two strikes? Not for me. Tito either, and Crisp fans on 1-2. To quote Charlie Brown, "AARGH!"
Now Lugo. Hey, there's is one guy in scoring position for him...but he grounds the first pitch to Peralta for a 6u-3 DP. That's about 10 of those that Cleveland has turned in the series. WAY too many!
Pitch count: Inning, only 10 pitches, 7 of them strikes; game, 69 pitches, 43 of them strikes.
As Castiglione surely said, "A huge squander!"
Kielty starts things off looking at strike one. On 1-1, Bobby singles sharply to right.
Tek's up...and jumps back from ball one. He singles to left on the second pitch.
Coco's got to do something here...time for a little NL ball? He bunts foul on the first pitch. I'd have him try again. Lugo's been much better in RBI situations than without runners on base. They do, and he pulls it back from an inside pitch. Again! Two more runs here, and Josh can cruise. He does, and it's foul again. With two strikes? Not for me. Tito either, and Crisp fans on 1-2. To quote Charlie Brown, "AARGH!"
Now Lugo. Hey, there's is one guy in scoring position for him...but he grounds the first pitch to Peralta for a 6u-3 DP. That's about 10 of those that Cleveland has turned in the series. WAY too many!
Pitch count: Inning, only 10 pitches, 7 of them strikes; game, 69 pitches, 43 of them strikes.
As Castiglione surely said, "A huge squander!"
Bottom 3
A couple of great plays: Brad Mills keeping Francona in the game in the argument after Manny's HR/1b, and Lugo doing the same for Papi.
Strike one to Sizemore. Beckett gets his 4th K on an 0-2 count.
Strike one to Cabrera. An excellent play on a grounder to his left by Pedroia to retire Cabrera on a 1-1 count.
Strike one to Hafner. He k's on three pitches.
Beckett is scary good in this inning.
Nine pitches, eight of them strikes. First pitch strikes to all three. Game: 42 pitches, 30 of them strikes.
Anybody objecting to the Hanley Ramirez to Florida for Beckett and Lowell now? Didn't think so!
Strike one to Sizemore. Beckett gets his 4th K on an 0-2 count.
Strike one to Cabrera. An excellent play on a grounder to his left by Pedroia to retire Cabrera on a 1-1 count.
Strike one to Hafner. He k's on three pitches.
Beckett is scary good in this inning.
Nine pitches, eight of them strikes. First pitch strikes to all three. Game: 42 pitches, 30 of them strikes.
Anybody objecting to the Hanley Ramirez to Florida for Beckett and Lowell now? Didn't think so!
Top 3
Ball one to Pedroia. The kid works the count full. Pedroia singles to left on the 8th pitch of the atbat. How great is it when the guy leading off an inning makes the pitcher throw 8 pitches?
Strike one to Youk. On 2-2, a double play ball back to Sabathia. Nonetheless, Sabathia had to throw 13 pitches to the first two batters. That's too many, even for someone as big and strong as he.
Strike one to Papi. Papi worked him full, then walked on the seventh pitch of the AB.
Here's Manny...and he homers on the first pitch...but the umps call it in play. Manny was being Manny, so he's only on first. Absolutely no excuse for that. Papi does score.
Lowell's turn. Strike one. Four out of five strike ones. Mike strikes out on 2-2.
Sabathia: inning, 26 pitches, 15 of them strikes; game, 59 pitches, 36 strikes.
2-1 Sox.
Strike one to Youk. On 2-2, a double play ball back to Sabathia. Nonetheless, Sabathia had to throw 13 pitches to the first two batters. That's too many, even for someone as big and strong as he.
Strike one to Papi. Papi worked him full, then walked on the seventh pitch of the AB.
Here's Manny...and he homers on the first pitch...but the umps call it in play. Manny was being Manny, so he's only on first. Absolutely no excuse for that. Papi does score.
Lowell's turn. Strike one. Four out of five strike ones. Mike strikes out on 2-2.
Sabathia: inning, 26 pitches, 15 of them strikes; game, 59 pitches, 36 strikes.
2-1 Sox.
Bottom 2
Strike one to Jhonny. He strikes out swinging at 2-2.
Who woke Kenny Lofton up? He's been very good in the postseason. Strike one for him. A weak tap to the mound on 0-1.
Gutierrez watches ball one over his head to the backstop. With the count full, Beckett walks his first batter of the postseason.
Casey Blake has been a pain. Strike one on a foul out of play to the right. 3 out of 4 first pitch strikes this inning. Blake fans on an 0-2 pitch.
Beckett-inning: 17 pitches, 11 strikes; game: 33 pitches, 22 strikes.
Sabathia was worse in the second; Beckett the same as the first.
Who woke Kenny Lofton up? He's been very good in the postseason. Strike one for him. A weak tap to the mound on 0-1.
Gutierrez watches ball one over his head to the backstop. With the count full, Beckett walks his first batter of the postseason.
Casey Blake has been a pain. Strike one on a foul out of play to the right. 3 out of 4 first pitch strikes this inning. Blake fans on an 0-2 pitch.
Beckett-inning: 17 pitches, 11 strikes; game: 33 pitches, 22 strikes.
Sabathia was worse in the second; Beckett the same as the first.
Top 2
Kielty sees ball one. Kielty works it to a five pitch at bat; more Red Sox-like than the first--nothing longer than three pitches then. Kielty called out on the seventh pitch.
The Captain sees ball one. Tek works it full; he and Kielty have seen as many pitches as the Sox saw total in the first. Tek hit by pitch.
Crisp has to do something positive. He takes strike one. Crisp is called out on a 2-2 fastball at 97 mph.
Lugo lunges after a pitch for strike one. Sabathia is 2-2 this inning. Lugo pops to right.
Sabathia: inning-21 pitches, 11 of them strikes; game-33 pitches, 21 of them strikes. The Sox need more 20-plus pitch innings, and a few 30's is they can.
The Captain sees ball one. Tek works it full; he and Kielty have seen as many pitches as the Sox saw total in the first. Tek hit by pitch.
Crisp has to do something positive. He takes strike one. Crisp is called out on a 2-2 fastball at 97 mph.
Lugo lunges after a pitch for strike one. Sabathia is 2-2 this inning. Lugo pops to right.
Sabathia: inning-21 pitches, 11 of them strikes; game-33 pitches, 21 of them strikes. The Sox need more 20-plus pitch innings, and a few 30's is they can.
Bottom 1
Sizemore is an excellent player. Beckett takes three pitches to throw him a strike. On 2-2 Sizemore bloops a double shallow to the left field line.
In case you haven't heard, Joe Torre turned down the Yankees' offer of a one year contract.
I don't know where the Indians found Cabrera, but I'd send my scouts to look there for more. He takes ball one. Cabrera singles to right; Sizemore, inexplicably, is held at third. Did Kielty borrow Drew's arm tonight?
Travis Hafner is scary. And for the third straight hitter, Beckett throws ball one. Dangerous.
Hafner chops one to Lugo for a 6u-3 DP; Sizemore scores to tie the game. Not bad damage control.
Victor Martinez next. A first pitch single to left. Beckett has been 94-96 on every pitch so far.
Ryan Garko has been a good postseason player to date. Ball one. Three out of four now. He strikes out on a 1-2 count.
Beckett threw 16 pitches, eleven of them strikes. Shaky.
In case you haven't heard, Joe Torre turned down the Yankees' offer of a one year contract.
I don't know where the Indians found Cabrera, but I'd send my scouts to look there for more. He takes ball one. Cabrera singles to right; Sizemore, inexplicably, is held at third. Did Kielty borrow Drew's arm tonight?
Travis Hafner is scary. And for the third straight hitter, Beckett throws ball one. Dangerous.
Hafner chops one to Lugo for a 6u-3 DP; Sizemore scores to tie the game. Not bad damage control.
Victor Martinez next. A first pitch single to left. Beckett has been 94-96 on every pitch so far.
Ryan Garko has been a good postseason player to date. Ball one. Three out of four now. He strikes out on a 1-2 count.
Beckett threw 16 pitches, eleven of them strikes. Shaky.
Top of the First
Pedroia leads off this game with a postseason average of .188. He must give the Sox something closer to his AL Rookie secondbaseman average of .317.
In profile, Joe Buck looks remarkably like his father.
A note about audio procedure in the Baseball Cave: I listen to Joe Castiglione on WRKO with the sound down on Fox. When Joe gives way to Lucchino's joke from San Diego, I turn the computer down and turn up the TV. We then revert when Castiglione reclaims the mike.
Sabathia's postseason era: 16.62! I'd gladly take half of that tonight.
It is remarkably warm in Cleveland for October 18: 72 at game time.
Sabathia threw strike one to Pedroia; that'll be key tonight.
A bad swing at the second pitch, grounded to short.
Ball one to Youk. He homers on the second pitch.
That's the good of first pitch strikes, and the bad of first pitch balls, all in two batters.
First pitch strike to Papi. He strikes out on three pitches, rung up on the third by Kerwin Danley.
First pitch strike to Manny. Three out of four now. A 1-1 double for Ramirez. Man, he just hits! He just tied Pete Rose for longest hitting streak (15 games) in LCS history.
Lowell sees strike one. Four out of five for Sabathia. Mike singles to right on the 0-1 and DeMarlo Hale loses his mind and sends Manny, out from Memphis to Knoxville.
Sabathia ends the inning down a run, but he only threw 12 pitches and 10 of them were strikes, including first pitch strikes to four of the five batters he faced. Not ideal, but a good start.
In profile, Joe Buck looks remarkably like his father.
A note about audio procedure in the Baseball Cave: I listen to Joe Castiglione on WRKO with the sound down on Fox. When Joe gives way to Lucchino's joke from San Diego, I turn the computer down and turn up the TV. We then revert when Castiglione reclaims the mike.
Sabathia's postseason era: 16.62! I'd gladly take half of that tonight.
It is remarkably warm in Cleveland for October 18: 72 at game time.
Sabathia threw strike one to Pedroia; that'll be key tonight.
A bad swing at the second pitch, grounded to short.
Ball one to Youk. He homers on the second pitch.
That's the good of first pitch strikes, and the bad of first pitch balls, all in two batters.
First pitch strike to Papi. He strikes out on three pitches, rung up on the third by Kerwin Danley.
First pitch strike to Manny. Three out of four now. A 1-1 double for Ramirez. Man, he just hits! He just tied Pete Rose for longest hitting streak (15 games) in LCS history.
Lowell sees strike one. Four out of five for Sabathia. Mike singles to right on the 0-1 and DeMarlo Hale loses his mind and sends Manny, out from Memphis to Knoxville.
Sabathia ends the inning down a run, but he only threw 12 pitches and 10 of them were strikes, including first pitch strikes to four of the five batters he faced. Not ideal, but a good start.
ALCS Game 5 Pregame
Rolling up to Game 5:
Can Sabathia possibly continue to be as bad as he pitched against the Yankees in the ALDS, and against the Red Sox in Game 1 of the ALCS? Not likely.
Can Beckett keep up his amazing work? Probably.
Can the Indians' bringing in Beckett's ex-girlfriend, a country singer, to sing the anthem and that awful showtune be an accident? No.
Will it bother Beckett? Hey, he's also dated Alyssa Milano! Much like me, he probably can't remember the country singer's name.
Can Jhonny (sic) Peralta keep hitting like this? With that first name?
Will Crisp and/or Lugo give the Red Sox anything at the plate?
Anyone else in RSN as grateful as I am that Mr. Drew will be a spectator tonight? I thought so.
Will Buck and McCarver spend as much time on the silly, inoffensive remarks Manny made yesterday as everyone else in the chattering class has? Hey, why not! Kills a few minutes.
Shouldn't Jon Miller be put in Cooperstown with the Frick award next year, by acclamation?
In case you're not aware, Miller and his Sunday Night Baseball partner are calling the ALCS on ESPN radio. Once again, reason enough to subscribe to XM.
The plan tonight is to update every half inning, or whenever warranted sooner.
Can Sabathia possibly continue to be as bad as he pitched against the Yankees in the ALDS, and against the Red Sox in Game 1 of the ALCS? Not likely.
Can Beckett keep up his amazing work? Probably.
Can the Indians' bringing in Beckett's ex-girlfriend, a country singer, to sing the anthem and that awful showtune be an accident? No.
Will it bother Beckett? Hey, he's also dated Alyssa Milano! Much like me, he probably can't remember the country singer's name.
Can Jhonny (sic) Peralta keep hitting like this? With that first name?
Will Crisp and/or Lugo give the Red Sox anything at the plate?
Anyone else in RSN as grateful as I am that Mr. Drew will be a spectator tonight? I thought so.
Will Buck and McCarver spend as much time on the silly, inoffensive remarks Manny made yesterday as everyone else in the chattering class has? Hey, why not! Kills a few minutes.
Shouldn't Jon Miller be put in Cooperstown with the Frick award next year, by acclamation?
In case you're not aware, Miller and his Sunday Night Baseball partner are calling the ALCS on ESPN radio. Once again, reason enough to subscribe to XM.
The plan tonight is to update every half inning, or whenever warranted sooner.
George's Managers, 1973-2007
This is the ridiculous parade of managers that George Steinbrenner hired and fired since his purchase of the New York Yankees in 1973, and the evidence that their performance often had nothing to do with whether or not they were retained.
1973: Ralph Houk, 80-82, 4th place (Houk completed the 11th season of his two terms)
1974: Bill Virdon, 89-73, 2nd place
1975: Bill Virdon, 53-51; Billy Martin, 30-26, 3rd place
1976: Billy Martin, 97-62, 1st place
1977: Billy Martin, 100-62, 1st place
1978: Billy Martin, 52-42; Dick Howser, 0-1; Bob Lemon, 48-20, 1st place
1979: Bob Lemon, 34-31; Billy Martin, 55-40, 4th place
1980: Dick Howser, 103-59, 1st place
1981: Gene Michael, 48-34; Bob Lemon, 11-14, 1st place/6th place (strike shortened season)
1982: Bob Lemon, 6-8; Gene Michael, 44-42; Clyde King, 29-33, 5th place
1983: Billy Martin, 91-71, 3rd place
1984: Yogi Berra, 87-75, 3rd place
1985: Yogi Berra, 6-10; Billy Martin, 91-54, 2nd place
1986: Lou Piniella, 90-72, 2nd place
1987: Lou Piniella, 89-73, 4th place
1988: Billy Martin, 40-28; Lou Piniella, 45-48, 5th place
1989: Dallas Green, 56-65; Bucky Dent, 18-22, 5th place
1990: Bucky Dent, 18-31; Stump Merrill, 49-64, 7th place
1991: Stump Merrill, 71-91, 5th place
1992: Buck Showalter, 76-86, 4th place
1993: Buck Showalter, 88-74, 2nd place
1994: Buck Showalter, 70-43, 1st place when the strike hit
1995: Buck Showalter, 79-65, 2nd place
1996: Joe Torre, 92-70, 1st place
1997: Joe Torre, 96-66, 2nd place, Wild Card
1998: Joe Torre, 114-48, 1st place
1999: Don Zimmer, 21-15; Joe Torre, 77-49, 1st place (Zimmer was interim during Torre's
prostate cancer treatment)
2000: Joe Torre, 87-74, 1st place
2001: Joe Torre, 95-65, 1st place
2002: Joe Torre, 103-58, 1st place
2003: Joe Torre, 101-61, 1st place
2004: Joe Torre, 101-61, 1st place
2005: Joe Torre, 95-67, 1st place
2006: Joe Torre, 97-65, 1st place
2007: Joe Torre, 94-68, 2nd place
I'll save you the counting. This is 21 managers, and 20 changes, in 22 years from George's 1973 purchase through 1995. And then one manager, for 12 seasons, from 1996 through today. In the first 22 years, the Yankees had 5 postseason appearances. In the last twelve seasons, they have been in the postseason EVERY SINGLE YEAR.
In the late 1980's and early 1990's the Yankees wanted to move out of the Bronx because "Nobody will go up there anymore."
In 2007 the Yankees set a ML attendance record. In excess of 4,250,000 fans crowded into the House that Ruth Built and that Torre Saved. New Yankee Stadium is right across the street from the current stadium.
Obviously, Joe Torre deserved a pay cut and a one year contract with incentives.
1973: Ralph Houk, 80-82, 4th place (Houk completed the 11th season of his two terms)
1974: Bill Virdon, 89-73, 2nd place
1975: Bill Virdon, 53-51; Billy Martin, 30-26, 3rd place
1976: Billy Martin, 97-62, 1st place
1977: Billy Martin, 100-62, 1st place
1978: Billy Martin, 52-42; Dick Howser, 0-1; Bob Lemon, 48-20, 1st place
1979: Bob Lemon, 34-31; Billy Martin, 55-40, 4th place
1980: Dick Howser, 103-59, 1st place
1981: Gene Michael, 48-34; Bob Lemon, 11-14, 1st place/6th place (strike shortened season)
1982: Bob Lemon, 6-8; Gene Michael, 44-42; Clyde King, 29-33, 5th place
1983: Billy Martin, 91-71, 3rd place
1984: Yogi Berra, 87-75, 3rd place
1985: Yogi Berra, 6-10; Billy Martin, 91-54, 2nd place
1986: Lou Piniella, 90-72, 2nd place
1987: Lou Piniella, 89-73, 4th place
1988: Billy Martin, 40-28; Lou Piniella, 45-48, 5th place
1989: Dallas Green, 56-65; Bucky Dent, 18-22, 5th place
1990: Bucky Dent, 18-31; Stump Merrill, 49-64, 7th place
1991: Stump Merrill, 71-91, 5th place
1992: Buck Showalter, 76-86, 4th place
1993: Buck Showalter, 88-74, 2nd place
1994: Buck Showalter, 70-43, 1st place when the strike hit
1995: Buck Showalter, 79-65, 2nd place
1996: Joe Torre, 92-70, 1st place
1997: Joe Torre, 96-66, 2nd place, Wild Card
1998: Joe Torre, 114-48, 1st place
1999: Don Zimmer, 21-15; Joe Torre, 77-49, 1st place (Zimmer was interim during Torre's
prostate cancer treatment)
2000: Joe Torre, 87-74, 1st place
2001: Joe Torre, 95-65, 1st place
2002: Joe Torre, 103-58, 1st place
2003: Joe Torre, 101-61, 1st place
2004: Joe Torre, 101-61, 1st place
2005: Joe Torre, 95-67, 1st place
2006: Joe Torre, 97-65, 1st place
2007: Joe Torre, 94-68, 2nd place
I'll save you the counting. This is 21 managers, and 20 changes, in 22 years from George's 1973 purchase through 1995. And then one manager, for 12 seasons, from 1996 through today. In the first 22 years, the Yankees had 5 postseason appearances. In the last twelve seasons, they have been in the postseason EVERY SINGLE YEAR.
In the late 1980's and early 1990's the Yankees wanted to move out of the Bronx because "Nobody will go up there anymore."
In 2007 the Yankees set a ML attendance record. In excess of 4,250,000 fans crowded into the House that Ruth Built and that Torre Saved. New Yankee Stadium is right across the street from the current stadium.
Obviously, Joe Torre deserved a pay cut and a one year contract with incentives.
Torre to Boss: NO!
God bless Joe Torre!
George M. Steinbrenner, III, bought the New York Yankees in 1973 from CBS for $10 million. He has proceeded to act, for 34 years, as though he knows as much about baseball as he does shipbuilding, where he made his fortune. He does not.
He has treated human beings like cattle. He has autocratically banished players from the major league team throughout the years, humiliating them, as he did this year in sending Kei Igawa not to the AAA team, but to A ball in Tampa. His disregard for managers is legendary. While King George rants and raves about "being Yankees" and demanding that his people "act like champions" all the while acting like an impetuous, spoiled brat, pitching fits indiscriminately. Billy Martin was clearly a disturbed person, so maybe it is understandable that allowed himself to be moved in and out of the manager's office repeatedly. But the way that Steinbrenner abused decent, respected baseball men like Bob Lemon, Yogi Berra, Gene Michael and, now, Joe Torre, is inexcusable.
Managers are confined to using the players afforded them by owners and general managers. But the old adage holds that it is easier to fire one manager than it is to fire 25 players. As Terry Francona says, managers are hired to be fired; the later date just isn't filled in yet. Especially in today's game, the manager is expected to be the magician that can make it all work, in most cases without input on the makeup of the team.
Joe Torre has taken the New York Yankees to the postseason for twelve straight seasons. And for that, the Yankees' minor league pitching instructor was allowed to devise rules by which Torre and Ron Guidry could use Joba Chamberlain. If the kid can't pitch, leave him in the minors! Steinbrenner announced, in the middle of the ALDS, that if the manager didn't produce a series win, he wouldn't be back next year. And then, at the end of the season, the team that gave Jason Giambi a $120 million contract, offered Joe Torre a one year deal for $5 million with an option for 2009. The offer included a $1 million bonus for reaching the ALDS, $1 million for reaching the ALCS, and $1 million for reaching the World Series. Sounds darned good to me. But Joe Torre, a future Hall of Famer, 4 World Series rings on his hands, 10 divisional series and 2 wild card titles in his pocket, made $7 million this year. For his Yankee career, he has been the most successful manager they have ever had. For all of that, he was offered a pay cut of 29%, and performance incentives. Performance incentives, not for a rookie player or rookie manager, but for a man who has taken the team to postseason play every year for twelve years! And got them there this season after a 21-29 start when the starting pitchers couldn't even find their way to the mound.
The Yankees clearly didn't want Torre back, but they also didn't want the onus on themselves for letting him go. Their offer didn't even cover the time to let Joe manage in the coming new Yankee Stadium.
And for all of that, Joe Torre said, "Thanks, but no thanks." For once, George's money didn't get him his way. For once, someone who has made enough money could say "crap on somebody else." For once, an individual's integrity and credibility was strong enough to tell George to go jump.
Joe, I've followed you since you were a catcher for the Braves. I attended my first Major League game at Busch Stadium during your NL MVP season in 1971. I was thrilled when you led the 1982 Braves to their first pennant of any sort since 1969. I heard all of the crap when you followed Herzog, and later when you took the Yankee job. I will root for your next team when you decide the time is right to manage again. And I will respect your strength and courage forever!
George M. Steinbrenner, III, bought the New York Yankees in 1973 from CBS for $10 million. He has proceeded to act, for 34 years, as though he knows as much about baseball as he does shipbuilding, where he made his fortune. He does not.
He has treated human beings like cattle. He has autocratically banished players from the major league team throughout the years, humiliating them, as he did this year in sending Kei Igawa not to the AAA team, but to A ball in Tampa. His disregard for managers is legendary. While King George rants and raves about "being Yankees" and demanding that his people "act like champions" all the while acting like an impetuous, spoiled brat, pitching fits indiscriminately. Billy Martin was clearly a disturbed person, so maybe it is understandable that allowed himself to be moved in and out of the manager's office repeatedly. But the way that Steinbrenner abused decent, respected baseball men like Bob Lemon, Yogi Berra, Gene Michael and, now, Joe Torre, is inexcusable.
Managers are confined to using the players afforded them by owners and general managers. But the old adage holds that it is easier to fire one manager than it is to fire 25 players. As Terry Francona says, managers are hired to be fired; the later date just isn't filled in yet. Especially in today's game, the manager is expected to be the magician that can make it all work, in most cases without input on the makeup of the team.
Joe Torre has taken the New York Yankees to the postseason for twelve straight seasons. And for that, the Yankees' minor league pitching instructor was allowed to devise rules by which Torre and Ron Guidry could use Joba Chamberlain. If the kid can't pitch, leave him in the minors! Steinbrenner announced, in the middle of the ALDS, that if the manager didn't produce a series win, he wouldn't be back next year. And then, at the end of the season, the team that gave Jason Giambi a $120 million contract, offered Joe Torre a one year deal for $5 million with an option for 2009. The offer included a $1 million bonus for reaching the ALDS, $1 million for reaching the ALCS, and $1 million for reaching the World Series. Sounds darned good to me. But Joe Torre, a future Hall of Famer, 4 World Series rings on his hands, 10 divisional series and 2 wild card titles in his pocket, made $7 million this year. For his Yankee career, he has been the most successful manager they have ever had. For all of that, he was offered a pay cut of 29%, and performance incentives. Performance incentives, not for a rookie player or rookie manager, but for a man who has taken the team to postseason play every year for twelve years! And got them there this season after a 21-29 start when the starting pitchers couldn't even find their way to the mound.
The Yankees clearly didn't want Torre back, but they also didn't want the onus on themselves for letting him go. Their offer didn't even cover the time to let Joe manage in the coming new Yankee Stadium.
And for all of that, Joe Torre said, "Thanks, but no thanks." For once, George's money didn't get him his way. For once, someone who has made enough money could say "crap on somebody else." For once, an individual's integrity and credibility was strong enough to tell George to go jump.
Joe, I've followed you since you were a catcher for the Braves. I attended my first Major League game at Busch Stadium during your NL MVP season in 1971. I was thrilled when you led the 1982 Braves to their first pennant of any sort since 1969. I heard all of the crap when you followed Herzog, and later when you took the Yankee job. I will root for your next team when you decide the time is right to manage again. And I will respect your strength and courage forever!
Monday, October 08, 2007
Don't Do It, George
To use the elegant tennis term, the New York Yankees have been excused from Major League Baseball's annual postseason tournament. When Cleveland reached their 2 games to none advantage George Steinbrenner's handlers roused him with the report. The elderly, ailing Boss declared that unless the Yankees came back to win the ALDS series, the Yankees almost certainly would not want Joe Torre back as manager next year.
Somebody needs to tell the pitiful old coot that Billy Martin is still dead.
And that it isn't Joe Torre's fault.
Joe has managed the Bronx Bombers for 12 years.
Casey Stengel managed the Yankees for 12 years. He won 7 World Series and 3 more AL pennants. He had one 100 win season. He managed before the amateur draft, before limits on numbers of minor league teams and when the Kansas City Athletics were little more than another Yankee farm team. He started with DiMaggio and Berra and continued on through Mantle, Ford and company.
Joe McCarthy managed the Yankees for 16 seasons. He won 7 World Series and one additional AL pennant. He had six 100 win seasons. His tenure preceded Stengel's so there were no limitations on what the Colonels' money could do in those days. And McCarthy greatly benefited from the Boston Red Sox' owner Harry Frazee forking over his best players (Ruth, Pennock, Bush, Hoyt, etc) in gratitude for the Colonels' loan at the time of the Ruth sale. He also had Gehrig, Lazzeri, DiMaggio, Dickey and all the others.
Miller Huggins managed the team for 12 years. He had Murders' Row. He won 3 World Series and 3 more AL pennants. He had two 100 win seasons. He preceded McCarthy, so, again, for all intents and purposes, there were no rules prohibiting the Yankees from doing anything that they wanted to do. Huggins had the Babe in his prime years. He had the young Gehrig. He had incredible pitching, largely courtesy of the Boston Red Sox.
Joe Torre has won 4 World Series and three more AL pennants. And he had to navigate three rounds of playoffs each time. His predecessors went straight to the World Series after winning the regular season. Joe won 10 straight AL East division titles. He finished second to Baltimore in 1997, and second to the Red Sox this year. That's NEVER lower than second. McCarthy had three thirds and a fourth. Stengel had a second and a third. Huggins had two seconds, two thirds, a fourth and a seventh. I will repeat. Joe Torre's Yankees have never finished lower than second. Not once.
Joe Torre has had 4 seasons with 100 or more wins. He has managed in the draft era, designed to help the worst clubs get better, and slow the best teams down. And they have been the best team of this era. Torre has produced a twelve season record of 1173 and 767. That's an average of 98 wins per season. Free Agency has helped, but also hurt, as King George has continued his practice of bringing in anyone to whom he takes a shine, whether or not the fellow fit in the clubhouse, could perform any longer, or had the skills that fit with Torre's style of play. The Boss gave away prospect after prospect in trades for aging players. He gave Jason Giambi $120 million to butcher everything hit his way in the field, and be a constant distraction with the breaking of the steriod story. Then there's ARod. Every playoff failure isn't his fault, but Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Joe DiMaggio and Mickey Mantle just didn't disappear in the postseason the way that Alex Rodriguez seems to do.
Perhaps more significantly than anything else, Joe Torre is the only one of the four great Yankee managers who spent his career having to put up with Steinbrenner. With Huggins and McCarthy, the Colonels Huston and Ruppert put their team in the capable hands of Ed Barrow, and followed his instructions to stay quiet and out of sight. Dan Topping and Del Webb were too busy with their Las Vegas interests to bother Stengel, until they decided that Bill Mazeroski's home run had made Casey too old to manage any more.
Joe has been reviewed, critiqued, hung out to dry, threatened, cajoled and generally abused, apart from his bank account, since the day his hiring was announced. He has had the perfect manner, personality and temperament to man the home dugout in Yankee Stadium. He has accepted all of George's vitriol, stupidity, and advancing dementia, and in the process, shielded his players and allowed them to just concentrate on and play the game through all these years.
At this point, he has earned the right to retire if he wants, but to continue if he wishes. But that's not the Steinbrenner Way.
I hope for Joe Torre, a decent, loyal, able baseball man, that Hal Steinbrenner isn't in charge in name only. Baseball and the New York Yankees will be poorer if Hal's old fool of a father is allowed to pitch a fit and fire his manager.
Somebody needs to tell the pitiful old coot that Billy Martin is still dead.
And that it isn't Joe Torre's fault.
Joe has managed the Bronx Bombers for 12 years.
Casey Stengel managed the Yankees for 12 years. He won 7 World Series and 3 more AL pennants. He had one 100 win season. He managed before the amateur draft, before limits on numbers of minor league teams and when the Kansas City Athletics were little more than another Yankee farm team. He started with DiMaggio and Berra and continued on through Mantle, Ford and company.
Joe McCarthy managed the Yankees for 16 seasons. He won 7 World Series and one additional AL pennant. He had six 100 win seasons. His tenure preceded Stengel's so there were no limitations on what the Colonels' money could do in those days. And McCarthy greatly benefited from the Boston Red Sox' owner Harry Frazee forking over his best players (Ruth, Pennock, Bush, Hoyt, etc) in gratitude for the Colonels' loan at the time of the Ruth sale. He also had Gehrig, Lazzeri, DiMaggio, Dickey and all the others.
Miller Huggins managed the team for 12 years. He had Murders' Row. He won 3 World Series and 3 more AL pennants. He had two 100 win seasons. He preceded McCarthy, so, again, for all intents and purposes, there were no rules prohibiting the Yankees from doing anything that they wanted to do. Huggins had the Babe in his prime years. He had the young Gehrig. He had incredible pitching, largely courtesy of the Boston Red Sox.
Joe Torre has won 4 World Series and three more AL pennants. And he had to navigate three rounds of playoffs each time. His predecessors went straight to the World Series after winning the regular season. Joe won 10 straight AL East division titles. He finished second to Baltimore in 1997, and second to the Red Sox this year. That's NEVER lower than second. McCarthy had three thirds and a fourth. Stengel had a second and a third. Huggins had two seconds, two thirds, a fourth and a seventh. I will repeat. Joe Torre's Yankees have never finished lower than second. Not once.
Joe Torre has had 4 seasons with 100 or more wins. He has managed in the draft era, designed to help the worst clubs get better, and slow the best teams down. And they have been the best team of this era. Torre has produced a twelve season record of 1173 and 767. That's an average of 98 wins per season. Free Agency has helped, but also hurt, as King George has continued his practice of bringing in anyone to whom he takes a shine, whether or not the fellow fit in the clubhouse, could perform any longer, or had the skills that fit with Torre's style of play. The Boss gave away prospect after prospect in trades for aging players. He gave Jason Giambi $120 million to butcher everything hit his way in the field, and be a constant distraction with the breaking of the steriod story. Then there's ARod. Every playoff failure isn't his fault, but Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Joe DiMaggio and Mickey Mantle just didn't disappear in the postseason the way that Alex Rodriguez seems to do.
Perhaps more significantly than anything else, Joe Torre is the only one of the four great Yankee managers who spent his career having to put up with Steinbrenner. With Huggins and McCarthy, the Colonels Huston and Ruppert put their team in the capable hands of Ed Barrow, and followed his instructions to stay quiet and out of sight. Dan Topping and Del Webb were too busy with their Las Vegas interests to bother Stengel, until they decided that Bill Mazeroski's home run had made Casey too old to manage any more.
Joe has been reviewed, critiqued, hung out to dry, threatened, cajoled and generally abused, apart from his bank account, since the day his hiring was announced. He has had the perfect manner, personality and temperament to man the home dugout in Yankee Stadium. He has accepted all of George's vitriol, stupidity, and advancing dementia, and in the process, shielded his players and allowed them to just concentrate on and play the game through all these years.
At this point, he has earned the right to retire if he wants, but to continue if he wishes. But that's not the Steinbrenner Way.
I hope for Joe Torre, a decent, loyal, able baseball man, that Hal Steinbrenner isn't in charge in name only. Baseball and the New York Yankees will be poorer if Hal's old fool of a father is allowed to pitch a fit and fire his manager.
Saturday, October 06, 2007
Late, Random and This Just In...
1. How about those Mets? The ghost of Gene Mauch can now rest peacefully. The 1964 Phillies will never again be the standard for complete and total collapse. The 2007 New York Mets were 7 games up with 17 to play. And they are not participants in this year's tournament. How ironic, the Mets were caught-and passed-by the Philadelphia Phillies! Some serious cosmic justice at work there.
At least, for once, it seems like a manager will not be held responsible for this sort of thing. Irony #2: it may very well have been Willie Randolph's fault that this clubhouse fell apart.
2. I found no pleasure in the fact that it was Tom Glavine who surrendered the 7 runs in the top of the first on the last day of the season. Tommy deserved better than the torrent of booing that accompanied his last trip from the mound as a Met. I would like nothing better than to see him come to an understanding with John Schuerholz and complete his career as a member of the Atlanta Braves next year. And even at 42, he can be a better 3 or 4 than anyone else that the Braves have available. And if Mike Hampton should actually be able to pitch next Summer...
3. The Cubs staged darned near as dramatic a late season charge as the Phillies--well, if you pare it down to a NL Central-level charge, and collapse by the Brewers. But, baseball gods be praised, the Northsiders then proceeded to remind us all why it has been, now, a FULL CENTURY since they took home the World Series Title. The Cubs crapped out in three games against a very ordinary Arizona Diamondbacks team with an average age of about 6 months short of puberty. A couple of the high school students who ran for the Memphis City Council would be senior members of the D'backs, but Lee, Ramirez, Floyd and DeRosa, etal, couldn't do a doggoned thing with them. And with Lou Pinella's brainfart in pulling Zambrano early in Game 1 so that he could start Game 4 on three days' rest...well, they aren't having a Game 4. Yes, the Cubs are still the Cubs. Sorry, Ron.
4. How much would this Memphian enjoy seeing Manny be Manny in this postseason the way that Papi was Papi in '04? More than I can put into words! I've never seen as great a player take so much crap for reasons other than being a complete and total jerk (Barry Lamar!). Yeah, Manny's a big kid. So what? Who wouldn't want his numbers in their lineup? Anyone...Anyone? He got one hell of a start with the bottom of the ninth walkoff onto the Mass Turnpike last night! Keep it up, Big Boy!
5. Memphis was so disgusted with our 4 term mayor that a grand total of 38.6% of the registered voters even bothered to cast a ballot. Something around 56% of those voting wanted someone else, so that reads to me like 38.6% of those showing up voted for him and a whopping 61.5% of the registered voters were content enough to stay home. The numbers seem to reveal a good deal less anger with the incumbent than the local media would have us believe.
6. George W. Bush is an idiot. Latest evidence: following the Great Occupier's veto of the children's health insurance bill, stunningly conservative Sen. Orrin Hatch, from Utah of all places, used some uncharacteristically foul language. When asked if he would support an override, Sen. Hatch replied, "You bet your sweet bippy!" [Rowan and Martin Live!] I hate that the Senator was moved to vulgar language, but for once, it seems that his heart (apparently he has grown one) is in the right place. Or, perhaps, it's the LEFT place?
7. Thank God for a sensible District Superintendent. It seems that a member of my flock named Anonymous wrote a letter with a whole pile of allegations about my inadequacies. Among them: I preached the Bible real well when I got there, but now all I do is talk about baseball and my children; I have spent all of the church's money; I'm never on the job; I've killed the children/youth programs and so on.
In point of fact: I have not made a baseball reference in worship this year. The church is in such financial position that the Council voted to put last year's 13% budget surplus and this year's parsonage rent in savings, and we're STILL $16,000 ahead of last year. The church has miraculously doubled since I arrived...and all without me being around. Amazing, ain't it? The young woman who graduated from high school at the end of my first year never had a youth group to participate in until her Senior Year. We've made the obligatory Lake Junaluska trip, and will again next summer, and have a weekly youth meeting with more than a dozen regularly attending.
The dear sister who wrote the letter is a life-long malcontent who is miserable with her life and needs for everyone else to be as miserable as she. My dear, the truth is not in you. Go and sin no more!
8. I am now an enormous Travis Hafner fan!
9. The TBS studio show is outstanding! The work that the great Ernie Johnson, Jr. does as host, Cal Ripken, Jr. does as resident expert, The Big Hurt, Frank Thomas does as second analyst, and the delightful Curtis Granderson brings in enthusiasm add up to what Fox wishes their sad Saturday attempts could be. Their segments on base stealing and bunting have just been tremendous. Cal takes charge of those segments, Ernie allows the players to lead, Frank brings gravitas and Granderson steals the show. With all apologies to Jim Leyland, I hope the Tigers never make the playoffs again if that will allow Granderson to be in studio. He's 26 years old and right now has an incredible broadcasting future. And not a bad one as a player for the next 10 to 15 years, either.
If you haven't seen it yet, you owe it to yourself to watch this program.
10. Congrats, Vols, on handling Georgia. I just don't know if that'll be enough to save the coaches' jobs.
11. Run, don't walk, to the music store of your choice, and buy Steve Earle's new album, Washington Square Serenade. Pure gold from first song to last! Thank me later.
12. Two out in the bottom of the sixth in Denver, and at this moment it appears that there will be no National League games tomorrow. Just the Red Sox in the early game, and the MFYs in the late game.
Time to close here and wrap up tomorrow's sermon.
Preacher's Joke punchline of the night: What do you do during the offertory?
13. This Just In...Bud Selig won't have to worry about that nightmare scenario that would have pitted the #3 (Chicago) and #5 (Philadelphia) television markets in the country. No, now he'll have the dream ratings that will come with a Colorado Rockies-Arizona Diamondbacks National League Championship Series. So he'll really be praying for a Red Sox-MFY ALCS! Well, he's going to get half of that.
At least, for once, it seems like a manager will not be held responsible for this sort of thing. Irony #2: it may very well have been Willie Randolph's fault that this clubhouse fell apart.
2. I found no pleasure in the fact that it was Tom Glavine who surrendered the 7 runs in the top of the first on the last day of the season. Tommy deserved better than the torrent of booing that accompanied his last trip from the mound as a Met. I would like nothing better than to see him come to an understanding with John Schuerholz and complete his career as a member of the Atlanta Braves next year. And even at 42, he can be a better 3 or 4 than anyone else that the Braves have available. And if Mike Hampton should actually be able to pitch next Summer...
3. The Cubs staged darned near as dramatic a late season charge as the Phillies--well, if you pare it down to a NL Central-level charge, and collapse by the Brewers. But, baseball gods be praised, the Northsiders then proceeded to remind us all why it has been, now, a FULL CENTURY since they took home the World Series Title. The Cubs crapped out in three games against a very ordinary Arizona Diamondbacks team with an average age of about 6 months short of puberty. A couple of the high school students who ran for the Memphis City Council would be senior members of the D'backs, but Lee, Ramirez, Floyd and DeRosa, etal, couldn't do a doggoned thing with them. And with Lou Pinella's brainfart in pulling Zambrano early in Game 1 so that he could start Game 4 on three days' rest...well, they aren't having a Game 4. Yes, the Cubs are still the Cubs. Sorry, Ron.
4. How much would this Memphian enjoy seeing Manny be Manny in this postseason the way that Papi was Papi in '04? More than I can put into words! I've never seen as great a player take so much crap for reasons other than being a complete and total jerk (Barry Lamar!). Yeah, Manny's a big kid. So what? Who wouldn't want his numbers in their lineup? Anyone...Anyone? He got one hell of a start with the bottom of the ninth walkoff onto the Mass Turnpike last night! Keep it up, Big Boy!
5. Memphis was so disgusted with our 4 term mayor that a grand total of 38.6% of the registered voters even bothered to cast a ballot. Something around 56% of those voting wanted someone else, so that reads to me like 38.6% of those showing up voted for him and a whopping 61.5% of the registered voters were content enough to stay home. The numbers seem to reveal a good deal less anger with the incumbent than the local media would have us believe.
6. George W. Bush is an idiot. Latest evidence: following the Great Occupier's veto of the children's health insurance bill, stunningly conservative Sen. Orrin Hatch, from Utah of all places, used some uncharacteristically foul language. When asked if he would support an override, Sen. Hatch replied, "You bet your sweet bippy!" [Rowan and Martin Live!] I hate that the Senator was moved to vulgar language, but for once, it seems that his heart (apparently he has grown one) is in the right place. Or, perhaps, it's the LEFT place?
7. Thank God for a sensible District Superintendent. It seems that a member of my flock named Anonymous wrote a letter with a whole pile of allegations about my inadequacies. Among them: I preached the Bible real well when I got there, but now all I do is talk about baseball and my children; I have spent all of the church's money; I'm never on the job; I've killed the children/youth programs and so on.
In point of fact: I have not made a baseball reference in worship this year. The church is in such financial position that the Council voted to put last year's 13% budget surplus and this year's parsonage rent in savings, and we're STILL $16,000 ahead of last year. The church has miraculously doubled since I arrived...and all without me being around. Amazing, ain't it? The young woman who graduated from high school at the end of my first year never had a youth group to participate in until her Senior Year. We've made the obligatory Lake Junaluska trip, and will again next summer, and have a weekly youth meeting with more than a dozen regularly attending.
The dear sister who wrote the letter is a life-long malcontent who is miserable with her life and needs for everyone else to be as miserable as she. My dear, the truth is not in you. Go and sin no more!
8. I am now an enormous Travis Hafner fan!
9. The TBS studio show is outstanding! The work that the great Ernie Johnson, Jr. does as host, Cal Ripken, Jr. does as resident expert, The Big Hurt, Frank Thomas does as second analyst, and the delightful Curtis Granderson brings in enthusiasm add up to what Fox wishes their sad Saturday attempts could be. Their segments on base stealing and bunting have just been tremendous. Cal takes charge of those segments, Ernie allows the players to lead, Frank brings gravitas and Granderson steals the show. With all apologies to Jim Leyland, I hope the Tigers never make the playoffs again if that will allow Granderson to be in studio. He's 26 years old and right now has an incredible broadcasting future. And not a bad one as a player for the next 10 to 15 years, either.
If you haven't seen it yet, you owe it to yourself to watch this program.
10. Congrats, Vols, on handling Georgia. I just don't know if that'll be enough to save the coaches' jobs.
11. Run, don't walk, to the music store of your choice, and buy Steve Earle's new album, Washington Square Serenade. Pure gold from first song to last! Thank me later.
12. Two out in the bottom of the sixth in Denver, and at this moment it appears that there will be no National League games tomorrow. Just the Red Sox in the early game, and the MFYs in the late game.
Time to close here and wrap up tomorrow's sermon.
Preacher's Joke punchline of the night: What do you do during the offertory?
13. This Just In...Bud Selig won't have to worry about that nightmare scenario that would have pitted the #3 (Chicago) and #5 (Philadelphia) television markets in the country. No, now he'll have the dream ratings that will come with a Colorado Rockies-Arizona Diamondbacks National League Championship Series. So he'll really be praying for a Red Sox-MFY ALCS! Well, he's going to get half of that.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Who's the Joker?
A Christian theatre group from somewhere in the Red States has taken a stand, stuck their necks out on principle, and taken on.....Kathy Griffin!
Ms. Griffin is a fair-to-middling comedian who had the audacity, or perhaps it was wisdom and insight, to lampoon every self-important, self-absorbed actor, athlete, musician and other public personage who has ever been so full of crap as to thank Jesus for giving them the trophy/touchdown/home run/whatever else it is that is so worshipped in their pathetic lives. She said that Jesus had nothing to do with her receiving some piece of metal and/or plastic that was bestowed upon her a couple of weeks ago with all of the breathlessness that suggested that she, like all the other recipients at that fabulous function had found the antidote to every cancer and cause of war in the world.
The Miracle Theatre (I kid you not!) says that it is time to stand up for Jesus, because it just isn't alright to make fun of Jesus and Christians anymore. They called Ms. Griffin a blasphemer.
Blasphemy is an old charge. It was laid at Jesus' feet, for calling himself the Son of God. Problem: we Christians believe that, indeed, Jesus IS the Son of God. Yes, boys and girls, Jesus was called a blasphemer for telling the truth. Because it was a truth that the arrogant, obstinate and vision-challenged refused to consider, much less accept.
Kathy, you are in wonderful company, and for the same reason!
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ, you who are desperate for attention and dying for recognition, if you believe that God makes out the master charts on who goes home with Oscar, Emmy, Grammy or whoever else is in this line, then Kathy Griffin isn't the blasphemer. If you think that God has the over in the Cowboys game, or even the Red Sox over the Yankees, then you don't need to worry about anyone else making fun of Jesus. You've got that covered all on your own.
Dear ostriches, pull your heads out of the sand, or whatever anatomical orifice that houses your brain these days. Our Great Christian Nation is persisting in a war of agression against a nation that did not do anything to us. Our Great Christian President is now responsible for considerably more American deaths than is Osama binLaden. We are ignoring the genocide in Darfur. We are allowing the Taliban to retake Afghanistan. Tens of thousands of children die everyday in this world because we pompous asses will not see to it that they are fed. And you think God is sitting around deciding which actor gave the best performance?
Who mocks God? The comedian who shines light on the dark corners of our lives, and lack of faith, or the Pharisee who condemns everyone who doesn't abide by some arcane and archaic idea about The Rules?
Jesus had an answer for that question, but you probably haven't read it. After all, the commercial break is about over. And Celine Dion is singing one of the nominated songs in the next segment. Who's Gwyneth wearing? Who's George's date? Is that Lindsay barfing on the Red Carpet? Pass the popcorn!
Ms. Griffin is a fair-to-middling comedian who had the audacity, or perhaps it was wisdom and insight, to lampoon every self-important, self-absorbed actor, athlete, musician and other public personage who has ever been so full of crap as to thank Jesus for giving them the trophy/touchdown/home run/whatever else it is that is so worshipped in their pathetic lives. She said that Jesus had nothing to do with her receiving some piece of metal and/or plastic that was bestowed upon her a couple of weeks ago with all of the breathlessness that suggested that she, like all the other recipients at that fabulous function had found the antidote to every cancer and cause of war in the world.
The Miracle Theatre (I kid you not!) says that it is time to stand up for Jesus, because it just isn't alright to make fun of Jesus and Christians anymore. They called Ms. Griffin a blasphemer.
Blasphemy is an old charge. It was laid at Jesus' feet, for calling himself the Son of God. Problem: we Christians believe that, indeed, Jesus IS the Son of God. Yes, boys and girls, Jesus was called a blasphemer for telling the truth. Because it was a truth that the arrogant, obstinate and vision-challenged refused to consider, much less accept.
Kathy, you are in wonderful company, and for the same reason!
Dear brothers and sisters in Christ, you who are desperate for attention and dying for recognition, if you believe that God makes out the master charts on who goes home with Oscar, Emmy, Grammy or whoever else is in this line, then Kathy Griffin isn't the blasphemer. If you think that God has the over in the Cowboys game, or even the Red Sox over the Yankees, then you don't need to worry about anyone else making fun of Jesus. You've got that covered all on your own.
Dear ostriches, pull your heads out of the sand, or whatever anatomical orifice that houses your brain these days. Our Great Christian Nation is persisting in a war of agression against a nation that did not do anything to us. Our Great Christian President is now responsible for considerably more American deaths than is Osama binLaden. We are ignoring the genocide in Darfur. We are allowing the Taliban to retake Afghanistan. Tens of thousands of children die everyday in this world because we pompous asses will not see to it that they are fed. And you think God is sitting around deciding which actor gave the best performance?
Who mocks God? The comedian who shines light on the dark corners of our lives, and lack of faith, or the Pharisee who condemns everyone who doesn't abide by some arcane and archaic idea about The Rules?
Jesus had an answer for that question, but you probably haven't read it. After all, the commercial break is about over. And Celine Dion is singing one of the nominated songs in the next segment. Who's Gwyneth wearing? Who's George's date? Is that Lindsay barfing on the Red Carpet? Pass the popcorn!
Friday, August 31, 2007
Doncha Wanna Win?
Why does anybody want to be President of the United States? Between the personal mauling that all candidates, their families and close associates undergo, and the godawful mess they will inherit from the current gang of incompetents, why take the hassle? Surely not for the fabulous salary that is about $50,000 above the Major League minimum.
It seems, on this day before September, that the National League's division leaders are having a similar soul-searching meltdown. Who wants the hassle of an extra month of work and going to all of those dinners and parties that the World Series champions have to put up with? Much like Boomer Wells after his Padres' release, wouldn't everyone rather just go surfing?
The indifference of the leaders is clear:
Mets, 73-60, 2 games up; only 3-7 in their last 10 games.
Cubs, 68-64, 2.5 games up; only 5-5 in their last 10 (and trailing the Astros 4-0 right now).
D'backs, 75-60, 1 game up but even on the loss side; 4-6 in their last 10.
Right, the Red Sox are in mortal danger following a three game sweep at the Death Star, but their lead is only 1/2 game less than the TOTAL leads of NL division heads.
Let's not write this off to the natural ebb and flow in the balance of power between the leagues (truth); let's just say that it all means that it will be a very, very competitive September for National League clubs and fans (spin). For the right to get killed by the AL representative in the World Series. Unless the Cardinals take their division with 83 wins again. And as long as the Cubs are the Cubs, and the Brewers are the Brewers, don't bet against the Cards!
It seems, on this day before September, that the National League's division leaders are having a similar soul-searching meltdown. Who wants the hassle of an extra month of work and going to all of those dinners and parties that the World Series champions have to put up with? Much like Boomer Wells after his Padres' release, wouldn't everyone rather just go surfing?
The indifference of the leaders is clear:
Mets, 73-60, 2 games up; only 3-7 in their last 10 games.
Cubs, 68-64, 2.5 games up; only 5-5 in their last 10 (and trailing the Astros 4-0 right now).
D'backs, 75-60, 1 game up but even on the loss side; 4-6 in their last 10.
Right, the Red Sox are in mortal danger following a three game sweep at the Death Star, but their lead is only 1/2 game less than the TOTAL leads of NL division heads.
Let's not write this off to the natural ebb and flow in the balance of power between the leagues (truth); let's just say that it all means that it will be a very, very competitive September for National League clubs and fans (spin). For the right to get killed by the AL representative in the World Series. Unless the Cardinals take their division with 83 wins again. And as long as the Cubs are the Cubs, and the Brewers are the Brewers, don't bet against the Cards!
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
In Praise of LaRussa
Chris Carpenter left his Opening Day start early, hasn't thrown a pitch since, and won't this year. Mark Mulder hasn't thrown a pitch this year. Jim Edmonds has been old all summer. Scott Rolen is damaged goods, perhaps permanently. David Eckstein's body isn't as strong as his incredible heart. Adam Kennedy apparently left all of his bats in Los Angeles of Anaheim. Encarnacion? Hurt. Taguchi? Fourth outfielder at best. Duncan? Pretty good bat, remniscent of Ryan Klesko in the outfield. And that's not a compliment.
Josh Hancock was killed in a drunken driving accident. His family filed, and later dropped, a lawsuit against Mike Shannon's Seafood and Steaks, and Mike's daughter who runs the restaurant. Mike's wife, Judy, died of her cancer a couple of weeks back.
Walt Jockety has apparently tired of St. Louis, and is said to be making eyes at Cincinnati for next year. And Tony LaRussa was arrested for drunk driving in Florida during Spring Training.
I've probably left several things out, but when you're discussing the 2007 St. Louis Cardinals, there's just so much that I can't remember it all.
Here's what I do know:
Adam Wainwright
Braden Looper
Anthony Reyes
Kip Wells
Joel Pineiro
Mike Maroth
Quiz: How many Major League Starting Pitchers do you see on that list? My count is 1. That's ONE. Adam Wainwright has been their best starter this year. Without periodic help from Looper-a career reliever until this year, a man who owns the record (really? there's a record for that?) for most relief appearances to start a career before making a first start-Adam would have been the only starting pitcher they've had. Not sure I'm right? Consider:
Reyes, 2-13, 5.33
Wells, 6-15, 5.50
Maroth, 5-6, 6.79
Pineiro, signed after being released by the Red Sox
Looper, 11-10, 4.66
This team won the World Series last year.
There are two bright spots, of course. Rick Ankiel is back. As an outfielder. And in 15 games, he has 4 homers, 10 RBIs, a .321 average, and an OPS of .966. You just can't help but feel good for this guy if you remember anything about the 2000 postseason. Or the 2001 regular season. Or the 2002 elbow strain that stole the whole season. Or 2003's Tommy John surgery. Or 2005's retirement as a pitcher to learn the outfield. Or 2006's knee surgery that took another season. Are you in tears for this guy yet? Well, don't, because the story has the (so far) happy ending described above.
Then there's Albert Pujols. When Abner Doubleday first envisioned the game (I know, I know), he pictured Albert Pujols. Conventional wisdom: Albert won't be nearly as good this year without Rolen and Edmonds in top form. You think? As of 8-29, the numbers report:
Pujols, 30 HRs, 84 RBIs, .321 avg, .987 OPS.
Only about 99.7% (everybody but ARod, Prince Fielder and Ryan Howard) would trade their numbers for his, and he hasn't had runners on ahead of him or protection behind him. Just picture where Albert would be with Jimmy Rollins, Derek Jeter or JJ Hardy batting ahead of him, or Hideki Matsui, Chase Utley, Manny Ramirez or Mark Teixeira batting behind him. Albert has extended his record of years to start a career with .300 or better average, 30 or more homers, and soon he will add 100 plus RBIs and Runs Scored to all that. Go ahead; clear his place in Cooperstown now and avoid the rush later.
Tony LaRussa has Albert Pujols, Adam Wainwright and the Little Sisters of the Poor in third place, just two games out of first. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know it's the National League Central, but until MLB adopts European soccer league rules and drops abominable teams down to the minor leagues for poor performance, they still get to send their champion to the playoffs. And last year, with their record-setting (although not in any way anyone would be proud of) 83 wins, the Cardinals won the whole thing.
LaRussa is, plain and simple, one of the handful of all-time great managers in baseball history. He stands third on the managerial wins list, and of all those managers who didn't have an ownership interest in their team, he is already Number 1. He has won with the White Sox, the A's and the Cardinals. And last night he tied Red Schoendienst as the winningest Cardinals manager ever. You know the Cardinals: the franchise with the second highest total of World Series wins in all of baseball? The greatest franchise of the National League? Tony's next win makes him number one with that team!
Everyone knows the knocks: he's smug, sort of arrogant, often thinks he's the smartest guy in the room, and he burns up pitchers. My answers: he's earned the right to a certain self-confidence, he usually is the smartest guy in the room, and he's very loyal to Dave Duncan, his long-time partner with whom he has achieved those 12 playoff appearances, 11 Division Championships, 5 pennants and 2 World Series championships. And four Manager of the Year awards.
But for all of that, he may have saved his best for this year. Having this team in contention is incomprehensible.
Tony is one of the three genuine managerial successes of this generation, along with Bobby Cox and Joe Torre. They will all land comfortably in Cooperstown, and Tony won't have to take a backseat to anybody.
Josh Hancock was killed in a drunken driving accident. His family filed, and later dropped, a lawsuit against Mike Shannon's Seafood and Steaks, and Mike's daughter who runs the restaurant. Mike's wife, Judy, died of her cancer a couple of weeks back.
Walt Jockety has apparently tired of St. Louis, and is said to be making eyes at Cincinnati for next year. And Tony LaRussa was arrested for drunk driving in Florida during Spring Training.
I've probably left several things out, but when you're discussing the 2007 St. Louis Cardinals, there's just so much that I can't remember it all.
Here's what I do know:
Adam Wainwright
Braden Looper
Anthony Reyes
Kip Wells
Joel Pineiro
Mike Maroth
Quiz: How many Major League Starting Pitchers do you see on that list? My count is 1. That's ONE. Adam Wainwright has been their best starter this year. Without periodic help from Looper-a career reliever until this year, a man who owns the record (really? there's a record for that?) for most relief appearances to start a career before making a first start-Adam would have been the only starting pitcher they've had. Not sure I'm right? Consider:
Reyes, 2-13, 5.33
Wells, 6-15, 5.50
Maroth, 5-6, 6.79
Pineiro, signed after being released by the Red Sox
Looper, 11-10, 4.66
This team won the World Series last year.
There are two bright spots, of course. Rick Ankiel is back. As an outfielder. And in 15 games, he has 4 homers, 10 RBIs, a .321 average, and an OPS of .966. You just can't help but feel good for this guy if you remember anything about the 2000 postseason. Or the 2001 regular season. Or the 2002 elbow strain that stole the whole season. Or 2003's Tommy John surgery. Or 2005's retirement as a pitcher to learn the outfield. Or 2006's knee surgery that took another season. Are you in tears for this guy yet? Well, don't, because the story has the (so far) happy ending described above.
Then there's Albert Pujols. When Abner Doubleday first envisioned the game (I know, I know), he pictured Albert Pujols. Conventional wisdom: Albert won't be nearly as good this year without Rolen and Edmonds in top form. You think? As of 8-29, the numbers report:
Pujols, 30 HRs, 84 RBIs, .321 avg, .987 OPS.
Only about 99.7% (everybody but ARod, Prince Fielder and Ryan Howard) would trade their numbers for his, and he hasn't had runners on ahead of him or protection behind him. Just picture where Albert would be with Jimmy Rollins, Derek Jeter or JJ Hardy batting ahead of him, or Hideki Matsui, Chase Utley, Manny Ramirez or Mark Teixeira batting behind him. Albert has extended his record of years to start a career with .300 or better average, 30 or more homers, and soon he will add 100 plus RBIs and Runs Scored to all that. Go ahead; clear his place in Cooperstown now and avoid the rush later.
Tony LaRussa has Albert Pujols, Adam Wainwright and the Little Sisters of the Poor in third place, just two games out of first. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know it's the National League Central, but until MLB adopts European soccer league rules and drops abominable teams down to the minor leagues for poor performance, they still get to send their champion to the playoffs. And last year, with their record-setting (although not in any way anyone would be proud of) 83 wins, the Cardinals won the whole thing.
LaRussa is, plain and simple, one of the handful of all-time great managers in baseball history. He stands third on the managerial wins list, and of all those managers who didn't have an ownership interest in their team, he is already Number 1. He has won with the White Sox, the A's and the Cardinals. And last night he tied Red Schoendienst as the winningest Cardinals manager ever. You know the Cardinals: the franchise with the second highest total of World Series wins in all of baseball? The greatest franchise of the National League? Tony's next win makes him number one with that team!
Everyone knows the knocks: he's smug, sort of arrogant, often thinks he's the smartest guy in the room, and he burns up pitchers. My answers: he's earned the right to a certain self-confidence, he usually is the smartest guy in the room, and he's very loyal to Dave Duncan, his long-time partner with whom he has achieved those 12 playoff appearances, 11 Division Championships, 5 pennants and 2 World Series championships. And four Manager of the Year awards.
But for all of that, he may have saved his best for this year. Having this team in contention is incomprehensible.
Tony is one of the three genuine managerial successes of this generation, along with Bobby Cox and Joe Torre. They will all land comfortably in Cooperstown, and Tony won't have to take a backseat to anybody.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
He's Still The Hammer
It is often hard for me to understand the state of our society. I am not a dog lover. I suppose that I am still too few generations away from farm life to think that it's a good idea to have animals in the house. But how do you breed and train dogs to fight? What is the thrill of watching dogs attack, main and often kill one another? How do you decide to take your dog who lost but lived and choke it to death, electrocute it or hang it? What has to be absent in a man's soul to think that this behavior is recreation?
I despise football, but I agree with NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell's drive to rid his league of bad behavers. Employment in a sport is not a right; it is a privilege. It does not put you above the law, although far too many of those so employed have put themselves outside the law in recent years. No, Michael Vick hasn't been convicted of anything. But his decisions and associations have made him bad for business. At least for the time being, he has lost his job with the Atlanta Falcons. If he is convicted, he won't be an issue for the NFL. But they should go ahead and cut ties with him now. Rawlings got it. So did his shoe company. So should the NFL.
The Bears had the integrity to cut Tank Johnson. The Titans should terminate Adam Jones, and the Falcons should do the same with Vick.
Which leads to the home run record.
I want to like Barry Bonds, based on my childhood encounter with his father. I can't.
Barry has been a jerk. He has been a jerk to fans, teammates, opponents and the media. He has been the posterchild for spoiled athletes who will sign autographs only for those who pay, must be consulted by his managers for which rules he will tolerate and which he won't and even when it suits him to play and when it doesn't.
I want to admire his achievement. I can't.
The substances that Bonds is presumed to have taken, and that he apparently told the grand jury that he took without awareness of what they were, improve a person's eyesight. Discerning between fastball, curve and slider becomes easier. They add muscle and shorten the recovery time required after muscles are worked. As an athlete moves into their mid and late 30's and then 40's the value of that assistance cannot be overstated.
But just at a moment when sports is adding up to a great big "Yuck," someone steps up and reminds us all that grace and generosity and integrity are still around.
Hank Aaron taped a message for Bonds after a number was posted on Tuesday night. The Hammer talked about the history of the game, and the home run's place in that history. He expressed his pride at holding the record for 33 years. He acknowledged Bonds' accomplishment. Then he put sports and athletes in marvelous perspective: ""My hope today, as it was on that April evening in 1974, is that the achievement of this record will inspire others to chase their own dreams." This is precisely what athletics does, at its best. Whether it is Tiger Woods inspiring more black kids to take up golf, Jim Valvano inspiring people to perservere through all kinds of challenges, Rick Ankiel making it back to the majors after falling apart in 2001, or Hank Aaron completing the process that Jackie Robinson started on the baseball field in 1947, athletes are role models, regardless of what Charles Barkley says. They do enable us regular folk to dream bigger dreams and hope wider hopes.
When Mike Vick and Barry Bonds want to drag us all into gutter with them, Hank Aaron, Tom Glavine, Dale Murphy, Peyton Manning, David Ortiz, Tiger Woods, LaDainian Tomlinson, Shane Battier and Derek Jeter lead a long, long line of those who lift us up, show us what's possible, and make us feel a part of something wonderful.
I despise football, but I agree with NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell's drive to rid his league of bad behavers. Employment in a sport is not a right; it is a privilege. It does not put you above the law, although far too many of those so employed have put themselves outside the law in recent years. No, Michael Vick hasn't been convicted of anything. But his decisions and associations have made him bad for business. At least for the time being, he has lost his job with the Atlanta Falcons. If he is convicted, he won't be an issue for the NFL. But they should go ahead and cut ties with him now. Rawlings got it. So did his shoe company. So should the NFL.
The Bears had the integrity to cut Tank Johnson. The Titans should terminate Adam Jones, and the Falcons should do the same with Vick.
Which leads to the home run record.
I want to like Barry Bonds, based on my childhood encounter with his father. I can't.
Barry has been a jerk. He has been a jerk to fans, teammates, opponents and the media. He has been the posterchild for spoiled athletes who will sign autographs only for those who pay, must be consulted by his managers for which rules he will tolerate and which he won't and even when it suits him to play and when it doesn't.
I want to admire his achievement. I can't.
The substances that Bonds is presumed to have taken, and that he apparently told the grand jury that he took without awareness of what they were, improve a person's eyesight. Discerning between fastball, curve and slider becomes easier. They add muscle and shorten the recovery time required after muscles are worked. As an athlete moves into their mid and late 30's and then 40's the value of that assistance cannot be overstated.
But just at a moment when sports is adding up to a great big "Yuck," someone steps up and reminds us all that grace and generosity and integrity are still around.
Hank Aaron taped a message for Bonds after a number was posted on Tuesday night. The Hammer talked about the history of the game, and the home run's place in that history. He expressed his pride at holding the record for 33 years. He acknowledged Bonds' accomplishment. Then he put sports and athletes in marvelous perspective: ""My hope today, as it was on that April evening in 1974, is that the achievement of this record will inspire others to chase their own dreams." This is precisely what athletics does, at its best. Whether it is Tiger Woods inspiring more black kids to take up golf, Jim Valvano inspiring people to perservere through all kinds of challenges, Rick Ankiel making it back to the majors after falling apart in 2001, or Hank Aaron completing the process that Jackie Robinson started on the baseball field in 1947, athletes are role models, regardless of what Charles Barkley says. They do enable us regular folk to dream bigger dreams and hope wider hopes.
When Mike Vick and Barry Bonds want to drag us all into gutter with them, Hank Aaron, Tom Glavine, Dale Murphy, Peyton Manning, David Ortiz, Tiger Woods, LaDainian Tomlinson, Shane Battier and Derek Jeter lead a long, long line of those who lift us up, show us what's possible, and make us feel a part of something wonderful.
Monday, August 06, 2007
My Favorite Pitcher Turns 300
Thanks, Tom!
I'm grateful for the way you have gone about your whole career, and since you spent the bulk of it with the Braves, I've seen the whole thing. You and Smoltz started out together, kids on a terrible, terrible team. But Hank Aaron saw something when he was head of Player Development. Bobby Cox saw it when he came back south from Canada as the Braves' General Manager; it was enough to make him leave the desk job for John Schuerholz, and return to the dugout.
It started with a cup of coffee in 1987. Then came the dreadful 1988. You weren't ready. The team around you was a joke, and not a very funny one. Terry Blocker? Dion James? Andres Thomas? Anyone? Anyone? You were only 22 years old. But you went out there every time they gave you the ball, and you showed the grit and determination that are the keys to your professional life, qualities that have taken you to two Cy Young Awards, five twenty-win seasons, and now, your 300th victory.
I always preferred you. John had, and on the good days still has, the fire. He could rain down strikeouts on any team any time. Maddux was the diva. Grace in motion. Perfection around the next corner. But through his whole pitching life, when Greg feels like he's through, he's through. There were times when it looked like he told Bobby Cox that he wanted out. Not you.
When Bobby came to remove you from a game, he had to bring a crowbar. You never willingly let go of the ball. Because you believed (and still do) that you can get it done. You looked disgusted when Willie Randolph came calling last night, one out and one hit into the seventh inning. Classic Glavine.
You didn't blow anyone away. You never pitched a 76 pitch complete game. You just poured your whole heart and soul into every game, because when you're on the mound, it's you taking on the world, and you mean to win. And because you've been smarter, more committed and more determined, you are now the 23rd pitcher, and only the fifth left-hander, in baseball history to accomplish 300 wins.
You have indicated pretty clearly that this will be your last season. I hope not. But if it is, I will be marking my calendar, in ink. I can never remember how the Hall of Fame keeps time, but I believe that the clock starts on your five year wait on January 1, 2008. If that's accurate, I'll be vacationing in Cooperstown, NY, in late July or early August of 2013. But don't worry; whatever year you become a first-ballot Hall of Famer, I'll be there to celebrate with you and all your fans. Fans of a guy who brought hockey player toughness to the pitching mound, and made us all proud.
I'm grateful for the way you have gone about your whole career, and since you spent the bulk of it with the Braves, I've seen the whole thing. You and Smoltz started out together, kids on a terrible, terrible team. But Hank Aaron saw something when he was head of Player Development. Bobby Cox saw it when he came back south from Canada as the Braves' General Manager; it was enough to make him leave the desk job for John Schuerholz, and return to the dugout.
It started with a cup of coffee in 1987. Then came the dreadful 1988. You weren't ready. The team around you was a joke, and not a very funny one. Terry Blocker? Dion James? Andres Thomas? Anyone? Anyone? You were only 22 years old. But you went out there every time they gave you the ball, and you showed the grit and determination that are the keys to your professional life, qualities that have taken you to two Cy Young Awards, five twenty-win seasons, and now, your 300th victory.
I always preferred you. John had, and on the good days still has, the fire. He could rain down strikeouts on any team any time. Maddux was the diva. Grace in motion. Perfection around the next corner. But through his whole pitching life, when Greg feels like he's through, he's through. There were times when it looked like he told Bobby Cox that he wanted out. Not you.
When Bobby came to remove you from a game, he had to bring a crowbar. You never willingly let go of the ball. Because you believed (and still do) that you can get it done. You looked disgusted when Willie Randolph came calling last night, one out and one hit into the seventh inning. Classic Glavine.
You didn't blow anyone away. You never pitched a 76 pitch complete game. You just poured your whole heart and soul into every game, because when you're on the mound, it's you taking on the world, and you mean to win. And because you've been smarter, more committed and more determined, you are now the 23rd pitcher, and only the fifth left-hander, in baseball history to accomplish 300 wins.
You have indicated pretty clearly that this will be your last season. I hope not. But if it is, I will be marking my calendar, in ink. I can never remember how the Hall of Fame keeps time, but I believe that the clock starts on your five year wait on January 1, 2008. If that's accurate, I'll be vacationing in Cooperstown, NY, in late July or early August of 2013. But don't worry; whatever year you become a first-ballot Hall of Famer, I'll be there to celebrate with you and all your fans. Fans of a guy who brought hockey player toughness to the pitching mound, and made us all proud.
Monday, July 30, 2007
A Trade Worth Waiting For
The Atlanta Braves have traded for Mark Teixeira. The last week's rumors prove true. I'm amazed. Braves' GM John Schuerholz enjoyed the days when Ted Turner's only instruction was, "Get me a winner, boys." The checkbook was always open. Not so, after Captain Outrageous (remember?) sold his assets to Time-Warner. The mentality, once somewhere off-center, became corporate, and therefore by definition, restrictive and oriented to the bottom line alone.
And with restrictions still in place (as we await the departure of Andruw Jones after the season), John has pulled off a trade that gives the Braves the most formidable lineup in the National League, and arguably, in all of baseball. Namely:
Harris, lf
Renteria, ss
C. Jones, 3b
A. Jones, cf
Teixeira, 1b
McCann, c
Francoeur, rf
Johnson, 2b
As I read it, this is a lineup that could be played into the playoffs from top to bottom, or bottom to top. What if Willie Harris doesn't play the rest of the season as he has to this point? Swap him with Kelly Johnson. What if Chipper's health struggles recur? Yunel Escobar is ready to go.
And Schuerholz may well not be done yet.
Jared Saltalamacchia is the biggest name in the pool sent west for Teixeira and lefty reliever Ron Mahay. But the Braves had clearly decided that McCann was the better option behind the plate, and no one can seriously argue that Salty would be a better first base option than the switch-hitting Teixeira at this point. Elvis Andrus is the shortstop phenom that Braves' fans have been dreaming about for a couple years. Better than Escobar? I don't think so, plus, Yunel's performance raises the possibility of dealing Renteria for another quality starting pitcher (Jon Garland-type, if not actually Garland?). The attentive baserunning Escobar pulled against the Dbacks a couple of nights ago says that this kid has things that just can't be taught. Have you ever seen anyone steal second after reaching before another pitch is made? Me, either. The trade did not demand the top rung of pitching prospects, either. I can't find how this is a bad deal, and if Teixeira is a rental, he's a rental through 2008.
This looks to me an awful lot like the arrival of Fred McGriff in 1993, which helped lead to the 1995 World Series Championship. It may not take that long this time.
The Mets and all others who aspire to winning the National League won't sleep quite as well tonight. Or the rest of the season.
And with restrictions still in place (as we await the departure of Andruw Jones after the season), John has pulled off a trade that gives the Braves the most formidable lineup in the National League, and arguably, in all of baseball. Namely:
Harris, lf
Renteria, ss
C. Jones, 3b
A. Jones, cf
Teixeira, 1b
McCann, c
Francoeur, rf
Johnson, 2b
As I read it, this is a lineup that could be played into the playoffs from top to bottom, or bottom to top. What if Willie Harris doesn't play the rest of the season as he has to this point? Swap him with Kelly Johnson. What if Chipper's health struggles recur? Yunel Escobar is ready to go.
And Schuerholz may well not be done yet.
Jared Saltalamacchia is the biggest name in the pool sent west for Teixeira and lefty reliever Ron Mahay. But the Braves had clearly decided that McCann was the better option behind the plate, and no one can seriously argue that Salty would be a better first base option than the switch-hitting Teixeira at this point. Elvis Andrus is the shortstop phenom that Braves' fans have been dreaming about for a couple years. Better than Escobar? I don't think so, plus, Yunel's performance raises the possibility of dealing Renteria for another quality starting pitcher (Jon Garland-type, if not actually Garland?). The attentive baserunning Escobar pulled against the Dbacks a couple of nights ago says that this kid has things that just can't be taught. Have you ever seen anyone steal second after reaching before another pitch is made? Me, either. The trade did not demand the top rung of pitching prospects, either. I can't find how this is a bad deal, and if Teixeira is a rental, he's a rental through 2008.
This looks to me an awful lot like the arrival of Fred McGriff in 1993, which helped lead to the 1995 World Series Championship. It may not take that long this time.
The Mets and all others who aspire to winning the National League won't sleep quite as well tonight. Or the rest of the season.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Therapeutic Ranting
We are in just one hell of a mess.
We have a Vice President who is a bald-faced liar, continuing to perpetuate the complete and total fiction that Iraq was in bed with Al Qaeda in the planning and execution of the September 11, 2001 attacks.
We have an Attorney General who is either profoundly brain damaged, or another bald-faced liar, contending through his obfuscation that the United States Congress has no oversight role in the function of our government.
We have a couple of new Supreme Court justices who have tipped the balance in favor of the lunatic fringe, laying the groundwork just this summer for a return to the idiotic principle of "Separate but Equal" that never, ever, for even one day, was, in the days of segregated schools.
We have a Congress that lacks the anatomy to do what they were elected to do last November, which was to remove our children from Iraq, and stop killing the children of Iraq.
And all of these points go back to the fact that we have an Occupied White House, held by a man who was never elected to his position, having subverted the constitutional electoral process in 2000 (Florida) and 2004 (Ohio); who appointed people throughout his government who have no discernable principle other than loyalty to their Fakir-in-Chief; who employs his Gomer Pyle persona to persuade the unbelievably gullible that he's just a good ole regular guy; who has destroyed America's historic standing in the world by the implementation of the bullying tactics of history's worst dictators, and who has made us into that pariah in the name of his bizarre interpretation of the Christian faith, which has no basis in scripture or over 2,000 years of tradition; who has, in violation of the Constitution that he swore to uphold, jailed American citizens without due process, counsel or trial; who has, in violation of the Constitution that he swore to uphold, used the CIA within our borders and the FBI outside them; who has, in violation of the Constitution that he swore to uphold, spied on American citizens while refusing to report his activities to the congress; who has, for the first and only time in our history, endorsed and encouraged the use of torture on prisoners in our custody; who has cried wolf over "Impending Terrorist Attacks" every single time that things have gotten a little sticky for him or any of his lackeys due to their abuses of power, incompetence, malfeasance, arrogance and just plain stupidity; who has continued to insist, about his half-assed, failed policy in Iraq, that we "just give it time" to work, and this, when his war has already lasted longer than it took FDR, Truman, Eisenhower and MacArthur to liberate Europe, Africa and Asia from the Axis Powers (the REAL Axis of Evil); and who persists in all this in spite of the fact that America has turned its collective back on him, declaring that he is the worst President we have ever seen.
And, perhaps worst of all, this gang of thugs and miscreants have gotten away with all of this because our Press has surrendered their obligation to inform, and therefore protect, the public so that they might cover Paris' latest sex tape, Lindsay's latest arrest, Britney's latest meltdown, and who's screwing who in Hollywood tonight. And for this meaningless crap, they forfeit the opportunity to expose the screwing that we, as a nation, have taken for the last six and one-half years.
God help us. Because we still don't seem to feel like helping ourselves.
We have a Vice President who is a bald-faced liar, continuing to perpetuate the complete and total fiction that Iraq was in bed with Al Qaeda in the planning and execution of the September 11, 2001 attacks.
We have an Attorney General who is either profoundly brain damaged, or another bald-faced liar, contending through his obfuscation that the United States Congress has no oversight role in the function of our government.
We have a couple of new Supreme Court justices who have tipped the balance in favor of the lunatic fringe, laying the groundwork just this summer for a return to the idiotic principle of "Separate but Equal" that never, ever, for even one day, was, in the days of segregated schools.
We have a Congress that lacks the anatomy to do what they were elected to do last November, which was to remove our children from Iraq, and stop killing the children of Iraq.
And all of these points go back to the fact that we have an Occupied White House, held by a man who was never elected to his position, having subverted the constitutional electoral process in 2000 (Florida) and 2004 (Ohio); who appointed people throughout his government who have no discernable principle other than loyalty to their Fakir-in-Chief; who employs his Gomer Pyle persona to persuade the unbelievably gullible that he's just a good ole regular guy; who has destroyed America's historic standing in the world by the implementation of the bullying tactics of history's worst dictators, and who has made us into that pariah in the name of his bizarre interpretation of the Christian faith, which has no basis in scripture or over 2,000 years of tradition; who has, in violation of the Constitution that he swore to uphold, jailed American citizens without due process, counsel or trial; who has, in violation of the Constitution that he swore to uphold, used the CIA within our borders and the FBI outside them; who has, in violation of the Constitution that he swore to uphold, spied on American citizens while refusing to report his activities to the congress; who has, for the first and only time in our history, endorsed and encouraged the use of torture on prisoners in our custody; who has cried wolf over "Impending Terrorist Attacks" every single time that things have gotten a little sticky for him or any of his lackeys due to their abuses of power, incompetence, malfeasance, arrogance and just plain stupidity; who has continued to insist, about his half-assed, failed policy in Iraq, that we "just give it time" to work, and this, when his war has already lasted longer than it took FDR, Truman, Eisenhower and MacArthur to liberate Europe, Africa and Asia from the Axis Powers (the REAL Axis of Evil); and who persists in all this in spite of the fact that America has turned its collective back on him, declaring that he is the worst President we have ever seen.
And, perhaps worst of all, this gang of thugs and miscreants have gotten away with all of this because our Press has surrendered their obligation to inform, and therefore protect, the public so that they might cover Paris' latest sex tape, Lindsay's latest arrest, Britney's latest meltdown, and who's screwing who in Hollywood tonight. And for this meaningless crap, they forfeit the opportunity to expose the screwing that we, as a nation, have taken for the last six and one-half years.
God help us. Because we still don't seem to feel like helping ourselves.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
A Beautiful Moment in a Lousy Sports Week
Want to be a Major Sport Commissioner? Really? Who would have thought on Opening Day that baseball's boss had the best job? Somehow, steroid-taking baseball players don't seem the worst when grouped with dog-fighting football players and game-throwing basketball referees.
Need a shower? A little sweetness and light? I got you covered!
Jon Lester won tonight. Oh, sure, he had a "W" by his name when the game was done, but he got the win just by taking the mound in the bottom of the first in Cleveland.
Eleven months ago tonight, Lester won the seventh game of his rookie season for the Boston Red Sox, against only two losses. After the next day's game against the Angels, the Sox flew to Lester's hometown, Seattle, for a series with the Mariners. His dad met him at the airport, took a look at him, and wanted to know what was wrong. His back was hurting. Probably just strained something. The next morning, it was worse. And, thank God, John Lester decided that his son was going to the doctor. The doctor was Mr. Lester's brother, an MRI was quickly ordered, and the problem was identified: Jon Lester, 22 year old Rookie of the Year candidate, had anaplastic large cell lymphoma.
How does a 22 year old kid deal with that news? How do parents deal with hearing that news about their kid? Very, very well, it turns out.
Jon began a treatment regimen that meant six rounds of chemotherapy. And more prayers than can be counted by anyone who wasn't the recipient of those pleas. And a committed determination that he would be ready for Opening Day.
Cancer-free by December, he reported to Fort Myers in February. Theo Epstein and Tito Francona showed their integrity by telling Lester that they would not put him on the major league roster until everyone was sure that he was ready. He didn't need the extra pressure. He just needed to be well.
Tonight, he was.
The fine, attentive fans of the Cleveland Indians applauded the opposing pitcher when he came out for the bottom of the first. They knew he won just by walking out between the white lines.
His parents, John and Kathie, were on ESPN 2 almost as much as Jon was tonight. Dad's adam's apple was shaky all night, while mom's face spent a lot of time in her hands. They knew, better than anyone, that he won before he ever threw a pitch.
At the end of the evening, the linescore was great, but almost meaningless. The transforming journey from Jon Lester, cancer victim, to Jon Lester, cancer survivor was complete. And that of Jon Lester, disabled lister, to Jon Lester, starting pitcher for the Boston Red Sox.
He was Jon Lester, Winner, before the final score was ever posted.
Thanks, Jon, from all the sports fans in America! We needed you tonight. In the middle of a dark time, your story is a beacon of light that is everything that's good about sport and life. Keep going, kid!
Need a shower? A little sweetness and light? I got you covered!
Jon Lester won tonight. Oh, sure, he had a "W" by his name when the game was done, but he got the win just by taking the mound in the bottom of the first in Cleveland.
Eleven months ago tonight, Lester won the seventh game of his rookie season for the Boston Red Sox, against only two losses. After the next day's game against the Angels, the Sox flew to Lester's hometown, Seattle, for a series with the Mariners. His dad met him at the airport, took a look at him, and wanted to know what was wrong. His back was hurting. Probably just strained something. The next morning, it was worse. And, thank God, John Lester decided that his son was going to the doctor. The doctor was Mr. Lester's brother, an MRI was quickly ordered, and the problem was identified: Jon Lester, 22 year old Rookie of the Year candidate, had anaplastic large cell lymphoma.
How does a 22 year old kid deal with that news? How do parents deal with hearing that news about their kid? Very, very well, it turns out.
Jon began a treatment regimen that meant six rounds of chemotherapy. And more prayers than can be counted by anyone who wasn't the recipient of those pleas. And a committed determination that he would be ready for Opening Day.
Cancer-free by December, he reported to Fort Myers in February. Theo Epstein and Tito Francona showed their integrity by telling Lester that they would not put him on the major league roster until everyone was sure that he was ready. He didn't need the extra pressure. He just needed to be well.
Tonight, he was.
The fine, attentive fans of the Cleveland Indians applauded the opposing pitcher when he came out for the bottom of the first. They knew he won just by walking out between the white lines.
His parents, John and Kathie, were on ESPN 2 almost as much as Jon was tonight. Dad's adam's apple was shaky all night, while mom's face spent a lot of time in her hands. They knew, better than anyone, that he won before he ever threw a pitch.
At the end of the evening, the linescore was great, but almost meaningless. The transforming journey from Jon Lester, cancer victim, to Jon Lester, cancer survivor was complete. And that of Jon Lester, disabled lister, to Jon Lester, starting pitcher for the Boston Red Sox.
He was Jon Lester, Winner, before the final score was ever posted.
Thanks, Jon, from all the sports fans in America! We needed you tonight. In the middle of a dark time, your story is a beacon of light that is everything that's good about sport and life. Keep going, kid!
Monday, July 16, 2007
Frank, Junior and Arod: A Hero, Missed Opportunities, and All That's Wrong with Sports Today
Frank Robinson has dropped another spot on the All Time Home Run list. Forever, in my baseball life, the names and numbers were as familiar as the back of the proverbial hand: The Hammer, 755; The Babe 714; The Say Hey Kid, 660; and Frank Robinson, 586. Frank Robinson didn't have a nickname. He didn't need one. Probably wouldn't put up with one. You see, Frank is the definition of the no-nonsense guy. If Hank Aaron is a "What you see is what you get" person, then Frank would extend that to say, "And if you don't like it, that's your problem." Frank was, and is, tough. He was born in Beaumont, TX, in 1935, and grew up in Oakland, attending High School with basketball's absolute version of himself: Bill Russell. Frank spent his productive years in Cincinnati and Baltimore, two hard-working, blue collar cities with the same work ethic he embodies. He was a black player in the still-early days of black players in both cities. Near the end of his playing days, he landed in Cleveland, another tough town. There, a year after Hank Aaron broke Babe Ruth's record, Frank became the first black manager of a Major League Baseball team. The Indians weren't very good, but under Frank, they played hard and they played the right way. He wouldn't accept anything else. He managed beyond his 70th birthday with the Washington Nationals. He wanted a three year contract after the 2006 season. The new ownership wanted a younger man. How's that working out for you?
Frank Robinson won Rookie of the Year in 1956. He was National League MVP in 1961, and American League MVP in 1966. He remains the only man to win the award in both leagues. He won the Triple Crown in the American League in 1966, and was World Series MVP in that year. A twelve-time All Star, he was MVP of that game in 1971. And was fourth on the Home Run list.
Now, he has been passed by Barry Bonds, Sammy Sosa and Ken Griffey, Jr., but only on the Home Run list. Because on the All Time Quality Human Being list, there may be others there tied with him, but Frank Robinson will always be on top.
Bonds is about the pass Aaron for the most homers. It should have been Junior.
Ken Griffey, Jr. had it all. He grew up in the game, spending his childhood in the clubhouse of The Big Red Machine. Not bad training for a future big leaguer! He looks like a movie star. He arrived in Seattle as one of the genuinely charming people in the game. Always smiling, always having fun playing a kid's game. He was a kid at the start. He played the outfield next to his dad. They homered back to back one night. It was hard to tell who was happier, the father basking in his son's accomplishment, or the son proving to dad he belonged.
He was blessed with that beautifully fluid swing that seems to grace one or two left-handed hitters per generation. Natural power, as though he had memorized Ted Williams' The Science of Hitting with its evangelistic call to practice that slight uppercut to unleash the long ball. And he was, if anything, more spectacular to watch in the outfield than in the batters' box. Speed, agility, that instinct for reading the ball off the bat that mere mortals cannot comprehend. Griffey, like Mays earlier, and Andruw Jones later, seemed to hear the ball strike the bat before it happened, seemed to be in motion as the pitcher released his offering.
He just can't stay healthy. Junior has played in 150 games only six times in his now 19 year long career, and not once since 1999. He has had many seasons cut short, seasons when he has missed 20, 51, 90, 22,51, 92, 109, 79, 34 and 53 games. That's 601. For all intents and purposes, that's four years. And four more full seasons at his level of performance means he shouldn't just now be passing Frank Robinson; he should have been looking back at Aaron, and Bonds, for the last year and a half.
Again, Whittier is appropriate: "For all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these 'It might have been'."
And Mr. Rodriguez. I'll lay aside the MFY issues. How much is enough?
Alex is a great player, probably the one who will ultimately put the Home Run record out of reach for several generations, and by all accounts will do it honestly and legally. But he's already the highest paid player in the game, on the highest paying team in the game. He is in the city that is the center of the sports, and business, universe, on the greatest team in professional sport anywhere on earth. And it doesn't seem to be enough.
It's easy to blame things on the agent. Especially when that agent is Scott Boras. The only faces that make me turn my television quicker than Boras' are those of his fellow destroyer of sport, Drew Rosenhaus, and our dear Moron-in-Chief. Boras is a lousy human being, one who makes Gordon Gecko (Michael Douglas' character in Wall Street) look like a big cuddly teddy bear. But none of those guys make the athletes do anything. All decisions are approved by the client.
Arod should honor the contract. It just ain't like he's suffering. When you are still the highest paid player, years after Tom Hicks' brain fart caused him to outbid everybody else by 8 or 9 million dollars PER YEAR, it just out to be adequate.
Just play the game. You have resented how people-press and fans-have focused on the money. If you opt out, you're going to reveal yourself as even more of a hypocrite. It will declare for all time that the money is all that ever mattered to you, too.
Just play the game. You still have time to make us all forget the contract. I expect that the baseball world will be rooting hard for you to replace Bonds atop the Home Run chart. And you can do it. Barring catastrophic injury, you'll get there with years to spare. You can't spend all the money you've already made. Hell, your great-grandchildren can't spend all the money you've already made. Unless you keep getting photographed with women who do not resemble Mrs. Rodriguez in the least. In that case, you might want the number for Kobe Bryant's jeweler. But let this cash grab go. We know it's not just Boras. If it happens, it is clearly what you want. And for God's sake, you're playing for Steinbrenner. He won't allow anyone to fork over a bigger pile of cash than his. Fulfill your contract. Be the first Yankee, apart from Joe Torre, to show some character since Yogi walked away in the 80's.
Frank Robinson won Rookie of the Year in 1956. He was National League MVP in 1961, and American League MVP in 1966. He remains the only man to win the award in both leagues. He won the Triple Crown in the American League in 1966, and was World Series MVP in that year. A twelve-time All Star, he was MVP of that game in 1971. And was fourth on the Home Run list.
Now, he has been passed by Barry Bonds, Sammy Sosa and Ken Griffey, Jr., but only on the Home Run list. Because on the All Time Quality Human Being list, there may be others there tied with him, but Frank Robinson will always be on top.
Bonds is about the pass Aaron for the most homers. It should have been Junior.
Ken Griffey, Jr. had it all. He grew up in the game, spending his childhood in the clubhouse of The Big Red Machine. Not bad training for a future big leaguer! He looks like a movie star. He arrived in Seattle as one of the genuinely charming people in the game. Always smiling, always having fun playing a kid's game. He was a kid at the start. He played the outfield next to his dad. They homered back to back one night. It was hard to tell who was happier, the father basking in his son's accomplishment, or the son proving to dad he belonged.
He was blessed with that beautifully fluid swing that seems to grace one or two left-handed hitters per generation. Natural power, as though he had memorized Ted Williams' The Science of Hitting with its evangelistic call to practice that slight uppercut to unleash the long ball. And he was, if anything, more spectacular to watch in the outfield than in the batters' box. Speed, agility, that instinct for reading the ball off the bat that mere mortals cannot comprehend. Griffey, like Mays earlier, and Andruw Jones later, seemed to hear the ball strike the bat before it happened, seemed to be in motion as the pitcher released his offering.
He just can't stay healthy. Junior has played in 150 games only six times in his now 19 year long career, and not once since 1999. He has had many seasons cut short, seasons when he has missed 20, 51, 90, 22,51, 92, 109, 79, 34 and 53 games. That's 601. For all intents and purposes, that's four years. And four more full seasons at his level of performance means he shouldn't just now be passing Frank Robinson; he should have been looking back at Aaron, and Bonds, for the last year and a half.
Again, Whittier is appropriate: "For all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these 'It might have been'."
And Mr. Rodriguez. I'll lay aside the MFY issues. How much is enough?
Alex is a great player, probably the one who will ultimately put the Home Run record out of reach for several generations, and by all accounts will do it honestly and legally. But he's already the highest paid player in the game, on the highest paying team in the game. He is in the city that is the center of the sports, and business, universe, on the greatest team in professional sport anywhere on earth. And it doesn't seem to be enough.
It's easy to blame things on the agent. Especially when that agent is Scott Boras. The only faces that make me turn my television quicker than Boras' are those of his fellow destroyer of sport, Drew Rosenhaus, and our dear Moron-in-Chief. Boras is a lousy human being, one who makes Gordon Gecko (Michael Douglas' character in Wall Street) look like a big cuddly teddy bear. But none of those guys make the athletes do anything. All decisions are approved by the client.
Arod should honor the contract. It just ain't like he's suffering. When you are still the highest paid player, years after Tom Hicks' brain fart caused him to outbid everybody else by 8 or 9 million dollars PER YEAR, it just out to be adequate.
Just play the game. You have resented how people-press and fans-have focused on the money. If you opt out, you're going to reveal yourself as even more of a hypocrite. It will declare for all time that the money is all that ever mattered to you, too.
Just play the game. You still have time to make us all forget the contract. I expect that the baseball world will be rooting hard for you to replace Bonds atop the Home Run chart. And you can do it. Barring catastrophic injury, you'll get there with years to spare. You can't spend all the money you've already made. Hell, your great-grandchildren can't spend all the money you've already made. Unless you keep getting photographed with women who do not resemble Mrs. Rodriguez in the least. In that case, you might want the number for Kobe Bryant's jeweler. But let this cash grab go. We know it's not just Boras. If it happens, it is clearly what you want. And for God's sake, you're playing for Steinbrenner. He won't allow anyone to fork over a bigger pile of cash than his. Fulfill your contract. Be the first Yankee, apart from Joe Torre, to show some character since Yogi walked away in the 80's.
Friday, July 13, 2007
OK, So Life's Not Always About Baseball
I do love the game. It's just taken a back seat lately.
My daughters have moved home.
One is going to college this fall, and has issues with things at her other parent's house that have nothing to do with me, and no interest for me.
The other has come home after some time wandering in the wilderness.
And I am the happiest guy on the planet.
There was significant conflict, post-divorce, a few years ago. I appealed to our judge for relief. He appointed a guardian ad litem. That's a lawyer who can't make a living on his/her own, and has time on their hands to take assignments for the court. In our case, an African-American woman was assigned. She interviewed everyone in sight, including my children. Her report agreed that everything that I alleged had actually happened, and in specifically the way I alleged it had happened. In fact, more than I had alleged had happened. These extra facts only came to light because I had the good sense, and generous brother, to hire a good lawyer the second time through this case. I was given everything I asked for, EVERYTHING, but the final step of moving my children to my home. There was just no way, out of her culture, that the African-American woman with the time on her hands to be a guardian ad litem was going to remove two young girls from their mother's home. She was ok finding that they had been mistreated in all kinds of ways, but she wouldn't move them. So I did the best I could under the circumstances.
I have to say, I feel tremendously validated by my grown daughters' choice to live in my home.
The overwhelming majority of us stumble through life doing the best we can figure at any given moment in raising our children. I made my mistakes. I don't know anyone who hasn't. I'd love to revisit a few moments here and there and get another shot at some things. But on the whole, I am proud of my performance when it comes to my kids.
The whole time they were growing up, I sacrificed money and prestige to stay in the specific area where my girls were. I went on every field trip the older one had in school, and missed only one that the younger one had. I was almost always the only dad in sight. It was educational sitting in rooms while uncomfortable teachers addressed us parents as "Moms, thank you for coming today," "Ladies, we'll need to keep the children together," "Mothers, if you have any questions..."
I arranged my working life to have time, every day, to pick my girls up from school and spend time with them until their mother got home from work. 2:15 to 6 isn't full time, but it beats the heck out of every other weekend. I'm proud of that effort.
And now, I have pretty strong evidence that it means something to my daughters to have known that Dad is always here, always reliable, always with an open door. I haven't been willing to worship at the altar of "Don't damage their self-esteem no matter what." I have been honest with them at times when they didn't want to hear it, and when no one else in their lives would tell them the truth. I've been accused of being hard and tough. Guilty. Sometimes people in their late teens and early twenties need nothing in this world more than someone who will tell them the truth, even if it seems to interrupt the relationship for a while. Because in the end, they will learn who told them the truth and who didn't. And that matters. You can't trust people who don't tell you the truth.
I am grateful for all the blessings that have graced my life, and I know exactly where they have come from. But after the saving work of Christ, having my kids at home, under my roof at the end of the day, at a time when it is totally their choice to be here, is the greatest gift that I have ever received.
My daughters have moved home.
One is going to college this fall, and has issues with things at her other parent's house that have nothing to do with me, and no interest for me.
The other has come home after some time wandering in the wilderness.
And I am the happiest guy on the planet.
There was significant conflict, post-divorce, a few years ago. I appealed to our judge for relief. He appointed a guardian ad litem. That's a lawyer who can't make a living on his/her own, and has time on their hands to take assignments for the court. In our case, an African-American woman was assigned. She interviewed everyone in sight, including my children. Her report agreed that everything that I alleged had actually happened, and in specifically the way I alleged it had happened. In fact, more than I had alleged had happened. These extra facts only came to light because I had the good sense, and generous brother, to hire a good lawyer the second time through this case. I was given everything I asked for, EVERYTHING, but the final step of moving my children to my home. There was just no way, out of her culture, that the African-American woman with the time on her hands to be a guardian ad litem was going to remove two young girls from their mother's home. She was ok finding that they had been mistreated in all kinds of ways, but she wouldn't move them. So I did the best I could under the circumstances.
I have to say, I feel tremendously validated by my grown daughters' choice to live in my home.
The overwhelming majority of us stumble through life doing the best we can figure at any given moment in raising our children. I made my mistakes. I don't know anyone who hasn't. I'd love to revisit a few moments here and there and get another shot at some things. But on the whole, I am proud of my performance when it comes to my kids.
The whole time they were growing up, I sacrificed money and prestige to stay in the specific area where my girls were. I went on every field trip the older one had in school, and missed only one that the younger one had. I was almost always the only dad in sight. It was educational sitting in rooms while uncomfortable teachers addressed us parents as "Moms, thank you for coming today," "Ladies, we'll need to keep the children together," "Mothers, if you have any questions..."
I arranged my working life to have time, every day, to pick my girls up from school and spend time with them until their mother got home from work. 2:15 to 6 isn't full time, but it beats the heck out of every other weekend. I'm proud of that effort.
And now, I have pretty strong evidence that it means something to my daughters to have known that Dad is always here, always reliable, always with an open door. I haven't been willing to worship at the altar of "Don't damage their self-esteem no matter what." I have been honest with them at times when they didn't want to hear it, and when no one else in their lives would tell them the truth. I've been accused of being hard and tough. Guilty. Sometimes people in their late teens and early twenties need nothing in this world more than someone who will tell them the truth, even if it seems to interrupt the relationship for a while. Because in the end, they will learn who told them the truth and who didn't. And that matters. You can't trust people who don't tell you the truth.
I am grateful for all the blessings that have graced my life, and I know exactly where they have come from. But after the saving work of Christ, having my kids at home, under my roof at the end of the day, at a time when it is totally their choice to be here, is the greatest gift that I have ever received.
Monday, June 18, 2007
My Old Boys
The season started out very, very well. The over-40 crowd was representing, bit time. Curt Schilling, Tom Glavine, Barry Bonds, Greg Maddux, Jamie Moyer and John Smoltz all looked great early on. There were lots of comments from adoring announcers and analysts about the turning back of the clock, the defeat of Father Time and so forth. All that, and the Rocket was on the way!
Now, we're edging toward the half-way mark of the season. Smoltz may be headed to the DL with shoulder trouble. Glavine and Schilling are suddenly looking like they are very, very tired. Curt has been particularly bad in the starts since he carried the no-hitter into the 9th, giving up 5 earned in 5 innings and 6 earned in 4. Maybe pitchers in their 40's need to be six inning pitchers, period. Moyer's team is so bad you can't tell if it's him or them. Bonds' knees remembered how fragile they really are. Clemens' return was delayed by a barking groin, the same issue that has plagued him for the last two seasons.
April was a blast, but June is getting hot and humid and hard. And Dan Haren (26), Josh Beckett (27), Mark Buehrle (28) and Carlos Zambrano (26) are looking a whole lot better than the old guys. And Prince Fielder (23) is pointing the way, not Bonds. Experience matters. They have to learn how to play. But baseball, like much of life, is a young man's game.
Hang in there, my 40-plus brothers! The rest of us need you to tell us we're still young (enough), too.
And God Bless Julio Franco!
Now, we're edging toward the half-way mark of the season. Smoltz may be headed to the DL with shoulder trouble. Glavine and Schilling are suddenly looking like they are very, very tired. Curt has been particularly bad in the starts since he carried the no-hitter into the 9th, giving up 5 earned in 5 innings and 6 earned in 4. Maybe pitchers in their 40's need to be six inning pitchers, period. Moyer's team is so bad you can't tell if it's him or them. Bonds' knees remembered how fragile they really are. Clemens' return was delayed by a barking groin, the same issue that has plagued him for the last two seasons.
April was a blast, but June is getting hot and humid and hard. And Dan Haren (26), Josh Beckett (27), Mark Buehrle (28) and Carlos Zambrano (26) are looking a whole lot better than the old guys. And Prince Fielder (23) is pointing the way, not Bonds. Experience matters. They have to learn how to play. But baseball, like much of life, is a young man's game.
Hang in there, my 40-plus brothers! The rest of us need you to tell us we're still young (enough), too.
And God Bless Julio Franco!
Friday, June 08, 2007
Tired of Fighting
I was once, briefly, that neither-fish-nor-fowl creature known as an Associate Pastor. I wouldn't wish that curse upon anyone, but this week a statement from that year kept coming to mind. The church in question is one of those that has spent most of its life at war with itself. My authority is a now deceased colleague who sought to comfort me during that time with the assurance that it wasn't me, it was them. "I was their pastor during World War II," he said in the late 1980's, "and they were doing the same thing then." The reason for the conversation was that when the rabid of the congregation failed to muster the required vote to dump the Senior Pastor, they decided to punish him by getting me. That worked. And he was sad. But I was crushed.
Shortly after the committee vote, one of the very fine members of that church came by my office and apologized. "I'm sorry, but we're just tired of fighting," he told me with tears in his eyes, explaining why the good folks let the thing happen. Then, at 28, I couldn't imagine what he was talking about. I probably felt worse about him in that moment than I did about the lout that had pushed the whole thing.
Now, at 46, I already understand. And I'm nowhere near the 74 years of age that the tired old man was when he came to speak with me.
Annual Conference makes me tired. It is migraine week, every year. I don't want to spend hours at a time arguing about which motion has to be made first to suspend a Standing Rule that should only be suspended in moments of genuine import, not whenever one of our Permanent Dopes has a "Gee, I haven't been to the microphone yet" moment, and wants to reinvent the cross. I'm fed up with those who try, every year, to find some point over which to attack our Treasurer, or one of the Superintendents, or the Bishop. In spite of my perpetual frustrations with many of those people, trying to embarass them on the floor of Annual Conference is just rude, and it always has the impact that a divorced mom or dad has when badmouthing the other parent to the kids: it just makes the talker look awful.
And I'm tired of people who either don't have a clue what they are talking about, or are pandering to the base. Case in point: our debate on Global Warming. The guy who brought the motion is one of those important people who thinks that we can't vote on anything without everyone knowing how he feels about it. (I don't speak on the floor of Conference, ever, period!) For once, however, he had something right. There is, or course, Global Warming. We are, of course, aggravating the condition terribly. We must, of course, stop it. That's pretty much all the darned motion said. A colleague who I've always considered a bright guy jumped up and proposed castrating the already impotent motion because "there is debate over the science."
There is also debate over the relationship of smoking to lung cancer. Among the "scientists" bought and paid for by the Tobacco Institute. And debate rages over the presence of WMDs and pre-9/11 al Qaeda in Iraq. Between Cheney and the rest of the world. And in the year when even the Kansas legislature sobered up and stopped their creationism over evolution hysteria, the question is heavily debated, between the real world and the goof in Kentucky who has opened a (I kid you not) Museum of Creationism.
I don't know if our guy is serious (scary) or just pandering to where he thinks his bread is buttered (disgusting). He is a ladder-climber, always dressed and coiffed like a preacher, and wearing the bemused face of the televangelist. Another colleague was once asked, in my presence, where he was going to lead the congregation he was about to be appointed to serve. "Where ever they want to go" was the sickening answer. The statement might be the motto of this week's amender.
I'm afraid that we just like our semi-Middle Class lives a little too much these days. Hey, boys and girls, I've been moved at a salary loss in each of my last three moves, a total loss of over $30,000. It hasn't been fun, economically. But I haven't had to go searching for my lost integrity, not even once. And when I have had trouble sleeping at night, it hasn't once been because I was afraid I had sold out to get ahead.
We are called to be faithful. Sometimes that means prophetic. And by definition, that means we are going to get into trouble with some people. I'll let you in on a little secret: you want to be in trouble with those who will be angry with you for being faithful. Once while on the staff of our retirement homes, I was with one of our site managers while she counseled a resident about his racial abuse of some of our staff. My friend, one of the great people I've ever known, was about 50, and a beautiful African-American woman. She was patient and thorough with the man. He waited until she was finished, looked the two of us over, and told us that he could straighten out all of this "race business" if we would just let him bring his nephew up from Alabama to talk to us. Seems his nephew was the Grand Dragon of the Klan in good ol' Bama. She didn't blink, didn't take the bait, so he turned to me. "So you're just a n-lover" he accused in one of the South's nasty little endearments. My always gracious response: "You just violated the rules as they have been shared with you, sir, so as far as I'm concerned, you are evicted!" At that point, he took a step toward me, as menacingly as an 82 year old man can muster. In that moment, I genuinely wished that he had hit me. In a moment of a complete lack of Christian charity, I told him to go ahead, but his first punch better be a good one. I was sick of listening to him call my staff people every vulgar name in the book, hit them with his cane, accuse them of stealing from him when he was just too old to remember where he had put anything. "You ain't much preacher" he told me. I thanked him. He said it wasn't a compliment. I told him it was. He asked how. I explained that as far as I was concerned, what I would have to be to be a good preacher in his eyes made it a compliment for him to acknowledge that I wasn't that. He never did get it.
Neither do far too many of my clergy brothers. (Yes, brothers; overwhelmingly, my clergy sisters do get it) Either they have never allowed the gospel to change them, or they have, but don't want to rattle the cages of those loud ones who may try to move them for a prophetic witness. To those brothers: come on, boys, grow a set. It just isn't worth keeping any particular pulpit to sell Jesus Christ and his gospel down the river.
Wow. Maybe I'm not as tired of fighting as I thought I was.
Shortly after the committee vote, one of the very fine members of that church came by my office and apologized. "I'm sorry, but we're just tired of fighting," he told me with tears in his eyes, explaining why the good folks let the thing happen. Then, at 28, I couldn't imagine what he was talking about. I probably felt worse about him in that moment than I did about the lout that had pushed the whole thing.
Now, at 46, I already understand. And I'm nowhere near the 74 years of age that the tired old man was when he came to speak with me.
Annual Conference makes me tired. It is migraine week, every year. I don't want to spend hours at a time arguing about which motion has to be made first to suspend a Standing Rule that should only be suspended in moments of genuine import, not whenever one of our Permanent Dopes has a "Gee, I haven't been to the microphone yet" moment, and wants to reinvent the cross. I'm fed up with those who try, every year, to find some point over which to attack our Treasurer, or one of the Superintendents, or the Bishop. In spite of my perpetual frustrations with many of those people, trying to embarass them on the floor of Annual Conference is just rude, and it always has the impact that a divorced mom or dad has when badmouthing the other parent to the kids: it just makes the talker look awful.
And I'm tired of people who either don't have a clue what they are talking about, or are pandering to the base. Case in point: our debate on Global Warming. The guy who brought the motion is one of those important people who thinks that we can't vote on anything without everyone knowing how he feels about it. (I don't speak on the floor of Conference, ever, period!) For once, however, he had something right. There is, or course, Global Warming. We are, of course, aggravating the condition terribly. We must, of course, stop it. That's pretty much all the darned motion said. A colleague who I've always considered a bright guy jumped up and proposed castrating the already impotent motion because "there is debate over the science."
There is also debate over the relationship of smoking to lung cancer. Among the "scientists" bought and paid for by the Tobacco Institute. And debate rages over the presence of WMDs and pre-9/11 al Qaeda in Iraq. Between Cheney and the rest of the world. And in the year when even the Kansas legislature sobered up and stopped their creationism over evolution hysteria, the question is heavily debated, between the real world and the goof in Kentucky who has opened a (I kid you not) Museum of Creationism.
I don't know if our guy is serious (scary) or just pandering to where he thinks his bread is buttered (disgusting). He is a ladder-climber, always dressed and coiffed like a preacher, and wearing the bemused face of the televangelist. Another colleague was once asked, in my presence, where he was going to lead the congregation he was about to be appointed to serve. "Where ever they want to go" was the sickening answer. The statement might be the motto of this week's amender.
I'm afraid that we just like our semi-Middle Class lives a little too much these days. Hey, boys and girls, I've been moved at a salary loss in each of my last three moves, a total loss of over $30,000. It hasn't been fun, economically. But I haven't had to go searching for my lost integrity, not even once. And when I have had trouble sleeping at night, it hasn't once been because I was afraid I had sold out to get ahead.
We are called to be faithful. Sometimes that means prophetic. And by definition, that means we are going to get into trouble with some people. I'll let you in on a little secret: you want to be in trouble with those who will be angry with you for being faithful. Once while on the staff of our retirement homes, I was with one of our site managers while she counseled a resident about his racial abuse of some of our staff. My friend, one of the great people I've ever known, was about 50, and a beautiful African-American woman. She was patient and thorough with the man. He waited until she was finished, looked the two of us over, and told us that he could straighten out all of this "race business" if we would just let him bring his nephew up from Alabama to talk to us. Seems his nephew was the Grand Dragon of the Klan in good ol' Bama. She didn't blink, didn't take the bait, so he turned to me. "So you're just a n-lover" he accused in one of the South's nasty little endearments. My always gracious response: "You just violated the rules as they have been shared with you, sir, so as far as I'm concerned, you are evicted!" At that point, he took a step toward me, as menacingly as an 82 year old man can muster. In that moment, I genuinely wished that he had hit me. In a moment of a complete lack of Christian charity, I told him to go ahead, but his first punch better be a good one. I was sick of listening to him call my staff people every vulgar name in the book, hit them with his cane, accuse them of stealing from him when he was just too old to remember where he had put anything. "You ain't much preacher" he told me. I thanked him. He said it wasn't a compliment. I told him it was. He asked how. I explained that as far as I was concerned, what I would have to be to be a good preacher in his eyes made it a compliment for him to acknowledge that I wasn't that. He never did get it.
Neither do far too many of my clergy brothers. (Yes, brothers; overwhelmingly, my clergy sisters do get it) Either they have never allowed the gospel to change them, or they have, but don't want to rattle the cages of those loud ones who may try to move them for a prophetic witness. To those brothers: come on, boys, grow a set. It just isn't worth keeping any particular pulpit to sell Jesus Christ and his gospel down the river.
Wow. Maybe I'm not as tired of fighting as I thought I was.
Monday, June 04, 2007
God Told Me
I frequently feel that I'm a man without a country. I'm a Red Sox fan in Cardinals' territory. I'm a profoundly Blue State person in an incredibly Red Community and State. And I'm a suspicious Christian or a Christian skeptic, whichever you prefer.
I'm not proud of this last. I have, throughout the adult portion of my life (which really did begin sometime before noon today) struggled with the problem of being a connectional Christian who thinks for himself. There is, deep in my bones, a sense of "ought to" when it comes to trusting my superiors. I just can't bring myself to do it. Another argument jumped atop my woodpile yesterday.
My cousin is one of a handful of brilliant, genuinely brilliant, minds in our Conference. She is an effective preacher. She is a dedicated and thorough pastor. She is precisely the kind of person you want right there if your kid just had a car crash, your spouse just bailed on you, or a doctor had bad news about that lump you found in the shower this morning. She is one year into a pastorate where the congregation has accepted her (no small issue for a woman pastor in a southern state), and she loves them.
In his infinite wisdom, our leader is moving her. He needs a place for a goober who can't get along with anyone, can't preach a lick, doesn't particularly want to work and doesn't have a clue why that's a problem. My cousin, meanwhile, is being sent to the most intolerant county in our Conference, a place where blacks, hispanics and Jews are not welcome, Catholics are barely tolerated, and women pastors are automatically stigmatized.
This is the reward for being an effective servant of the gospel? This is the return for a good year's work in a difficult church? Some will answer, well there is that "take up your cross" thing. But there is also an issue of justice. And an issue of trauma to a church that has had a tough history. And a family that just moved a year ago.
Of course, life is complicated. Our Supreme Leader likes to appoint women to "historic" work. Oddly, it seems to be physically attractive, petite-sized women that this 60-ish fellow likes to put in "historic" work. My cousin, like me and much of our family, isn't small, nor is she a cute girly-type woman who knows (or cares) how to make middle-aged men feel good about themselves. So she is jerked out of a church that wants to keep her--again, after one year--serving under this bishop who has proclaimed that he is appointing us for five year terms, barring something catastrophic. Like needing a place for the goober described above, I guess.
The man's explanation for everything he does, and he has done a lot and some of it much worse than my particular family issue with him, is that God tells him what to do. We are of a tradition that believes in conferencing together, and, as the family of God, discerning together. This is why our bishops have cabinets to help them make our appointments. Because we believe that multiple minds, always and inevitably, are better than one.
"God told me" is a shield that says, "You can't question me," "I can't be wrong because it's God's instruction," and "Do you really want to challenge God?" In other words, it's a load of crap.
People in leadership positions who refuse to own their decisions and instead hide behind God's coattails are beneath contempt. They should not be trusted. They cannot be trusted. They are not faithful to our identity. They should be removed from positions of authority. And when he talks about the problems in our Conference and morale problems among the clergy, he really should realize that he is the cause of a great many of them.
I'm not proud of this last. I have, throughout the adult portion of my life (which really did begin sometime before noon today) struggled with the problem of being a connectional Christian who thinks for himself. There is, deep in my bones, a sense of "ought to" when it comes to trusting my superiors. I just can't bring myself to do it. Another argument jumped atop my woodpile yesterday.
My cousin is one of a handful of brilliant, genuinely brilliant, minds in our Conference. She is an effective preacher. She is a dedicated and thorough pastor. She is precisely the kind of person you want right there if your kid just had a car crash, your spouse just bailed on you, or a doctor had bad news about that lump you found in the shower this morning. She is one year into a pastorate where the congregation has accepted her (no small issue for a woman pastor in a southern state), and she loves them.
In his infinite wisdom, our leader is moving her. He needs a place for a goober who can't get along with anyone, can't preach a lick, doesn't particularly want to work and doesn't have a clue why that's a problem. My cousin, meanwhile, is being sent to the most intolerant county in our Conference, a place where blacks, hispanics and Jews are not welcome, Catholics are barely tolerated, and women pastors are automatically stigmatized.
This is the reward for being an effective servant of the gospel? This is the return for a good year's work in a difficult church? Some will answer, well there is that "take up your cross" thing. But there is also an issue of justice. And an issue of trauma to a church that has had a tough history. And a family that just moved a year ago.
Of course, life is complicated. Our Supreme Leader likes to appoint women to "historic" work. Oddly, it seems to be physically attractive, petite-sized women that this 60-ish fellow likes to put in "historic" work. My cousin, like me and much of our family, isn't small, nor is she a cute girly-type woman who knows (or cares) how to make middle-aged men feel good about themselves. So she is jerked out of a church that wants to keep her--again, after one year--serving under this bishop who has proclaimed that he is appointing us for five year terms, barring something catastrophic. Like needing a place for the goober described above, I guess.
The man's explanation for everything he does, and he has done a lot and some of it much worse than my particular family issue with him, is that God tells him what to do. We are of a tradition that believes in conferencing together, and, as the family of God, discerning together. This is why our bishops have cabinets to help them make our appointments. Because we believe that multiple minds, always and inevitably, are better than one.
"God told me" is a shield that says, "You can't question me," "I can't be wrong because it's God's instruction," and "Do you really want to challenge God?" In other words, it's a load of crap.
People in leadership positions who refuse to own their decisions and instead hide behind God's coattails are beneath contempt. They should not be trusted. They cannot be trusted. They are not faithful to our identity. They should be removed from positions of authority. And when he talks about the problems in our Conference and morale problems among the clergy, he really should realize that he is the cause of a great many of them.
Monday, May 28, 2007
Memorial Day Checkup
The AL East standings, before the games of Monday, May 28:
Boston 34-14, --
Baltimore 23-27, -11.5
Toronto 22-27, -12
NYY 21-27, -12.5
Tampa Bay 20-28, -13.5
Beautiful!
But no one in Red Sox Nation is calling anything done, not even those doing the biggest, surest talking right now.
The joy that I harbor deep in my heart is that these guys who comprise the 2007 team don't know that Bucky F. Dent ever existed. Heck, most of them don't even know about his cousin, Aaron F. Boone. Forget Denny Galehouse, Pesky's slow throw (which wasn't), and all the rest? They can't forget it; they don't know those things ever happened!
You and I know that baseball lives in its history, but it's just fine with me if these guys are blissfully ignorant of all of it. You can't feel the weight of a particular 1920 transaction if you never heard of the people involved.
All these guys know is that they won in 2004. And if they won just three years ago...
But it is just Memorial Day.
Boston 34-14, --
Baltimore 23-27, -11.5
Toronto 22-27, -12
NYY 21-27, -12.5
Tampa Bay 20-28, -13.5
Beautiful!
But no one in Red Sox Nation is calling anything done, not even those doing the biggest, surest talking right now.
The joy that I harbor deep in my heart is that these guys who comprise the 2007 team don't know that Bucky F. Dent ever existed. Heck, most of them don't even know about his cousin, Aaron F. Boone. Forget Denny Galehouse, Pesky's slow throw (which wasn't), and all the rest? They can't forget it; they don't know those things ever happened!
You and I know that baseball lives in its history, but it's just fine with me if these guys are blissfully ignorant of all of it. You can't feel the weight of a particular 1920 transaction if you never heard of the people involved.
All these guys know is that they won in 2004. And if they won just three years ago...
But it is just Memorial Day.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Out of the Child Business
I am no longer the parent of children. The Baby graduated from High School this afternoon. Weird. I've known that this was coming, of course, for eighteen years. I had a warmup, when The Elder graduated three years ago. But first is different, and The Elder (much like the dad she so closely resembles had done for his parents a generation earlier) did a remarkable job of preparing her parents to be ready to let her go. The Baby is different. I guess that she is more of a symbol, and of a lot of things.
Clearly, any last delusions of youth that I have harbored are shot. My girls are both adults. When it was just one, well, I still have The Baby. Now she is heading to college, and I'm not a young guy anymore and there's a lot more proof than just this gray hair. I am really glad that the big, strong, young boyfriend will be there when we move her into the dorm in August. I just wish he'd go away after that.
This transition changes one of most complicated relationships of my life. I will be much less involved with the girls' mother now. In the 14 or 15 years since our divorce we found a way to parent together pretty well. It took a while, but we finally became much more tolerant of each other than we were when we lived under the same roof. We have been through all of the normal ups and downs of children, and a few extras, but for the most part we've tried to stay on the same page and put the kids first. Until the wedding plannings hit (and that will be temporary), we won't need to be in the same close consultation that at-home teenagers have required. For good and bad, up and down, married and divorced, and always parenting, we have been in virtually daily contact for a quarter century. It's time to move on. Good luck, and God bless.
All this also means redefining the relationship with The Baby. Always my little girl just like her sister, they are both, now, adult young women. Foxworthy had a great bit about how easy it is to be SuperDad to little kids. Father and child were riding in the car when the little one spotted something out the window and pointed with a confused look on his face. "See that, Billy? That's a cow!" pronounced SuperDad. It's fun while you know everything, can answer every question, can fix any hurt. But now the relationships get real and far, far, far more even. Now it's comforting when they still ask, even though they long ago realized that I never did know everything. And for a while, didn't know anything.
But I think, just maybe, that this is going to be even more fun than all that's gone before. And before has been pretty wonderful. My experience of relationship with my parents grew immediately richer and more rewarding when I grew up and started carrying my end of things from time to time. I pray that I can have with my adult kids what I've enjoyed with Mom and Dad. I love both of my adult daughters dearly, and do not care to even imagine a moment when they wouldn't be my first thoughts in the morning, and last in the evening, along with this girlfriend of mine.
I just ask a little time and patience now and then for a frequently misty-eyed, sentimental old fool to get to treasure the memories of their births, first steps and words, toothy and toothless childhood smiles, hugs, paintings, kisses, bicycle experiments, plays, dances, band concerts, choir concerts, field trips, and school years begun and ended, including this last one in High School. And a million other things that live in my heart.
I'm even going to let them think that I see them as adults whenever I look at them. But I don't. And I won't. I don't have to tell them, but in my eyes, my mind and my heart, they will always be those two little angels, fallen asleep leaning against each other in the recliner, one with a pacifier, the other a thumb, smiling from sweet dreams, waiting for daddy to carry them to bed. That's what I see when I look at them. And if God has any grace left, that's what I'll always see.
Clearly, any last delusions of youth that I have harbored are shot. My girls are both adults. When it was just one, well, I still have The Baby. Now she is heading to college, and I'm not a young guy anymore and there's a lot more proof than just this gray hair. I am really glad that the big, strong, young boyfriend will be there when we move her into the dorm in August. I just wish he'd go away after that.
This transition changes one of most complicated relationships of my life. I will be much less involved with the girls' mother now. In the 14 or 15 years since our divorce we found a way to parent together pretty well. It took a while, but we finally became much more tolerant of each other than we were when we lived under the same roof. We have been through all of the normal ups and downs of children, and a few extras, but for the most part we've tried to stay on the same page and put the kids first. Until the wedding plannings hit (and that will be temporary), we won't need to be in the same close consultation that at-home teenagers have required. For good and bad, up and down, married and divorced, and always parenting, we have been in virtually daily contact for a quarter century. It's time to move on. Good luck, and God bless.
All this also means redefining the relationship with The Baby. Always my little girl just like her sister, they are both, now, adult young women. Foxworthy had a great bit about how easy it is to be SuperDad to little kids. Father and child were riding in the car when the little one spotted something out the window and pointed with a confused look on his face. "See that, Billy? That's a cow!" pronounced SuperDad. It's fun while you know everything, can answer every question, can fix any hurt. But now the relationships get real and far, far, far more even. Now it's comforting when they still ask, even though they long ago realized that I never did know everything. And for a while, didn't know anything.
But I think, just maybe, that this is going to be even more fun than all that's gone before. And before has been pretty wonderful. My experience of relationship with my parents grew immediately richer and more rewarding when I grew up and started carrying my end of things from time to time. I pray that I can have with my adult kids what I've enjoyed with Mom and Dad. I love both of my adult daughters dearly, and do not care to even imagine a moment when they wouldn't be my first thoughts in the morning, and last in the evening, along with this girlfriend of mine.
I just ask a little time and patience now and then for a frequently misty-eyed, sentimental old fool to get to treasure the memories of their births, first steps and words, toothy and toothless childhood smiles, hugs, paintings, kisses, bicycle experiments, plays, dances, band concerts, choir concerts, field trips, and school years begun and ended, including this last one in High School. And a million other things that live in my heart.
I'm even going to let them think that I see them as adults whenever I look at them. But I don't. And I won't. I don't have to tell them, but in my eyes, my mind and my heart, they will always be those two little angels, fallen asleep leaning against each other in the recliner, one with a pacifier, the other a thumb, smiling from sweet dreams, waiting for daddy to carry them to bed. That's what I see when I look at them. And if God has any grace left, that's what I'll always see.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
Happy Birthday, Yogi!
Yogi Berra is 82 today.
My kids and millions of other young Americans know Yogi as the AFLAC duck's partner in a cute commercial that plays on the stereotype of him as something less than the sharpest knife in the drawer. A recent book of "Yogi-isms" was published to make a little money off of that image. I understand why Yogi lends himself to these kinds of things; players didn't make today's money when Mr. Berra was on the field. But "Yogi the dope" sells him short.
Yogi's teammate, Joe DiMaggio, is described as elegant, poetry in motion; all kinds of rapturous recollections are available. He had the great resume, the carefully tended public image. The Great DiMaggio was, however, a wretched human being personally. He wouldn't appear unless announced as "Baseball's Greatest Living Player." His contracts even specified that he would be paid a dollar more than Ted Williams whenever they appeared together, and that he be allowed space to sign larger than Ted's name whenever presented with a picture of the two legends. Dominic DiMaggio is universally acknowledged to be one of the truly gracious and decent people anywhere, but Joe was arrogant and insufferable. He was a sorry man, and wasn't the Greatest Living Player, either. Ever. Ruth lived until 1948; Williams until 2002.
And Yogi Berra is still with us.
Yogi is the Greatest Living Player by one basic, undebateable standard: Yogi Berra has ten World Series rings. No other player, living or dead, can match Yogi's credentials as a winner.
Yogi won three MVP awards. DiMaggio had three, but two of them, 1941 and 1947, were only his because the writers hated Ted Williams, who hit .406 in '41 and won the freaking Triple Crown in 1947, only to be denied the award each time. In fact, Teddy Ballgame would have been the only player until Barry Bonds to have won 5 MVP awards if he had had any relationship with the Knights of the Keyboard. They gave the trophy to Joe Gordon when Ted also won the Triple Crown in 1942. But Ted is another column.
Yogi played catcher. Obviously, that is the position that makes greater physical and mental demands than any other. Catching means that you can't lounge around in the outfield thinking about the opposing pitcher's strengths and weakness in between at bats. Yogi had to manage the Yankees' pitching staff when on the field, and those were the days when catchers actually called the game. Nobody on the bench told Yogi what to call for. He was one of the handful of truly great players.
He is also a man of great character. Yogi Berra is one of very few managers to win pennants in both leagues, AL in 1964 and NL in 1973. When others were willing to inhabit the Steinbrenner Circus of the 1970's and 1980's, Yogi excused himself. King George fired Manager Berra sixteen games into the 1985 season. 16. That's SIXTEEN. When the Reds humiliated their great slugger, Tony Perez, in 1993, they gave him 44 games to manage. At a time when Billy Martin, Gene Michael, Bob Lemon and others were perfectly willing to stand by in George's revolving door, Yogi said no thanks. He left the Yankees at great pain, and loss of income, to himself. And this greatest of Yankees stood by his decision. Because when Yankee class and dignity had been thrown out of the Bronx, Yogi Berra kept his. Only 20 years later, when Steinbrenner had repented of his earlier ways, did Yogi go back to Yankee Stadium.
Happy Birthday, Yogi! You have helped make Baseball great, and every fan is indebted to you for a lifetime well lived.
My kids and millions of other young Americans know Yogi as the AFLAC duck's partner in a cute commercial that plays on the stereotype of him as something less than the sharpest knife in the drawer. A recent book of "Yogi-isms" was published to make a little money off of that image. I understand why Yogi lends himself to these kinds of things; players didn't make today's money when Mr. Berra was on the field. But "Yogi the dope" sells him short.
Yogi's teammate, Joe DiMaggio, is described as elegant, poetry in motion; all kinds of rapturous recollections are available. He had the great resume, the carefully tended public image. The Great DiMaggio was, however, a wretched human being personally. He wouldn't appear unless announced as "Baseball's Greatest Living Player." His contracts even specified that he would be paid a dollar more than Ted Williams whenever they appeared together, and that he be allowed space to sign larger than Ted's name whenever presented with a picture of the two legends. Dominic DiMaggio is universally acknowledged to be one of the truly gracious and decent people anywhere, but Joe was arrogant and insufferable. He was a sorry man, and wasn't the Greatest Living Player, either. Ever. Ruth lived until 1948; Williams until 2002.
And Yogi Berra is still with us.
Yogi is the Greatest Living Player by one basic, undebateable standard: Yogi Berra has ten World Series rings. No other player, living or dead, can match Yogi's credentials as a winner.
Yogi won three MVP awards. DiMaggio had three, but two of them, 1941 and 1947, were only his because the writers hated Ted Williams, who hit .406 in '41 and won the freaking Triple Crown in 1947, only to be denied the award each time. In fact, Teddy Ballgame would have been the only player until Barry Bonds to have won 5 MVP awards if he had had any relationship with the Knights of the Keyboard. They gave the trophy to Joe Gordon when Ted also won the Triple Crown in 1942. But Ted is another column.
Yogi played catcher. Obviously, that is the position that makes greater physical and mental demands than any other. Catching means that you can't lounge around in the outfield thinking about the opposing pitcher's strengths and weakness in between at bats. Yogi had to manage the Yankees' pitching staff when on the field, and those were the days when catchers actually called the game. Nobody on the bench told Yogi what to call for. He was one of the handful of truly great players.
He is also a man of great character. Yogi Berra is one of very few managers to win pennants in both leagues, AL in 1964 and NL in 1973. When others were willing to inhabit the Steinbrenner Circus of the 1970's and 1980's, Yogi excused himself. King George fired Manager Berra sixteen games into the 1985 season. 16. That's SIXTEEN. When the Reds humiliated their great slugger, Tony Perez, in 1993, they gave him 44 games to manage. At a time when Billy Martin, Gene Michael, Bob Lemon and others were perfectly willing to stand by in George's revolving door, Yogi said no thanks. He left the Yankees at great pain, and loss of income, to himself. And this greatest of Yankees stood by his decision. Because when Yankee class and dignity had been thrown out of the Bronx, Yogi Berra kept his. Only 20 years later, when Steinbrenner had repented of his earlier ways, did Yogi go back to Yankee Stadium.
Happy Birthday, Yogi! You have helped make Baseball great, and every fan is indebted to you for a lifetime well lived.
Monday, April 23, 2007
What a Weekend!
I don't remember the last weekend that was as good as this one. Friday: 7-6 Red Sox; Saturday: 7-5 Red Sox; Sunday: 7-6 Red Sox. Oh, by the way, the losers in each of those games: the New York Yankees!
Sunday was the capper. The script read a bit differently than it played out. Daisuke Matsuzaka was making his first start against the hated eternal rivals. He was supposed to win a taut, tense 1-0 shutout. Didn't work that way. In fact, he trailed going into the bottom of the third, 3-0. Then, the ghost of Ted Williams (head intact) reached down and touched the bats. After Youk and Papi went quickly (6 pitches total) and quietly (easy flyouts to Abreu and Cabrera) to Yankees' ace, Chase Wright (Chase Wright?), Manny blasted his second home run of the season onto the Mass Turnpike. And then JD Drew visited Williamsburg's outer suburb. And then Mike Lowell drove the Turnpike. And then The Captain continued his awakening by bombing the back row of the Monster Seats. Four batters; four home runs. Not done since the Dodgers' bottom of the ninth performance late last season. Not done against one pitcher since Terry Francona's dad, Tito I, participated as a Cleveland Indian in 1963. Poor Paul Foytek. He gets remembered once in the 18 years of Sunday Night Baseball on the Worldwide Leader, and it's for giving up Back-to-back-to-back-to-back homers. To a group of immortals like the aforementioned Tito Francona, pitcher Pedro Ramos (yes, boys and girls, the American League used to play real baseball!), Woodie Held and Larry Brown. But at least Brown went on the be a fairly successful basketball coach. Or maybe that's a different guy.
Anyway, the Yankees Sucked, and I thoroughly enjoyed it!
Results: the Red Sox are 12-5; the Yankees are 8-9. And all is well in God's universe!
At least until next weekend at the Stadium.
Sunday was the capper. The script read a bit differently than it played out. Daisuke Matsuzaka was making his first start against the hated eternal rivals. He was supposed to win a taut, tense 1-0 shutout. Didn't work that way. In fact, he trailed going into the bottom of the third, 3-0. Then, the ghost of Ted Williams (head intact) reached down and touched the bats. After Youk and Papi went quickly (6 pitches total) and quietly (easy flyouts to Abreu and Cabrera) to Yankees' ace, Chase Wright (Chase Wright?), Manny blasted his second home run of the season onto the Mass Turnpike. And then JD Drew visited Williamsburg's outer suburb. And then Mike Lowell drove the Turnpike. And then The Captain continued his awakening by bombing the back row of the Monster Seats. Four batters; four home runs. Not done since the Dodgers' bottom of the ninth performance late last season. Not done against one pitcher since Terry Francona's dad, Tito I, participated as a Cleveland Indian in 1963. Poor Paul Foytek. He gets remembered once in the 18 years of Sunday Night Baseball on the Worldwide Leader, and it's for giving up Back-to-back-to-back-to-back homers. To a group of immortals like the aforementioned Tito Francona, pitcher Pedro Ramos (yes, boys and girls, the American League used to play real baseball!), Woodie Held and Larry Brown. But at least Brown went on the be a fairly successful basketball coach. Or maybe that's a different guy.
Anyway, the Yankees Sucked, and I thoroughly enjoyed it!
Results: the Red Sox are 12-5; the Yankees are 8-9. And all is well in God's universe!
At least until next weekend at the Stadium.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
How?
How does a 23 year old man decide that life isn't worth living?
How does that 23 year old become so angry that he decides to take as many people with him as possible?
How does a college president fail to close his school after two murders in a dormitory?
How does that college president keep his job after that failure to close results in 31 more deaths?
How do college-aged people ever learn to trust and feel secure after watching friends and teachers gunned down before their eyes?
How do parents get through a day when they know there are multiple murders on their kid's college campus, but they can't get hold of their kid or get the names of the dead and wounded?
How do we call ourselves civilized when we continue to tolerate this sick, sick, sick gun culture?
How does God let it happen?
How do you counsel the survivors?
How do you stick a camera and microphone in their faces and ask young people how they feel after witnessing such a thing?
How do you explain it all to children?
How do we get better?
How do we do better?
How do we fix our souls?
How do we pray?
How do we not?
God, be with the Virginia Tech family today.
How does that 23 year old become so angry that he decides to take as many people with him as possible?
How does a college president fail to close his school after two murders in a dormitory?
How does that college president keep his job after that failure to close results in 31 more deaths?
How do college-aged people ever learn to trust and feel secure after watching friends and teachers gunned down before their eyes?
How do parents get through a day when they know there are multiple murders on their kid's college campus, but they can't get hold of their kid or get the names of the dead and wounded?
How do we call ourselves civilized when we continue to tolerate this sick, sick, sick gun culture?
How does God let it happen?
How do you counsel the survivors?
How do you stick a camera and microphone in their faces and ask young people how they feel after witnessing such a thing?
How do you explain it all to children?
How do we get better?
How do we do better?
How do we fix our souls?
How do we pray?
How do we not?
God, be with the Virginia Tech family today.
Friday, April 13, 2007
The I-Man and Me-Man
Don Imus has been fired. Yesterday, MSNBC ended its simulcast; today, CBS Radio and WFAN ended his radio program. If you don't know what Imus said, you haven't been in the country the last week.
This is a tough one to figure. Imus has done the same show for...decades. He has routinely characterized people by ethnic and gender stereotypes for as long as I have been aware of him. And still, over the last 15 to 20 years, the I-man turned into a player. The guests on his program have been a Who's Who of American politics (from Clinton to McCain and everyone in between) and journalism (from Jeff Greenfield to the Newsweek team to anyone else who had a book to sell). Because Imus has drawn listeners who vote and read and have money.
We have told ourselves that racism and sexism has become limited to the ignorant, illiterate and poor. But as Willie Shakespeare said long ago, "The truth will out." And now it has.
Imus' act hasn't changed. But he'd become accepted, and influential. While everybody knew what he is. But somehow when he said it about Gwen Ifill or William Rhoden, it didn't generate heat.
Then he attacked the Rutgers University women's basketball team. You know, the national runners-up to the University of Tennessee. Coached by one of the genuinely courageous women I have ever heard of. Imus used one of the crassest characterizations of that group of young women that he could have possibly found. One that had no connection to any reality those young women are living. Hey, I couldn't have gotten into Rutgers. I bet Imus couldn't have, either. So he crudely dismissed them as something less than acceptable, and became a pariah in the process.
I hate to admit it, but I have heard worse terms than Imus' used in regard to people of color in Fellowship Halls and Sanctuaries of churches I have pastored. Imus has protested that he is a good man who did a bad thing. I don't know if he is, or isn't. But I have heard people who lived exemplary lives in every other area use the crudest of terms in telling jokes or relating some perceived advantage that a member of a minority group had "unfairly" received because of some preference. And I have rarely done what I should have in those instances, preferring peace to justice. May be that old Don isn't the only one with issues to deal with.
We are still a racist society. That doesn't mean that white people schedule time each day to spew bigotry and hatred at the non-white. It does mean that there are still inherent advantages for the majority, and disadvantages for the minority, that are too blatant to be denied. And leaving all of the protesting of that fact to the minority evidences the majority's comfort with the way things are. In other words, I'm not bad because I'm white, but I sure am suspect if I willingly accept the benefits of being white in America, and don't raise my voice to speak truth to power on behalf of those who do not share my advantage.
It is fascinating to me that Imus' downfall came after attacking athletes. This Sunday, April 15,
is Jackie Robinson Day in Major League Baseball. 60 years ago, Jack Roosevelt Robinson broke baseball's unwritten Iron Curtain and played for the Brooklyn Dodgers. Baseball was 7 years ahead of America (in the Brown v. Board of Education ruling) in doing the right thing. Sports led the way then, and may be doing so again.
It has been moving to hear the build up to Sunday's recognition of Mr. Robinson. Several significant players will be wearing his universally retired 42 in Sunday's games. The Dodgers have chosen to have all their players wear Jackie's number. So have the Houston Astros. The Dodgers' decision is obvious, but there were no Houston Astros when Robinson broke the color barrier. The Houston franchise wasn't awarded until after Robinson's career was over. Could their desire to dress up in Jackie's number have anything to do with the fact that the Houston Astros do not have any African-American players on their team? And that they probably would prefer that no one notice that on Jackie Robinson Day?
Jackie Roosevelt led. The Rutgers University women's basketball team is leading. But that still doesn't mean everyone will follow.
I come, proudly, from a liberal family. My father was one of those rabble-rousing pastors who marched to Mayor Loeb's office in 1968 to ask for justice for the sanitation workers. I love the famous picture, taken from behind the Mayor's left side, that reveals his shotgun at the ready under his desk should those rowdy preachers have gotten too far out of line. My grandfather received death threats when, as pastor of St. Luke's Methodist Church, he seated the group of black Memphians who were visiting the great white churches to see if their proclamation of the gospel had any real meaning. It did at St. Luke's! I love that heritage, and embrace it. I raised my children to believe that "in Christ there is no slave or free, Jew or Greek, male or female" and that, in America, "all [people] are created equal."
Then one day, my older daughter, then teen-aged, asked "Dad, would it bother you if I dated a black boy?" I guess that I could have lied and looked good. But I confessed. "Yeah, I know that it shouldn't, but it probably would."
The I-man isn't what he should be. And neither is the Me-man. Or most of those who have decried Imus this last week.
"But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep."
This is a tough one to figure. Imus has done the same show for...decades. He has routinely characterized people by ethnic and gender stereotypes for as long as I have been aware of him. And still, over the last 15 to 20 years, the I-man turned into a player. The guests on his program have been a Who's Who of American politics (from Clinton to McCain and everyone in between) and journalism (from Jeff Greenfield to the Newsweek team to anyone else who had a book to sell). Because Imus has drawn listeners who vote and read and have money.
We have told ourselves that racism and sexism has become limited to the ignorant, illiterate and poor. But as Willie Shakespeare said long ago, "The truth will out." And now it has.
Imus' act hasn't changed. But he'd become accepted, and influential. While everybody knew what he is. But somehow when he said it about Gwen Ifill or William Rhoden, it didn't generate heat.
Then he attacked the Rutgers University women's basketball team. You know, the national runners-up to the University of Tennessee. Coached by one of the genuinely courageous women I have ever heard of. Imus used one of the crassest characterizations of that group of young women that he could have possibly found. One that had no connection to any reality those young women are living. Hey, I couldn't have gotten into Rutgers. I bet Imus couldn't have, either. So he crudely dismissed them as something less than acceptable, and became a pariah in the process.
I hate to admit it, but I have heard worse terms than Imus' used in regard to people of color in Fellowship Halls and Sanctuaries of churches I have pastored. Imus has protested that he is a good man who did a bad thing. I don't know if he is, or isn't. But I have heard people who lived exemplary lives in every other area use the crudest of terms in telling jokes or relating some perceived advantage that a member of a minority group had "unfairly" received because of some preference. And I have rarely done what I should have in those instances, preferring peace to justice. May be that old Don isn't the only one with issues to deal with.
We are still a racist society. That doesn't mean that white people schedule time each day to spew bigotry and hatred at the non-white. It does mean that there are still inherent advantages for the majority, and disadvantages for the minority, that are too blatant to be denied. And leaving all of the protesting of that fact to the minority evidences the majority's comfort with the way things are. In other words, I'm not bad because I'm white, but I sure am suspect if I willingly accept the benefits of being white in America, and don't raise my voice to speak truth to power on behalf of those who do not share my advantage.
It is fascinating to me that Imus' downfall came after attacking athletes. This Sunday, April 15,
is Jackie Robinson Day in Major League Baseball. 60 years ago, Jack Roosevelt Robinson broke baseball's unwritten Iron Curtain and played for the Brooklyn Dodgers. Baseball was 7 years ahead of America (in the Brown v. Board of Education ruling) in doing the right thing. Sports led the way then, and may be doing so again.
It has been moving to hear the build up to Sunday's recognition of Mr. Robinson. Several significant players will be wearing his universally retired 42 in Sunday's games. The Dodgers have chosen to have all their players wear Jackie's number. So have the Houston Astros. The Dodgers' decision is obvious, but there were no Houston Astros when Robinson broke the color barrier. The Houston franchise wasn't awarded until after Robinson's career was over. Could their desire to dress up in Jackie's number have anything to do with the fact that the Houston Astros do not have any African-American players on their team? And that they probably would prefer that no one notice that on Jackie Robinson Day?
Jackie Roosevelt led. The Rutgers University women's basketball team is leading. But that still doesn't mean everyone will follow.
I come, proudly, from a liberal family. My father was one of those rabble-rousing pastors who marched to Mayor Loeb's office in 1968 to ask for justice for the sanitation workers. I love the famous picture, taken from behind the Mayor's left side, that reveals his shotgun at the ready under his desk should those rowdy preachers have gotten too far out of line. My grandfather received death threats when, as pastor of St. Luke's Methodist Church, he seated the group of black Memphians who were visiting the great white churches to see if their proclamation of the gospel had any real meaning. It did at St. Luke's! I love that heritage, and embrace it. I raised my children to believe that "in Christ there is no slave or free, Jew or Greek, male or female" and that, in America, "all [people] are created equal."
Then one day, my older daughter, then teen-aged, asked "Dad, would it bother you if I dated a black boy?" I guess that I could have lied and looked good. But I confessed. "Yeah, I know that it shouldn't, but it probably would."
The I-man isn't what he should be. And neither is the Me-man. Or most of those who have decried Imus this last week.
"But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep."
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
This Just In...
Some rich guy is buying the Tribune Company, which apparently means that the Cubs will be spun off after this season, like some failed corporate division. This is news. This is big.
Mark Cuban wants to buy the Cubs.
I love the Red Sox. I am passionate about the Cardinals and the Braves. I deeply enjoy the Giants (due to Jon Miller's work). But if Cuban buys the Cubs, all bets are off.
If you've been in a cave, Cuban is the boy wonder who invented some internet audio streaming system while sitting around in his dorm room during college, while most of the rest of us were drunk at the fraternity house. Cuban and his partner, whose name I cannot recall, sold their invention to some larger .com during the boom for about a bazillion dollars. The partner must have bought a remote South Pacific island and disappeared. Cuban invested a miniscule amount of his serendipity in the then-woeful Dallas Mavericks. You know, the Mavericks? Who employed Roy Tarpley, the Steve Howe of the NBA. The Mavs, who signed some skinny German kid, Dark...Dork...maybe Dirk something. The Mavs, with cranky old Don Nelson coaching them and trading away Steve Nash.
Yeah, that'd be the Mavericks, who lost the NBA Finals to the Miami Wades last Spring, and are far and away the best team in the league this year. Because of their owner. He's smart. He has learned. Fast.
Cuban is also crazy. He yells at referees. He challenges David Stern. He tells the truth. He couldn't care less about fines for all of the above, because, again, he has half a bazillion dollars.
And Avery Johnson. And Dirk Nowitski. And Josh Howard, Jason Terry, Jerry Stackhouse, Erick Dampier and Devin Harris. And, in all likelihood, an NBA title in his near future.
I want Cuban in baseball. I want Cuban in Chicago. I want Cuban ruling Wrigley. I want Cuban to include his friend, Bill Murray, in his ownership group. Why? Have you seen the Pebble Beach Golf Tournament? The ghost of Bill Veeck lives in Bill Murray's soul (via Veeck's son, Mike, a Murray partner in the St. Paul Saints of the Northern League). Baseball needs that spirit. And I want Cuban to make friends with Steve Stone, and bring him back in whatever role Stoney wants. Baseball needs passion and intelligence like Steve Stone's. And I don't ever want to hear of another stuffed suit on a high floor of the Tribune Building making any decision that impacts Wrigleyville, the Cubs, or the longest-suffering fans in the world (even before the Red Sox and White Sox ended their droughts).
Let Mark Do It.
That's the only campaign slogan I want to hear this year. Sell the Cubs to Cuban. He will know what to do with them. And if he doesn't, he'll learn. And it will be fun. And the Cubs will win a World Series. Because Cuban is the most dangerous thing in sports ownership: a passionate fan with half a bazillion dollars. I love him. He's me, and all of us, with bucks. He's just the guy to entrust with a public trust like the Cubs and their Friendly Confines.
Mark Cuban wants to buy the Cubs.
I love the Red Sox. I am passionate about the Cardinals and the Braves. I deeply enjoy the Giants (due to Jon Miller's work). But if Cuban buys the Cubs, all bets are off.
If you've been in a cave, Cuban is the boy wonder who invented some internet audio streaming system while sitting around in his dorm room during college, while most of the rest of us were drunk at the fraternity house. Cuban and his partner, whose name I cannot recall, sold their invention to some larger .com during the boom for about a bazillion dollars. The partner must have bought a remote South Pacific island and disappeared. Cuban invested a miniscule amount of his serendipity in the then-woeful Dallas Mavericks. You know, the Mavericks? Who employed Roy Tarpley, the Steve Howe of the NBA. The Mavs, who signed some skinny German kid, Dark...Dork...maybe Dirk something. The Mavs, with cranky old Don Nelson coaching them and trading away Steve Nash.
Yeah, that'd be the Mavericks, who lost the NBA Finals to the Miami Wades last Spring, and are far and away the best team in the league this year. Because of their owner. He's smart. He has learned. Fast.
Cuban is also crazy. He yells at referees. He challenges David Stern. He tells the truth. He couldn't care less about fines for all of the above, because, again, he has half a bazillion dollars.
And Avery Johnson. And Dirk Nowitski. And Josh Howard, Jason Terry, Jerry Stackhouse, Erick Dampier and Devin Harris. And, in all likelihood, an NBA title in his near future.
I want Cuban in baseball. I want Cuban in Chicago. I want Cuban ruling Wrigley. I want Cuban to include his friend, Bill Murray, in his ownership group. Why? Have you seen the Pebble Beach Golf Tournament? The ghost of Bill Veeck lives in Bill Murray's soul (via Veeck's son, Mike, a Murray partner in the St. Paul Saints of the Northern League). Baseball needs that spirit. And I want Cuban to make friends with Steve Stone, and bring him back in whatever role Stoney wants. Baseball needs passion and intelligence like Steve Stone's. And I don't ever want to hear of another stuffed suit on a high floor of the Tribune Building making any decision that impacts Wrigleyville, the Cubs, or the longest-suffering fans in the world (even before the Red Sox and White Sox ended their droughts).
Let Mark Do It.
That's the only campaign slogan I want to hear this year. Sell the Cubs to Cuban. He will know what to do with them. And if he doesn't, he'll learn. And it will be fun. And the Cubs will win a World Series. Because Cuban is the most dangerous thing in sports ownership: a passionate fan with half a bazillion dollars. I love him. He's me, and all of us, with bucks. He's just the guy to entrust with a public trust like the Cubs and their Friendly Confines.
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