St. Louis Cardinals, 2006 World Series Champions, 10 World Series Titles, 17 National League Pennants, 22 appearances in baseball's postseason
Chicago Cubs, Loveable Losers, They of the Friendly Confines, 2 World Series Titles, 10 National League Pennants, 14 appearances in baseball's postseason, no World Series Title since 1908, no National League Pennant since 1945.
The Cardinals have added these players since winning the World Series: Gary Bennett, 1 year; Jim Edmonds, 2 years, $19 million; Randy Keisler; Adam Kennedy, 3 years, $10 million; Scott Spiezio, 2 year deal, $4.5 million; Kip Wells, 1 year, $4 million; Eli Marrero, Minor League contract.
The Cubs have added these players since the Cardinals won the World Series: Henry Blanco, 2 year deal with team option; Mark DeRosa, 3 year deal, $13 million; Wade Miller, 1 year, $1.5 million; Aramis Ramirez, 5 year deal with mutual option, $73 million; Alfonso Soriano, 8 year contract, $136 million; Kerry Wood, 1 year deal, $1.75 million.
Cards: Bennett is a journeyman who responded well to St. Louis last year. Edmonds is in decline, but agreed to rework a deal that makes him far more attractive than under the earlier deal. Adam Kennedy is an old Cards hand, having gone to the Angels in the Edmonds deal. He is not sensational, but he is steady, and will be reunited with his double play partner from the 2002 World Champions, David Eckstein. Speizio proved to be a very valuable bench player, filling in just about everywhere last season, and showing some good pop at the plate. Kip Wells is a season past surgery, and seems a very reasonable bet to return to what he was in 2002-2003 (38 RSAA for a pitiable Pirates team). Eli Marrero is returning to the Cards as a much more versatile player than the backup catcher he was when he left St. Louis previously. On the whole, reasonable money for reliable players and a couple of reasonable risks. Nice job, so far.
Cubs: Soriano is already past 30, but was given the longest, largest contract in club history. His speed makes him special; do his legs hold up to age 40? If so, he'll be the first. Ramirez doesn't play hard every day. He doesn't play hard a lot of days. He sulked under Dusty Baker; how will he respond to Lou Piniella? But, in Hendry Land, that gets you the second richest deal in team history. Mark DeRosa had a career year at the optimal moment. He has never done anything to suggest that last year's performance was anything but a fluke, and he will prove that this season. DeRo is not as good as Adam Kennedy, but the Cubs are paying him a million dollars a year more than the Cards are paying Kennedy. Wade Miller isn't a bad bet for a million and a half; he just hasn't pitched in forever. Which brings us to Kerry Wood. Stop it! Just stop it now!
To date, the 2006 Hot Stove season clearly demonstrates why the Cardinals are the Cardinals, and the Cubs are the Cubs. But, hey, they still have Wrigley Field, and this year, Mt. Piniella, just waiting to explode.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Monday, November 20, 2006
Hell Froze Over
Rupert Murdoch's News Corp. has shown evidence of a conscience! No, regretably, they haven't spayed or neutered Bill O'Reilly or Sean Hannity. I didn't say that they had joined the human race. They've just sprouted a little leaf of a small amount of decency. O.J. Simpson has been denied his forum for...what? His memoir of that night? The only means open to him to make some real money? I don't even know what to call it.
Mr. Simpson was to give an interview, in anticipation of the publication of a book, that would tell how he murdered his ex-wife and a neighborhood waiter. If he had done it. I've already heard this story. It was called the trial of the century. Which proved only two things: if your prosecutors went to the Three Stooges' Law School, and if you have enough money, then in the good old U.S. of A. you can get away with absolutely anything.
Perhaps that pricipal has changed just a bit. Someone at Fox apparently decided that all of Rupert's billions couldn't buy them an excuse for putting an unconvicted, but nonetheless guilty, murderer on television to, again, torture the families of his victims.
Good taste from the Brit Hume and Greta Van Susteren crowd? Witness, friends, my proof for the existence of God!
Mr. Simpson was to give an interview, in anticipation of the publication of a book, that would tell how he murdered his ex-wife and a neighborhood waiter. If he had done it. I've already heard this story. It was called the trial of the century. Which proved only two things: if your prosecutors went to the Three Stooges' Law School, and if you have enough money, then in the good old U.S. of A. you can get away with absolutely anything.
Perhaps that pricipal has changed just a bit. Someone at Fox apparently decided that all of Rupert's billions couldn't buy them an excuse for putting an unconvicted, but nonetheless guilty, murderer on television to, again, torture the families of his victims.
Good taste from the Brit Hume and Greta Van Susteren crowd? Witness, friends, my proof for the existence of God!
Still Trying to Wind Down on Sunday Night/Monday Morning
Why is it that Ted Koppel can examine Iran and its place in the world in reasonable ways, but no one in our government seems to be able to do so? (Do yourselves a favor-watch Koppel on Discovery; this program is Iran: The Most Dangerous Nation)
The only thing better than baptizing one person in morning worship is baptizing two, which we did this morning. And the best part is, in our church that's a fairly frequent occurence!
So it seems that the Cubs are about to win the Soriano sweepstakes. After the last three years (Red Sox in '04, White Sox in '05 and Cardinals in '06) about the last remaining mountain-top experience for a baseball fan is seeing the Cubs win the World Series. Alfonso is a good step in that direction. But the Cubs are still the Cubs, and there are reasons why they are approaching a full century since winning a World Series. Three years at $13 million for Mark DeRosa? Mark's a good guy-he came up with the Braves-but one good year (and that in the Ballpark at Arlington!) makes anybody a $4.3 million a year player? And signing Kerry Wood again, at any price, even for one year? Memo to the Tribune Company: the fantasy is over; Wood and Prior aren't going to win you anything but Workman's Compensation claims. I can see a Derrek Lee-Aramis Ramirez-Soriano order going nuts with 81 games in Wrigley, but somebody's still got to get the other side out. After Zambrano, who ya got?
While my interest in football is minimal-a severe handicap for a southern guy-I do think that there is a baseball parallel: just as baseball is better when the Yankees are good, so do I think that the NFL is more interesting when the Chicago Bears are good. And this year, they are very good. The Colts' loss today leaves them even with the Bears for the best record in the league. The Colts are all offense, and the worst run defense in the NFL. The Bears, however, are passable on offense and tremendous on defense. That formula has won an awful lot of the Super Bowls that I have seen.
If I know little of pro football, I know less of college. Heck, my school didn't even have football with I was there. That said, if the NCAA wants a great game for their pretend championship, I can't see them doing better than a repeat of the Ohio State-Michigan game. And by the way, if Ohio State is number 1, shouldn't they beat the number 2 team by just a little bit when the game is played at #1's home field? I don't get the polls; I prefer a game where you have earn the championship on the field every year. You know, "There's no voting in Baseball!" But if you play number 1 tight at their place, your ranking shouldn't take a beating. I am no Michigan fan. I thought Woody Hayes and Bo Schembechler were both awful people with all their tough guy posturing and football-as-war talk. What nonsense! But Michigan deserves a rematch, especially if the football muckety-mucks want a competitive game for their joke of a title.
Is there anything better than satellite radio? I have both brands, courtesy of the family's Christmas generosity over the last few years. XM has the baseball package. Sirius has basketball, and, yes, Howard. XM could make their service indispensible if only they understood baseball. They do pick up every game. But only the home broadcast. They clearly don't understand or care that in the free agent era, the baseball fan's connection to their team is through the announcers. I feel like Jack Buck was another beloved uncle; Skip Caray and Pete Van Wieren, life-long friends; Joe Castiglione and Jerry Trupiano, daily companions. Cardinal baseball is as much about Mike Shannon's peculiarities as it is about who's batting or on the mound. Having to listen to the loathsome Jerry Coleman when the Cards are out west, or the wretched John Sterling when the Sox visit The Stadium should be chargeable offenses under the Constitution's cruel and inhuman punishment clause. Even more than Papi and Manny, Albert and Chris, Chipper and Smoltz, the guys behind the microphones make the game, every day, for six months a year. Give us our guys! Play both broadcasts of each game! Or, actually, all three with the Spanish announcers.
Which leads, finally, to one more question: just what the hell is wrong with posting signs in English and Spanish? Are we so jingoistic that we won't lift a finger to help those new to our country make their way? The obvious stupidity of this attitude is that we ALL came from somewhere else. By the last anthropological studies I saw, even the Native Americans are actually Native Asians. I am grateful that when the first Pierces or Pearses or whatever it was originally were busy having their names misunderstood and misspelled like everybody else upon entering this country, there was opportunity for them to figure out life in this new place. How big an ass must one be to deny that opportunity to others whose only sin is getting here a little later? As shared before, recipients of grace must be very, very careful when considering whether to extend grace to others!
The only thing better than baptizing one person in morning worship is baptizing two, which we did this morning. And the best part is, in our church that's a fairly frequent occurence!
So it seems that the Cubs are about to win the Soriano sweepstakes. After the last three years (Red Sox in '04, White Sox in '05 and Cardinals in '06) about the last remaining mountain-top experience for a baseball fan is seeing the Cubs win the World Series. Alfonso is a good step in that direction. But the Cubs are still the Cubs, and there are reasons why they are approaching a full century since winning a World Series. Three years at $13 million for Mark DeRosa? Mark's a good guy-he came up with the Braves-but one good year (and that in the Ballpark at Arlington!) makes anybody a $4.3 million a year player? And signing Kerry Wood again, at any price, even for one year? Memo to the Tribune Company: the fantasy is over; Wood and Prior aren't going to win you anything but Workman's Compensation claims. I can see a Derrek Lee-Aramis Ramirez-Soriano order going nuts with 81 games in Wrigley, but somebody's still got to get the other side out. After Zambrano, who ya got?
While my interest in football is minimal-a severe handicap for a southern guy-I do think that there is a baseball parallel: just as baseball is better when the Yankees are good, so do I think that the NFL is more interesting when the Chicago Bears are good. And this year, they are very good. The Colts' loss today leaves them even with the Bears for the best record in the league. The Colts are all offense, and the worst run defense in the NFL. The Bears, however, are passable on offense and tremendous on defense. That formula has won an awful lot of the Super Bowls that I have seen.
If I know little of pro football, I know less of college. Heck, my school didn't even have football with I was there. That said, if the NCAA wants a great game for their pretend championship, I can't see them doing better than a repeat of the Ohio State-Michigan game. And by the way, if Ohio State is number 1, shouldn't they beat the number 2 team by just a little bit when the game is played at #1's home field? I don't get the polls; I prefer a game where you have earn the championship on the field every year. You know, "There's no voting in Baseball!" But if you play number 1 tight at their place, your ranking shouldn't take a beating. I am no Michigan fan. I thought Woody Hayes and Bo Schembechler were both awful people with all their tough guy posturing and football-as-war talk. What nonsense! But Michigan deserves a rematch, especially if the football muckety-mucks want a competitive game for their joke of a title.
Is there anything better than satellite radio? I have both brands, courtesy of the family's Christmas generosity over the last few years. XM has the baseball package. Sirius has basketball, and, yes, Howard. XM could make their service indispensible if only they understood baseball. They do pick up every game. But only the home broadcast. They clearly don't understand or care that in the free agent era, the baseball fan's connection to their team is through the announcers. I feel like Jack Buck was another beloved uncle; Skip Caray and Pete Van Wieren, life-long friends; Joe Castiglione and Jerry Trupiano, daily companions. Cardinal baseball is as much about Mike Shannon's peculiarities as it is about who's batting or on the mound. Having to listen to the loathsome Jerry Coleman when the Cards are out west, or the wretched John Sterling when the Sox visit The Stadium should be chargeable offenses under the Constitution's cruel and inhuman punishment clause. Even more than Papi and Manny, Albert and Chris, Chipper and Smoltz, the guys behind the microphones make the game, every day, for six months a year. Give us our guys! Play both broadcasts of each game! Or, actually, all three with the Spanish announcers.
Which leads, finally, to one more question: just what the hell is wrong with posting signs in English and Spanish? Are we so jingoistic that we won't lift a finger to help those new to our country make their way? The obvious stupidity of this attitude is that we ALL came from somewhere else. By the last anthropological studies I saw, even the Native Americans are actually Native Asians. I am grateful that when the first Pierces or Pearses or whatever it was originally were busy having their names misunderstood and misspelled like everybody else upon entering this country, there was opportunity for them to figure out life in this new place. How big an ass must one be to deny that opportunity to others whose only sin is getting here a little later? As shared before, recipients of grace must be very, very careful when considering whether to extend grace to others!
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Managers of the Year
The Baseball Writers of America today named Jim Leyland and Joe Girardi the American and National League Managers of the Year. Well done! They are both deserving. Leyland returned just as the pathetic wreckage of one of the great franchises in the history of the game was set up to reclaim their position. The Detroit Tigers had spent way too many years as a laughingstock. Now, it's a "they who laugh last" situation. Their post-postseason addition of Gary Sheffield means that they should now have the opportunity to finish the job that ended one step short of completion last year. And getting Shef without having to give up any of their Major League pitching just underlines why Dave Dombrowski should be American League Executive of the Year. And Detroiters should feel tremendously encouraged that Shef's coming in confirms that Mike Ilitch has no intention of playing Wayne Huizenga in a 2007 version of the 1998 Marlins, with Dombrowski and Leyland having to relive that nightmare.
Joe Girardi won the National League vote. And he's out of a job. What's wrong with this picture? Jeffrey Loria. Loria spent a summer afternoon at the park playing Mark Cuban with the umpires. Girardi, to his eternal credit, told Loria to shut up. He was making life harder for Joe G's players. And from there, the relationship between manager and owner soured. And, predictably, the GM, Larry Beinfest, adopted a CYA position alongside the owner. So the brilliant-on the order of those cartoon idiots in the Guinness ads-billionaire Loria, who presided over the destruction of the Montreal Expos and was rewarded with the Marlins franchise, exercised his deep pockets prerogative and axed his manager.
This action was perfectly understandable. After all, Girardi had been handed a great team. The Marlins would have a record six players who received votes in the 2006 Rookie of the Year balloting. But back in the spring, they were just a bunch of children. And they played like it. The Marlins started 11-31. Twenty games under .500 in only 42 games played. Horrible! And they ended the season winning only 5 of their final 18 games. Wretched!
The rest of the story, however, is that in between the bad beginning and ending the Marlins became the only team in Major League history to reach .500 after having been 20 games under. Their season record: 78-84. Take out the start, and they went 67-53. Take out the bad finish, and it's 62-40. And before anybody starts telling me that if you take out the three losing streaks that the Cardinals had then their record improves, too, please remember a couple of things. Girardi had 22 rookies on his roster at one time or another last season. He had to teach them to play. And the finish came after Loria had made it clear that Joe wouldn't be back for 2007. Tell the kids that the guy who taught them to be Major Leaguers isn't going to be with them for their sophomore campaigns, and expect them to play as well as before? I just don't see that as a legitimate possibility.
Girardi will be fine. He'll spend this season back in the YES broadcast booth. And when the right job comes open, he'll continue his managerial career. And if he's fortunate enough to get his next job with a good owner, the rest of MLB better watch out!
The Marlins? Well, they hired Fredi Gonzalez to manage next year, and off of Fredi's tenure as the Braves' third base coach, I can't wish him ill. But he's working for Jeffrey Loria. I don't think Fredi's problems will come from my bad wishes on his organization.
Joe Girardi won the National League vote. And he's out of a job. What's wrong with this picture? Jeffrey Loria. Loria spent a summer afternoon at the park playing Mark Cuban with the umpires. Girardi, to his eternal credit, told Loria to shut up. He was making life harder for Joe G's players. And from there, the relationship between manager and owner soured. And, predictably, the GM, Larry Beinfest, adopted a CYA position alongside the owner. So the brilliant-on the order of those cartoon idiots in the Guinness ads-billionaire Loria, who presided over the destruction of the Montreal Expos and was rewarded with the Marlins franchise, exercised his deep pockets prerogative and axed his manager.
This action was perfectly understandable. After all, Girardi had been handed a great team. The Marlins would have a record six players who received votes in the 2006 Rookie of the Year balloting. But back in the spring, they were just a bunch of children. And they played like it. The Marlins started 11-31. Twenty games under .500 in only 42 games played. Horrible! And they ended the season winning only 5 of their final 18 games. Wretched!
The rest of the story, however, is that in between the bad beginning and ending the Marlins became the only team in Major League history to reach .500 after having been 20 games under. Their season record: 78-84. Take out the start, and they went 67-53. Take out the bad finish, and it's 62-40. And before anybody starts telling me that if you take out the three losing streaks that the Cardinals had then their record improves, too, please remember a couple of things. Girardi had 22 rookies on his roster at one time or another last season. He had to teach them to play. And the finish came after Loria had made it clear that Joe wouldn't be back for 2007. Tell the kids that the guy who taught them to be Major Leaguers isn't going to be with them for their sophomore campaigns, and expect them to play as well as before? I just don't see that as a legitimate possibility.
Girardi will be fine. He'll spend this season back in the YES broadcast booth. And when the right job comes open, he'll continue his managerial career. And if he's fortunate enough to get his next job with a good owner, the rest of MLB better watch out!
The Marlins? Well, they hired Fredi Gonzalez to manage next year, and off of Fredi's tenure as the Braves' third base coach, I can't wish him ill. But he's working for Jeffrey Loria. I don't think Fredi's problems will come from my bad wishes on his organization.
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
You're Invited
The mail brought an interesting moment this afternoon, which is more than can be said most days. One of my previous stops is marking an anniversary that they apparently take to be significant, and must be asking everyone who was ever associated with them to go back for the occasion. In my final spring with them, they concluded that my presence was no longer required. I was hurt at the time, in spite of the fact that I already wanted to leave. There's something of that spurned lover stuff to the way we do things in our church. It was perfectly alright for me to want out, but when they said it first, I was wounded.
The particular issue on their part was the pushing of an individual who had been seated on the pertinent committee in spite of the fact that he never showed up at church unless he just couldn't find anything else to do. He pushed because he seemed to feel that I should have moved in with his terminally ill mother to be there every moment, and I hadn't done so. One of the joys of our existence is that our working lives are routinely in the hands of people who have no personnel experience whatsoever. They haven't dealt with hiring and firing, setting salaries, knowing what kinds of performance are appropriate or inappropriate and so on. A long-retired colleague says that the church is the last place left where average people can shake their fists, raise their voices, and get results. Well, long story short, my pal got results.
I hadn't thought about him or the congregation in question for several years prior to the arrival of the invitation. I got past the injury and resultant anger (hey, I am a guy!) a long time ago. But I have no interest in going back. When we clergy folk leave a place, we are supposed to be gone. I believe in that. We are to respect our successor(s) and leave them to attend to those now appointed to their care. Most of my stops have left me with fond memories. Two, not so much. But I have never gone back to any of them but one, and that, once. Everything was different. They had moved on, and so had I. It wasn't a comfortable day.
People often try to empathize with our weekend work schedules. And, sure, I'd like to stay out on Beale Street all Saturday night every now and then. But sometimes that Sunday schedule sure comes in handy. And this is one of those times.
Sorry, but I just can't get away on a Sunday morning. Thank goodness!
The particular issue on their part was the pushing of an individual who had been seated on the pertinent committee in spite of the fact that he never showed up at church unless he just couldn't find anything else to do. He pushed because he seemed to feel that I should have moved in with his terminally ill mother to be there every moment, and I hadn't done so. One of the joys of our existence is that our working lives are routinely in the hands of people who have no personnel experience whatsoever. They haven't dealt with hiring and firing, setting salaries, knowing what kinds of performance are appropriate or inappropriate and so on. A long-retired colleague says that the church is the last place left where average people can shake their fists, raise their voices, and get results. Well, long story short, my pal got results.
I hadn't thought about him or the congregation in question for several years prior to the arrival of the invitation. I got past the injury and resultant anger (hey, I am a guy!) a long time ago. But I have no interest in going back. When we clergy folk leave a place, we are supposed to be gone. I believe in that. We are to respect our successor(s) and leave them to attend to those now appointed to their care. Most of my stops have left me with fond memories. Two, not so much. But I have never gone back to any of them but one, and that, once. Everything was different. They had moved on, and so had I. It wasn't a comfortable day.
People often try to empathize with our weekend work schedules. And, sure, I'd like to stay out on Beale Street all Saturday night every now and then. But sometimes that Sunday schedule sure comes in handy. And this is one of those times.
Sorry, but I just can't get away on a Sunday morning. Thank goodness!
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Moving in a Better Direction
I am, every day of my life, more thankful than I can put into words for the accident of birth that put me in the United States of America. As with all grace, I did nothing to earn this blessing, and neither did you. A simple change of a last name, a religion, and a DNA cell here or there, and I am in China or Iraq or Darfur or...you get the idea. No, it is nothing but a stunning blessing to have been born into this country. That said, I am not proud of my country every day. We are often greedy. We are frequently arrogant. We regularly expect people in other countries to behave as though they have had all of the advantages of life that we have had, and seek to punish them when they don't.
Today is different. I am proud of my country. Nationally, we have declared that we are fed up with arrogant leadership that plows ahead with bad policies no matter what anyone thinks. We have told our President who can't recall ever making a mistake that he has made several, and bad ones, too. And to his minimal credit, he took a short step toward doing better today by allowing Mr. Rumsfeld to go back to bullying business people rather than killing our men and women in uniform. Bush's The Donald maintained his posture, even in humiliation, lecturing us all that the only reason that he was going was that Iraq is a war that is "little understood." Yeah, if only we were as smart as the Neo-Cons, we'd want Rummy to keep this crap up until George II leaves at noon on January 20, 2009.
Other great human beings dismissed yesterday: Rick Santorum, Mr. "Gays are worse than people who practice bestiality" was excused by the apparently sobering up Pennsylvanians, who also turned out Curt "What do you mean I can't force companies that want my ear to throw contracts to my daughter? Weldon; the loathsome Ken Blackwell, architect of the theft of the 2004 Presidential Election, was thrashed by Ohioans fed up with the corruption of the Republican party; many others, from Bush lapdogs to just plain criminals were given permanent vacations.
I only have one regret: Harold Ford, Jr. lost in my state. Bob Corker is a joke; my thoughts on him are in a previous post. But Harold's defeat carried with it some measure of encouragement. In this southern, Republican state, against an opponent who was way too comfortable using race as an issue, a black man lost by fewer than 50,000 votes. Harold polled almost 900,000 votes. Even if we must still be ashamed that the better candidate was defeated by his skin color, we are making progress. Just think, if only 50k bigots had stayed home, Tennessee would have elected the first African-American Senator from the south since Senators have been elected by the popular vote. We almost did something great! I am a United Methodist Democrat. That means, by definition, that I am an optimist. I fully expect that in two years, we will have an opportunity to take the step we didn't quite make this year. Harold is far too fine a political leader to end his career at age 36. He will be back, and we should elect him when he runs next.
There are many difficult days still ahead. But we will now have the checks and balances system constructed by our Constitutional founders in place to prevent this President from racing, solo, into all of the quicksand that Mr. Bush has found in his 6 years in office. We will have the opportunity to look into all of the questionable dealings leading up to war, in conducting the war, and in botching this time since that is so obviously breaking down into civil war in Iraq. Questions will now be asked, and answers will be required. It's about time!
There will also be a great deal less of this "God prefers us" and "God wants us to do this" garbage from the American extremists. Those who have claimed mandates to "do the will of God" in our country have been put in their place. Because anyone who has ever had a serious encounter with the Bible knows that God loves all of this human creation. We are all God's children, those who know it and try to live accordingly, and those who don't get it yet. And the single group with whom Jesus Christ is constantly, invariably harsh is that group that continually presented themselves as knowing God, but demonstrating none of the grace, mercy and love that God embodies. My right-wing sisters and brothers, pharaseeism is not of Christ. Give it up! We are still all sinners who have fallen short of the glory of God! You didn't get yourself saved, and you don't get extra credit for getting there earlier in the day. Stop acting like you did.
Instead of screaming "Murderer" at young women who are so desperate in their circumstances that they have decided that abortion is the only way out, use your energy and resources to provide prenatal care and make the adoption process less costly. Instead of blaming gays for threatening the sanctity of marriage, use your commitment to Christ to establish mentoring programs for young couples who desperately need to be educated that the marriage contract isn't a "let's just try this for a while, and if it doesn't work out, so what?" type of thing. Instead of trying to kill all the terrorists, why not advocate for programs to provide food, education and opportunity for the children of the poorest and most repressive nations of the world. Osama bin Laden is the exception; most terrorists aren't rich and powerful. They are, for the most part, disaffected, isolated people who feel no connection to other human beings, and see no opportunity for their lives. How might any of us react if we had been born in the Gaza Strip, Ethiopia or North Korea? It is too easy to impose our expectations on people who have never known a good day, heard one encouraging word, or been told that they matter to anyone for any reason. Why not try to live out that old "Love one another" thing before we lower ourselves to that "kill them all and let God sort them out" mentality. Because we can't kill in God's name any more than the bin Ladens of the world can. Because God's word is life. And that's not debatable.
Today is different. I am proud of my country. Nationally, we have declared that we are fed up with arrogant leadership that plows ahead with bad policies no matter what anyone thinks. We have told our President who can't recall ever making a mistake that he has made several, and bad ones, too. And to his minimal credit, he took a short step toward doing better today by allowing Mr. Rumsfeld to go back to bullying business people rather than killing our men and women in uniform. Bush's The Donald maintained his posture, even in humiliation, lecturing us all that the only reason that he was going was that Iraq is a war that is "little understood." Yeah, if only we were as smart as the Neo-Cons, we'd want Rummy to keep this crap up until George II leaves at noon on January 20, 2009.
Other great human beings dismissed yesterday: Rick Santorum, Mr. "Gays are worse than people who practice bestiality" was excused by the apparently sobering up Pennsylvanians, who also turned out Curt "What do you mean I can't force companies that want my ear to throw contracts to my daughter? Weldon; the loathsome Ken Blackwell, architect of the theft of the 2004 Presidential Election, was thrashed by Ohioans fed up with the corruption of the Republican party; many others, from Bush lapdogs to just plain criminals were given permanent vacations.
I only have one regret: Harold Ford, Jr. lost in my state. Bob Corker is a joke; my thoughts on him are in a previous post. But Harold's defeat carried with it some measure of encouragement. In this southern, Republican state, against an opponent who was way too comfortable using race as an issue, a black man lost by fewer than 50,000 votes. Harold polled almost 900,000 votes. Even if we must still be ashamed that the better candidate was defeated by his skin color, we are making progress. Just think, if only 50k bigots had stayed home, Tennessee would have elected the first African-American Senator from the south since Senators have been elected by the popular vote. We almost did something great! I am a United Methodist Democrat. That means, by definition, that I am an optimist. I fully expect that in two years, we will have an opportunity to take the step we didn't quite make this year. Harold is far too fine a political leader to end his career at age 36. He will be back, and we should elect him when he runs next.
There are many difficult days still ahead. But we will now have the checks and balances system constructed by our Constitutional founders in place to prevent this President from racing, solo, into all of the quicksand that Mr. Bush has found in his 6 years in office. We will have the opportunity to look into all of the questionable dealings leading up to war, in conducting the war, and in botching this time since that is so obviously breaking down into civil war in Iraq. Questions will now be asked, and answers will be required. It's about time!
There will also be a great deal less of this "God prefers us" and "God wants us to do this" garbage from the American extremists. Those who have claimed mandates to "do the will of God" in our country have been put in their place. Because anyone who has ever had a serious encounter with the Bible knows that God loves all of this human creation. We are all God's children, those who know it and try to live accordingly, and those who don't get it yet. And the single group with whom Jesus Christ is constantly, invariably harsh is that group that continually presented themselves as knowing God, but demonstrating none of the grace, mercy and love that God embodies. My right-wing sisters and brothers, pharaseeism is not of Christ. Give it up! We are still all sinners who have fallen short of the glory of God! You didn't get yourself saved, and you don't get extra credit for getting there earlier in the day. Stop acting like you did.
Instead of screaming "Murderer" at young women who are so desperate in their circumstances that they have decided that abortion is the only way out, use your energy and resources to provide prenatal care and make the adoption process less costly. Instead of blaming gays for threatening the sanctity of marriage, use your commitment to Christ to establish mentoring programs for young couples who desperately need to be educated that the marriage contract isn't a "let's just try this for a while, and if it doesn't work out, so what?" type of thing. Instead of trying to kill all the terrorists, why not advocate for programs to provide food, education and opportunity for the children of the poorest and most repressive nations of the world. Osama bin Laden is the exception; most terrorists aren't rich and powerful. They are, for the most part, disaffected, isolated people who feel no connection to other human beings, and see no opportunity for their lives. How might any of us react if we had been born in the Gaza Strip, Ethiopia or North Korea? It is too easy to impose our expectations on people who have never known a good day, heard one encouraging word, or been told that they matter to anyone for any reason. Why not try to live out that old "Love one another" thing before we lower ourselves to that "kill them all and let God sort them out" mentality. Because we can't kill in God's name any more than the bin Ladens of the world can. Because God's word is life. And that's not debatable.
Monday, November 06, 2006
Almost Done
The election is upon us. We should be free of political advertising by bed time tomorrow. Hallelujah! But first...
I am a native Tennessean. Born here, lived all my life here except for the four years as a kid, and three as an adult, that bishops exiled us to Kentucky. The majority of my life has been spent in Memphis, or the Memphis metropolitan area. I know all about the Fords. I don't think much of many of them. But I have had the privilege of being in the presence of Harold Ford, Jr. on multiple occasions, and I think a great deal of him. I have seen him in a worship service honor the 90th birthday of Dr. Cecil Humphreys, one of the pillars of Memphis State University/University of Memphis. I watched him express to an elderly man the genuine appreciation of the community for work done largely before Harold was born. And he knew his material in acknowledging Dr. Humphreys' accomplishments. No notes, no script. I have seen the Congressman in my daughters' schools, not for photo ops, but to talk to the kids and tell them that they could do great things if they stayed in school and studied hard. How do I know several of those occasions weren't photo ops? Only one aide accompanied Harold, to move him along to keep his schedule. You see, he liked talking to the children so much that he would have stayed all day on his own. I have seen him in the dining rooms of retirement homes run by our church-related ministry to the aging, responding to every question seriously and graciously. I have seen his work to respond to VA problems, Medicare issues and Social Security concerns. I have friends who have called on him when they needed someone to put in a word with the Small Business Administration, and gotten the help they needed.
Corker's advertising has been shameful. Harold Ford, Jr. is not John Ford. Nor is he his father. He is his own man who has served the Ninth District honorably and well. Desperate to find some way to label Harold liberal, they ran an ad that told how he had outdone Ted Kennedy and Hillary Clinton...in junkets. Did Corker bother to mention that the vast majority of Congressional junkets are privately funded? No, he just wanted to link Harold's name to the northeastern senators. Harold is no liberal. His values are far more conservative than mine. Worst of all, Corker has told the voters of Tennessee that Harold is after white women. After all, he attended a function at the Playboy Mansion. How proud the citizens of Chattanooga must be: the best thing that their former mayor has to recommend him is that his mom, his wife and his daughters think well of him, and his opponent is a black man that, Corker says, chases white women.
Harold Ford, Jr. is a young, single man. I would think that an interest in women would make him a thoroughly acceptable candidate to the buffoons who continue to fight this absurd battle over the rights of non-traditional couples to marry. Friends, be very careful in your condemnations. As the pathetic plight of Rev. Haggard reminds us AGAIN, that judging others thing will come around to bite you every time. I would think that a bachelor might be a refreshing change from all of those hypocrites who condemned Bill Clinton's (absolutely condemnable) behavior, all the while carrying on their own affairs not of state. I will personally guarantee that Harold will not cheat on his wife!
Bob Corker has even criticized Harold Ford, Jr. for being articulate and intelligent. This aspect of the campaign smacks of the 1940s when Rep. Claude Pepper (later Senator Pepper) was attacked by his opponent in rural areas of Florida. The charge: "Claude Pepper is a heterosexual!" There is no more space in our state for an educated man with some polish about him to be attacked for kowing something. Must we always expect to be near the bottom in our educational performance? Mr. Corker would, from the images in his advertising, say yes! "Being glad that Mississippi is still in the union to keep us off the bottom" is no more an education policy than Bush's "YEE-HAW" is a foreign policy.
The truth of the matter is that there is no reason whatsoever to vote for Mr. Corker. He is, pure and simple, more of the same crap from the same party that has sought to destroy our nation for the last six years. Bush does not deserve, and we cannot afford, one more day of a compliant Congress.
Surely in 2006 we Tennesseans have grown enough to be able to evaluate these two men on their merits. I cannot comprehend that we will defeat the better candidate, and encourage the performance of the President, because that better candidate's shell is just a shade too dark. God help us!
I am a native Tennessean. Born here, lived all my life here except for the four years as a kid, and three as an adult, that bishops exiled us to Kentucky. The majority of my life has been spent in Memphis, or the Memphis metropolitan area. I know all about the Fords. I don't think much of many of them. But I have had the privilege of being in the presence of Harold Ford, Jr. on multiple occasions, and I think a great deal of him. I have seen him in a worship service honor the 90th birthday of Dr. Cecil Humphreys, one of the pillars of Memphis State University/University of Memphis. I watched him express to an elderly man the genuine appreciation of the community for work done largely before Harold was born. And he knew his material in acknowledging Dr. Humphreys' accomplishments. No notes, no script. I have seen the Congressman in my daughters' schools, not for photo ops, but to talk to the kids and tell them that they could do great things if they stayed in school and studied hard. How do I know several of those occasions weren't photo ops? Only one aide accompanied Harold, to move him along to keep his schedule. You see, he liked talking to the children so much that he would have stayed all day on his own. I have seen him in the dining rooms of retirement homes run by our church-related ministry to the aging, responding to every question seriously and graciously. I have seen his work to respond to VA problems, Medicare issues and Social Security concerns. I have friends who have called on him when they needed someone to put in a word with the Small Business Administration, and gotten the help they needed.
Corker's advertising has been shameful. Harold Ford, Jr. is not John Ford. Nor is he his father. He is his own man who has served the Ninth District honorably and well. Desperate to find some way to label Harold liberal, they ran an ad that told how he had outdone Ted Kennedy and Hillary Clinton...in junkets. Did Corker bother to mention that the vast majority of Congressional junkets are privately funded? No, he just wanted to link Harold's name to the northeastern senators. Harold is no liberal. His values are far more conservative than mine. Worst of all, Corker has told the voters of Tennessee that Harold is after white women. After all, he attended a function at the Playboy Mansion. How proud the citizens of Chattanooga must be: the best thing that their former mayor has to recommend him is that his mom, his wife and his daughters think well of him, and his opponent is a black man that, Corker says, chases white women.
Harold Ford, Jr. is a young, single man. I would think that an interest in women would make him a thoroughly acceptable candidate to the buffoons who continue to fight this absurd battle over the rights of non-traditional couples to marry. Friends, be very careful in your condemnations. As the pathetic plight of Rev. Haggard reminds us AGAIN, that judging others thing will come around to bite you every time. I would think that a bachelor might be a refreshing change from all of those hypocrites who condemned Bill Clinton's (absolutely condemnable) behavior, all the while carrying on their own affairs not of state. I will personally guarantee that Harold will not cheat on his wife!
Bob Corker has even criticized Harold Ford, Jr. for being articulate and intelligent. This aspect of the campaign smacks of the 1940s when Rep. Claude Pepper (later Senator Pepper) was attacked by his opponent in rural areas of Florida. The charge: "Claude Pepper is a heterosexual!" There is no more space in our state for an educated man with some polish about him to be attacked for kowing something. Must we always expect to be near the bottom in our educational performance? Mr. Corker would, from the images in his advertising, say yes! "Being glad that Mississippi is still in the union to keep us off the bottom" is no more an education policy than Bush's "YEE-HAW" is a foreign policy.
The truth of the matter is that there is no reason whatsoever to vote for Mr. Corker. He is, pure and simple, more of the same crap from the same party that has sought to destroy our nation for the last six years. Bush does not deserve, and we cannot afford, one more day of a compliant Congress.
Surely in 2006 we Tennesseans have grown enough to be able to evaluate these two men on their merits. I cannot comprehend that we will defeat the better candidate, and encourage the performance of the President, because that better candidate's shell is just a shade too dark. God help us!
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Channeling the Old Larry King USA Today Column
(To be read in a gruff, slightly incoherent voice, with suspenders on)
Pillows are soft.
Peyton Manning is good.
I like cheese.
Elections are fun.
Hey Broadway Joe, I'd like to kiss Suzy Kolber, too.
No, maybe I'll just make her the ninth Mrs. King!
I can't understand this Borat when he speaks.
Tomorrow night's Pre-Election show: Fabio, Howie Mandel and Jessica Simpson on the Republicans' prospects for retaining control of the Congress.
Elizabeth Taylor is a hottie!
I like yogurt.
Tuesday's Election Night Program: Senator John McCain, Ken Mehlman and Bay Buchanon on
the nations's best roller coasters.
Babies are small.
I want bigger glasses.
Maybe there have been some allegations, but that Michael Jackson is some entertainer!
Wednesday's Election Wrap Up Show: The President of the United States on Brims vs. Lays:
Which Pork Rinds Are Best?
I've never seen e coli on my spinach.
Liza Minnelli? What a singer!
Dick Cheney is grumpy.
There sure is a lot of poker on television.
Salsa is tasty!
Until next time...
Pillows are soft.
Peyton Manning is good.
I like cheese.
Elections are fun.
Hey Broadway Joe, I'd like to kiss Suzy Kolber, too.
No, maybe I'll just make her the ninth Mrs. King!
I can't understand this Borat when he speaks.
Tomorrow night's Pre-Election show: Fabio, Howie Mandel and Jessica Simpson on the Republicans' prospects for retaining control of the Congress.
Elizabeth Taylor is a hottie!
I like yogurt.
Tuesday's Election Night Program: Senator John McCain, Ken Mehlman and Bay Buchanon on
the nations's best roller coasters.
Babies are small.
I want bigger glasses.
Maybe there have been some allegations, but that Michael Jackson is some entertainer!
Wednesday's Election Wrap Up Show: The President of the United States on Brims vs. Lays:
Which Pork Rinds Are Best?
I've never seen e coli on my spinach.
Liza Minnelli? What a singer!
Dick Cheney is grumpy.
There sure is a lot of poker on television.
Salsa is tasty!
Until next time...
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Pinch Hitting for Baseball: Music
B. B. King came home last night. The greatest ambassador the blues ever had is 81 years old now. His hair is white. His line: "I never thought I'd have anything turn white." He sits to play Lucillle now. He is burdened by age and diabetes. But upon taking the stage, he seemed to have been set free. His two hour performance included an old man's wonderful reflections on life and music, and a still-young passion for entertaining and sharing his music. He has always been effusive in appreciating his audience, and we did everything in our power to return that appreciation to him.
He seemed to be suggesting throughout the show that he is done performing. At the end of the evening he said that whether these two shows (the second coming tonight) are his last, or not, he was deeply grateful for the way we received him. Loud "No!"s rang out in response to the suggestion that he might have finished his work. After all, B. B. is the blues predecessor of Bob Dylan; always on the road, always performing, always looking for that next crowd that would listen and enjoy the music, always PLAYING THE MUSIC. The Beale Street Blues Boy sang the Pepticon jingle for us last night. He finished, of course, with The Thrill is Gone. But it wasn't. The old man still has the powerful, roaring voice that is well-known to most everybody in America and people all around the world. 90 countries he reports performing in. He sang and he played. Mr. King has had a television commercial for a blood-sugar monitor that doesn't require pricking the fingers several times every day. It must work, for his playing was exactly what we all came for, immediately identifiable as the instrumental voice of its owner, as the voices of all the great guitarists are.
If he is nearing the completion of his musical task, he is going out on top. We should all be so wise. It was the voice of wisdom that told us that even if he doesn't play it any more, the music will still be there. He commended just about everybody, by name, who follows in his footsteps. He told us they will all still be playing.
But, sir, none of them are you. And you are a treasure. A black man born in Indianola, MS, in 1925, open and generous with all people. The greatest proponent for his artform, who makes time to acknowledge other artists who will never be in his league. An old man who took time to speak to a child during his performance, and toss him a guitar pick. A public figure for 60 years, comfortable with his fame and accomodating to the public that has put demands on him for all that time.
My stepson will be 17 next month. He's a good kid. As happens along this age, we don't spend as much time together as we used to, and will again in a few years. His mom and I aren't so bright right now, but we'll be better in five or six years. He's a guitar player. I don't think he's ever paid any particular attention to the blues. He just has that general awareness of B. B. King that all Americans have. After his first experience of a genuine legend last night, he was quiet. As we got to the car, he said, "That was awesome!" When we got to the house, "Thank you so much." Thank you, Mr. King, for a great evening and the great music that has graced my entire life! Thank you for connecting with one of our kids. Thank you for your life's work, and for the way you've gone about that work. And, wherever life takes you from here, God Bless you!
He seemed to be suggesting throughout the show that he is done performing. At the end of the evening he said that whether these two shows (the second coming tonight) are his last, or not, he was deeply grateful for the way we received him. Loud "No!"s rang out in response to the suggestion that he might have finished his work. After all, B. B. is the blues predecessor of Bob Dylan; always on the road, always performing, always looking for that next crowd that would listen and enjoy the music, always PLAYING THE MUSIC. The Beale Street Blues Boy sang the Pepticon jingle for us last night. He finished, of course, with The Thrill is Gone. But it wasn't. The old man still has the powerful, roaring voice that is well-known to most everybody in America and people all around the world. 90 countries he reports performing in. He sang and he played. Mr. King has had a television commercial for a blood-sugar monitor that doesn't require pricking the fingers several times every day. It must work, for his playing was exactly what we all came for, immediately identifiable as the instrumental voice of its owner, as the voices of all the great guitarists are.
If he is nearing the completion of his musical task, he is going out on top. We should all be so wise. It was the voice of wisdom that told us that even if he doesn't play it any more, the music will still be there. He commended just about everybody, by name, who follows in his footsteps. He told us they will all still be playing.
But, sir, none of them are you. And you are a treasure. A black man born in Indianola, MS, in 1925, open and generous with all people. The greatest proponent for his artform, who makes time to acknowledge other artists who will never be in his league. An old man who took time to speak to a child during his performance, and toss him a guitar pick. A public figure for 60 years, comfortable with his fame and accomodating to the public that has put demands on him for all that time.
My stepson will be 17 next month. He's a good kid. As happens along this age, we don't spend as much time together as we used to, and will again in a few years. His mom and I aren't so bright right now, but we'll be better in five or six years. He's a guitar player. I don't think he's ever paid any particular attention to the blues. He just has that general awareness of B. B. King that all Americans have. After his first experience of a genuine legend last night, he was quiet. As we got to the car, he said, "That was awesome!" When we got to the house, "Thank you so much." Thank you, Mr. King, for a great evening and the great music that has graced my entire life! Thank you for connecting with one of our kids. Thank you for your life's work, and for the way you've gone about that work. And, wherever life takes you from here, God Bless you!
Monday, October 30, 2006
Holy Cow, It's Over
It is, for me, sort of like Sunday and Monday must have been for St. Louisans. On Sunday, the joy of a Championship Parade and Rally that drew far more people than could ever hope to fit into Busch III, and on Monday it was announced that they live in the Most Dangerous City in America (Woo-Hoo, we Memphians dropped to 13th!). Friday was A World Series Winner, Saturday was all the reporting on same, Sunday was the celebration. Monday? Cataract surgery for my wife. (She's viewing the world significantly better, by the way) No baseball.
The two best things I've ever seen about the off-season? 1) Rogers Hornsby, when asked what he did in the winter, when there is no baseball, responded, "I look out the window and wait for spring." Amen. 2) The next to last legitimate Commissioner of Baseball, A. Bartlett Giamatti, at his literary height wrote: "It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone. You count on it, rely on it to buffer the passage of time, to keep the memory of sunshine and high skies alive, and then just when the days are all twilight, it stops." The essay is "The Green Fields of the Mind" and is available in several places. I encourage anyone feeling grief today to hunt it up, and keep it close at hand this winter. It will help.
107 days until Pitchers and Catchers Report.
The two best things I've ever seen about the off-season? 1) Rogers Hornsby, when asked what he did in the winter, when there is no baseball, responded, "I look out the window and wait for spring." Amen. 2) The next to last legitimate Commissioner of Baseball, A. Bartlett Giamatti, at his literary height wrote: "It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in the spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone. You count on it, rely on it to buffer the passage of time, to keep the memory of sunshine and high skies alive, and then just when the days are all twilight, it stops." The essay is "The Green Fields of the Mind" and is available in several places. I encourage anyone feeling grief today to hunt it up, and keep it close at hand this winter. It will help.
107 days until Pitchers and Catchers Report.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
X
The great franchise of the National League has returned to the winner's circle. The St. Louis Cardinals got it done in five games against the Detroit Tigers. The Cards' tenth title (sorry about the Super Bowlish title above) was 24 years coming, by far the biggest gap since the World Series title first came to the midwest in 1926. Only then, it wasn't the midwest. The Cardinals were, for eons, baseball's western-most and southern-most team. That's why, to this day, millions of us between the Smokies and the Rockies make the pilgrimmage every year. I stood in Lyndon Johnson's childhood bedroom several years ago, and read a plaque attached to a radio. The plaque explained how the future President of the United States listened, all the way down in Johnson City, TX, to Cardinals' broadcasts early in his life, way before Astros or Rangers crossed anybody's mind.
This is, perhaps, the Cardinals' least likely championship. The Cards' injury problems alone would have prevented any sane person from expecting tonight's clincher. Pujols missed 16 days with an oblique. Mulder wasn't right all season, before finally checking out for surgery. Edmonds bashed his head on the warning track, resulting in continuing problems with Post-Concussion Syndrome. Rolen's surgically-repaired left shoulder can't stand up to a full season. Eckstein missed time. The franchise's all-time save leader, Jason Isringhausen, watched his hip fall apart on him.
It got so bad that castoffs Jeff Weaver and Preston Wilson were picked up during the summer. Thank God! Rookies like Chris Duncan and Josh Kinney and Tyler Johnson, Anthony Reyes and Adam Wainwright had to produce and produce quick. They did. Walt Jockety has to be very, very satisfied tonight. We all wondered why he didn't do more at the trade deadline. Turns out, he did plenty.
Which leaves Tony LaRussa. Tony is too smart for baseball. He's an attorney, for crying out loud. He hasn't seemed one of us; he lives in California and works with the PETA people. And Whitey Herzog has always been available to remind everyone that Cardinal Baseball is about speed and stolen bases. Not this home run hitting nonsense. Many people have savaged Tony's record. He had the best players in Oakland and in St. Louis; why only one title? Everyone's forgotten about the magic that a Kurt Gibson can sprinkle on a World Series, or the insanity of the Nasty Boys and the Idiots.
Well he didn't have the best team this season. Only the most beat up. And somehow, he convinced whatever able bodies and walking wounded he had from day to day to ignore their record and believe that they could get it done. And the third winningest manager of all time, who actually has a shot at reaching second, became only the second manager in Major League history to win the World Series in both leagues. Tony LaRussa is a Hall of Famer. And he should be in a St. Louis Cardinals cap on his plaque. Take LaRussa to heart, Cardinals fans. He, more than anyone else, (including The Great Pujols) won you your tenth World Series championship tonight.
This is, perhaps, the Cardinals' least likely championship. The Cards' injury problems alone would have prevented any sane person from expecting tonight's clincher. Pujols missed 16 days with an oblique. Mulder wasn't right all season, before finally checking out for surgery. Edmonds bashed his head on the warning track, resulting in continuing problems with Post-Concussion Syndrome. Rolen's surgically-repaired left shoulder can't stand up to a full season. Eckstein missed time. The franchise's all-time save leader, Jason Isringhausen, watched his hip fall apart on him.
It got so bad that castoffs Jeff Weaver and Preston Wilson were picked up during the summer. Thank God! Rookies like Chris Duncan and Josh Kinney and Tyler Johnson, Anthony Reyes and Adam Wainwright had to produce and produce quick. They did. Walt Jockety has to be very, very satisfied tonight. We all wondered why he didn't do more at the trade deadline. Turns out, he did plenty.
Which leaves Tony LaRussa. Tony is too smart for baseball. He's an attorney, for crying out loud. He hasn't seemed one of us; he lives in California and works with the PETA people. And Whitey Herzog has always been available to remind everyone that Cardinal Baseball is about speed and stolen bases. Not this home run hitting nonsense. Many people have savaged Tony's record. He had the best players in Oakland and in St. Louis; why only one title? Everyone's forgotten about the magic that a Kurt Gibson can sprinkle on a World Series, or the insanity of the Nasty Boys and the Idiots.
Well he didn't have the best team this season. Only the most beat up. And somehow, he convinced whatever able bodies and walking wounded he had from day to day to ignore their record and believe that they could get it done. And the third winningest manager of all time, who actually has a shot at reaching second, became only the second manager in Major League history to win the World Series in both leagues. Tony LaRussa is a Hall of Famer. And he should be in a St. Louis Cardinals cap on his plaque. Take LaRussa to heart, Cardinals fans. He, more than anyone else, (including The Great Pujols) won you your tenth World Series championship tonight.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Extremely Untraditional Wisdom
Baseball has a new labor agreement.
Savor those words. Relish in them. Let them roll off your tongue.
For the first time in my life as a fan, Baseball has its house in order. There will be no talk of strikes, except on the batters. Lockouts? Not this year! Horrible, petty wrangling between millionaires and billionaires? None, thanks. They all did their jobs this time, and with two months to spare before the old agreement expires.
I am not a fan of Bud Selig. Everyone who has had the burden of discussing the former used car salesman with me knows that. But this time, he got it right. It isn't the first time, but it is without question, the biggest.
The Game could have died in the winter of 1994-1995. The players went out in August, and Bud canceled the World Series. For the first time since John McGraw was scared of the Boston Red Sox in 1904, there was no end to the season. World War One didn't stop the Series. Neither did WWII, nor Korea, nor Viet Nam, nor strikes or lockouts, until 1994. Had it not been for Cal Ripken, Jr., The Game might never have recovered. His pursuit of the Iron Horse captured the nation, and brought everyone back. His victory lap around Camden Yards upon the occasion of 2,131 might as well have been a victory lap celebrating the recovery of Baseball.
It is resilient, the summer Game. And with Cal showing the way, it came all the way back. This year, again, attendance records were set. Revenues reached all-time highs. Life is good for Baseball.
There would have been no return had they messed it up again. Finally, we have seen good stewardship on the part of those entrusted with this glorious tradition. They recognized that they could actually kill the golden goose, but that there was no reason to do it. We will spend the winter rehashing Ryan Howard and David Ortiz, Zumaya and Papelbon, when Glavine's 300th will come, and an amazing postseason. And not one word about the Collective Bargaining Agreement. Until 2011!
Thanks, Bud! And Bob. And Don and Gene. You did good. For all of us.
Savor those words. Relish in them. Let them roll off your tongue.
For the first time in my life as a fan, Baseball has its house in order. There will be no talk of strikes, except on the batters. Lockouts? Not this year! Horrible, petty wrangling between millionaires and billionaires? None, thanks. They all did their jobs this time, and with two months to spare before the old agreement expires.
I am not a fan of Bud Selig. Everyone who has had the burden of discussing the former used car salesman with me knows that. But this time, he got it right. It isn't the first time, but it is without question, the biggest.
The Game could have died in the winter of 1994-1995. The players went out in August, and Bud canceled the World Series. For the first time since John McGraw was scared of the Boston Red Sox in 1904, there was no end to the season. World War One didn't stop the Series. Neither did WWII, nor Korea, nor Viet Nam, nor strikes or lockouts, until 1994. Had it not been for Cal Ripken, Jr., The Game might never have recovered. His pursuit of the Iron Horse captured the nation, and brought everyone back. His victory lap around Camden Yards upon the occasion of 2,131 might as well have been a victory lap celebrating the recovery of Baseball.
It is resilient, the summer Game. And with Cal showing the way, it came all the way back. This year, again, attendance records were set. Revenues reached all-time highs. Life is good for Baseball.
There would have been no return had they messed it up again. Finally, we have seen good stewardship on the part of those entrusted with this glorious tradition. They recognized that they could actually kill the golden goose, but that there was no reason to do it. We will spend the winter rehashing Ryan Howard and David Ortiz, Zumaya and Papelbon, when Glavine's 300th will come, and an amazing postseason. And not one word about the Collective Bargaining Agreement. Until 2011!
Thanks, Bud! And Bob. And Don and Gene. You did good. For all of us.
One Just For Me
The World Series is shaping up into a great series. Anthony Reyes was spectacular in Game One. Jeff Weaver was good in Game Two; Kenny Rogers was just better. Game Three will probably dictate the direction for the rest of the series.
Now, with that out of the way...
We are now a couple of weeks from Election Day. We will hold a referendum on the governance of George W. Bush and his Congress. I will gladly own my bias. I find George W. Bush to be the most reprehensible national figure of my lifetime. Understand the obvious: that includes Richard Nixon, Henry Kissinger, George Wallace, Robert McNamara, James Watt, Edwin Meese, John Ashcroft and the Dick Cheney. OK, just barely more reprehensible than Ashcroft and Cheney.
In all likelihood, George W. Bush has never been elected President of the United States. If not for Kathryn Harris and the Brother-in-Chief in Florida in 2000, and Kenneth Blackwell in Ohio in 2004, we might have been spared this travesty that refuses to end. And yet, as deluded as O. J. Simpson, Mr. Bush has claimed for himself a mandate that has never existed by any known definition of the word.
Bill Clinton left office on January 21, 2001. I would not want to leave my wife or my daughters alone with Mr. Clinton. He certainly has his personal failings. But as he completed the Presidency to which he was indisputably elected, the United States of America was at our strongest point since the end of World War II. We had a record surplus, an economy that had seen its longest period of sustained growth in our history, crime rates that had dropped for each year of Mr. Clinton's administration, abortion rates that were lower than at any time since Rowe v. Wade was decided, and a renewed position of prestige and respect in most parts of the world. Compare that to where we are now.
Mr. Bush has been a disaster of unprecedented proportions for our nation and the world. We are more deeply in debt than ever before, and still Mr. Bush is the first President in our history to cut taxes while adding war spending to the budget. Like the Bush tax cuts, the economy has been spectacular for his Pioneers; tough for many of the rest of us; brutal for those at the bottom. In spite of his having been in office for eight months by the time September 11, 2001 arrived, he has consistently blamed the horrible events of that day on the Clinton Administration. This, in spite of his band of incompetents, led by then-National Security Advisor Dr. Rice, who acknowledged to the 9-11 Commission having received a CIA briefing entitled, "Bin Laden Determined to Attack Inside the United States" which she never discussed with the President.
After September 11, Mr. Bush attacked Afghanistan with as close to universal support as any President will ever have on any issue. But he was already looking for a pretext to invade Iraq. He arrived in office with a determination to attack and remove Saddam Hussein. Bin Laden's attacks became the cover he had so desperately been seeking. And in claiming the fantasy linkage between Bin Laden and Hussein, and continuing to promulgate that idea after it had been shown to be a complete and total fabrication, Mr. Bush played more into Bin Laden's hands than if our War President had offered to fund the next Al Qaeda operation. The ongoing debacle in Iraq has accomplished nothing except to kill more Americans than died on September 11, 2001, and enough Iraqis-most of them who hated Saddam Hussein and had suffered under his rule-to ensure that my grandchildren and their grandchildren will have to worry about terrorist attacks throughout their lives.
The great Christians at the helm of our country knew how to deal with their enemies within, as well. Mr. Bush's underlings exposed a CIA operative who happened to be married to an honest man. When Joe Wilson refused to march in lock-step on the created out of whole cloth effort of Saddam to buy nuclear materials in Africa, they tried to get his wife, Valerie Plame, killed. They have called anyone who disagrees with them unpatriotic. They have told the world, "You're either with us, or you're with the terrorists." Dennis Hastert actually blamed Bill Clinton for his problems that arose from protecting the would-be pedophile, Mark Foley. Mr. Speaker, can't you come up with anything more original? This kind of revenge seeking, name calling and hyperbolic tough-guy language is very familiar. It comes directly from the cowboy stories and movies that most American men grew up on. It has no place in grown up life. It is childish. It is foolhardy. It is what is meant by the old Texas phrase, "All hat and no cattle." And it demonstrates no knowledge of, or commitment to, Jesus Christ.
When we allow the occupation of the Oval Office by a person who claims that God chose him to be President at this crucial time to deal with these great issues, we get what we deserve. This administration has made gay marriage an issue, while they have prevented the photographing of the flag-draped coffins of our dead children coming home from the only war that we have ever started. They have wrecked our nation at every point available to them, and they believe that they have done it in the name of God. They are, indeed, the American equivalent of the Taliban.
Now, they warn the public that if the Democrats come to control the Congress, Bin Laden will be invited to parade down Pennsylvania Avenue. They cannot run on their record, and they know it. So they trot out the only option available to them: they try to scare us all over again. The terrorism alert level will certainly be raised before Election Day. Another attack will miraculously be prevented at the last second. The fears of Americans will continue to be manipulated, strictly for political gain. As will the gas prices, which will continue to fall until we have voted.
Mr. Bush was once asked at a Press Conference if he had made any mistakes as President. He could not think of a single one. Sir, you just haven't been paying attention. His entire presidency has been a mistake. And if we choose to continue to supply him with the lapdog Congress that he has enjoyed for six years, then, again, we get what we deserve!
Now, with that out of the way...
We are now a couple of weeks from Election Day. We will hold a referendum on the governance of George W. Bush and his Congress. I will gladly own my bias. I find George W. Bush to be the most reprehensible national figure of my lifetime. Understand the obvious: that includes Richard Nixon, Henry Kissinger, George Wallace, Robert McNamara, James Watt, Edwin Meese, John Ashcroft and the Dick Cheney. OK, just barely more reprehensible than Ashcroft and Cheney.
In all likelihood, George W. Bush has never been elected President of the United States. If not for Kathryn Harris and the Brother-in-Chief in Florida in 2000, and Kenneth Blackwell in Ohio in 2004, we might have been spared this travesty that refuses to end. And yet, as deluded as O. J. Simpson, Mr. Bush has claimed for himself a mandate that has never existed by any known definition of the word.
Bill Clinton left office on January 21, 2001. I would not want to leave my wife or my daughters alone with Mr. Clinton. He certainly has his personal failings. But as he completed the Presidency to which he was indisputably elected, the United States of America was at our strongest point since the end of World War II. We had a record surplus, an economy that had seen its longest period of sustained growth in our history, crime rates that had dropped for each year of Mr. Clinton's administration, abortion rates that were lower than at any time since Rowe v. Wade was decided, and a renewed position of prestige and respect in most parts of the world. Compare that to where we are now.
Mr. Bush has been a disaster of unprecedented proportions for our nation and the world. We are more deeply in debt than ever before, and still Mr. Bush is the first President in our history to cut taxes while adding war spending to the budget. Like the Bush tax cuts, the economy has been spectacular for his Pioneers; tough for many of the rest of us; brutal for those at the bottom. In spite of his having been in office for eight months by the time September 11, 2001 arrived, he has consistently blamed the horrible events of that day on the Clinton Administration. This, in spite of his band of incompetents, led by then-National Security Advisor Dr. Rice, who acknowledged to the 9-11 Commission having received a CIA briefing entitled, "Bin Laden Determined to Attack Inside the United States" which she never discussed with the President.
After September 11, Mr. Bush attacked Afghanistan with as close to universal support as any President will ever have on any issue. But he was already looking for a pretext to invade Iraq. He arrived in office with a determination to attack and remove Saddam Hussein. Bin Laden's attacks became the cover he had so desperately been seeking. And in claiming the fantasy linkage between Bin Laden and Hussein, and continuing to promulgate that idea after it had been shown to be a complete and total fabrication, Mr. Bush played more into Bin Laden's hands than if our War President had offered to fund the next Al Qaeda operation. The ongoing debacle in Iraq has accomplished nothing except to kill more Americans than died on September 11, 2001, and enough Iraqis-most of them who hated Saddam Hussein and had suffered under his rule-to ensure that my grandchildren and their grandchildren will have to worry about terrorist attacks throughout their lives.
The great Christians at the helm of our country knew how to deal with their enemies within, as well. Mr. Bush's underlings exposed a CIA operative who happened to be married to an honest man. When Joe Wilson refused to march in lock-step on the created out of whole cloth effort of Saddam to buy nuclear materials in Africa, they tried to get his wife, Valerie Plame, killed. They have called anyone who disagrees with them unpatriotic. They have told the world, "You're either with us, or you're with the terrorists." Dennis Hastert actually blamed Bill Clinton for his problems that arose from protecting the would-be pedophile, Mark Foley. Mr. Speaker, can't you come up with anything more original? This kind of revenge seeking, name calling and hyperbolic tough-guy language is very familiar. It comes directly from the cowboy stories and movies that most American men grew up on. It has no place in grown up life. It is childish. It is foolhardy. It is what is meant by the old Texas phrase, "All hat and no cattle." And it demonstrates no knowledge of, or commitment to, Jesus Christ.
When we allow the occupation of the Oval Office by a person who claims that God chose him to be President at this crucial time to deal with these great issues, we get what we deserve. This administration has made gay marriage an issue, while they have prevented the photographing of the flag-draped coffins of our dead children coming home from the only war that we have ever started. They have wrecked our nation at every point available to them, and they believe that they have done it in the name of God. They are, indeed, the American equivalent of the Taliban.
Now, they warn the public that if the Democrats come to control the Congress, Bin Laden will be invited to parade down Pennsylvania Avenue. They cannot run on their record, and they know it. So they trot out the only option available to them: they try to scare us all over again. The terrorism alert level will certainly be raised before Election Day. Another attack will miraculously be prevented at the last second. The fears of Americans will continue to be manipulated, strictly for political gain. As will the gas prices, which will continue to fall until we have voted.
Mr. Bush was once asked at a Press Conference if he had made any mistakes as President. He could not think of a single one. Sir, you just haven't been paying attention. His entire presidency has been a mistake. And if we choose to continue to supply him with the lapdog Congress that he has enjoyed for six years, then, again, we get what we deserve!
Thursday, October 19, 2006
El Birdos 2!
It has happened before. In 1966, the Cardinals sent Ray Sadecki to San Francisco for Orlando Cepeda. Cha Cha paid huge dividends in '67 and '68, as El Birdos split those two World Series, beating the Red Sox and losing to Mickey Lolich.
It has happened again. Albert Pujols carried the Cardinals to the postseason with a brilliant season, his best yet. And that's saying something. But The Great Pujols has been just pretty good since the regular season, as he occupies Cepeda's first base. The hitting star of the NLCS hasn't been Albert. Nor Scott. Not Jim. Nor the dark horses, Duncan or Encarnacion or Wilson. Not the sparkplug, Eckstein.
Yadier Molina.
The Best Catcher In The National League doesn't hit. He doesn't have to. The Cards have long preferred a backstop that handles the pitching staff. Simba was the exception in the 1970's. Ted Simmons knew what to do at the plate as well as behind it. (Someone, Anyone, explain to me why Simmons isn't in the Hall of Fame?) Tim McCarver in ancient times, Tom Pagnozzi in the '80s and Mike Matheny to start the 21st Century all fit the bill. On Charlie Steiner's excellent XM Radio program, Baseball Beat, Yadi was described as "worse than the pitchers with a bat" in his hands.
And still.
Yadi hasn't just guided the Cards' very average pitching staff through a spectacular performance (with the exception of the Game 4 collapse), he has been the offensive star. How about .348 with 2 homers and 6 RBI? (And no, I checked twice, those aren't Albert's numbers.)
This is precisely the great thing about postseason baseball. Dusty Rhodes (No, not him; the one who played for the NY Giants) becomes a folk hero. Gene Tenace materializes as though beamed in from the Starship Enterprise. Some infant named Andruw Jones becomes the youngest player to homer in his first World Series at bat in 1996. And that doggoned Mickey Lolich launches what became, after the 1968 World Series, a very fine career.
Yadier Molina took the St. Louis Cardinals to the World Series. And not just with his glove, arm and game-calling, although they were all on awesome display. He brought his bat to the National League Championship Series!
Adam Wainwright caught a flying Molina after the called strike three to Cardinals killer Carlos Beltran, of all people. The team should return the favor, and carry him on their shoulders all the way home. He certainly carried the rest of them for the last week.
El Birdos Live! Viva El Birdos!
It has happened again. Albert Pujols carried the Cardinals to the postseason with a brilliant season, his best yet. And that's saying something. But The Great Pujols has been just pretty good since the regular season, as he occupies Cepeda's first base. The hitting star of the NLCS hasn't been Albert. Nor Scott. Not Jim. Nor the dark horses, Duncan or Encarnacion or Wilson. Not the sparkplug, Eckstein.
Yadier Molina.
The Best Catcher In The National League doesn't hit. He doesn't have to. The Cards have long preferred a backstop that handles the pitching staff. Simba was the exception in the 1970's. Ted Simmons knew what to do at the plate as well as behind it. (Someone, Anyone, explain to me why Simmons isn't in the Hall of Fame?) Tim McCarver in ancient times, Tom Pagnozzi in the '80s and Mike Matheny to start the 21st Century all fit the bill. On Charlie Steiner's excellent XM Radio program, Baseball Beat, Yadi was described as "worse than the pitchers with a bat" in his hands.
And still.
Yadi hasn't just guided the Cards' very average pitching staff through a spectacular performance (with the exception of the Game 4 collapse), he has been the offensive star. How about .348 with 2 homers and 6 RBI? (And no, I checked twice, those aren't Albert's numbers.)
This is precisely the great thing about postseason baseball. Dusty Rhodes (No, not him; the one who played for the NY Giants) becomes a folk hero. Gene Tenace materializes as though beamed in from the Starship Enterprise. Some infant named Andruw Jones becomes the youngest player to homer in his first World Series at bat in 1996. And that doggoned Mickey Lolich launches what became, after the 1968 World Series, a very fine career.
Yadier Molina took the St. Louis Cardinals to the World Series. And not just with his glove, arm and game-calling, although they were all on awesome display. He brought his bat to the National League Championship Series!
Adam Wainwright caught a flying Molina after the called strike three to Cardinals killer Carlos Beltran, of all people. The team should return the favor, and carry him on their shoulders all the way home. He certainly carried the rest of them for the last week.
El Birdos Live! Viva El Birdos!
Monday, October 09, 2006
That's A Winner
A few years ago it became very fashionable in certain portions of my world for people to wear and stick on their car bumpers a variety of items bearing the logo "WWJD." Said items were to cause the bearer to spend time before any decision contemplating the question, "What Would Jesus Do?" The only problem with fashionable things is that followers of fads do not care about the original significance of the fashionable thing; they just care that they be seen wearing the fashionable thing, and thus, fitting in with The Crowd.
Irony: wanting to fit in with The Crowd, when it was The Crowd who called for Jesus' death.
All of that said, I am the proud owner of a handful of stickers that bear the letters, "WWJBD?" These stickers came from St. Louis. They pose the question, acronymically (HEY-a new word!), What Would Jack Buck Do?
If you don't know that Jack Buck was the Cardinals' play-by-play man on KMOX, you shouldn't be reading this little reflection on my hobby. If you do know, then you probably had the great joy of listening to the best broadcaster I have every known anything about. Jack Buck was gold. He was smart. He was funny. He had THAT voice. He knew the game, and loved it. Perhaps the only thing he loved more than baseball and broadcasting was people. Everyone I have ever met who met Jack Buck tells a wonderful story about a tremendous man. Joe Buck's current commercial, in response to a bartender's question about who Joe would have a beer with if he could choose anyone, tells his family's perspective on Mr. Buck.
Jack Buck raised millions of dollars for churches and charities, but was never pompous about his piety. He was frequently the most accomplished, smartest man in the room, but his New England roots and adopted Midwest manner kept him humble. Jack developed Parkinson's Disease late in his life. He didn't hide from the world. He put people at ease about his tremor by opening conversations with a self-deprecating line: "What's shaking, besides me?"
Jack Buck received the Ford Frick award in 1987, granting him admission into the National Baseball Hall of Fame (one of the eight Halls of Fame where Jack is counted a member). In his induction speech, he showed his feet were still firmly planted on the ground. He talked about his greatest joy at work being the ability to share baseball with "those who are exiled from the game." He mentioned people in the hospital, the elderly, those far away in the military services. He would never have called it by its name, but what he found most rewarding was ministry with those who needed him most.
He said one more thing in that speech. He told the gathered throngs and millions of others listening or reading the speeches later that as much as he appreciated the honor, he shouldn't have been there ahead of Harry Caray. Two summers later, Harry was inducted. By the late 1980's Harry Caray wasn't the announcer he had been in his prime in St. Louis. Harry was beloved in Chicago, but made fun of in many other parts of the country, sometimes cruelly so. Jack reminded baseball that Harry had been The Man in the broadcast booth for many years; baseball responded. You just had to pay attention when Jack Buck spoke.
I thought about Jack last night. As Adam Wainwright finished off the Padres for a trip to the Cardinals' third National League Championship Series in four years, I didn't have to listen very hard to hear a very familiar voice shouting again, "And that's a winner!" Because if it takes one to know one, Jack Buck knew winners.
Irony: wanting to fit in with The Crowd, when it was The Crowd who called for Jesus' death.
All of that said, I am the proud owner of a handful of stickers that bear the letters, "WWJBD?" These stickers came from St. Louis. They pose the question, acronymically (HEY-a new word!), What Would Jack Buck Do?
If you don't know that Jack Buck was the Cardinals' play-by-play man on KMOX, you shouldn't be reading this little reflection on my hobby. If you do know, then you probably had the great joy of listening to the best broadcaster I have every known anything about. Jack Buck was gold. He was smart. He was funny. He had THAT voice. He knew the game, and loved it. Perhaps the only thing he loved more than baseball and broadcasting was people. Everyone I have ever met who met Jack Buck tells a wonderful story about a tremendous man. Joe Buck's current commercial, in response to a bartender's question about who Joe would have a beer with if he could choose anyone, tells his family's perspective on Mr. Buck.
Jack Buck raised millions of dollars for churches and charities, but was never pompous about his piety. He was frequently the most accomplished, smartest man in the room, but his New England roots and adopted Midwest manner kept him humble. Jack developed Parkinson's Disease late in his life. He didn't hide from the world. He put people at ease about his tremor by opening conversations with a self-deprecating line: "What's shaking, besides me?"
Jack Buck received the Ford Frick award in 1987, granting him admission into the National Baseball Hall of Fame (one of the eight Halls of Fame where Jack is counted a member). In his induction speech, he showed his feet were still firmly planted on the ground. He talked about his greatest joy at work being the ability to share baseball with "those who are exiled from the game." He mentioned people in the hospital, the elderly, those far away in the military services. He would never have called it by its name, but what he found most rewarding was ministry with those who needed him most.
He said one more thing in that speech. He told the gathered throngs and millions of others listening or reading the speeches later that as much as he appreciated the honor, he shouldn't have been there ahead of Harry Caray. Two summers later, Harry was inducted. By the late 1980's Harry Caray wasn't the announcer he had been in his prime in St. Louis. Harry was beloved in Chicago, but made fun of in many other parts of the country, sometimes cruelly so. Jack reminded baseball that Harry had been The Man in the broadcast booth for many years; baseball responded. You just had to pay attention when Jack Buck spoke.
I thought about Jack last night. As Adam Wainwright finished off the Padres for a trip to the Cardinals' third National League Championship Series in four years, I didn't have to listen very hard to hear a very familiar voice shouting again, "And that's a winner!" Because if it takes one to know one, Jack Buck knew winners.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
A Long, Hard Day
The day began with an early phone call from my wife. Friday is sleep day. Theoretically. Today was that "once in a while I actually get the day off" day. So I was somewhere south of thrilled when her cell phone number popped up on the caller ID. She knows better! What she actually knew was that First Church was burning.
I was privileged to teach the John R. Pepper Sunday School Class of First United Methodist Church in Memphis, TN, one Sunday a month for three or four years in the mid-1990's. I was on the Wesley Senior Ministries staff, and had no Sunday morning responsibilities. The Pepper Class was the great Sunday School class of the oldest church of any sort in Memphis. While spending that time with the Pepper Class, I fell in love with First Church. It has, ever since, been the only church in our Annual Conference (it's a Methodist thing) that I have specifically wanted to serve someday. It isn't our biggest church. It isn't our richest. But it just may be our most historic, and it's the only one we have in downtown Memphis.
I'm not just a Memphian; I am a downtowner. There is a sense, a spirit, to downtown Memphis. It has a lot to do with music-the intersection of delta blues, Elvis' rock, Rev. Al's heart-lusting on Saturday night and praying about it on Sunday morning, Sam and Dave's and Cropper and Dunn's Stax of soul and so much more; it's also part having had to deal with our racism while on international display since the hard days of April, 1968; it is the residue of an old style political boss-the inimitable Mr. Crump about whom WC Handy put pen to paper-who wouldn't abide any consideration of successors, which in some ways limits us to this day; it's about The River, just down the cobblestones from our high bluff; it's about being Southern and defeated and Southern and triumphant; and it's about a million other things that make little sense to us, and less to anyone who ain't from around here.
I'm a couple of high school kids and one other obligation away from living downtown. I hate our current neighborlesshood with a passion that makes purple seem calm. I despise notions of entitlement and that mentality that blames all problems on any "them" as though life is ever anything but "us" on this little journey. I live in a buttoned-down, gated-up, uptight, repellant suburb, which is a dirtier word than any of those George Carlin said couldn't get on TV. (He never saw the Sopranos before writing that bit. Ah, Freedom!) I want to live downtown. I have dreamed of working there. I still do.
First Church's sanctuary is a shell today. The outer walls stand; there's nothing else of that grand structure left. God bless my colleague, Rev. Martha Wagley. Her job got a lot bigger and tougher today. How fortunate we downtowners are to have her there at this time. Martha will love downtown through this challenge.
Tonight a tough day got much worse. Buck O'Neill died. Earlier this year, the morons on Fay Vincent's committee, named to correct the blindness of the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum when it comes to Negro Leagues players and executives, failed to make the most obvious call, and name Buck O'Neill for induction. They found 17 people deserving of induction, and I agree with all of them. But there had to be room for one more. John Jordan "Buck" O'Neill should have gone in for his contributions to the game. They said he wasn't quite player enough to warrant induction. How many home runs did Lee MacPhail hit? How many bases did Larry MacPhail steal? The only thing Ford Frick affected on the field was disrespecting Roger Maris with that damnable asterisk. He, and a lot of others, weren't players at all. But some supposed contributions to the game got them in. Buck O'Neill did more for the game than pretty much the whole lot of them. He was the first African-American coach in the major leagues. He was the face and presence of the Negro Leagues for the last generation, through his work at the Museum in Kansas City. He was a presence of grace and reconciliation whenever the question of justice for black players was raised. Buck was often asked, "Don't you wish you had come along a little later?" He answered, again, with the title of his wonderful autobiography: "I Was Right On Time."
I was blessed to meet Buck O'Neill at a University of Memphis symposium on Negro Leagues baseball in the late 1990's. The smile that illuminated Ken Burns' "Baseball" was genuine and ready. The grace that enabled him to walk, beaming, onto the stage at Cooperstown last Summer to introduce the inductions of those who should have been his classmates was evident those years ago, as he took time with, and showed genuine interest in, every single person who passed by his table. How marvelous it is to meet a celebrated person who equals their reputation. Mr. O'Neill far surpassed his.
Time ran out for Buck on Friday night. He was 94 years old, and succumbed to pneumonia. Der Kommisar for Life now says that he will do everything in his power to see Buck O'Neill elected to the Hall of Fame. As usual, Bud, you're too late. Shame on Baseball. Shame on Baseball. Shame on Baseball.
Tomorrow has to be a better day.
I was privileged to teach the John R. Pepper Sunday School Class of First United Methodist Church in Memphis, TN, one Sunday a month for three or four years in the mid-1990's. I was on the Wesley Senior Ministries staff, and had no Sunday morning responsibilities. The Pepper Class was the great Sunday School class of the oldest church of any sort in Memphis. While spending that time with the Pepper Class, I fell in love with First Church. It has, ever since, been the only church in our Annual Conference (it's a Methodist thing) that I have specifically wanted to serve someday. It isn't our biggest church. It isn't our richest. But it just may be our most historic, and it's the only one we have in downtown Memphis.
I'm not just a Memphian; I am a downtowner. There is a sense, a spirit, to downtown Memphis. It has a lot to do with music-the intersection of delta blues, Elvis' rock, Rev. Al's heart-lusting on Saturday night and praying about it on Sunday morning, Sam and Dave's and Cropper and Dunn's Stax of soul and so much more; it's also part having had to deal with our racism while on international display since the hard days of April, 1968; it is the residue of an old style political boss-the inimitable Mr. Crump about whom WC Handy put pen to paper-who wouldn't abide any consideration of successors, which in some ways limits us to this day; it's about The River, just down the cobblestones from our high bluff; it's about being Southern and defeated and Southern and triumphant; and it's about a million other things that make little sense to us, and less to anyone who ain't from around here.
I'm a couple of high school kids and one other obligation away from living downtown. I hate our current neighborlesshood with a passion that makes purple seem calm. I despise notions of entitlement and that mentality that blames all problems on any "them" as though life is ever anything but "us" on this little journey. I live in a buttoned-down, gated-up, uptight, repellant suburb, which is a dirtier word than any of those George Carlin said couldn't get on TV. (He never saw the Sopranos before writing that bit. Ah, Freedom!) I want to live downtown. I have dreamed of working there. I still do.
First Church's sanctuary is a shell today. The outer walls stand; there's nothing else of that grand structure left. God bless my colleague, Rev. Martha Wagley. Her job got a lot bigger and tougher today. How fortunate we downtowners are to have her there at this time. Martha will love downtown through this challenge.
Tonight a tough day got much worse. Buck O'Neill died. Earlier this year, the morons on Fay Vincent's committee, named to correct the blindness of the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum when it comes to Negro Leagues players and executives, failed to make the most obvious call, and name Buck O'Neill for induction. They found 17 people deserving of induction, and I agree with all of them. But there had to be room for one more. John Jordan "Buck" O'Neill should have gone in for his contributions to the game. They said he wasn't quite player enough to warrant induction. How many home runs did Lee MacPhail hit? How many bases did Larry MacPhail steal? The only thing Ford Frick affected on the field was disrespecting Roger Maris with that damnable asterisk. He, and a lot of others, weren't players at all. But some supposed contributions to the game got them in. Buck O'Neill did more for the game than pretty much the whole lot of them. He was the first African-American coach in the major leagues. He was the face and presence of the Negro Leagues for the last generation, through his work at the Museum in Kansas City. He was a presence of grace and reconciliation whenever the question of justice for black players was raised. Buck was often asked, "Don't you wish you had come along a little later?" He answered, again, with the title of his wonderful autobiography: "I Was Right On Time."
I was blessed to meet Buck O'Neill at a University of Memphis symposium on Negro Leagues baseball in the late 1990's. The smile that illuminated Ken Burns' "Baseball" was genuine and ready. The grace that enabled him to walk, beaming, onto the stage at Cooperstown last Summer to introduce the inductions of those who should have been his classmates was evident those years ago, as he took time with, and showed genuine interest in, every single person who passed by his table. How marvelous it is to meet a celebrated person who equals their reputation. Mr. O'Neill far surpassed his.
Time ran out for Buck on Friday night. He was 94 years old, and succumbed to pneumonia. Der Kommisar for Life now says that he will do everything in his power to see Buck O'Neill elected to the Hall of Fame. As usual, Bud, you're too late. Shame on Baseball. Shame on Baseball. Shame on Baseball.
Tomorrow has to be a better day.
Sunday, October 01, 2006
Baseball Weekend 2006
This was the guy weekend. Years ago, my brother and I began to go to St. Louis for the last weekend of the season. Later, at age three, his son joined the excursion. A year after that, our father signed on. A couple years after that, my stepson. Then this year, our brother-in-law and nephew made the trek with us for the first time.
My wife and I used June's Annual Conference (it's a Methodist thing) in Paducah, KY, as a "Hey, we're half-way to St. Louis anyway" excuse to check out Busch Stadium III. It is fabulous! Several years ago, the Cardinals came to Memphis to celebrate the new relationship via the AAA Redbirds and christen AutoZone Park. The Brass, and especially Mr. Buck and Mike Shannon, raved about our downtown jewel. Their degree of appreciation became evident upon walking into the new park in St. Louis. It IS AutoZone with Major League seating. Couldn't be any better.
I knew what my family guys were going to enjoy, and the payoff was well worth the wait. Then, in that splendid setting, the stumbling, bumbling (thanks, Boomer!) Cardinals put the stumbling and bumbling on hold for us. On Friday night, Jeff Weaver channeled that guy who pitched so well for the Tigers years ago that the NYA forked over big bucks for a new contract that never paid off for them. Add to that The Great Pujols' 48th homer of the season, and a grand night was had by all.
41,718 stood in the bottom of the sixth when Ernie Hays followed the Sound Effects' guy's BOOM-boom-boom-boom, BOOM-boom-boom-boom with a Busch Stadium rendition of the Tomahawk Chop tune. We all chopped and cheered with all our might when the final was posted: 4-1 Braves! Rookie Chuck James had bested Roger Clemens! Maybe the Baseball Gods weren't going to wreak total vengeance on the Cards after all! Fifty minutes later, the magic number was down to 2.
The Spawn of Satan Fox Television Network moved Saturday's game to 12:25, so there could be no celebration of a clinch at the park. Nevertheless, the Cards took care of business. Scott Spiezio, son of ancient Redbird Ed, delivered a three-run pinch-hit triple to provide all that was needed to vanquish the Brewers and make the magic numeral 1. The only times I had ever heard Cardinal Nation louder than on Spiezio's shot was when Mark McGwire tied Babe Ruth on the Saturday before Labor Day in 1998, and then Big Mac tied Roger Maris two days later.
We tried as best we could to listen to the station that should still be KMOX, but the clock radios in the Westport Best Western just weren't up to the task. Sportscenter let us know that Sunday would matter.
We were passing Cape Girardeau when the house Chopped again on Sunday afternoon, courtesy of John Smoltz' 16th win and Bob Wickman's 33rd save. (I believe that if Smoltz had had Wickman behind him all year, he would be the 2006 Cy Young Award winner at age 39) The Cardinals had won their third consecutive Central Division title. Mike Shannon, lucid for a few minutes, pointed out that this was the first time since 1942-44 that the Cards had posted three straight championships. He then went on to try to explain where they would play in the first round. It was classic Mike. Check out the website and give it a listen. You won't be sorry.
We started going to Cardinals' games on August 4, 1971. That night, we saw Bob Gibson win his 200th game, Joe Torre go 3-4 in his MVP season, Willie Mays played Center Field, Gaylord Perry took the loss, additional future HOFers Brock and McCovey were in the game, and should be HOFer Ted Simmons was in there, too. Bobby Bonds earned a family of life-long fans when he opened the window of the team bus and kept signing autographs after a 20 minute session on the sidewalk. Two little kids from Union City, TN, got the then-great young player's name written on their scorecards, and have never forgotten it more than 35 years later.
Dad grew up poor on a small West Tennessee farm. In his younger days, his folks never had time for things like baseball, band, camp, Vacation Bible School or any of the other things that my brother, sister and I got to take for granted. He had to work in the fields. Always. Many of my friends' dads had grown up similarly. A lot of the other dads took out their frustrations over hard upbringings on their own kids. Our father wanted us to have a different experience of life than he had known. That's why he and mom somehow scraped together the money to take us on a vacation to St. Louis in 1971, to see a baseball game. He didn't know the game well; he didn't know the players at all. But his boys had been bitten by the baseball bug, and that made it important to him to take us to see the real thing.
Our first stop Friday night was outside the Home Plate entrance to Busch III. There, at Gate 2, Section D, lies the brick I bought last Winter. It bears the inscription "Piercey Boys' Baseball Club Est. 8-4-1971." I wanted Dad to know that I remember, and am grateful. I also want my nephews to remember, when they are bringing their own kids and grandkids, that it mattered to Granddaddy and Nana that their family know that life is supposed to be fun, and shared with people you love. It just doesn't get any better than this. I already can't wait until next year!
My wife and I used June's Annual Conference (it's a Methodist thing) in Paducah, KY, as a "Hey, we're half-way to St. Louis anyway" excuse to check out Busch Stadium III. It is fabulous! Several years ago, the Cardinals came to Memphis to celebrate the new relationship via the AAA Redbirds and christen AutoZone Park. The Brass, and especially Mr. Buck and Mike Shannon, raved about our downtown jewel. Their degree of appreciation became evident upon walking into the new park in St. Louis. It IS AutoZone with Major League seating. Couldn't be any better.
I knew what my family guys were going to enjoy, and the payoff was well worth the wait. Then, in that splendid setting, the stumbling, bumbling (thanks, Boomer!) Cardinals put the stumbling and bumbling on hold for us. On Friday night, Jeff Weaver channeled that guy who pitched so well for the Tigers years ago that the NYA forked over big bucks for a new contract that never paid off for them. Add to that The Great Pujols' 48th homer of the season, and a grand night was had by all.
41,718 stood in the bottom of the sixth when Ernie Hays followed the Sound Effects' guy's BOOM-boom-boom-boom, BOOM-boom-boom-boom with a Busch Stadium rendition of the Tomahawk Chop tune. We all chopped and cheered with all our might when the final was posted: 4-1 Braves! Rookie Chuck James had bested Roger Clemens! Maybe the Baseball Gods weren't going to wreak total vengeance on the Cards after all! Fifty minutes later, the magic number was down to 2.
The Spawn of Satan Fox Television Network moved Saturday's game to 12:25, so there could be no celebration of a clinch at the park. Nevertheless, the Cards took care of business. Scott Spiezio, son of ancient Redbird Ed, delivered a three-run pinch-hit triple to provide all that was needed to vanquish the Brewers and make the magic numeral 1. The only times I had ever heard Cardinal Nation louder than on Spiezio's shot was when Mark McGwire tied Babe Ruth on the Saturday before Labor Day in 1998, and then Big Mac tied Roger Maris two days later.
We tried as best we could to listen to the station that should still be KMOX, but the clock radios in the Westport Best Western just weren't up to the task. Sportscenter let us know that Sunday would matter.
We were passing Cape Girardeau when the house Chopped again on Sunday afternoon, courtesy of John Smoltz' 16th win and Bob Wickman's 33rd save. (I believe that if Smoltz had had Wickman behind him all year, he would be the 2006 Cy Young Award winner at age 39) The Cardinals had won their third consecutive Central Division title. Mike Shannon, lucid for a few minutes, pointed out that this was the first time since 1942-44 that the Cards had posted three straight championships. He then went on to try to explain where they would play in the first round. It was classic Mike. Check out the website and give it a listen. You won't be sorry.
We started going to Cardinals' games on August 4, 1971. That night, we saw Bob Gibson win his 200th game, Joe Torre go 3-4 in his MVP season, Willie Mays played Center Field, Gaylord Perry took the loss, additional future HOFers Brock and McCovey were in the game, and should be HOFer Ted Simmons was in there, too. Bobby Bonds earned a family of life-long fans when he opened the window of the team bus and kept signing autographs after a 20 minute session on the sidewalk. Two little kids from Union City, TN, got the then-great young player's name written on their scorecards, and have never forgotten it more than 35 years later.
Dad grew up poor on a small West Tennessee farm. In his younger days, his folks never had time for things like baseball, band, camp, Vacation Bible School or any of the other things that my brother, sister and I got to take for granted. He had to work in the fields. Always. Many of my friends' dads had grown up similarly. A lot of the other dads took out their frustrations over hard upbringings on their own kids. Our father wanted us to have a different experience of life than he had known. That's why he and mom somehow scraped together the money to take us on a vacation to St. Louis in 1971, to see a baseball game. He didn't know the game well; he didn't know the players at all. But his boys had been bitten by the baseball bug, and that made it important to him to take us to see the real thing.
Our first stop Friday night was outside the Home Plate entrance to Busch III. There, at Gate 2, Section D, lies the brick I bought last Winter. It bears the inscription "Piercey Boys' Baseball Club Est. 8-4-1971." I wanted Dad to know that I remember, and am grateful. I also want my nephews to remember, when they are bringing their own kids and grandkids, that it mattered to Granddaddy and Nana that their family know that life is supposed to be fun, and shared with people you love. It just doesn't get any better than this. I already can't wait until next year!
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Ain't History Fun?
Baseball is great because it has a history. Other "sports" just don't measure up. Yeah, in the early 18th Century Chuck Bednarik knocked Frank Gifford goofy enough that he would someday think it was a good idea to marry Kathie Lee, and in the late Victorian period Dr. Naismith figured out a use for freakishly tall people, but baseball is the only game with a real, living history. The [sponsor unnamed on principle] Hometown Heroes recognitions wouldn't even make sense in any other game.
Most of baseball's history is wonderful, but there are painful exceptions. See Aaron F. Boone, Bucky F. Dent, Bobby Valentine with his foot in the Dodger Stadium fence, Pete Reiser planting his face into the Ebbets Field wall. Then there is one of the most famous episodes in baseball history: the Phillies collapse in 1964. I don't remember it, as I was 3 years old at the time. But throughout my life as a fan, any time a team has threatened to lose a lead once thought insurmountable, the '64 Phillies have been referenced. The first question for me was, "How did these guys ever get a big lead in the first place?"
The only impressive offensive numbers were posted by Richie (Later known as Dick by name and attitude) Allen, who produced .318, 29HRs, 91RBI, and Johnny Callison, with .274, but 31HRs and 104 RBI. No one else on the team bested Wes Covington's 13HRs and 58RBI. Not a lineup to scare anyone.
The pitching was the better end of things with Jim Bunning and Chris Short, both adequate starters. Yes, Bunning is in the Hall of Fame, but that has a lot more to do with his later life career as a pitiful Republican (redundant, I know) senator from the dopey state of Kentucky, and baseball's perpetual desire to kiss enough government butt to keep the anti-trust exemption in place. Short was 17-9 with a stellar 2.20ERA, while Bunning posted 19-8 with a 2.63.
As the legend tells, they led by 6.5 with 12 to play. On Sept. 21, they commenced a 10 game losing streak. By the time they won their last 2 games, it didn't matter. The Cardinals had passed them, and it took the Phillies beating the Reds in those last two to tie Cincy for second place. The winners were led by 57 wins (out of 93) from Bob Gibson, Curt Simmons and Ray Sadecki. These were the Cardinals of Brock, Flood, Boyer, Groat, Shannon, White, McCarver and Javier. I'm not sure why the Phillies were ever ahead of them in the first place.
There is no such confusion about this season. The 2006 Cardinals were universally recognized as head and shoulders above the rest of their division. Pujols, Rolen, and Edmonds in the middle of the order; Molina, a second coming of Matheny, to handle the pitchers; Juan Encarnacion newly placed in right field. Just throw some guys out there to staff the other spots; won't make any difference. Chris Carpenter won the Cy Young last year. Mulder, ace 1a, along with Marquis, who couldn't be nearly as erratic as last year. Could he? And, after all, Izzy will be there to clean everything up. And besides, the Astros have no offense. Cakewalk. Should just go straight to the playoffs.
Six months later, the losing streak has reached seven. The lead is down to 1.5. There are five left to play. I don't want to see the Cards make any history this year. Now, most of us would be thrilled to see them lose in the NLDS to the Mets. Just get there! Let sleeping Phillies lie.
Most of baseball's history is wonderful, but there are painful exceptions. See Aaron F. Boone, Bucky F. Dent, Bobby Valentine with his foot in the Dodger Stadium fence, Pete Reiser planting his face into the Ebbets Field wall. Then there is one of the most famous episodes in baseball history: the Phillies collapse in 1964. I don't remember it, as I was 3 years old at the time. But throughout my life as a fan, any time a team has threatened to lose a lead once thought insurmountable, the '64 Phillies have been referenced. The first question for me was, "How did these guys ever get a big lead in the first place?"
The only impressive offensive numbers were posted by Richie (Later known as Dick by name and attitude) Allen, who produced .318, 29HRs, 91RBI, and Johnny Callison, with .274, but 31HRs and 104 RBI. No one else on the team bested Wes Covington's 13HRs and 58RBI. Not a lineup to scare anyone.
The pitching was the better end of things with Jim Bunning and Chris Short, both adequate starters. Yes, Bunning is in the Hall of Fame, but that has a lot more to do with his later life career as a pitiful Republican (redundant, I know) senator from the dopey state of Kentucky, and baseball's perpetual desire to kiss enough government butt to keep the anti-trust exemption in place. Short was 17-9 with a stellar 2.20ERA, while Bunning posted 19-8 with a 2.63.
As the legend tells, they led by 6.5 with 12 to play. On Sept. 21, they commenced a 10 game losing streak. By the time they won their last 2 games, it didn't matter. The Cardinals had passed them, and it took the Phillies beating the Reds in those last two to tie Cincy for second place. The winners were led by 57 wins (out of 93) from Bob Gibson, Curt Simmons and Ray Sadecki. These were the Cardinals of Brock, Flood, Boyer, Groat, Shannon, White, McCarver and Javier. I'm not sure why the Phillies were ever ahead of them in the first place.
There is no such confusion about this season. The 2006 Cardinals were universally recognized as head and shoulders above the rest of their division. Pujols, Rolen, and Edmonds in the middle of the order; Molina, a second coming of Matheny, to handle the pitchers; Juan Encarnacion newly placed in right field. Just throw some guys out there to staff the other spots; won't make any difference. Chris Carpenter won the Cy Young last year. Mulder, ace 1a, along with Marquis, who couldn't be nearly as erratic as last year. Could he? And, after all, Izzy will be there to clean everything up. And besides, the Astros have no offense. Cakewalk. Should just go straight to the playoffs.
Six months later, the losing streak has reached seven. The lead is down to 1.5. There are five left to play. I don't want to see the Cards make any history this year. Now, most of us would be thrilled to see them lose in the NLDS to the Mets. Just get there! Let sleeping Phillies lie.
Thursday, September 21, 2006
David Ortiz, Record Holder
In 1938, enroute to a second place finish, 9.5 games behind NYA, Jimmie Foxx of the Boston Red Sox hit 50 home runs. That year, The Beast had the biggest home run year by any Red Sox player, ever. Ted's best: 43 in 1949. Yaz': 44 in 1967. Rice had a season of 46; Mo Vaughn a 44; Manny's hit 45; Rico hit 40 once; Freddie Lynn made 39. Great hitters, all. Impressive sluggers. Then there's Papi. 47 last year, 41 in '04. So, we expected big things this year. Very Big Things. We haven't been disappointed--at least not with David Ortiz.
Papi tied Foxx last night; he didn't waste any time bounding ahead. Tonight, in the first inning, off the game's best in Johan Santana, Ortiz creamed one over Williamsburg's bullpens, into the stands. It was a great, majestic shot. The kind that the writers describe Ruth blasting. The staff of Johnny Brusco's Pizzas and Subs earned my undying gratitude by figuring out where to find the mysterious ESPN2 just in time for their patrons to see the history unfold.
A big man (and that's an inadequate description of Mr. Ortiz) just isn't supposed to be able to pull his hands in and get a full swing on a ball just off the plate inside. Papi does, regularly. Left handed batters aren't supposed to fare well against southpaws. Papi does. And this wasn't just any lefty--this was Johan flipping Santana. He's going to win his second Cy Young in just a few weeks. Best pitcher in the American League. David got him.
For good measure, he extended his record to 52 in the seventh off of Matt Guerrier.
The Sox are in second place, 10.5 games behind NYA after tonight's action. Seems some things never change. The season has proved a disappointment in many ways, especially when the expectations were so high early on. David Ortiz has single-handedly ensured that when Sox fans think of 2006, some of the memories-52 or more of them-will be spectacular!
Papi tied Foxx last night; he didn't waste any time bounding ahead. Tonight, in the first inning, off the game's best in Johan Santana, Ortiz creamed one over Williamsburg's bullpens, into the stands. It was a great, majestic shot. The kind that the writers describe Ruth blasting. The staff of Johnny Brusco's Pizzas and Subs earned my undying gratitude by figuring out where to find the mysterious ESPN2 just in time for their patrons to see the history unfold.
A big man (and that's an inadequate description of Mr. Ortiz) just isn't supposed to be able to pull his hands in and get a full swing on a ball just off the plate inside. Papi does, regularly. Left handed batters aren't supposed to fare well against southpaws. Papi does. And this wasn't just any lefty--this was Johan flipping Santana. He's going to win his second Cy Young in just a few weeks. Best pitcher in the American League. David got him.
For good measure, he extended his record to 52 in the seventh off of Matt Guerrier.
The Sox are in second place, 10.5 games behind NYA after tonight's action. Seems some things never change. The season has proved a disappointment in many ways, especially when the expectations were so high early on. David Ortiz has single-handedly ensured that when Sox fans think of 2006, some of the memories-52 or more of them-will be spectacular!
Sunday, September 17, 2006
A Call For Arms
Pitching is the name of the game. The total breakdown of a pitching staff has turned a mid-September four game Red Sox-NYA series boring. The lack of it has ended the Braves' ridiculous run of championships. The lack of it may end the Cardinals' quest for that follow up to the 1982 World Series Championship. The lack of it may cost Dusty Baker his job; has knocked the Reds out of the race; put the Giants down, and on and on.
Most of the strong organizations will spend a very frustrating winter trying to find pitching that just isn't out there. Perhaps not so the Red Sox.
Consider a few young pitchers from days gone by:
Year 1, pitcher A: Age-21; Record- 2-7; ERA-5.48
Year 1, pitcher B: Age-22; Record- 7-17; ERA-4.56
Year 2, pitcher A: Age-22; Record- 12-11; ERA-2.94
Year 2, pitcher B: Age-23; Record- 14-8; ERA-3.68
Year 3, pitcher A: Age-23; Record- 14-11; ERA-3.85
Year 3, pitcher B: Age-24; Record- 10-12; ERA-4.28
Year 3, pitcher C: Age-20; Record- 3-11; ERA-5.64
Year 4, pitcher A: Age-24; Record- 14-13; ERA-3.80
Year 4, pitcher B: Age-25; Record- 20-11; ERA-2.55; Cy Young Award
Year 4, pitcher C: Age-21; Record- 18-11; ERA-3.38
The years: 1988-1991; the team: Atlanta Braves; the pitchers: A is John Smoltz, B is Tom Glavine and C is Steve Avery. The lesson: young pitchers, especially those who probably deserve a little more time in the minors but get advanced because there isn't anybody else to use, need some time to become Major League pitchers. But look what can happen when somebody believes in them and hangs with them.
I don't know for sure that the Sox expected any of their huge class of young pitchers to have to contribute this year. If they were counting on any of them, it probably was Papelbon, but not in the role he starred in. The group, as of 9-17:
Jon Lester, 22, 7-2, 4.76
Craig Hansen, 22, 2-1, 6.06
Craig Breslow, 26, 0-2, 4.66
Manny Delcarmen, 24, 2-0, 4.76
Kason Gabbard, 24, 1-3, 3.13
David Pauley, 23, 0-2, 7.88
Jonathan Papelbon, 25, 4-2, 0.92, 35 saves
As bad as this year has been, if there are a couple of guys in this group who even wind up resembling Glavine and Smoltz, with a bit of an Avery thrown in somewhere, the next fifteen years will be a lot of fun.
Just hang in there for a little while, Red Sox Nation!
Most of the strong organizations will spend a very frustrating winter trying to find pitching that just isn't out there. Perhaps not so the Red Sox.
Consider a few young pitchers from days gone by:
Year 1, pitcher A: Age-21; Record- 2-7; ERA-5.48
Year 1, pitcher B: Age-22; Record- 7-17; ERA-4.56
Year 2, pitcher A: Age-22; Record- 12-11; ERA-2.94
Year 2, pitcher B: Age-23; Record- 14-8; ERA-3.68
Year 3, pitcher A: Age-23; Record- 14-11; ERA-3.85
Year 3, pitcher B: Age-24; Record- 10-12; ERA-4.28
Year 3, pitcher C: Age-20; Record- 3-11; ERA-5.64
Year 4, pitcher A: Age-24; Record- 14-13; ERA-3.80
Year 4, pitcher B: Age-25; Record- 20-11; ERA-2.55; Cy Young Award
Year 4, pitcher C: Age-21; Record- 18-11; ERA-3.38
The years: 1988-1991; the team: Atlanta Braves; the pitchers: A is John Smoltz, B is Tom Glavine and C is Steve Avery. The lesson: young pitchers, especially those who probably deserve a little more time in the minors but get advanced because there isn't anybody else to use, need some time to become Major League pitchers. But look what can happen when somebody believes in them and hangs with them.
I don't know for sure that the Sox expected any of their huge class of young pitchers to have to contribute this year. If they were counting on any of them, it probably was Papelbon, but not in the role he starred in. The group, as of 9-17:
Jon Lester, 22, 7-2, 4.76
Craig Hansen, 22, 2-1, 6.06
Craig Breslow, 26, 0-2, 4.66
Manny Delcarmen, 24, 2-0, 4.76
Kason Gabbard, 24, 1-3, 3.13
David Pauley, 23, 0-2, 7.88
Jonathan Papelbon, 25, 4-2, 0.92, 35 saves
As bad as this year has been, if there are a couple of guys in this group who even wind up resembling Glavine and Smoltz, with a bit of an Avery thrown in somewhere, the next fifteen years will be a lot of fun.
Just hang in there for a little while, Red Sox Nation!
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