Milton Bradley

At the end of the day, it's all about being productive, and what better way to be productive than to celebrate the 27th anniversary of a game that was played for 25 innings (just over 8 hours)? Thank you Harold Baines for wrapping that one up (while not the longest ever by innings - Boston and Brooklyn battled to a 1-1 tie after 26 innings in 1920 - it was the longest by time). And with that, here's to baseball history, present, and future.
So let's see who's being productive at the end of the 5th week of baseball 2011...
(definitely not my fantasy team who lost for the first time all year in head to head games).
Derek Jeter lost his power, and then he got it back with 2 home runs in one day after not hitting one in his previous 256 at bats. Is this the end, or is this Jeter bouncing back to glory? He did have 4 hits and a stolen base to go up to a .276 average, so that has to be something.
HOWEVER, not everyone had a good day on Sunday. Take Kobe Bryant and Phil Jackson, who were swept out of the playoffs... not that we care, but that said, it's great to see the NBA's Ben Roethlisberger getting sent home early with his little Zen buddy and the Kardashian circus tag along getting sent back for siesta in most unceremoneous ways. No offense to Phil and Lamar, but when it comes to those who commit sexual assault (and only get out of it by using their fame against their accuser), they should all go drown.
But alas, that's just me.
All the same, today is the end of the road for yet another Milton Bradley adventure. While he did just get ejected against Boston not 2 weeks ago, it wasn't his attitude, but it was his bat failing to live up to its potential that sees Bradley getting ready to tread the unemployment lines of baseball as he faces outright release or trade due to being put up for assignment. Batting .218 with 2 home runs and 13 RBIs will do that to a man.
Thus, in honor of the man with the most unfortunate name in baseball (even worse than Coco Crisp since that's at least a fun name, and apparently, it's not the kind of name that inspires a player to go loco), there are the many problems of Milton Bradley: bottle throwing at fans who litter the field around him, accusing teammates of racism, accusing fans who hate his foul attitude of racism for sending him hate mail, screaming at teammates, screaming at managers, and trying to scream at announcers. Yep... he's done the whole spectrum... from umpires to oppoents, there is a world out there that hates Milton, and frankly, there's no internal locus of control to make sense of it all.
While not always his fault, it's all about how a man walks the walk after hearing the talk, and unfortunately, for this, Bradley's potential has been cut short.
We'll see if he comes back, but until then...

Brian Stow

Friendship, Pennsylvania, is probably a really nice town, but I've never been there. However, if their citizens are like 41 year old Scott Ashley, I have to say that I'll pass. In a video that is almost as nauseating as watching a Kardashian breed in digital format, you can watch him get tasered for unruly conduct in a game last night against the Rockies.

Thank God for Youtube.

After drunkenly antagonizing fans in his section, he was asked to leave, which didn't work, and then he was hit with a night club 6 times, which didn't work, and then he was tasered. The Pirates support the 2 officers who feared for their safety, and yeah... it was a typical night in Pittsburgh - only Ben Roethlisberger wasn't getting too agressive for his own good this time.

That said, going into the atmosphere of removing a drunken fan and having to deal with the abuse of other drunken police hating fans isn't easy. I know that it's part of the job, but there is something to not be said about this "don't tread on me" attitude that is escalated when idiot fans feel that just paying for their ticket entitles them to stay the course of the game and do whatever, whenever, to whoever.

And that just isn't so.

In light of Brian Stow, a San Francisco Giants fan who had the tar kicked out of him after a game against the Los Angeles Dodgers for simply wearing the wrong jersey in another team's stadium, there is no more mulligans for bad behavior. Stow is in a coma and has had part of his skull removed to stop some of the pain that he is in. If you want to donate to help him, you can see links in the actual article. At the current time, there is a $150,000 reward if you can turn in information leading to identities of the thugs that did this heinous act to him.

And for all that we do and say about team loyalty and general feistiness during games - razzing those who support other teams or talking trash - there is still a sense of when enough is enough OR at least a line that won't be crossed (verbal against the team to physical against the fan).

But when we don't know the difference and our loyalties are for grandfalloons that we choose to see as ourselves - even when we're not even near good enough to make A level minor league teams... then something is amiss, and for that, there has to be a call to rationality again.

Either that, or people can just leave the games and go to a roadhouse where this stuff is expected and condoned - unless Patrick Swayze has something to say about it.

Aaron Boone

You think we'd learn. You think Aaron Boone would have taught us all what it means to get into a pick up basketball game and get injured and lose his contract because he was playing for the Yankees and he wasn't making much, and frankly, with that, he was quite expendable. And let's not even think about the idea of doing something so wreckless and stupid that it just jeopardizes EVERYTHING that he and the team could be without an instant of showing that he had ACTUALLY THOUGHT ABOUT WHAT HE WAS DOING. I'm sure just reminiscing about the incident would make Derek Jeter and guys like him who waited their whole life to wear pinstripes and go to the playoffs cringe in horror. Fortunately,
But alas...
You think we'd learn. You think Ben Roethlisberger would have taught us that we can't ride our motorcycles helmetless if our team is counting on us, but alas, he never learned either.
And so it shouldn't be a shock that the Great White Nope of Milwaukee (registered trademark, but because we just don't believe) has gone and shot himself and an entire state full of Cheeseheaded beer drinkers who still remember the good ol' days of Harvey's Wallbangers and Laverne and Shirley in the foot or should I say feet because he's making $13.5million per season for the next 2 seasons and his success will keep Prince Fielder in town (hopefully) or the lack thereof will drive him to Anaheim or some other city in need of a big bopping designated hitter or first basemen (at Prince's weight, he'll be a DH like his daddy before too long).
But with a broken rib from his dalliance at trying to be like Lebron James, he'll be on the DH at the start of the season. Will he come back healthy and ready? Will his social anxiety disorder and depression be affected?
Let's just say that if I was Mark Attanasio today and I was thinking about how much money and faith and hope I just installed into my ace and how he paid me back, I'd be thinking of getting 70cents on the dollar and shipping him to some other team in the hope that I could build up for the future because even if I had to keep him, I surely wouldn't keep him around to extend the contract ad infinitum.
And the injuries and the hopes and dreams keep right on rolling in the land of cactuses and the world of grapefruits as we get closer and closer to day 1.

Calvin Schiraldi

It's hard to like a sport that relies on the clock to end a game. The NBA has 4 quarters. The NHL has 3 periods. The NFL has 4 quarters. Of the big sports, only baseball and NASCAR have a system where something has to happen before the game ends. In 2 weeks, we'll see the Daytona 500, and we'll go 200 laps from start to stop. We'll even have multiple chances to get it right and go over the finish line if something nasty happens on the final lap and the caution flag waves. That's how it should be. Get it right. Things have to happen, or the game goes on.
The race to the finish at the end of the Superbowl sucks for one reason... it's sudden death against a clock NOT a powerful defensive line that stops a team cold and dead.
Mind you, I've always hated the clock. I'm not here to defend Ben Roethlisberger from a loss that he deserved (though I deserved the $25 that was on the line for a Steelers win). I'm just saying that if he wasn't trying to preserve time outs and had a chance to set up, it might have been a different game.
Baseball gets it right. Each team has 9 innings of 3 outs an inning to record 27 outs in combination of ground outs, fly outs, strike outs, or tagging out a runner trying to move ahead to the next base. It's not over until the singing starts. That's life on the diamond of baseball.
If you don't believe it, perhaps there is nowhere more readily exemplifiable as Game 6 of the 1986 World Series. Boston is up 5-3 on a home run by Dave Henderson and a Marty Barrett single that scores Wade Boggs. It's now the bottom of the 10th and we have just witnessed 2 fly balls to the outfield. Two down. Gary Carter is up with the Mets down by 2, and he comes through with a 2-1 count single. Kevin Mitchell steps up and he singles on an 0-1 count. Carter is on second and it's 3 pitches from the end. The Mets are still down by 2, and now we see Ray Knight go to 0-2 and he singles! Carter to third, but we've still got a 1 run lead for the Red Sox who have the wheels falling off, so out comes Bob Stanley to get 1 runner. A wild pitch later on a 3-2 count to Mookie Wilson, and we have Carter over the plate and Knight on second base.
To protect the already defamed, we all know what happens next. A poor unfortunate once great first baseman with leg problems who wasn't relieved for a better defensive second baseeman lets the ball go through his legs, the Red Sox lose, and then they blow Game 7, too.
Once again, they had the chance to win it all. They even had the lead in Game 7. But for those people that can't close the deal, why should there be a win? Mariano Rivera saved a ton of games when it counted, but in Game 7 of 2001, he couldn't seal the deal. He never took a knee. He lost like a man in the same way he won like a man when it counted all of those other times.
Unfortunately, the big game of the year is a one and done football game, which is just how their sport works. There's too much to lose if we force players to play more games than they do. The crush and contact makes it necessary because as we all know players are property, or at the very least, they're investments meant to be coddled like an adorable little Muppet baby of a child that must be protected from the world or a former ALCS hero third baseman that gets injured in a basketball pickup game that he wasn't allowed (by contract) to play in...
Unless they're a big time thug NFL quarterback with no helmet and no permit crashing out his motorcycle because that's the cool thing to do, which brings us back to jump where we look at how football players differ from baseball players: the sense of entitlement that thinks being the guy with the ball and the guy with the rings makes all the difference.
Sure, it takes a man to wear a boot when he's injured and risk further injury while leading his team to victory (though it's better if your sock shows blood and you beat your hated opponents - props to you, Curt Schilling). However, that doesn't change that the game and the culture of the NFL is flawed.
This is just one man's opinion... that's all.

Jim Thorpe

There's something about the spectacle that is the Superbowl. The pomp, the circumstance, the hype, and the hope that 2 teams can come together in an epic clash and make it all the way to the end of the 4th quarter and still be going strong enough that they both have a chance to win because that's what it's all about.
Somewhere in the game is a minor league carnival of whatever. While there aren't T-shirt cannons and crazy ostrich riders / hot dog vendors, there is still enough "other stuff" that people who don't care about football can enjoy the jubilation of Rah Rah America Kicks Ass Day (if Obama really wants to impress me, he'll rename Superbowl Sunday as such and make the next day an official half day like they did when I was in the Air Force (at least in the early 1990s at the European clinic I worked at with regards to all un-necessary personell since the game was televised VERY late at night on AFN)).
But the Superbowl is the epitome of America. Baseball really can't compete with the "general public" though George Carlin was right about it. Baseball's spectacles just aren't the same since the death of Bill Veeck. The World Series is 7 games and it's not do or die. The All-Star Game (in baseball as in all sports) is a series of spectacles and some applause for who was announced with no Pete Rose / Ray Fosse moment since it's all about being owned by the team and to play one's heart out in a game that doesn't count towards the standings... anathema! Well, at least it is for modern players.
Back in the day, athletes could be great and play 2 sports. Danny Ainge was a Blue Jay, but he chose the Celtics instead, which was a good choice because the Celtics were dominant in the Larry Bird era. Bo Jackson bled his heart out on two fields and made Buck O' Neil salivate over the sound of his bat (unfortunately, I never heard this because I was young and in England and totally un-concerned with the sports whose trading cards I grew up with).
Jim Thorpe who became the new namesake for the town of Mauch Chunk (the best place to spend a weekend in eastern PA HANDS DOWN as it offers fine dining, cultural entertainment, river adventure, waterfalls, ghosts, and antiques all in one cozy 19th century Swiss styled town) was also a 2-sport athlete after getting hosed out of his gold medals in the 1912 Olympics because he played baseball. Nevertheless, this half Native American went on to be gushed over by the Associated Press as the greatest male athlete of the first part of the 20th century (1950) in much the same way King Gustav drooled over him way back when he was still getting ready to dominate in the Olympics. ABC did them all one better by declaring him the greatest athlete of the 20th century.
Johnny Come Latelies aside, the rectifying of his gold medals in 1982 restored the memory of this great athlete to where it should have always been.
However, more people remember 2-sport athletes like Deion Sanders and his flashy personality than do Jim Thorpe, which is a shame as it shows our tunnel vision for the now instead of the past. It's kind of like looking at the Black Eyed Peas halftime show as an example of great music. Sure, Will I Am and Usher's "OMG" is a great pop song. So is "Tonight's Gonna Be a Good Night." However, their live show... nicht so gut. Seeing Slash playing with Fergie, who is perhaps the WORST performer in the history of performances (she's not attractive, she can't sing, she can't dance - it's the trifecta of uselessness) was a sad state of mainstream music in 2011. I know that the last couple of performances were largely white rock since the Wardrobe Malfunction, but c'mon...
It's bad enough that the Superbowl didn't even try to get glitzy until they used George Burns and Mickey Rooney in 1987. In 1991, they switched it up with New Kids on the Block, and in 1993, the self-proclaimed King of Pop, who we just look at as a permanent scumbag, but alas, I digress... and half time shows were now even more important than the game (just not the commericals that now cost around $3million for 30 seconds). But one again, c'mon. Can we not do better than Fergie? Can Will I Am not kick her to curb once and for all?
One can only hope (not that baseball's choice of musicians to raise the roof is that great since they used Counting Crows who despite having one of the greatest CDs ever (August and Everything After) were 12 years removed from being good, and even then, they weren't in their element, which is whiney introspective pop.
But yes... here's to the joy of the Superbowl- even if it's a spectacle where we get sucked into rooting for Thug Ben because we draw a $25 chance to win if the Steelers win (and we end up hating him EVEN more).
And here's to minor league baseball - because it's still baseball - the greatest sport in the world.

Ron Santo

When I was younger, I always thought that my dad's father died of yellow fever. I don't remember what actually killed him, but I was told later that it wasn't yellow fever. In much the same way of being confused by what I thought I heard, I always thought that my dad's favorite player when he was a kid was Ron Santo, but it was actually Richie Ashburn. I didn't learn the truth until I talked to my dad after Ron Santo died on December 3rd.
Interestingly enough, the Cubs have declared that my dad's birthday, his 64th, will be the celebration of Ron Santo's life and the new statue that will be displayed outside of Wrigley Field for this 3rd base great.
Santo and his 342 home runs and lifetime .277 average over 15 seasons (9 on all-star teams), were never enough for the Hall of Fame, but true fans know. Santo was a true fan of the Cubs, the team he became famous while playing on. He celebrated their trials and tribulations as a player and announcer and always seemed to believe that the Cubs would end their drought and the Curse of the Billy Goat, the stupidest curse in history, would be over.
All the same, heart problems, cancer, and losing both of his legs to diabetes took their toll on this baseball great first.
On August 10th, Chicago will play a low key game that very few people will care about. They're taking on the Nationals, and neither team will be fighting for playoff glory. It will just be another August game, but to the Wrigley Field and a few sportscasters and some die hard fans, we will take notice of a man who was truly great.
We're not asking for special favors like being let into a McDonald's in the wee hours of the morning to use the bathroom, which results in the temporary firing of an employee who gives into his star status.
We're not talking about a man who had questionable relationships outside of marriage and must wear a scarlet S on his chest as he tells neighbors where he lives in order to avoid jail time. Even football players fear the pokey. I know that I would.
We're not talking about a man who profiteers off of making animals fight each other to the inevitable death of one of them, but who deserves a presidential thank you to the coach who took his "chances" on hiring him again, despite the fact that there was nothing to lose in hiring a former all pro quarterback.
And we're not talking about how an entire town remembered his greatness because it led them to 2 Superbowl victories and moves them towards a third victory despite the fact that the only reason he's not in the slammer is because the evidence against him couldn't differentiate consensual violent sex and rape.
But Ron Santo is not Adrian Peterson, Lawrence Taylor, Michael Vick, or Ben Roethlisberger. He's just a baseball player from a different generation. He's not the kind of person that leaves the average person star struck. He's just a man and a great gamer from a different era who still inspires enough respect to be immortalized for all who care to find out the back story of a statue that will one day join other Chicago Cubs statues of Harry Caray, Ernie Banks, and Billy Williams - note that Ryne Sandberg isn't even on this list.
Somewhere is reverence for truth, justice, and the American way.
That's why baseball will always be the national pastime.