Since he left the Red Sox, Orlando Cabrera has been with the Angels, White Sox, Twins, A's, and now the Indians. In 2004, he was the replacement for Nomar Garciaparra, and he helped bring the Red Sox over the hump. I still can't believe that they didn't keep him.
Last night, he was the 23rd out that didn't go quietly, so instead, he was the first hit in what could have been Justin Verlander's 3rd no hitter (Sandy Koufax, anyone?). Quietly, the Motor City is producing a pitcher who is flat out dominant (4-0 on a 2 hitter). Sure, there's the flip flop wins of the Red Sox, Rays, and Yankees to keep the division close (as Derek Jeter goes on the 15-day disabled list to postpone the great annunciation of the the next member of the 3000 hit club), but last night, there were 3 base runners and 12 whiff victims as Verlander was flat out dealing.
It's stuff like that, which makes Albert Pujols sub .300 performance not matter (even if he had a homer last night in his team's losing efforts against the frickin' Nationals). One for three with 2 walks means he's only hitting .275, but Verlander... he's pitching to the tune of 8-3, 2.66, and 105 total strikeouts. That's just sick. And we didn't even mention the 0.89 WHIP after 15 games (that would be number one - just over Cole Hamels, who is slightly better on ERA and slightly less in strikeouts over 1 less game).
And while Cliff Lee and Roy Halladay have more Ks and a lower ERA than he does, he's better than them on all other things. And he's doing it all in obscurity. Sure, Clayton Kershaw has a lot of strikeouts, too, but it's not like he's much better than the 6-3 record he's posting for the crappy Dodgers.
So when it comes time to meet up for the All Star Game in the desert this July, we need to be voting with something other than East Coast bias for the perennial favorites. It's time to reward some obscure excellence and some youthful greatness. This isn't about seeing the same old dinosaurs and extoling their former virtues. This is about raising a game from the aging nature of its stars that have long since gone away.
For that is the future of the game.
Showing posts with label Cliff Lee. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cliff Lee. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Alex Rodriguez
How 'bout them Butler Bulldogs?!!
But alas, since this isn't an NCAA basketball blog, we'll stick with the world of baseball and get right back to that.
There's pretty much not anything nice that we can say about Alex Rodriguez here, so if we have to say that we avoided him in YET ANOTHER fantasy draft, that's really not news, but to actually see him doing something nice - invite a 12-year old girl named Julianne Ramirez to a Yankee game because she rescued a 3-year old family friend by using CPR chest compressions - we have to look at the good things that a baseball player can do. Of course, there are other things a baseball player can do - get pissy when he and his movie star girlfriend are on camera in their Super Bowl sky booth or to come up positive for steroids and try to deny it and pass the blame - but alas, Rodriguez and his team killing salary (at least in the Rangers years) did something right this time, and since it's the only time we'll say it all year....
We'll say it.
And we'll take a look at who I did draft in the second of my fantasy drafts. I did draft Yankees, which as I said before is about the nature of this game - not my support for the Evil Empire. I ended up with Mariano Rivera, Robinson Cano, and Brett Gardner. Then again, I also got Roy Halladay and Cliff Lee again. They'll play alongside Nelson Cruz, Ichiro, and Buster Posey as well as Ryan Zimmerman, Jose Bautista, Dan Haren, and Andrew McCutchen (I've got him on both teams as I figure that he'll try to play his way out of Pittsburgh this July). Josh Johnson and Joakim Soria are also on the team, so we're primed and ready for action.
As is Colby Rasmus, who I had another trade request from the same guy who must either worship Rasmus as a god, or he must really know something.
All the same... I'm ready for Thursday and the start of the season.
Let the games begin!
But alas, since this isn't an NCAA basketball blog, we'll stick with the world of baseball and get right back to that.
There's pretty much not anything nice that we can say about Alex Rodriguez here, so if we have to say that we avoided him in YET ANOTHER fantasy draft, that's really not news, but to actually see him doing something nice - invite a 12-year old girl named Julianne Ramirez to a Yankee game because she rescued a 3-year old family friend by using CPR chest compressions - we have to look at the good things that a baseball player can do. Of course, there are other things a baseball player can do - get pissy when he and his movie star girlfriend are on camera in their Super Bowl sky booth or to come up positive for steroids and try to deny it and pass the blame - but alas, Rodriguez and his team killing salary (at least in the Rangers years) did something right this time, and since it's the only time we'll say it all year....
We'll say it.
And we'll take a look at who I did draft in the second of my fantasy drafts. I did draft Yankees, which as I said before is about the nature of this game - not my support for the Evil Empire. I ended up with Mariano Rivera, Robinson Cano, and Brett Gardner. Then again, I also got Roy Halladay and Cliff Lee again. They'll play alongside Nelson Cruz, Ichiro, and Buster Posey as well as Ryan Zimmerman, Jose Bautista, Dan Haren, and Andrew McCutchen (I've got him on both teams as I figure that he'll try to play his way out of Pittsburgh this July). Josh Johnson and Joakim Soria are also on the team, so we're primed and ready for action.
As is Colby Rasmus, who I had another trade request from the same guy who must either worship Rasmus as a god, or he must really know something.
All the same... I'm ready for Thursday and the start of the season.
Let the games begin!
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Colby Rasmus
I'm really going to do it this year - not like last year when I quit in futility. This will be my fifth year taking part in fantasy leagues, which is as much of a commitment as this website is. It requires patience and dedication to a 162-game schedule. Attention issues aside, a good draft and no injuries will keep the fires stoked until September 28th. It requires serious "research" to do determine who is coming up in the world of rookies, and it requires getting rid of injured players so that statistics aren’t jeopardized. Many people will start, but few will finish. I'm living proof. Having a quick blast of energy at the beginning is essential to having a chance, but it’s not everything.All in all, it’s as much a part of the game as the game itself, but it involves divorcing oneself from loyalties on the field. Where once I wouldn’t draft Yankees due to my hatred of the team, I have had four of them over the years (Rivera, Matsui, Gardner, and Jeter), which means that while I won’t be rooting for them, I’ll take their statistics in the same way that I will take other player’s great games.
This year, I started off with an option to get Robinson Cano, probably the best second baseman in the game, if I got pick 6 as the 6th picker; however, someone else grabbed him first, so I ended up with Roy Halladay and took the 7th pick (a league of 6 people - I didn't want to play with also rans more than I had to this year) of Joey Votto. All in all, I also got Josh Hamilton, Cliff Lee, Joe Mauer, Dan Uggla, Michael Young, and Mike Stanton for a rather solid looking team.
Already, my competition wants Colby Rasmus - for Raul Ibanez of all people. Let's be honest... I may have a couple of Phillies on my team and be from PA, but a rapidly aging mid power outfielder in decline already... nah. Perhaps, he should have offered Jason Heyward, but that's most likely asking way too much.
Granted, Rasmus has an upside... 23 homers and .276 batting average with 12 steals, and 148 whiffs, BUT he hates Tony Larussa, and that says a lot to me. Sure, he wanted off the team last year and Phat Albert thought he should have been jettisoned, but considered that Ryan Ludwick had already left for San Diego (dumb, dumb, dumb), Colby wasn't moving. And if he moves this year, he may have a bounce year in a non-Larussa burg. And if he doesn't, he could get even better than he already is. After all, he's only 2 years in the bigs...
So in the words of Hayden Panettiere, “bring it on. It’s all or nothing.”
Let the fantasy season begin!
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Mark McGwire
While sitting with my teacher friend Dale, the subject of great baseball players is always bound to come. He’s in his early forties and I’m in my late thirties, so it wouldn’t be wrong to think that we would tend to reflect on the 1970s and 1980s as the glory days of baseball, but for the most part, you would be wrong since the greatest games for us were the ones that we weren’t even alive to see. In no small part, we owe a mega burst of gratitude to Ken Burns for his contributions to the history of baseball because it’s clear to see that Major League Baseball has no respect for the history of its game unless it’s for its fan to buy the latest current slab of what happened this year as a DVD at the end of the season.
If they had any foresight at all, they would instead be focusing on the ability to post lots of historic video of the past online for all generations to see. The fact that any time anything really cool happens, let’s say Jacoby Ellsbury stealing home off of Andy Pettite two years ago, it’s up for a day or so on Youtube and then the backwards thinking bastards that be choose to have it pulled down out of copy right protection concerns. Now, I’m not saying that it has to stay on Youtube, but couldn’t MLB start a pay per view library service so that any time I want to watch something great happen, say watching Albert Pujols jack a Brad Lidge pitch into the wall of Minute Maid Park to keep the Cardinals alive for one more game, I can salivate over the memories of the past?
However, this is impossible, and other than the history of baseball up until 1990, I can’t watch any of the real great players of history focused upon. Thus, to dream about Brooks Robinson throwing deep to first from deep in the corner, I have to go to the third greatest gift that my wife ever gave me, and watch the celluloid footage of that World Series game to see what the heroes of the past were truly like. What will the kids of today have to do in order to watch Dustin Pedroia and Matt Holliday star for the Red Sox and Cardinals? How will these youngsters know why Adrian Gonzalez is or isn’t worth mortgaging the future for in an offseason trade that is supposed to tip the balance of all things?
Simply, they won’t - at least until ESPN or MLBTV say it's so OVER and OVER and OVER again.
And for the same reason that MLB has no concern for its history, we won’t know how “great” the steroids era players were because it’s easy to say that the media was duped into reporting how great they were to make up for the fact that baseball went on strike and killed the World Series in 1994, and their apologies are word enough for the rest of the impressionable youngsters of today to throw away their parents’ baseball card collections, but to still retain hopes in the present - especially that somehow Whiff King Ryan Howard isn’t tainted, and even though Alex Rodriguez is slightly dented, his “apology” and “great play” in the 2009 World Series makes up for everything – unlike Roger Clemens, Barry Bonds, Sammy Sosa, and Mark McGwire who will forever wear their scarlet letters for eternity and then some.
However, for those people willing to look back on baseball history, they would see that Major League Baseball did memorialize Race for the Record on VHS, which is still available for $1.99 on E-bay. Nevertheless, I have my copy and have cherished it since the fall of 1998 when it first came out. I don’t make apologies for owning it. Mark McGwire was and still is my favorite player of all time. Steroids or not, the summer of 1998 was a magical moment that made me who I am. For that, it’s as important to a baseball story in 2011 as it was to a baseball story in that magical summer of a dozen years ago.
And while I liked other players from that time period when I was younger and more concerned about this sport than anything around me, I find the moments of that season to be almost (but not quite) as special as the moments of my marriage and courtship, which took place over the last few years. In that, there was a day that I would have went into a winter of depression having seen the Yankees win, but frankly, I didn’t feel more than a slight sting for what had transpired against Philadelphia’s weak pitching staff (sorry Cliff Lee and game 2 Pedro, you tried) and sorry ass strikeout king (sorry Chase Utley, at least you tried unlike your counterpart) because of the perspective that I have for where my life is with my beautiful wife besides me.
And it's great to have Tim Lincecum take down Cliff Lee, but it's not the same as spending vacations and time in general with my wife. Five years ago, that would have been something, but now there is adult and the memories of the great games of youth that still drive me back to the game for a well-placed second place in my life.
So before this gets all soppy, I should get back to baseball, and say that like Dale, I find it hard to find interest in players the same way that I did when I was younger. Maybe it’s being married and redoing a house and contemplating children and the Arizona / Utah border vacation that I want to get back to for some summer week that keeps me from thinking of some of these players in the way that I did when I was younger, but in part, I don’t find them as magical. Their interviews are generic. The plays were done better by other players in the past, and I’m not ready to believe in anyone new, other than Albert Pujols and Ichiro Suzuki in the way that I once believed in Ryne Sandberg, Paul Molitor, Curt Schilling, Pedro Martinez, and David Ortiz. The play of the past few years and the less than believability that is associated with Dominican birth certificates has come to take its toll on me. For that, this blog is an exercise to getting back to the great players of the past and comparing their deeds to those of the current crop of players that seems to be changing incredibly from what it was even five years ago. Will Tim Lincecum and Jon Lester become the next Walter Johnson, Cy Young, Bob Gibson, Sandy Koufax, or Bob Feller? One can only hope.
As the Ramones sang about their own existential void, probably not the one that wonders if Joe Mauer will ever be the next Josh Gibson and which anonymous rookie could be the next Roger Maris, Honus Wagner, Satchell Paige, or Ted Williams, but the wonder about another time where it feels as good as the magical moments of the past, “Nothing makes any sense, but I still try my hardest. Take my hand. Please help me man. 'Cause I'm looking for something to believe in.”
And for that, I leave you with the words from Eureka, Nevada, my unfinished first novel:
"I woke up and walked to the newspaper, looking at the Sunday sports headlines that said that Mark Mcgwire had been thrown out for disputing a called third strike the day before. The fans were irate and with good cause. The call was rotten and just like the media who were doing there best to put a damper on Big Mac’s quest for 62, the umpires weren’t cutting him any slack either.
Mcgwire’s angst was justifiable. He had been forced to endure the what he did, what he didn’t do and the will he break the record as he stood out as the sole highlight on a horrible St. Louis team. All the while, Sammy Sosa was hitting his homeruns, deferring the questions to Mcgwire and watching his Cubs fight for the division title.
I was tired of the drive. I was tired of the wait. I wanted to be in St. Louis, and that was where I was heading at the moment. I packed up and was off, though I found out that it was an evening game rather than a day game, so I would be driving in slower than I thought that I would be.
If only I was a little farther down the road, then life now would make more sense. At that moment it was all just a highway that took me to St. Louis, a game that would change my life, a perfect moment filled with more positive emotional content than an entire yearlong relationship would leave me. I was destined to be in St. Louis that evening, but first I was off to Mark Twain Lake and museum, which was somewhere in the empty middle of Missouri’s rolling forest land. I walked around, admired the sights, and thought of baseball. I was killing time.
A few hours later, I was at the game. I parked the car and ran up towards Busch Stadium and a sea of red shirts and signs.
“Go Mark Go.”
“Make it a great 1998.”
Even before I got to the game, there were signs such as the Billboard above Highway 70 that listed Mcgwire’s homerun total at the moment. St. Louis was alive with Mcgwire at the moment. The Braves, despite their perennial power in the East Divison of the National League were in town, but their fans were non-existent. This was St. Louis, home of the Cardinals and a special place that was filled with something that couldn’t be described, but rather could be felt in some special way, through some special sense. We were all a part of it and as I walked inside of the Mecca that was Busch Stadium, I knew I was in the presence of something.
Realizing the game was on ESPN that evening, I called my dad, begged him to tape it, and we talked about the trip, the Cardinals and what I was going to do after the game was over. It was a whirlwind of explanations, but only one mattered – get the game on video. I hung up, read my program and waited to watch the game.
From the stadium, you could see the St. Louis skyline. Several hotels and the great Arch line the Mississippi river, which lies off in the distance from Left Field. I took several photos, watched batting practice, and then the Star Spangled Banner played as 44,000 fans took to their feet in a mix of patriotism and a feeling that everything was right again with the national pastime after a horrible strike took out the 1994 season and World Series.
Today, the Cardinals were taking on Kevin Millwood, a hot young pitcher who was bolstered by a strong Atlanta offense that saw 2 homeruns by Andres Galarraga bring their team out to an early lead. I was dejected and angry, but still I watched, un-swayed by the lead that had arisen, and crossed my fingers and prayed to the Baseball God that everything would be made right in the universe.
On Mcgwire’s first at bat, he walked. The second at bat was a single, keeping his day perfect, and then came a double in the third plate appearance. Big Mac was 2 for 2.
When Mark Mcgwire stepped to the plate in the 7th inning, the sky was dark and the flashbulbs exploded as the crowd got to their feet to signal that now was the time. There were 2 men on and the cards were down 7-5. Millwood had been removed, and Dennis Martinez, one of the most dominant Latino pitchers of the time stepped to the mound knowing that he had never let up a hit to the man. His fate was sealed with that announcement on the Busch scoreboard.
After this, the at bat is a haze. I don’t remember what happened prior to it, but Martinez threw, Mcgwire swung and took the ball deep. I was on my feet as was everyone else and we were willing it to go. I didn’t want to believe it would go because it was hit long, since I wasn’t one of those people who ooh at every single long fly ball to centerfield. I was silent in that all of my energy was in my stomach, bottled down, unable to come up, I was breathless and I was focused on that moment, when the ball cleared the fence and I was still silent as I stopped to gather in the fact that my boy had launched a 501-foot blast off of Dennis Martinez to straight away centerfield. This 3 run shot, number 55 on his quest to 70 for the year, a mark that would shatter Roger Maris’ 37 year old record, left ever single one of the 44,051 fans on their feet.
Everything came out and I was screaming in complete jubilation at the moment. For lack of a better word though my mom would understand, it felt orgasmic. It felt like an eternity that the fans cheered and screamed, jumped up and down, gave high fives to each other and hugged. And there I was, hugging and cheering and high fiving strangers as I stood in the magic of a moment that was meant to last for an eternity, but vanished beneath a cloud of sorrow as even this mighty record was forced to give way to another. Yet at that moment, Barry Bonds didn’t matter, since every time I think of that laser beam, I think of my goose bumps and how I wasn’t sure if it was gone, but it was. It was a culmination of a summer spent rooting for heroes, questing for gold and finding it just as Mark did. The tragedies of Roger Maris and my later years wouldn’t and didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except being there in the middle of section 240 and the post-game fireworks as all of the fans scuttled down to the parking lot and drove out, knowing full well that we would be unable to sleep. This was one of those moments in time, and for me, it was so much more.
It was and is the greatest moment of my life, a culmination of a summer, a trip across America in search of all that was and could be, and it was America to me on that late August night."
If they had any foresight at all, they would instead be focusing on the ability to post lots of historic video of the past online for all generations to see. The fact that any time anything really cool happens, let’s say Jacoby Ellsbury stealing home off of Andy Pettite two years ago, it’s up for a day or so on Youtube and then the backwards thinking bastards that be choose to have it pulled down out of copy right protection concerns. Now, I’m not saying that it has to stay on Youtube, but couldn’t MLB start a pay per view library service so that any time I want to watch something great happen, say watching Albert Pujols jack a Brad Lidge pitch into the wall of Minute Maid Park to keep the Cardinals alive for one more game, I can salivate over the memories of the past?
However, this is impossible, and other than the history of baseball up until 1990, I can’t watch any of the real great players of history focused upon. Thus, to dream about Brooks Robinson throwing deep to first from deep in the corner, I have to go to the third greatest gift that my wife ever gave me, and watch the celluloid footage of that World Series game to see what the heroes of the past were truly like. What will the kids of today have to do in order to watch Dustin Pedroia and Matt Holliday star for the Red Sox and Cardinals? How will these youngsters know why Adrian Gonzalez is or isn’t worth mortgaging the future for in an offseason trade that is supposed to tip the balance of all things?
Simply, they won’t - at least until ESPN or MLBTV say it's so OVER and OVER and OVER again.
And for the same reason that MLB has no concern for its history, we won’t know how “great” the steroids era players were because it’s easy to say that the media was duped into reporting how great they were to make up for the fact that baseball went on strike and killed the World Series in 1994, and their apologies are word enough for the rest of the impressionable youngsters of today to throw away their parents’ baseball card collections, but to still retain hopes in the present - especially that somehow Whiff King Ryan Howard isn’t tainted, and even though Alex Rodriguez is slightly dented, his “apology” and “great play” in the 2009 World Series makes up for everything – unlike Roger Clemens, Barry Bonds, Sammy Sosa, and Mark McGwire who will forever wear their scarlet letters for eternity and then some.
However, for those people willing to look back on baseball history, they would see that Major League Baseball did memorialize Race for the Record on VHS, which is still available for $1.99 on E-bay. Nevertheless, I have my copy and have cherished it since the fall of 1998 when it first came out. I don’t make apologies for owning it. Mark McGwire was and still is my favorite player of all time. Steroids or not, the summer of 1998 was a magical moment that made me who I am. For that, it’s as important to a baseball story in 2011 as it was to a baseball story in that magical summer of a dozen years ago.
And while I liked other players from that time period when I was younger and more concerned about this sport than anything around me, I find the moments of that season to be almost (but not quite) as special as the moments of my marriage and courtship, which took place over the last few years. In that, there was a day that I would have went into a winter of depression having seen the Yankees win, but frankly, I didn’t feel more than a slight sting for what had transpired against Philadelphia’s weak pitching staff (sorry Cliff Lee and game 2 Pedro, you tried) and sorry ass strikeout king (sorry Chase Utley, at least you tried unlike your counterpart) because of the perspective that I have for where my life is with my beautiful wife besides me.
And it's great to have Tim Lincecum take down Cliff Lee, but it's not the same as spending vacations and time in general with my wife. Five years ago, that would have been something, but now there is adult and the memories of the great games of youth that still drive me back to the game for a well-placed second place in my life.
So before this gets all soppy, I should get back to baseball, and say that like Dale, I find it hard to find interest in players the same way that I did when I was younger. Maybe it’s being married and redoing a house and contemplating children and the Arizona / Utah border vacation that I want to get back to for some summer week that keeps me from thinking of some of these players in the way that I did when I was younger, but in part, I don’t find them as magical. Their interviews are generic. The plays were done better by other players in the past, and I’m not ready to believe in anyone new, other than Albert Pujols and Ichiro Suzuki in the way that I once believed in Ryne Sandberg, Paul Molitor, Curt Schilling, Pedro Martinez, and David Ortiz. The play of the past few years and the less than believability that is associated with Dominican birth certificates has come to take its toll on me. For that, this blog is an exercise to getting back to the great players of the past and comparing their deeds to those of the current crop of players that seems to be changing incredibly from what it was even five years ago. Will Tim Lincecum and Jon Lester become the next Walter Johnson, Cy Young, Bob Gibson, Sandy Koufax, or Bob Feller? One can only hope.
As the Ramones sang about their own existential void, probably not the one that wonders if Joe Mauer will ever be the next Josh Gibson and which anonymous rookie could be the next Roger Maris, Honus Wagner, Satchell Paige, or Ted Williams, but the wonder about another time where it feels as good as the magical moments of the past, “Nothing makes any sense, but I still try my hardest. Take my hand. Please help me man. 'Cause I'm looking for something to believe in.”
And for that, I leave you with the words from Eureka, Nevada, my unfinished first novel:
"I woke up and walked to the newspaper, looking at the Sunday sports headlines that said that Mark Mcgwire had been thrown out for disputing a called third strike the day before. The fans were irate and with good cause. The call was rotten and just like the media who were doing there best to put a damper on Big Mac’s quest for 62, the umpires weren’t cutting him any slack either.
Mcgwire’s angst was justifiable. He had been forced to endure the what he did, what he didn’t do and the will he break the record as he stood out as the sole highlight on a horrible St. Louis team. All the while, Sammy Sosa was hitting his homeruns, deferring the questions to Mcgwire and watching his Cubs fight for the division title.
I was tired of the drive. I was tired of the wait. I wanted to be in St. Louis, and that was where I was heading at the moment. I packed up and was off, though I found out that it was an evening game rather than a day game, so I would be driving in slower than I thought that I would be.
If only I was a little farther down the road, then life now would make more sense. At that moment it was all just a highway that took me to St. Louis, a game that would change my life, a perfect moment filled with more positive emotional content than an entire yearlong relationship would leave me. I was destined to be in St. Louis that evening, but first I was off to Mark Twain Lake and museum, which was somewhere in the empty middle of Missouri’s rolling forest land. I walked around, admired the sights, and thought of baseball. I was killing time.
A few hours later, I was at the game. I parked the car and ran up towards Busch Stadium and a sea of red shirts and signs.
“Go Mark Go.”
“Make it a great 1998.”
Even before I got to the game, there were signs such as the Billboard above Highway 70 that listed Mcgwire’s homerun total at the moment. St. Louis was alive with Mcgwire at the moment. The Braves, despite their perennial power in the East Divison of the National League were in town, but their fans were non-existent. This was St. Louis, home of the Cardinals and a special place that was filled with something that couldn’t be described, but rather could be felt in some special way, through some special sense. We were all a part of it and as I walked inside of the Mecca that was Busch Stadium, I knew I was in the presence of something.
Realizing the game was on ESPN that evening, I called my dad, begged him to tape it, and we talked about the trip, the Cardinals and what I was going to do after the game was over. It was a whirlwind of explanations, but only one mattered – get the game on video. I hung up, read my program and waited to watch the game.
From the stadium, you could see the St. Louis skyline. Several hotels and the great Arch line the Mississippi river, which lies off in the distance from Left Field. I took several photos, watched batting practice, and then the Star Spangled Banner played as 44,000 fans took to their feet in a mix of patriotism and a feeling that everything was right again with the national pastime after a horrible strike took out the 1994 season and World Series.
Today, the Cardinals were taking on Kevin Millwood, a hot young pitcher who was bolstered by a strong Atlanta offense that saw 2 homeruns by Andres Galarraga bring their team out to an early lead. I was dejected and angry, but still I watched, un-swayed by the lead that had arisen, and crossed my fingers and prayed to the Baseball God that everything would be made right in the universe.
On Mcgwire’s first at bat, he walked. The second at bat was a single, keeping his day perfect, and then came a double in the third plate appearance. Big Mac was 2 for 2.
When Mark Mcgwire stepped to the plate in the 7th inning, the sky was dark and the flashbulbs exploded as the crowd got to their feet to signal that now was the time. There were 2 men on and the cards were down 7-5. Millwood had been removed, and Dennis Martinez, one of the most dominant Latino pitchers of the time stepped to the mound knowing that he had never let up a hit to the man. His fate was sealed with that announcement on the Busch scoreboard.
After this, the at bat is a haze. I don’t remember what happened prior to it, but Martinez threw, Mcgwire swung and took the ball deep. I was on my feet as was everyone else and we were willing it to go. I didn’t want to believe it would go because it was hit long, since I wasn’t one of those people who ooh at every single long fly ball to centerfield. I was silent in that all of my energy was in my stomach, bottled down, unable to come up, I was breathless and I was focused on that moment, when the ball cleared the fence and I was still silent as I stopped to gather in the fact that my boy had launched a 501-foot blast off of Dennis Martinez to straight away centerfield. This 3 run shot, number 55 on his quest to 70 for the year, a mark that would shatter Roger Maris’ 37 year old record, left ever single one of the 44,051 fans on their feet.
Everything came out and I was screaming in complete jubilation at the moment. For lack of a better word though my mom would understand, it felt orgasmic. It felt like an eternity that the fans cheered and screamed, jumped up and down, gave high fives to each other and hugged. And there I was, hugging and cheering and high fiving strangers as I stood in the magic of a moment that was meant to last for an eternity, but vanished beneath a cloud of sorrow as even this mighty record was forced to give way to another. Yet at that moment, Barry Bonds didn’t matter, since every time I think of that laser beam, I think of my goose bumps and how I wasn’t sure if it was gone, but it was. It was a culmination of a summer spent rooting for heroes, questing for gold and finding it just as Mark did. The tragedies of Roger Maris and my later years wouldn’t and didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except being there in the middle of section 240 and the post-game fireworks as all of the fans scuttled down to the parking lot and drove out, knowing full well that we would be unable to sleep. This was one of those moments in time, and for me, it was so much more.
It was and is the greatest moment of my life, a culmination of a summer, a trip across America in search of all that was and could be, and it was America to me on that late August night."
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Adam Wainwright
So much promise in a young Adam Wainwright and the St. Louis Cardinals... just not for this season.
But that right elbow... the throwing arm that can make or break a player. Tommy John Surgery to follow, and stick a fork in him, he's done for 12-18 months.
That would probably stick a fork in the Cardinals' season, too, since the NL Central is no longer Comedy Central past them. Unless the Cardinals find a way to ignite Colby Rasmus at something more offense-oriented as opposed to offensive to Tony Larussa (something I totally understand since I don't like Larussa either, but fortunately, I don't have to deal with him for 162 games + spring training) and get career years out of Matt Holliday and John Jay and better than last year stats out of Pujols (because Punto, Theriot, and Berkman just aren't the answers), this is going to be a long 2011.
Since 2006's relief pitcher introduction to the non-Missouri world in the World Series, Wainwright has been pretty reliable. Other than a shortened, 2008, he's had 200 strikeouts in each of the past 2 seasons and 19+20 wins to combine with Chris Carpenter for a sweet little 1-2 punch to keep Albert in playoff hopes.
Now, he's on the shelf and destined to be an afterthought in next year's campaign too - at least unless Michael Kaplan can do some James Andrews wonder to the arm of this young ace.
This isn't good. The Cardinals need a number 1/2 starter and they need the 230+ innings the young Wainwright is good for (5 complete games last year as well).
This really isn't good because the entire Cardinals pitching rotation has been rebuilt. We may have the technology to rebuild them, but when we rebuild them, there's always the potential for more troubles - even if we're led to believe that all is well because there's a 75% recovery rate for those who undergo the most extreme of pitching injuries - i.e. the dreaded Tommy John surgery.
But Edinson Volquez believes. He's already number one out of the gate for the Reds on opening day. I want to believe for Stephen Strasburg in 2012. I really do. He's the last player I really got excited to watch in this modern game of baseball that just isn't the good ol' days.
In other injury news that matters (Vicente Padilla is a loss, but is he the team anchor?), the Phillies are catching their collective breaths as well as Cliff Lee has a side muscle strain that means that all is not well in the greatest rotation ever (registered trademark only in Philadelphia - offer does not apply in Atlanta or Baltimore). Another chance for more injury or just a hiccup on the way to greatness in 2011?
Only time will tell -35 days to be exact.
Let the games begin.
But that right elbow... the throwing arm that can make or break a player. Tommy John Surgery to follow, and stick a fork in him, he's done for 12-18 months.
That would probably stick a fork in the Cardinals' season, too, since the NL Central is no longer Comedy Central past them. Unless the Cardinals find a way to ignite Colby Rasmus at something more offense-oriented as opposed to offensive to Tony Larussa (something I totally understand since I don't like Larussa either, but fortunately, I don't have to deal with him for 162 games + spring training) and get career years out of Matt Holliday and John Jay and better than last year stats out of Pujols (because Punto, Theriot, and Berkman just aren't the answers), this is going to be a long 2011.
Since 2006's relief pitcher introduction to the non-Missouri world in the World Series, Wainwright has been pretty reliable. Other than a shortened, 2008, he's had 200 strikeouts in each of the past 2 seasons and 19+20 wins to combine with Chris Carpenter for a sweet little 1-2 punch to keep Albert in playoff hopes.
Now, he's on the shelf and destined to be an afterthought in next year's campaign too - at least unless Michael Kaplan can do some James Andrews wonder to the arm of this young ace.
This isn't good. The Cardinals need a number 1/2 starter and they need the 230+ innings the young Wainwright is good for (5 complete games last year as well).
This really isn't good because the entire Cardinals pitching rotation has been rebuilt. We may have the technology to rebuild them, but when we rebuild them, there's always the potential for more troubles - even if we're led to believe that all is well because there's a 75% recovery rate for those who undergo the most extreme of pitching injuries - i.e. the dreaded Tommy John surgery.
But Edinson Volquez believes. He's already number one out of the gate for the Reds on opening day. I want to believe for Stephen Strasburg in 2012. I really do. He's the last player I really got excited to watch in this modern game of baseball that just isn't the good ol' days.
In other injury news that matters (Vicente Padilla is a loss, but is he the team anchor?), the Phillies are catching their collective breaths as well as Cliff Lee has a side muscle strain that means that all is not well in the greatest rotation ever (registered trademark only in Philadelphia - offer does not apply in Atlanta or Baltimore). Another chance for more injury or just a hiccup on the way to greatness in 2011?
Only time will tell -35 days to be exact.
Let the games begin.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Cliff Lee
So what kind of Christmas present can you get after spending 13 prospects and $250million+?
In mid-December, the Phillies found out when they gave their fans the present that they yanked away from them the year earlier and sold it as a coup of enormous potential. They had just blown the playoffs to the Giants, who went on to win the World Series based solely on pitching. All the same, the Phillies had lost the NL Championship because their offense was lousy in the clutch. The Phillies had also lost Jayson Werth, who was viewed as a saviour to the team, but was now an overpaid price for the Washington Nationals allowing one to wonder if it's about money, opportunity, or love that a player accepts the chance to go to another team. I guess we'll just have to believe that it's the extra year that nobody who wasn't ruling the cellars of their division would have to pony more up to get.
Of course, we have to be happy for the big losers, i.e. the Yankees who missed out on their opportunity to lay claim to Lee. Thus, we see that the if you can't beat them join them mentality that brought Jason Giambi to the Bronx for a shave and a steroid nightmare wasn't convincing to Lee who in the past few years established himself as great since finding a way out of the baseball Hell that is Cleveland. At least he did it classier than Lebron did, but you knew that after being a revolving door for football teams, baseball players, and anything else of remote value, the populace would over-react and spew venom. Then again, we can't say that King James didn't kind of sort of deserve it.
So Christmas dinner was served and Lee was in the City of Brotherly Love, the fans were digging out their old jerseys or wishing that they hadn't used them to clean motor oil off of their garage floors, and life was good. The baseball gods were smiling because now the team had the big 4 to make them win the division. Roy Halladay and his perfect game and no hitter. Roy Oswalt and h is lost legacy that was brought back to life in a short stint in Philadelphia. And then there was Cole Hamels of the awesome 2008 and the lousy season after that. Sure, last year, he was back to form in ERA, but the 12-11 record shows that the team doesn't hit for him.
Thus, the true problems aren't solved because Howard has a big hole in his swing. Jayson Werth is gone. Raul Ibanez is older than dirt. Polanco is a singles man. Jimmy Rollins is washed up. Chase Utley has potential when he isn't fragile and injured. Sure, there are a few prospects coming up and Carlos Ruiz is a nice feeling for the hometown fans, but who is there to put a fear in pitchers come the playoffs? Ryan Howard isn't the man and no matter how much some fans complain and argue otherwise, what has he done in the clutch? Even Alex Rodriguez reinvented himself against Minnesota's bullpen, which I could pretty much break through on in any given high profile October game.
But I digress...
I'm not saying that Lee was a bad move. He'll do exceptionally and the fans love him, but... how much hard luck can the staff handle as the offense doesn't produce and Brad Lidge implodes in the closer role. Now those masseusse and psychiatric jobs will definitely be high pay as they hope to stave off the late inning sadness and try to be like the Orioles of the early 1970s were supposed to be the greatest pitching staff ever. Then again, there was the mid nineties Braves and the 1954 Indians.
No matter what happens, they'll be fun to watch even if the pink cap wearing sunny side up rooters of Philthydelphia will be screaming loyalty now that they're winning despite the fact that they were nowhere to be found in 2005, but what's new? That's Boston and New York, too. But such is the joy of being a baseball fan in a world of bandwagon jumpers.
In mid-December, the Phillies found out when they gave their fans the present that they yanked away from them the year earlier and sold it as a coup of enormous potential. They had just blown the playoffs to the Giants, who went on to win the World Series based solely on pitching. All the same, the Phillies had lost the NL Championship because their offense was lousy in the clutch. The Phillies had also lost Jayson Werth, who was viewed as a saviour to the team, but was now an overpaid price for the Washington Nationals allowing one to wonder if it's about money, opportunity, or love that a player accepts the chance to go to another team. I guess we'll just have to believe that it's the extra year that nobody who wasn't ruling the cellars of their division would have to pony more up to get.
Of course, we have to be happy for the big losers, i.e. the Yankees who missed out on their opportunity to lay claim to Lee. Thus, we see that the if you can't beat them join them mentality that brought Jason Giambi to the Bronx for a shave and a steroid nightmare wasn't convincing to Lee who in the past few years established himself as great since finding a way out of the baseball Hell that is Cleveland. At least he did it classier than Lebron did, but you knew that after being a revolving door for football teams, baseball players, and anything else of remote value, the populace would over-react and spew venom. Then again, we can't say that King James didn't kind of sort of deserve it.
So Christmas dinner was served and Lee was in the City of Brotherly Love, the fans were digging out their old jerseys or wishing that they hadn't used them to clean motor oil off of their garage floors, and life was good. The baseball gods were smiling because now the team had the big 4 to make them win the division. Roy Halladay and his perfect game and no hitter. Roy Oswalt and h is lost legacy that was brought back to life in a short stint in Philadelphia. And then there was Cole Hamels of the awesome 2008 and the lousy season after that. Sure, last year, he was back to form in ERA, but the 12-11 record shows that the team doesn't hit for him.
Thus, the true problems aren't solved because Howard has a big hole in his swing. Jayson Werth is gone. Raul Ibanez is older than dirt. Polanco is a singles man. Jimmy Rollins is washed up. Chase Utley has potential when he isn't fragile and injured. Sure, there are a few prospects coming up and Carlos Ruiz is a nice feeling for the hometown fans, but who is there to put a fear in pitchers come the playoffs? Ryan Howard isn't the man and no matter how much some fans complain and argue otherwise, what has he done in the clutch? Even Alex Rodriguez reinvented himself against Minnesota's bullpen, which I could pretty much break through on in any given high profile October game.
But I digress...
I'm not saying that Lee was a bad move. He'll do exceptionally and the fans love him, but... how much hard luck can the staff handle as the offense doesn't produce and Brad Lidge implodes in the closer role. Now those masseusse and psychiatric jobs will definitely be high pay as they hope to stave off the late inning sadness and try to be like the Orioles of the early 1970s were supposed to be the greatest pitching staff ever. Then again, there was the mid nineties Braves and the 1954 Indians.
No matter what happens, they'll be fun to watch even if the pink cap wearing sunny side up rooters of Philthydelphia will be screaming loyalty now that they're winning despite the fact that they were nowhere to be found in 2005, but what's new? That's Boston and New York, too. But such is the joy of being a baseball fan in a world of bandwagon jumpers.
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