Robinson Cano

It's a nice moment to see Robinson Cano taking pitches from his dad to win the Home Run Derby, but...
other than watching the home runs that he hit in the second round, I didn't watch any of the rest of it.
I did, however, have father and son bonding night for the All Star Game, and I must say that it was the best game that I've watched in a while.
At one point, my dad asked me who I was rooting for, and my only answer was a good game with individual achievement. For the most part, I got that.
Sure, it was sad to see Cliff Lee let up a home run - even if it was to Adrian Gonzalez.
However, the saddest moment of the evening was a 3 way-tie. This was either the meltdown of Joel Hanrahan who let up a double after Starlin Castro ONCE AGAIN proved he needs to be the world's first 125-pound designated hitter by throwing short to first base and letting the 1,2,3 ninth go to seed, OR it was Prince Fielder proving that he needs to be the game's other 300 pound designated hitter rather than dropping balls that go too far behind his fat ass as he drops a relatively easy basket catch (which SOMEHOW doesn't get called an error - could it be the game needs Fielder too much to call it like it is?). The 3-run home run that won it for the National League did nothing to make up for the error (because that's what it was). It was just a sad display of the John Kruk attitude (I ain't an athlete) made worse for the fact that it's all about being a 2nd generation hero to a new generation that wants to make the game hip to the hip hop world in an effort to bring African Americans back to the game.
And while we want to see people of all colors, cultures, and persuasions in the game, do we really want the NBA or the NFL in our game of baseball? Seeing Andrew McCutchen's dreads in comparison to David Robinson's Opie look shows that the game can compete with people of all interests and attitudes. In this, we have no problem with Prince's tattoos (or Brian Wilson's tattoos or beard). It's style in the same way that Charlie Finley had when he paid for cool facial hair in the seventies (thank God for Rollie Fingers and Catfish Hunter).
However, we want our players doing the outstanding things that go with being an ESPN Web Gem or an MLBTV highlight at the end of the week, month, or season. Seeing how sluggish Prince Fielder is, we have to wonder what consideration for MVP he can get when he can't play the field. Just like his compadre Big Sluggi, the defensive liability of the Red Sox, we need to put him where he can do well - off the bench and attempting to knock in runs and get on base. No harm in that. Let's not pretend he's an all around player. Let's not let him think that he's any more Hall of Fame eligible than Edgar Martinez, who was generally considered the greatest DH of all time.
Seeing who came to the game and who didn't, it's nice to see that the game loves Fielder enough to make him the NL team captain of the Home Run Derby, but let's see him for what he really is: a one dimensional player that benefits from having a lot of hitters in front of him in the lineup. Where would he be if he was playing for Houston or the Cubs?
Exactly.
But all the same, those are only 2 moments of the 3 way tie. The final saddest moment...
Not seeing Justin Verlander 6 up, 6 down the NL team. Watching 100 MPH fastballs devastating the best of those who showed up would have been like Pedro in 1999 or Carl Hubbell in 1934. Sadly, he pitched Sunday, so he was mandated to sit out. Guess we'll have to hope he's there next year.

David Ortiz

One has to wonder about all the hype and the hooplah associated with David Ortiz's first plunk from the Yankees in 1 full season worth of games (162) between the 2 teams. Sure, the Red Sox do tend to hit a lot of Yankees, but is this hatred, crowding the plate, bad pitching or what? And sure, it is the unwritten code of baseball as exacted by great men like Bob Gibson that a certain 17" of plate is mine and that a certain amount of respect is mine. All good pitchers ever knew this. That's why Pedro was so dominant (you gotta love that Gerald Williams hit - it sure did scare Tampa Bay, that's for sure). All good hitters knew this. That's why Barry Bonds wore tank armour on his arm.
Who cares who takes offense to a flipped bat? For years, the Yankees made people put up with their fecal material (as if it didn't stink) because they were winning and they were on top. Now, they are starting to suck. They're starting to get old.
If the best thing that the Yankees can do to trump up to justify CC taking a shot at the sluggi one is that Joe Girardi was worried about the feelings of poor little Hector Noesi (and since the Yankees pitching staff is injured, thin, and brittle in mind and body, they've got a lot of protecting to do), then so be it because it's New York and they'll do what they can to stay in the forefront of everyone's mind - even when they're on the decline.
"Hating the Yankees is as American as pizza pie, unwed mothers, and cheating on your income tax," Columnist Mike Royko once said.
We agree. That said, if you haven't seen the following video of Big Sluggi getting nailed by CC Sabathia on  MLBTV's Intentional Talk, then you're really missing out.
In the end, if Sluggi is having a great year and rebounding from the usual early season crappiness and post steroids drought that he has been forcing Boston fans to put up with, then bring on the retaliation towards him - we haven't thought anything about him since Obama ran for president, but hey, if he's 2004 David Ortiz, we'll take that he's going to be a target. For us, Papi can be in it to win it and make the Yankees hate him all that he wants. They still owe him a foot on that game one shot he almost put out of the stadium in the 2004 ALCS (game 1) when the Red Sox started to rally back after Mussina had left them in a stagnant morass. The time has come to pile on the misery to make the Yankee fans remember the 1980s and early 1990s for what they were - a complete joy to all non New Yorkers!
So let Girardi and crew cry. They'll be making us put up with their Jeter 3000 lovefest soon enough, which frankly put, is enough to make us vomit (even if we're doing better with getting over that whole Jeter sucks thing - besides, it's all about hating on A-Rod).

Carl Crawford

There is something about the feeling of being in a new ballpark.

Today, I went to Commerica Park in Detroit with a friend of mine from Air Force days (a million years ago or something like that) to see the Tigers play the Red Sox.

It's definitely a brave new world that we're entering into. Since Brian Stow and since becoming an adult, there are a few things that I'm definitely not doing. Number one - I'm not trying to cause a scene in an opposing ballpark. Yep... I'm definitely more mature than I was at age 29 when I went with 2 friends (one who loved baseball - one who wanted to see the game) to see the Orioles and Red Sox square off at Camden Yards. We had kazoos, signs, and attitude, and many people probably weren't happy with us. Nevertheless, we went hoarse as Pedro went for a complete game with 15 strikeouts and only 2 hits. It was a romp, and it became the chapter "Pedro and the Pantheon" in Bill Simmons' Now I Can Die in Peace. To give you an example of how I've changed, when we went, we had an extra ticket, and we sold it to a guy on the street - informing him that we were going to be crazy. I don't think he realized how much, but alas... we were just getting started for preparations for the game that never was (a rainout between the Trenton Thunder and Boston Red Sox that we showed up at way early in hopes of getting autographs while wearing face paint). I have the pictures from sitting around waiting, but alas, the rain that day just made sure the game would never happen.

Back then, I was all about my team. It's not that I'm not now, but it's just when one is in a younger frame of mind, one doesn't have to feel so desperately connected to meaning through the actions of another team. Well, that and I'm not Harvey Updyke. I still get venomous at the Yankees, but I don't go so far as to refer to Derek Jeter as a selfish player like Bleacher Report (these guys must be on some serious medication). Then again, their definitions of selfish are mostly just jerk players and players from New York (though I would agree with A-Rod at number 1).

Number 2: Since Brian Stow, I'm conscious about getting my ass kicked for my Pedro Martinez jersey and Red Sox hat. I actually asked my friend (from Michigan) if he would mind sitting next to a guy in a Red Sox jersey and if the fans would react horribly to opposing fans in the stadium. As I'm not a Yankee fan, I was ok, and really, there were other fans who were all really decent about being there, and that's what it's all about. Experience other stadiums, enjoy their heritage (there are some awesome statues of Ty Cobb, Al Kaline, Hal Newhauser, Hank Greenberg, Charlie Gehringer, and Willie Horton. For this, the Tigers do love their past and present (much love is shown to the current team despite only Cabrera and Verlander being all stars), it's just that they don't have much of a current team, and for that...

Number 3: It's not like watching Alfredo Aceves... even for as dominant as he looked, was really a great drawing card. He wasn't flat out nasty, but he did get the job done, which is more than can be said for Max Scherzer, who within 4 batters into an outless third inning was done for the 7 runs that he gave up. Normally, if I was into my team as I used to be, I would have been chanting and screaming with Jacoby Ellsbury's 3-run jack, but I actually felt bad for my friend that he didn't get to see a closer game. I don't want to be an ugly winner, but yeah... the box score really says it all.

And it's not like I get all jazzed on the current Red Sox. Sure, Big Sluggi has redeemed himself this year. Sure, there are bright spots after the horrible start, but they're not the Idiots from 2003 or the 2004 World Series team (or even 2007). They're a stacked team of devastating offense brought together to kill opposing teams.

Now that Carl Crawford is 8 for his last 9 (2 doubles, 2 triples, 1 home run, 5 runs, 5 RBIs, no whiffs), can anything stop Boston? They whooped on Cleveland 2 of 3 games and only lost the first one after Manny Acta got himself ejected (gotta love that Lake Erie love that pushed the Indians to victory).

Technically, we're .003 out of first place as the Rays fall to a game and a half back with the Yankees in first, but there is such a thing as momentum. The Yankees have a West Coast trip. Boston gets Detroit and Oakland and the White Sox. Then, the 2 come together for a meeting where Boston has killed New York in their meetings this year. I'm not saying that a June meetup is the end of the world / do or die, but with the way that the Red Sox are changing their direction, it could be meaningful TV.

If I allow myself to get caught up in it!

Carlos Beltran

Every now and again, the sun even shines on a sleeping dog's ass.
Big Sluggi (the designated former favorite player of Beantown) seems to be back. He had a great game last night and raised his average to .295, his homers to 7, and his RBIs to 19. Hell, he has as many walks as strikeouts (19) and is nowhere near as futile as he has been at this time in years past. And last night, he had a great game in helping the Red Sox kick the holy hell out of the Yankees for a weekend sweep and a .500 record for the season - albeit with a performance against a team in the decline... a team that is looking to one of it's former greats and saying (in the words of Buster Olney):
The bottom line is that Posada is 39 years old and failing at the last task the Yankees' decision-makers believe he can handle: being a designated hitter. The only thing saving his job this morning is his two decades of history with the franchise.
It's a sad day when a team has to kick its former star to the curb.
But it's only REALLY a sad day when a team isn't prepared for the what ifs... take Minnesota who is in dire need of plastic sheets to avoid bed crapping supreme (that would be the fault of the 2 Joes - Mauer getting injured and Nathan just being lousy) as they went down this weekend to the Blue Jays and Jose Bautista who jacked 3 souveniers out to the customers in Sunday's game alone. I know that I didn't believe in him before, but he seems to be in the groove in the relative obscurity of Toronto, which is nice - as long as he doesn't think he can parlay that power into a move south of the northern border.
This weekend was quite a weekend for former Royals going on a 3 homers in one game tear.
With a 3 for 5 performance (all long balls) on Friday, Carlos Beltran showed that he still has a little wiggle in his stride. That said, he's batting .285 as of this fine Monday morning, but it was a weekend to make the Mets remember why they paid the big money to get him after his 8 homer / over .400 batting average performance in the 2004 playoffs against Atlanta (who everyone beats in the playoffs) and St. Louis (who Houston couldn't beat).
Of course, those were different days for Carlos Beltran. He had a fair bit of pop and a hell of a lot of upside. Then again, he was playing for Kansas City, and when he got traded to Houston for the stretch run, he jacked 23 dingers and hit .258 with 53 RBIs in a potent lineup. He quickly signed with the Mets, which is a place where dreams come to die (and injuries pile on like trash in the Hudson). Pedro Martinez, Carlos Delgado, Johan Santana, and Luis Castillo are just a few, though fans and followers seem to have many more choices of who the worst Met signing is, but this isn't about the worst - it's about getting out from under bad decisions.
That said, Beltran's 7 years haven't been all hard time. The first 4 years had some power and some bat, but the last few years... half and 1/3 seasons just make the team wonder what they were paying for. Was he really going to hit 40 home runs and bat .300 every year? Would he patrol center field with a fine toothed comb and shag all of the nasty fly balls that came his way, or would he prove to be what most things that do well in media obscurity truly do when the light of the Big Apple shines on them?
That said... it seems like he's just trying to play his way out of the Mets lineup, which would be nice for them if they could get some return for the next few years and ship him to a contender, where he can just be free to decide if he'll come back or not next year - provided he doesn't get injured and provided he can continue to hit... which are 2 big ifs.
One definite thought being... he won't get 7 years, $119million - no matter what kind of potential he has with the decline he's already showing.

Roy Halladay

Philadelphia has long been known for its doctors. There was Dr. J and his sweet 70s afro flying through the sky for slam dunks with style and class. There was Bill Cosby delivering babies and proving that the African American place was wherever their talents and drive could take them. The University of Penn and Temple both have famous doctoral schools and churn out lots of great medical professionals, but no doctor in the city of Philadelphia is quite as famous as Doc Halladay (and while he may not win 30 games like The Baseball Project predicts, he could come very close).

Yesterday, he was sitting down Padres like a defrocking convention gone haywire. All in all, he had 14 friars getting irate in the dugout by the end of the 8th inning, but then, he blew the 2 hit shutout in the 9th inning with 3 more hits, and so in came Antonio Bastardo to seal the deal on the Phillies first home sweep of the Padres since 1979 and the days of Ozzie Smith.

This was a perfect comeback after the debacle against Milwaulkee (6.2 innings, 6 earned, 3 whiffs), but it doesn't disguise the hatred that I feel for Philadelphia's announcers (for their partisan nature and dullness) since the days of Harry Kalas shufflinging off this mortal coil. However, yesterday was about watching a game, so it's not like I really cared who was commentating, but when I have to listen to the backpedaling after "innings counts don't matter" and then going into "he's getting a lot of innings" after hearing "he's going to want to finish this game," I just want to vomit.

I'm from the Nolan Ryan school of pitching. Three runs in 6 innings is not a quality start. I'm for guys finishing their games and leaving losers like Dan Wheeler in the breadline or forcing him to find a real job (instead of being the designated innings eater whipping boy, which I'm sure every team needs, but still... I could do that job for far less money). I'm for removing the role of all closers except consistent ones (something that Mariano Rivera has been faltering on lately with his second blown save of the year on Sunday). Even then, I'm for bringing them in when the door needs slammed shut. I'm for multiple innings saves. Giving Bastardo a 1 pitch save for inducing an out... bullshit (in the words of Matthew McConaughey to Kate Hudson - when she wasn't ruining herself being A-Rod's non-Madonna arm candy - then again, with her track record of men, she's not exactly a prize herself).

Nevertheless, if there is no limit to pitches - especially in light of finishing a gem of a game (and I heard this same line with Josh Johnson and Anibal Sanchez's no hitter flirtations), then they should do the deed or lose it all.

Yesterday, the good folks at MLBTV (the baseball fetishist's porn without nipples network) showed game 7 of the 1992 NLCS - Pirates against Braves... the beginning of all that was Atlanta and Barry Bond's stake through the heart to Andy Van Slyke and the rest of the Pittsburgh faithful (no winning seasons in almost 20 years). Drabek gets to the 9th and is dealing, but then the wheels come off. It's a pitcher refusing to let the ball free and doing what it takes to win or lose on his shoulders because he got the team here, and goll dang it... he's reveling in the glory or sulking in defeat. One misplayed ball later, Sid Bream comes home on a single to Bonds, and despite all those surgeries, he's under the glove, and that's it.

But that's a pitcher letting it all hang out.

It's Pedro in 2003 with Grady Little not demanding the ball. If you don't demand it, you have to give in to the pitcher's ego.

And if it's Halladay, there's an ego. One run in with two on in the ninth - to pull the ball is to disrespect your workhorse. Let him win it or lose it. He's got the stuff... even if he's tiring out - or don't bring him out for the 9th. You (Charlie Manuel) are the one who left him hit... now you're the one that should leave him pitch.

But all the same... creating adorable little Muppets that get yanked after 6 innings and therapy headcases that need to be reassured that they're ok even when they're not (Brad Lidge) just shows how far we've come from tough pitchers to move into a world of pampered athletes.

Anibal Sanchez

On September 6, 2006, Anibal Sanchez moved into history as the author of a 103 pitch no hitter for the Florida Marlins. He took down the D-Backs, whose great pitcher Randy Johnson threw the last no hitter (in the form of a perfect game). In the end, Sanchez was dealing - 4 walks and an error prevented the gem, but in the end, he got the mystique that eluded many other great pitchers who came so close (I think of Pedro Martinez and Harvey Haddix, to name but 2).
What goes around comes around.
With 9 strikeouts last night, Sanchez was dealing, dealing, dealing, but he also had 3 walks and 123 pitches as he went to the showers after allowing one run and one hit (the run came first, but the hit to lead off the 9th by Dexter Fowler... that's the one that hurts. After all, Marlins pitcher AJ Burnett once had a no hitter - even though he let up 9 walks - In that, it's nice to play against the Padres).
One had to wonder if he would even be allowed in for the closing ceremonies of the game and would get a no hitter by committee (such as when 6 Astros pitchers combined to stifle the Yankee offense - that was a beautiful game - I know, I watched the whole thing!).
But this Marlins machine wouldn't have been had it not been for a trade that sent him, Hanley Ramirez, and 2 other guys that went to seed quickly for Josh Beckett (in the words of Katy Perry to Elmo, we know where he stands in the minds of this blogger) and Mike Lowell (who was instrumental in the 2007 World Series, but was an overpriced hanger on last year when the BoSox couldn't send him to Texas. And in the end, that's what he always was save one triumphant fanfare moment in the World Series when sentiment saw the fans begging him to be kept on.
Sure, Hanley Ramirez is full of himself and needs to be put in his place sometimes, but he does have offensive value... and Sanchez... if he can keep it together, he'll be playing his way out of south Florida soon. We all know that they can't afford to keep anyone longer than a few years.

Kevin Millar

Back in 2003, Kevin Millar led the Red Sox to victory, and despite 1 12th inning home run off of Tim Wakefield's ugliest knuckle, there was still a feeling of MAYBE NEXT YEAR for real in all of the pain that came with that sucker punch over the Green Monster, which devastated the Fenway Faithful more than any long ball had since Bucky Bleepin' Dent. It was such a moment for Yankees fans that even though they had their asses kicked at home, they felt a sense of moral victory with that shot that it ended up in Drew Barrymore's "Hey, you have brain damage!" video in 50 First Dates. However, somewhere in that transition from COWBOY UP to IDIOTS, the Red Sox pulled it together for 4 wins on the brink of elimination and then swept the Cardinals.
It was the most magical of moments, and even after Millar left the Sox, there was a feeling that his cheerleader self needed to retire to be a bench coach in Boston (instead, he eventually retired to be an MLBTV host). He was the same glue that held the Red Sox together for their run to the top in much the same way as Jason Varitek did. Sure, there was Pedro for those early years, but after the "daddy" comment (so depressing, we won't even repeat it in its entirety), it was all over. Carrying a super little person around (2 foot 4 - Nelson De La Rosa), there was a sense of the circus as the Sox cast a few loose ends away and rode into a 2nd championship in 2007. Life was good, and even if Millar wasn't there, Manny Ramirez and Big Papi still were.
Life felt good until Manny went AWOL. Maybe this always was. Maybe it was as Millar said - "Manny being Manny," but there was something uglier in there. Drugs? Steroids? General insanity? Selfishness? All of the above? We don't know, but we do know he quit on 3 teams and seemed to be heading for a 4th when he retired today.
Of course, this was due to a 2nd drug bust. The last one was obviously just what he said it was - sexual medication. The supposed non-bust for being on the 2003 list of drug busts - that was also nothing. And in the end, that's what it was - an unofficial / official black eye. This time, his 50 game suspension would have been small potatoes as he was looking at a 100-game suspension in a season he was crapping the bed with a 1/17 start - but there was that final RBI... yeah.
And it's all over now, Manny.
As the Red Sox finally beat the Yankees for their first win of 2011, Jon Papelbon did something right (save the game in order in the 9th) as Dustin Pedroia's 3 hit day propelled the offense in spite of Wacky Lackey giving up 6 runs in 5 innings for a victory that was more due to a solid offense starting to wake up (12 hits / 9 runs) with a tee ball session off of Phil Hughes (out after 2 innings). Had they faced Bartolo Colon from the beginning, he of the healthy mid section, they would have been licking more wounds, but after Lackey left, the Yankees went to sleep. Alas, the weekend series moves on and so does life - its' just that now there won't be any more Manny Ramirez to kick around. Hell, he's done himself in for the Cooperstown vote despite 555 long balls. So much for magic numbers guaranteeing admission to the hallowed halls.

Bob Gibson

There's something about watching a pitcher dominate a game that really says what a baseball game can be. I can still remember Pedro Martinez coming in to Baltimore in May of 2000 and annihilating the Orioles in a 15 strikeout 2 hit masterpiece complete game shutout (this became Bill Simmon's "Pedro and the Pantheon" in the book Now I can Die in Peace). The Orioles fans were gone, and Pedro was on mop up duty for that one. However, Pedro's best game was his perfect game that wasn't - June 3, 1995. He was still an Expo (and there still were Expos in baseball at the time). He made it 9 innings and 1 batter into the 10th, he let up a hit. Like Harvey Haddix, he was betrayed by an equally great opponent (Joey Hamilton, who let up 3 hits). However, his Expos won. Haddix's Pirates... not so much. Lew Burdette went 13 innings of shutout ball (and 12 hits, no walks) to win a shutout while Haddix let up 1 hit and 1 walk - enough to lose the greatest game ever pitched (registered trademark).
Larry Walker, an Expo at the time, said it best about Pedro...
"You just don't expect a guy weighing ninety-seven pounds to throw ninety-nine miles an hour. He's just very aggressive. I never really watched Bob Gibson pitch, but I get the feeling he's like a Gibson. If he has to throw one under your chin, he'll do it."
And Pedro was a man who owned the plate in the same way as Gibson did. My favorite Pedro moments involve him riling up his opponents. I still contend Don Zimmer got what he asked for. However, the fight with Jorge Posada... classic Pedro. But the best Pedro was starting a game off on August 29, 2000, by smashing a ball into Gerald Williams' hand. Williams got PO'ed and came after Pedro and wailed on him, but for all the anger that he had, the Devil Rays imploded for 8 full innings until God intervened and brought the no hitter (save the hit on Williams' hand) to an end after Pedro's cross necklace broke and he let up a double.
Gibson was much the same way. He owned those 17 inches. Roger Angell said that he was the most formidable and scary pitcher of all time when he spoke about Gibson for Ken Burns' Baseball. He once hit his former room mate high on the chest to show him that they weren't on the same team anymore. In 1968, he had a 1.12 ERA, but somehow went 22 and 9. How a man can do both of those things boggles the mind (save the Cardinals offense). In 1967, he won the World Series on the strength of a home run that he hit - finishing the World Series 3-0 with a 1.00 ERA. The man was a machine and a class act all around.
Summarizing what baseball meant, a pitcher has to get batters off his plate. Be it Pedro, the Big Unit, Bob Gibson, or Sal "The Barber" Maglie. As the Baseball Project sings... "high and inside."
In a game where Barry Bonds could wear tank armor on his arms in getting all of the advantage for home runs, we need something to take the edge away from hitters...
A little chin music will do nicely.

Ford Frick

In Saving Private Ryan, he was the sniper casually shooting Nazis at will until he got rushed and got blown up - taking out more than one could count. In 3, he plays Dale Earnhardt Sr., the badass legend of racing, in all of his glory. He's in a lot of other  movies... sometimes in more prominent roles, but mostly as the guy who rounds out the group of guys that he's with... i.e. Will Smith's confidante in Seven Pounds (a rather horrible movie if ever there was one - that guy just needs to redo the Fresh Prince or Independence Day).
But there was a moment of shining glory... an underappreciated gem from Billy Crystal of all people (well, actually not since Crystal is a Yankee drooler and it was right after the time that Mark McGwire was captivating the world and ESPECIALLY ME with his home run race to beat Sammy Sosa to 61 and make it to 70) that changed the possibility of what baseball movies could be.
That movie was 61*, and it's still one of my favorites. Sure, it was sentimental, and sure, it painted Ford Frick as a villain with the ghost of Babe Ruth as some unmovable slug (and in a way, that's about what he is - other than his larger than life big kid persona that hit a lot of home runs, was a great pitcher in his day, and all that yadda yadda yadda pap) in the way of a man's record setting greatness.
And perhaps, I can't say it as well as Bill Veeck in Veeck as in Wreck to talk down on Frick's destruction of the greatest story in baseball in ages (the tale of 2 men for the record with Mantle chasing as well for most of the season), but what this whole story really boils down to isn't an asterisk - it is just that: the fact that only 23,154 people saw the home run live because Frick doesn't understand baseball promotion. Baseball could have embraced the story, remembered its past, as it did with Maris throughout the entire 1998 season (he's still at the top of my all time favorite list of players with McGwire, Pedro, and Gibson). How many books have and will be released on Mr. Maris?
The point is that we don't need our heroes to be one dimensional. Some of them can suffer from having their hair fall out due to stress (I can relate to that - and I can relate to premature white hairs in my chin patch). We can relate to staring down the system that doesn't appreciate us. We can relate to a wife who supports us through thick and thin. We can feel the urge to walk away - but not doing so. We can feel the urge to bunt if it helps us win a game rather than to swing for the fences. Most of us are Maris.
The myth of Babe Ruth is an inflated pile of hooey. Mickey Mantle may have been the boyhood hero of his time, but a certain other center fielder had to leave the game first. There will always be room on the wall for the heroes. They come from a time and place, and they should be revered and respected at something more than old folks / timers days and as a great newspaper story 37 years later (as opposed to being portraryed as an uncooperative jerk to the media at the time).
These are the things that Crystal captured... well, that and the Ball Four side of Mickey Mantle, but that's neither here nor there. Tracey Stallard's price on the banquet circuit went through the roof, and he was a Red Sox pitcher, and yeah... it was a time and place that the rivalry wasn't, and the record wasn't worth watching, and Roger was hitting 2 extra shots that didn't matter since they were after 154 games.
That's the thing about the movie. It makes you want to understand why the media of that day went out of their way to kill the potential idol of the day. It makes you want to go to Fargo and pay respects to the man. It reminds you of why we play the game and live our lives strong. It tells the life of Roger Maris in a way that showcases the season of change for all of us.
Thanks Billy! Great movie

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."

Kurt Bevacqua

Every once in a while, I get a hankering to buy baseball cards again. I'll look for them on e-Bay in hopes that there will be something cool and cheap. The two don't often go together. I do have a Pedro Martinez and Bob Gibson jersey card that I got for under $10 with shipping. I don't care about the real value. I just like that two of my favorite pitchers of all time are memorialized on one card with their jerseys fashioned into the card itself.
Cards like this are what makes collecting nowadays special. I never pulled a card like that from a real pack, but I did get some cards that were above and beyond the sets themselves. That said, other than ones of Mark McGwire's numbered home runs (especially #55), I really don't think much of any of them.
Baseball card companies today had to go back to the concept of something special to set them apart. For example, there's a 2007 Topps Derek Jeter card that also features George W. Bush and Mickey Mantle. That's a cool card. Really.
However, it's not the 1976 card that features Kurt Bevacqua of the Milwaukee Brewers blowing a huge ass bubble to win the Joe Garagiola / Bazooka Bubble Gum Blowing Championship. Things like that don't happen nowadays.

That said, it took a whole different era to respect Garagiola since he was the guy who spiked Jackie Robinson back in the day. A large part of his life was spent explaining away how he wasn't a racist until he eventually turned into a voice of the good things in baseball.
But that's not why this card is so cool. Kurt played from 1971-1985 for 7 teams. He finished with a .236 average and 27 homeruns. He stayed around as a bench player for that time. He did have a 3 hit game in the 82 World Series that saw him hit a homerun, but he wasn't anything great.
That said, he was a bubblegum blowing champion, and frankly, that goes a long way towards something great.

Baseball cards today are still nice. My wife bought me a pack of 2011 Topps, which didn't really feature anyone special, but the anticipation that I'll get someone life altering in that 5 cards for $1 pack is still like playing the lottery and seeing if I can get more than 2 numbers.

However, going to shows is more about seeing the names and the faces than being able to plunk down big bucks for the Golden Era of collecting (1950s and 1960s). There's the Platinum Era, too, but I can't afford tobacco cards. Nevertheless, I'm always amazed by what cards go for - even in 1 and sub 1 condition.

All the same, it's still fun to wander around the Convention Center in Valley Forge and think about what I could get.

Armando Galarraga

Is it any wonder that the man who was so "classy" in pitching a perfect game that got botched by a poor officiating call is now designated for assignment? Sure, he has upside. He pitched a perfect game, but so did Len Barker, the author of a 1981 perfect game against Toronto (3-0). But what else did he do? At least Dallas Braden mouthed off at A-Rod and his blue lipped world of Madonna obsession for daring to cross his pitching mound.
Now, Brad Penny's aging and injured self is on the team and he's been solid for years and years - when he's healthy. Armando really didn't contribute after that game. He got his Corvette and people hailed him the perfect sportsman, but being a great competitor doesn't win games, and Galarraga's final record was 4-9 with a 4.49 ERA. Take out the gem, and where does that leave him? Should we really feel so sad for the Venezuelan pitcher who had his 15 minutes of fame and will forever be #21 with an asterisk on our list of perfect games?
So if another team chooses to give him another chance, so be it. It's just that from August 20th to the end of the season, Armando never won again. Sure, there were a fair bit of no decisions and there were 2 hard luck decisions (2-1 losses to Baltimore and Kansas City), but still. Baseball is baseball. Ubaldo Jimenez will tell you that you can win some of those decisions and lose some. I'm sure his 19 win season last year hurts even more because he can't take a hurting to the Rockies who should be sued for lack of support worse than any deadbeat dad, but that's the game. Having 5 tough luck losses after his 15th win (3 runs or less allowed including a 1-0 loss to the New York Mets) really says it all, but look at the first part of the season (1 hard luck loss and almost all of his wins were close - there was never a blow out - his team did just enough or he got the shutout victory). It's like the glory days of Pedro Martinez all over again for Ubaldo, but with Armando, he's just not the pitcher that the other 2 guys are.
That said, this is baseball, and we believe in second chances. Surely, Jim Joyce got one in the Armando Galarraga story. Will Armando?