Last night, pitching excellence was on display in Anaheim as Justin Verlander let up 1 run in 7 innings... but he lost as Dan Haren just devastated the Tigers in every single way with a complete game 2 hitter where he walked NOBODY. In the end, it was representative of what the game of baseball has become - all pitching and very little hitting (save Jeter's 4 hits that he still has to get before Sunday night and Albert Pujols returning from the sick ward to kick the hell out of the National League Central pretenders).
Yet instead of embracing it, we pretend that the home run derby still matters in 2011.
The same could be said about Pittsburgh and Cleveland's rejuvination, but as they're on the other side of the PA Turnpike's 4 tunnels, so nobody seems to care what goes on out in the Alleghenies and Lake Erie. It's all about the longball - even if we have to utilize the aging, the one hit wonders, and the contact hitters of baseball to get it. People still aren't turning on ROOT and listening to the sound of joy come from a city better known for its football team.
Nope... it's all about post steroids era sluggers of which Ryan Howard wasn't even invited to be a part of it.
And with that, it seems that Big Sluggi is starting some kind of a trend that is about 13 years too late - picking his own home run derby team. In a day and age when the bashers aren't really coming to play (they're too afraid to hurt their swings) and the All Star Game is filled with sub par types (is Chipper Jones there because he's actually that good or is it because he's actually healthy at this point in the season), can anyone out there really feel that it's time to dig into the wallet and watch Chris Berman come up with new ways to cheer on a home run when it's Rickie Weeks doing the swinging? OK, so it's not like Prince Fielder had many good choices to go with for his team (someone equally pudgy had to counter Big Sluggi's actions after all), but certainly there had to be someone worth choosing... (Lance Berkman, maybe).
So the excitement of excitement is Prince Fielder, Jose Bautista (my pick to win it), David Ortiz, Weeks, Matt Holliday, Adrian Gonzalez, Robinson Cano, and Matt Kemp. I won't be wasting time watching too much of it (besides, I teach during the first part of it), but all in all, were I to wait for the replay in the morning, I wouldn't really feel too glued to the TV for those guys.
What I would watch wtih slobbering affection is Justin Verlander going toe to toe against Dan Haren, Tim Lincecum, Roy Halladay, Cliff Lee, Felix Herndandez, James Shields, and David Price in a contest of seeing how many times that they can strike out Mark Reynolds, Drew Stubbs, Ryan Howard, Austin Jackson, Kelly Johnson, Adam Dunn, Mike Stanton, and Ryan Raburn. Today's crop of free swinging losers need to be shown up for what they are - overpaid and forgettable players.
There would be something beautiful in watching Howard get tripped up with a nasty pitch thrown high and inside or seeing Reynolds looking absolutely glazed over as he goes down again (and again and again) with a nasty curve ball. Adam Dunn's utter futility this year would be on display as he would surely chase many a slider that exploded in the dirt. And if that's because the pitchers are better, so be it. Let's see their nasty prowess, and let's see how they make players as worthless at the plate as an Eric Chavez type that just gives up to cower in fear from the bench.
And that's the point. It's the Year of the Pitcher 2. If Drew Stubbs wants to feel big and potent (like Rickie Weeks who is somehow in the derby), let him face some real pitching. If he can hit for power, let him take on the best of the best for pitching power. Hell, I'd even pay to see Randy Johnson take time off from his gig at making old guys not feel gray to come back and devastate the lineup that is going into the derby. Ten pitches each... who can hit this guy? Johnson would still be the Big Ugly, I'm sure.
So in this era of the guy on the mound, let's not pretend that any of these batters are worth a hill of beans.
Showing posts with label Tim Lincecum. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tim Lincecum. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Jason Marquis
Britain gave us rounders and cricket, and well, that might have made baseball, but other than that, you can have their royalty. Now, don't get me wrong; I lived in the country for 5.5 years during and after the Air Force, and had things been different, I would have stayed, but in the end, I'm glad I came back to America... to eventually find my wife, slot canyons, waterfalls, flowery gardens, and baseball... all of which are very good things.
Even though we might like big, stately mansions and gardens and pomp & cirumstance, we aren't caught up in this kings and queens stuff that Europe is, and perhaps, that's something that we don't have here. Sure, we had the Kennedys and some would call that American royalty, but Camelot was dead long before I was born.
I never thought much of the Kennedys, and frankly, I never once thought about waking up at 6am to watch the royal wedding. My sleep is too important to me to waste on hearing someone I've never met say "I do" to someone else that I've never met. In addition, I have no interest in hearing "God Save the Queen" - unless it's by the Sex Pistols, and even then, it's a sheer bit of nostalgia for the moments spent growing up and being heavily influenced by alternative music.
So in honor of the royal wedding, we'll celebrate a marquis... not necessarily a noble man, but a man who has been around and done some things that have made a difference through the years.
Jason Marquis, who threw a 5 hit complete game shoutout with 7 strikeouts for the Nationals and defeated Tim Lincecum and the Giants 3-0.
His ERA is now 2.62 (despite being 4.52 for his career). Since 2000, he's been rather pedestrian. In 2004, he had his best season with St. Louis posting a 3.71 ERA and 138 Ks (Dave Duncan can do amazing things). However, the next year, he came back down to Earth - still better than his career ERA (but over 4) and posted 3 additional 4+ seasons and 2 seasons of 6+ ERA. That's not good - even if the guy is an innings eater, but all the same, the sun still shines on a sleeping dog's ass from time to time, and Friday night was just that night for Marquis.
Here's to the good things in life.
Even though we might like big, stately mansions and gardens and pomp & cirumstance, we aren't caught up in this kings and queens stuff that Europe is, and perhaps, that's something that we don't have here. Sure, we had the Kennedys and some would call that American royalty, but Camelot was dead long before I was born.
I never thought much of the Kennedys, and frankly, I never once thought about waking up at 6am to watch the royal wedding. My sleep is too important to me to waste on hearing someone I've never met say "I do" to someone else that I've never met. In addition, I have no interest in hearing "God Save the Queen" - unless it's by the Sex Pistols, and even then, it's a sheer bit of nostalgia for the moments spent growing up and being heavily influenced by alternative music.
So in honor of the royal wedding, we'll celebrate a marquis... not necessarily a noble man, but a man who has been around and done some things that have made a difference through the years.
Jason Marquis, who threw a 5 hit complete game shoutout with 7 strikeouts for the Nationals and defeated Tim Lincecum and the Giants 3-0.
His ERA is now 2.62 (despite being 4.52 for his career). Since 2000, he's been rather pedestrian. In 2004, he had his best season with St. Louis posting a 3.71 ERA and 138 Ks (Dave Duncan can do amazing things). However, the next year, he came back down to Earth - still better than his career ERA (but over 4) and posted 3 additional 4+ seasons and 2 seasons of 6+ ERA. That's not good - even if the guy is an innings eater, but all the same, the sun still shines on a sleeping dog's ass from time to time, and Friday night was just that night for Marquis.
Here's to the good things in life.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Matt Holliday
Congratulations, Matt Holliday... you're joining the list of players on the disabled list.
You didn't take a line drive like Roy Oswalt and make Phillies fans wonder if they were really going to have the best pitching lineup ever - at least this year (and let's be honest, when the Phillies couldn't pull yesterday out until the end of the game, I'm sure the Phillies might have been wondering that as well - thank you injuries to Chase Utley and Brad Lidge).
You weren't abused by the Mets like Pedro Feliciano before the Yankees picked him up and saw him end up on the DL, too. In this, at least you didn't have Brian Cashman firing harsh invectives across the 5 boroughs at your old team to fan the dying embers of a crosstown rivalry that isn't anymore (not that it ever really was, but still).
You didn't just cut a cuticle and end up with a cruddy start to your 2011 season like Ubaldo Jimenez and make people wonder how much of a fluke the beginning of 2010 really was when he won 15 games by July and couldn't get 5 more by October 1.
You didn't end up mysteriously brain damaged (and still entertaining) like Ozzie Guillen, who always finds a way to bitch and complain about the world and his luck in it (being forced to play in the snow storms of Cleveland), but who still stays successful and employed in the Second City when his team bashes out 15 runs against an Indians team that came out stomping with 10 runs of their own.
You're not a Giants fan in critical condition after getting the tar kicked out of you by Dodgers fans in the parking lot after your team crapped the bed for Tim Lincecum in the first game back in defense of your World Series victory - the first victory since your team played in New York.
You're not Mat Latos, starting the season on the DL after you kept your team in contention all 2010 - despite the fact that most critics wrote your team off in the middle of 2009.
You're not 2/5 of the A's supposedly impressive starting rotation who are sitting out the beginning of the 2011 seasons with a variety of injuries as the team still is forced to play out what will inevitably amount to a lot of losses - like the one last night to King Felix.
No, you're just joining a lot of other players on the DL due to an appendectomy, which beats a lot of other injuries since it's very real and not like Sammy Sosa sleeping on his arm wrong before the 1998 All Star Game.
In this, we wish you well and hope that you get back to the game soon.
You didn't take a line drive like Roy Oswalt and make Phillies fans wonder if they were really going to have the best pitching lineup ever - at least this year (and let's be honest, when the Phillies couldn't pull yesterday out until the end of the game, I'm sure the Phillies might have been wondering that as well - thank you injuries to Chase Utley and Brad Lidge).
You weren't abused by the Mets like Pedro Feliciano before the Yankees picked him up and saw him end up on the DL, too. In this, at least you didn't have Brian Cashman firing harsh invectives across the 5 boroughs at your old team to fan the dying embers of a crosstown rivalry that isn't anymore (not that it ever really was, but still).
You didn't just cut a cuticle and end up with a cruddy start to your 2011 season like Ubaldo Jimenez and make people wonder how much of a fluke the beginning of 2010 really was when he won 15 games by July and couldn't get 5 more by October 1.
You didn't end up mysteriously brain damaged (and still entertaining) like Ozzie Guillen, who always finds a way to bitch and complain about the world and his luck in it (being forced to play in the snow storms of Cleveland), but who still stays successful and employed in the Second City when his team bashes out 15 runs against an Indians team that came out stomping with 10 runs of their own.
You're not a Giants fan in critical condition after getting the tar kicked out of you by Dodgers fans in the parking lot after your team crapped the bed for Tim Lincecum in the first game back in defense of your World Series victory - the first victory since your team played in New York.
You're not Mat Latos, starting the season on the DL after you kept your team in contention all 2010 - despite the fact that most critics wrote your team off in the middle of 2009.
You're not 2/5 of the A's supposedly impressive starting rotation who are sitting out the beginning of the 2011 seasons with a variety of injuries as the team still is forced to play out what will inevitably amount to a lot of losses - like the one last night to King Felix.
No, you're just joining a lot of other players on the DL due to an appendectomy, which beats a lot of other injuries since it's very real and not like Sammy Sosa sleeping on his arm wrong before the 1998 All Star Game.
In this, we wish you well and hope that you get back to the game soon.
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."
Monday, March 7, 2011
Tim Lincecum
To quote Wilco's "I'm Always in Love:"
Why I wonder is my heart full of holes.
And the feeling goes and my hair keeps growing
I guess I must be turning into Tim Lincecum because my hair feels positively - well, thick and there. I won't say I need a rubber band for my pony tail. I just have a thick mane of hair, but if I did have long hair - well, if I could handle it growing long - who am I kidding?
It's been a long time since I wanted longer hair, and at 39...
But, oh! to be young and cool again. Oh, to have a whole city falling in love with my youthful pitching that in 3 full seasons has dominiated hitters like they were WWF jobbers fighting against the name wrestlers on 1980s Saturday morning TV.
There are the 2 Cy Young awards. He's got 3 straight seasons of 15 or more wins for a team that doesn't really win that much (despite the World Series championship last year). He has 3 straight seasons of 200 strikeouts. Despite going downhill last year from July 19th on, he was still better than average for the whole year and super dominant prior to that.
And while it could be a lot of things that see the Freak coming back down to earth (age, a salary argument with his team that saw him make $9million instead of the inflated amount that his agent thought he was worth, the drug bust after the season, his opponents figuring him out, a hitch in his delivery), there is still the feeling of coming out strong and dominant for another season. He took down Cliff Lee in the game that mattered last year. He wasn't great in the first game of the World Series, but he was there and he kept his team in the game until they could kick Lee off the field and into the showers.
The Rangers were never the same, and frankly, that's what it's about when you're the team's number one pitcher. Seeing as there is another big game pitcher on the team (Matt Cain) and an up and coming pitcher (Madison Bumgarner) and another pitcher that has potential if he gets his emotions together (Jonathan Sanchez), there's a need to step up.
And that's important if you're the $100million+ number 5 pitcher who needs to get his act together so that he can finish up his overpaid contract in the city by the bay.
But Lincecum... there is so much potential and so much upside. What will 2011 hold? Will it be 2008 or 2010 when it comes to stats or are we looking at another year of the pitcher with a certain skinny guy making his name in the no runners on first base category?
Why I wonder is my heart full of holes.
And the feeling goes and my hair keeps growing
I guess I must be turning into Tim Lincecum because my hair feels positively - well, thick and there. I won't say I need a rubber band for my pony tail. I just have a thick mane of hair, but if I did have long hair - well, if I could handle it growing long - who am I kidding?
It's been a long time since I wanted longer hair, and at 39...
But, oh! to be young and cool again. Oh, to have a whole city falling in love with my youthful pitching that in 3 full seasons has dominiated hitters like they were WWF jobbers fighting against the name wrestlers on 1980s Saturday morning TV.
There are the 2 Cy Young awards. He's got 3 straight seasons of 15 or more wins for a team that doesn't really win that much (despite the World Series championship last year). He has 3 straight seasons of 200 strikeouts. Despite going downhill last year from July 19th on, he was still better than average for the whole year and super dominant prior to that.
And while it could be a lot of things that see the Freak coming back down to earth (age, a salary argument with his team that saw him make $9million instead of the inflated amount that his agent thought he was worth, the drug bust after the season, his opponents figuring him out, a hitch in his delivery), there is still the feeling of coming out strong and dominant for another season. He took down Cliff Lee in the game that mattered last year. He wasn't great in the first game of the World Series, but he was there and he kept his team in the game until they could kick Lee off the field and into the showers.
The Rangers were never the same, and frankly, that's what it's about when you're the team's number one pitcher. Seeing as there is another big game pitcher on the team (Matt Cain) and an up and coming pitcher (Madison Bumgarner) and another pitcher that has potential if he gets his emotions together (Jonathan Sanchez), there's a need to step up.
And that's important if you're the $100million+ number 5 pitcher who needs to get his act together so that he can finish up his overpaid contract in the city by the bay.
But Lincecum... there is so much potential and so much upside. What will 2011 hold? Will it be 2008 or 2010 when it comes to stats or are we looking at another year of the pitcher with a certain skinny guy making his name in the no runners on first base category?
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Joey Votto
If it's arbitration time, someone is getting rich and someone else is being told that they suck. Take Tim Lincecum for example. Ok, he's not a pretty guy, but he did pitch exceptionally until last year when I had him on my fantasy team. Compiling 2 MVPs in his full seasons and pitching well as a rookie, the future was ahead of him, but apparently, the Giants felt lowballing him was in order. Granted, we must take into account that this is baseball money and that doesn't apply to real world numbers that most of us will never earn in our lifetimes, but...
But.
In the end, he took two years for $23million and bonuses and the chance to do it all over again in 2012 and 2012.
I know baseball is all about the money, but how do you trash your future franchise in the name of a couple of million - especially when most teams overpay for guys with a good season in a walk year?
So for the Red Sox waste $12million on Jon Papelbon, the Brewers give ugly swinging home run menace Prince Fielder $15.5 million. Even Mike Pelfrey and his quick start gets $3.9million. Money is out there. All you have to do is avoid the hearing and settle early or hope that your list of good deeds is better than the team's list of, "well you're no Babe Ruth or Cy Young."
Thus, for the Reds to sign Joey Votto for 3 years and $38 million. At nearly $13million per, the Reds figured that they wouldn't be able to handle the salary of Votto even though he has one MVP award to his name and one All Star appearance because the fans are smarter than Charlie Manuel who didn't pick him on his own. Maybe we can blame this on the fact that every team must be represented (Michael Bourne, Chris Young), but still... Even triple threat / MVP potential / runner up Carlos Gonzalez was left off the team.
But in looking at Votto, his home runs went up from 08-09 and the rate of home runs increased, but the RBIs stayed the same. Call it your teammates, or whatever, but still... His average has always been right under or above .300 and he is young, so here's hoping he explodes into greatness. When the starting first baseman in the NL is Pujols and the choice of backup is Howard or Votto, give me Votto any day.
So will the pay day pay off?
Will the NL MVP make good or implode when the pitchers figure out his weaknesses?
Only time will tell.
But.
In the end, he took two years for $23million and bonuses and the chance to do it all over again in 2012 and 2012.
I know baseball is all about the money, but how do you trash your future franchise in the name of a couple of million - especially when most teams overpay for guys with a good season in a walk year?
So for the Red Sox waste $12million on Jon Papelbon, the Brewers give ugly swinging home run menace Prince Fielder $15.5 million. Even Mike Pelfrey and his quick start gets $3.9million. Money is out there. All you have to do is avoid the hearing and settle early or hope that your list of good deeds is better than the team's list of, "well you're no Babe Ruth or Cy Young."
Thus, for the Reds to sign Joey Votto for 3 years and $38 million. At nearly $13million per, the Reds figured that they wouldn't be able to handle the salary of Votto even though he has one MVP award to his name and one All Star appearance because the fans are smarter than Charlie Manuel who didn't pick him on his own. Maybe we can blame this on the fact that every team must be represented (Michael Bourne, Chris Young), but still... Even triple threat / MVP potential / runner up Carlos Gonzalez was left off the team.
But in looking at Votto, his home runs went up from 08-09 and the rate of home runs increased, but the RBIs stayed the same. Call it your teammates, or whatever, but still... His average has always been right under or above .300 and he is young, so here's hoping he explodes into greatness. When the starting first baseman in the NL is Pujols and the choice of backup is Howard or Votto, give me Votto any day.
So will the pay day pay off?
Will the NL MVP make good or implode when the pitchers figure out his weaknesses?
Only time will tell.
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