So what kind of Christmas present can you get after spending 13 prospects and $250million+?
In mid-December, the Phillies found out when they gave their fans the present that they yanked away from them the year earlier and sold it as a coup of enormous potential. They had just blown the playoffs to the Giants, who went on to win the World Series based solely on pitching. All the same, the Phillies had lost the NL Championship because their offense was lousy in the clutch. The Phillies had also lost Jayson Werth, who was viewed as a saviour to the team, but was now an overpaid price for the Washington Nationals allowing one to wonder if it's about money, opportunity, or love that a player accepts the chance to go to another team. I guess we'll just have to believe that it's the extra year that nobody who wasn't ruling the cellars of their division would have to pony more up to get.
Of course, we have to be happy for the big losers, i.e. the Yankees who missed out on their opportunity to lay claim to Lee. Thus, we see that the if you can't beat them join them mentality that brought Jason Giambi to the Bronx for a shave and a steroid nightmare wasn't convincing to Lee who in the past few years established himself as great since finding a way out of the baseball Hell that is Cleveland. At least he did it classier than Lebron did, but you knew that after being a revolving door for football teams, baseball players, and anything else of remote value, the populace would over-react and spew venom. Then again, we can't say that King James didn't kind of sort of deserve it.
So Christmas dinner was served and Lee was in the City of Brotherly Love, the fans were digging out their old jerseys or wishing that they hadn't used them to clean motor oil off of their garage floors, and life was good. The baseball gods were smiling because now the team had the big 4 to make them win the division. Roy Halladay and his perfect game and no hitter. Roy Oswalt and h is lost legacy that was brought back to life in a short stint in Philadelphia. And then there was Cole Hamels of the awesome 2008 and the lousy season after that. Sure, last year, he was back to form in ERA, but the 12-11 record shows that the team doesn't hit for him.
Thus, the true problems aren't solved because Howard has a big hole in his swing. Jayson Werth is gone. Raul Ibanez is older than dirt. Polanco is a singles man. Jimmy Rollins is washed up. Chase Utley has potential when he isn't fragile and injured. Sure, there are a few prospects coming up and Carlos Ruiz is a nice feeling for the hometown fans, but who is there to put a fear in pitchers come the playoffs? Ryan Howard isn't the man and no matter how much some fans complain and argue otherwise, what has he done in the clutch? Even Alex Rodriguez reinvented himself against Minnesota's bullpen, which I could pretty much break through on in any given high profile October game.
But I digress...
I'm not saying that Lee was a bad move. He'll do exceptionally and the fans love him, but... how much hard luck can the staff handle as the offense doesn't produce and Brad Lidge implodes in the closer role. Now those masseusse and psychiatric jobs will definitely be high pay as they hope to stave off the late inning sadness and try to be like the Orioles of the early 1970s were supposed to be the greatest pitching staff ever. Then again, there was the mid nineties Braves and the 1954 Indians.
No matter what happens, they'll be fun to watch even if the pink cap wearing sunny side up rooters of Philthydelphia will be screaming loyalty now that they're winning despite the fact that they were nowhere to be found in 2005, but what's new? That's Boston and New York, too. But such is the joy of being a baseball fan in a world of bandwagon jumpers.
Monday, January 24, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Mark Reynolds
In case there is any feeling that I loathe Ryan Howard above all other players, let me dispel that rumor. Sure, I feel that $25million for 5 years + enough extra for a 6th year to take it just under $140million for the package is ridiculous and laughable, but that doesn't constitute hatred. Sure, I laugh when he whiffs and I feel that sitting him out from time to time to not hit 200 strikeouts in a year (for that reason, I'm not impressed with Adam Dunn either), but that doesn't constitute loathing of a player.
Loathing is something special - Barry Bonds in 2001 was loathing. Ken Griffey Jr. as the opponent in 1998 wasn't loathing (though I came close to wanting it to be), but it bubbled under feeling that way until he vanished from the chase for Maris altogether. Albert Belle until his retirement was loathing. Pretty much the entire Yankee roster until they choked in 2004 (GREATEST CHOKE EVER) was loath-able. Hell, many of them still are, but fortunately, the worst have gone the way of the dodo bird.
Now, the hatred is reserved for Mark Reynolds and his mighty swings at... nothing.
According to the guys at MLB-TV, if he didn't sit out from time to time, he could not hit ball 300 times a year. Last year, he came to bat 499 times. He whiffed 211 times. That sucks.
In full seasons from 1921 to 1933 (and 70 at bats in 1920), Joe Sewell struck out 114 times. His career average was .312. In just under 8000 career at bats, Lloyd Waner whiffed 173 times from 1927 to 1945. That's it. Even as recently as 1948, Lou Boudreau only struck out 9 times in a season (560 at bats, .355 average). For him, it was "all future and no past."
For Mark Reynolds, the entire career of Joe DiMaggio from 1936 to 1951 (minus WW2) yielded 369 whiffs. For Reynolds, that isn't even 2 full seasons. Yogi Berra may sound like an idiot with some of his quotes, but from 1946 to 1964, he struck out 414 times. That includes 3 times in his last 9 at bats when he finally called it quits in 1965 as he was well past his prime. In his last 7 at bats, Reynolds struck out 5 times. He also sat 5 full games and came in to pinch hit in another game. There, he walked.
The Diamondbacks shipped him to Baltimore for 2 players after they signed him to a $14.5 million 3-year extension. That gives him $5million this season to shoot for the stars and whiff the incredible total of 250+ times (if Buck Showalter doesn't choke him out first).
MLB TV calls him the 7th best player on the hot corner. I think they're smoking crack.
Yep...
We've reached critical mass in baseball on whiffs. Reynolds hit .198 for the year. His 32 homers and 85 RBIs led his team into last place (65-97) in a relatively competitive division.
He's not alone in his futility. Carlos Pena was also sub .200 with 150+ Ks - albeit for a winning team (the Rays). At least they're home run hitters - for what that's worth. BJ Upton and Austin Jackson can't say that for their major whiffs.
So yeah... Houston... we've got a problem. Too many strikeouts. It's gotta go. I don't care what the statisticians say. This is just futility.
Loathing is something special - Barry Bonds in 2001 was loathing. Ken Griffey Jr. as the opponent in 1998 wasn't loathing (though I came close to wanting it to be), but it bubbled under feeling that way until he vanished from the chase for Maris altogether. Albert Belle until his retirement was loathing. Pretty much the entire Yankee roster until they choked in 2004 (GREATEST CHOKE EVER) was loath-able. Hell, many of them still are, but fortunately, the worst have gone the way of the dodo bird.
Now, the hatred is reserved for Mark Reynolds and his mighty swings at... nothing.
According to the guys at MLB-TV, if he didn't sit out from time to time, he could not hit ball 300 times a year. Last year, he came to bat 499 times. He whiffed 211 times. That sucks.
In full seasons from 1921 to 1933 (and 70 at bats in 1920), Joe Sewell struck out 114 times. His career average was .312. In just under 8000 career at bats, Lloyd Waner whiffed 173 times from 1927 to 1945. That's it. Even as recently as 1948, Lou Boudreau only struck out 9 times in a season (560 at bats, .355 average). For him, it was "all future and no past."
For Mark Reynolds, the entire career of Joe DiMaggio from 1936 to 1951 (minus WW2) yielded 369 whiffs. For Reynolds, that isn't even 2 full seasons. Yogi Berra may sound like an idiot with some of his quotes, but from 1946 to 1964, he struck out 414 times. That includes 3 times in his last 9 at bats when he finally called it quits in 1965 as he was well past his prime. In his last 7 at bats, Reynolds struck out 5 times. He also sat 5 full games and came in to pinch hit in another game. There, he walked.
The Diamondbacks shipped him to Baltimore for 2 players after they signed him to a $14.5 million 3-year extension. That gives him $5million this season to shoot for the stars and whiff the incredible total of 250+ times (if Buck Showalter doesn't choke him out first).
MLB TV calls him the 7th best player on the hot corner. I think they're smoking crack.
Yep...
We've reached critical mass in baseball on whiffs. Reynolds hit .198 for the year. His 32 homers and 85 RBIs led his team into last place (65-97) in a relatively competitive division.
He's not alone in his futility. Carlos Pena was also sub .200 with 150+ Ks - albeit for a winning team (the Rays). At least they're home run hitters - for what that's worth. BJ Upton and Austin Jackson can't say that for their major whiffs.
So yeah... Houston... we've got a problem. Too many strikeouts. It's gotta go. I don't care what the statisticians say. This is just futility.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Ken Burns
I've always hated Keith Olbermann. As an ESPN analyst, I always found him to be a smug piece of crap, and that was only listening to him and Dan Patrick, another smug and annoying piece of crap. I was glad when he left the radio because I hated to be in the car for drive time and to have to hear those two spazzes tell me about sports news. Maybe it was the self righteous approach to the steroids era where all of a sudden all of these analysts who had formerly swooned over Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa were cursing their souls to hell - kind of like Bob Costas on the 10th Inning of Ken Burns baseball.
The 10th Inning was meant to be so many things, but in the end, it was what it wasn't. I saw Albert Pujols, the greatest player of the generation for a few seconds, but I never heard his name mentioned. Hell, I saw Chris Rock more than I saw Phat Albert. Sure, there were some good parts, but in the end to reduce every single World Series victory (after the Sox in 2004) to a closer throwing a final pitch after sitting through the long version of the Bobby Bonds story in a transition into Barry Bonds... yeah. That was worth the wait.
So today when Keith Olbermann, who pretty much spent more time in the documentary on the history of the last 15-20 years of baseball than Larry Walker, Albert Pujols, and the curse breaking teams from Philadelphia into 2008 and from Chicago in 2005 COMBINED, was dropped from his show, I had to give a little bit of a smug self-righteous piece of crap smile to think that somewhere between pathetic ratings on MSNBC and good ol' Bill O' Reilly beating the man from Countdown, who had the "Worst Person in the World" on every night is now gone from his spot on cable news. If he could take Rachel Maddow with him, life would be complete, but this is about sports and those who tell the story of them, and for that, we turn back to Ken Burns and ask him to give us the fan version of Baseball, the way it was meant to be... sans Keith Olbermann. It could be like those fan edited versions of The Phantom Menace where fans cut Jar Jar Binks from the footage and leave the film all the more entertaining for it (I'd cut out the kiddie narrated scenes from the pod racing as well and just stick to the racing and not the announcer as well, but that's just me).
Give me the section on Pujols... a little more talking about those victories and some discussion on those two World Series wins, if only for the history in them. Please note Mr. Burns that I'm not asking for that much more on Mark McGwire... even though he deserves more footage than your self-appointed savior of the Latino race that is Sammy Sosa, but I'll accept that as a discussion on the Latino culture's inclusion in modern baseball and your catering to Cubs fans as opposed to anything dastardly like the exclusion of the other sections was.
Nobody will mind. It's clear to see that the last hope for Olbermann was his angry political rant show on ultra liberal cable news network MSNBC, and now that it's over... you can re-edit your 10th Inning for true baseball fans like myself.
I'm sure that Doris Kearns Goodwin won't mind.
The 10th Inning was meant to be so many things, but in the end, it was what it wasn't. I saw Albert Pujols, the greatest player of the generation for a few seconds, but I never heard his name mentioned. Hell, I saw Chris Rock more than I saw Phat Albert. Sure, there were some good parts, but in the end to reduce every single World Series victory (after the Sox in 2004) to a closer throwing a final pitch after sitting through the long version of the Bobby Bonds story in a transition into Barry Bonds... yeah. That was worth the wait.
So today when Keith Olbermann, who pretty much spent more time in the documentary on the history of the last 15-20 years of baseball than Larry Walker, Albert Pujols, and the curse breaking teams from Philadelphia into 2008 and from Chicago in 2005 COMBINED, was dropped from his show, I had to give a little bit of a smug self-righteous piece of crap smile to think that somewhere between pathetic ratings on MSNBC and good ol' Bill O' Reilly beating the man from Countdown, who had the "Worst Person in the World" on every night is now gone from his spot on cable news. If he could take Rachel Maddow with him, life would be complete, but this is about sports and those who tell the story of them, and for that, we turn back to Ken Burns and ask him to give us the fan version of Baseball, the way it was meant to be... sans Keith Olbermann. It could be like those fan edited versions of The Phantom Menace where fans cut Jar Jar Binks from the footage and leave the film all the more entertaining for it (I'd cut out the kiddie narrated scenes from the pod racing as well and just stick to the racing and not the announcer as well, but that's just me).
Give me the section on Pujols... a little more talking about those victories and some discussion on those two World Series wins, if only for the history in them. Please note Mr. Burns that I'm not asking for that much more on Mark McGwire... even though he deserves more footage than your self-appointed savior of the Latino race that is Sammy Sosa, but I'll accept that as a discussion on the Latino culture's inclusion in modern baseball and your catering to Cubs fans as opposed to anything dastardly like the exclusion of the other sections was.
Nobody will mind. It's clear to see that the last hope for Olbermann was his angry political rant show on ultra liberal cable news network MSNBC, and now that it's over... you can re-edit your 10th Inning for true baseball fans like myself.
I'm sure that Doris Kearns Goodwin won't mind.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Manny Ramirez
Ok, let's get this straight. Even Manny Ramirez gets a fourth chance.
In a sign that $2million a year for a formerly $20million a year player in free agency is a bargain, the Rays decided that giving Manny (who according to my wife didn't pay his child support when she went to a Cleveland Indians game way back when and heckled him for such) that money was nothing but upside.
If he screws up, it couldn't be worse than giving an outfielder with $2million value the money for 1 year (no incentives either!). If he's productive and healthy (because not being injured and cantankerous is pretty much everything), well then it's everything that Mannywood was supposed to be in Los Angeles except it's in the Tropicana and it's all comeback against the Red Sox who let him slip away.
It's hard to say everything about Manny that truly needs said. Something about using steroids and trying to blame it on sexual performance enhancers didn't have us believing. Hell, he's not on my short list of people who I would bat an eyelash over:
1. Cal Ripken Jr.
2. Derek Jeter
3. Ichiro Suzuki
4. Albert Pujols
5. Mariano Rivera
6. Curt Schilling
This is especially true when both he and Big Sluggi - the hitter formerly known as David "Big Papi" Ortiz, who is now just hanging around Boston for no good reason and past memories (but we do remember the good things and I've got your jersey to prove it) were nailed for the PEDs. I can literally remember being with my friend Dale sitting in the restaurant of an off track wagering place watching the news come up on a television screen. Oh... big sluggers nailed for steroids... hmm...
Hell, most things that Manny did had us wanting to ship him out as soon as possible. The Bill Simmons column on him explains everything in such vivid detail, you should just read that.
Two years in LA. Lots of money coming his way. The future is wide open, only it's not.
From 19 home runs in LA in 2009 to 9 home runs in LA and Chi-Town in all of 2010 in just over 270 at bats (those pesky injuries)... it's a curse... something like that. The year of the pitcher... or not. Not that 350 at bats the year before was much better. That's over $40million well spent.
So perhaps that's why Johnny Damon is getting more and the offer of incentives... potential upside (whereas Manny is all hope).
Manny turning it all around... it's a nice story. We want to write it. Really.
Scott Boras and Manny really want us to write it.
Will we?
Time will tell.
In a sign that $2million a year for a formerly $20million a year player in free agency is a bargain, the Rays decided that giving Manny (who according to my wife didn't pay his child support when she went to a Cleveland Indians game way back when and heckled him for such) that money was nothing but upside.
If he screws up, it couldn't be worse than giving an outfielder with $2million value the money for 1 year (no incentives either!). If he's productive and healthy (because not being injured and cantankerous is pretty much everything), well then it's everything that Mannywood was supposed to be in Los Angeles except it's in the Tropicana and it's all comeback against the Red Sox who let him slip away.
It's hard to say everything about Manny that truly needs said. Something about using steroids and trying to blame it on sexual performance enhancers didn't have us believing. Hell, he's not on my short list of people who I would bat an eyelash over:
1. Cal Ripken Jr.
2. Derek Jeter
3. Ichiro Suzuki
4. Albert Pujols
5. Mariano Rivera
6. Curt Schilling
This is especially true when both he and Big Sluggi - the hitter formerly known as David "Big Papi" Ortiz, who is now just hanging around Boston for no good reason and past memories (but we do remember the good things and I've got your jersey to prove it) were nailed for the PEDs. I can literally remember being with my friend Dale sitting in the restaurant of an off track wagering place watching the news come up on a television screen. Oh... big sluggers nailed for steroids... hmm...
Hell, most things that Manny did had us wanting to ship him out as soon as possible. The Bill Simmons column on him explains everything in such vivid detail, you should just read that.
Two years in LA. Lots of money coming his way. The future is wide open, only it's not.
From 19 home runs in LA in 2009 to 9 home runs in LA and Chi-Town in all of 2010 in just over 270 at bats (those pesky injuries)... it's a curse... something like that. The year of the pitcher... or not. Not that 350 at bats the year before was much better. That's over $40million well spent.
So perhaps that's why Johnny Damon is getting more and the offer of incentives... potential upside (whereas Manny is all hope).
Manny turning it all around... it's a nice story. We want to write it. Really.
Scott Boras and Manny really want us to write it.
Will we?
Time will tell.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Derek Jeter
Back in the day, I never got Will Ferrell. He was the moron who did Saturday Night Live skits like the cheerleaders and the lovers, and I just found him to be horribly annoying. I saw Old School when it first came out and I didn't like it at all, but in hindsight, I was just on a really bad Match Dot Com date, and I have since watched it again and again, and I really liked it, but that was a gap in time, and I'm getting ahead of myself. Before that and somewhere in being made to watch Anchorman twice, I found some of it amusing, but by the end, I was bored again, and I refused to watch him for the longest time.
Then, I met my wife and she made me watch Elf, which may be the greatest Christmas movie ever. Christmas is finally here when I get to watch Buddy the Elf make his way to New York City to find his dad and have snowball fights and Christmas decorating extravaganzas and shower room singing with Zooey Deschanel (and who doesn't want that?).
Megamind, which was the best animation movie of 2010 - easily - featured the existential dilemma of being an arch villain to Brad Pitt's Metroman, who ended up not being able to be a villain because his dastardly plans to kill him finally succeeded. Somehow, he fell in love with Tina Fey's Roxanne Ritchie who fell back in love with him and got loved by the world after he defeated Jonah Hill (is that guy everywhere, or is it me?). As a lover of animated and PIXAR movies, I have to say I was rolling on the floor more than the bevy of nieces and nephews that we took to the movies that day.
And there are good movies and there are animated voices and there are bit parts and there are movies that are phoned in, and perhaps nowhere is that more noticeable than in The Other Guys, which also stars Mark Wahlberg, a great actor who also phones in the movie - save the part with Derek Jeter. If you don't want the part given away, read no further, but to see the cameo of Wahlberg as a former superstar cop being groomed for homicide who now rides a desk because he shot Jeter in a dark hallway before Game 7 of the World Series is perhaps the funniest scene imaginable. Afterward, the running gag of Wahlberg having shot Jeter and how that plays out is more than enough to make the movie worth your while, but it just isn't something worth owning.
That being said, once again, Derek Jeter, the hated Yankee that he is, plays his personality and star perfectly and does nothing wrong ("he's a bi-racial angel") unlike his arch nemesis on his right side of the infield ("it should have been A-Rod") stands as the potential of all things that a sports star can be - especially in New York.
After reading how Roger Maris was treated during his playing career and the majority of his life until George Steinbrenner of all people made every sincere gesture of respect and resuscitation to pull Maris out of the obscure doghouse of the past to bring him to Yankee Stadium and Monument Park, where he belonged is quite a powerful image. Jeter was handled perfectly and he handled himself perfectly.
For as much as I hate the Yankees (and I do), I find it harder and harder to hate Jeter - especially after he took that shot to the face catching the foul ball that beat the Red Sox in a meaningless all or nothing mid summer "classic." Sure, I'll hate on him in the playoffs, but I have had him on my fantasy team. Is that me going soft? Is it something only marriage could do? Marrying my wife still wouldn't have me wear a Yankees hat or shirt. Hell, I'd rather fall down a flight of stairs than ever go through that horrible scenario, but alas... I digress.
Somewhere in the image of Jeter rolling on the tunnel floor and calling Mark Wahlberg a dick, there is a hilarious moment that represents this generation of baseball perfectly. Who would have thought that all it would take to make it happen was a Will Ferrell movie?
Then, I met my wife and she made me watch Elf, which may be the greatest Christmas movie ever. Christmas is finally here when I get to watch Buddy the Elf make his way to New York City to find his dad and have snowball fights and Christmas decorating extravaganzas and shower room singing with Zooey Deschanel (and who doesn't want that?).
Megamind, which was the best animation movie of 2010 - easily - featured the existential dilemma of being an arch villain to Brad Pitt's Metroman, who ended up not being able to be a villain because his dastardly plans to kill him finally succeeded. Somehow, he fell in love with Tina Fey's Roxanne Ritchie who fell back in love with him and got loved by the world after he defeated Jonah Hill (is that guy everywhere, or is it me?). As a lover of animated and PIXAR movies, I have to say I was rolling on the floor more than the bevy of nieces and nephews that we took to the movies that day.
And there are good movies and there are animated voices and there are bit parts and there are movies that are phoned in, and perhaps nowhere is that more noticeable than in The Other Guys, which also stars Mark Wahlberg, a great actor who also phones in the movie - save the part with Derek Jeter. If you don't want the part given away, read no further, but to see the cameo of Wahlberg as a former superstar cop being groomed for homicide who now rides a desk because he shot Jeter in a dark hallway before Game 7 of the World Series is perhaps the funniest scene imaginable. Afterward, the running gag of Wahlberg having shot Jeter and how that plays out is more than enough to make the movie worth your while, but it just isn't something worth owning.
That being said, once again, Derek Jeter, the hated Yankee that he is, plays his personality and star perfectly and does nothing wrong ("he's a bi-racial angel") unlike his arch nemesis on his right side of the infield ("it should have been A-Rod") stands as the potential of all things that a sports star can be - especially in New York.
After reading how Roger Maris was treated during his playing career and the majority of his life until George Steinbrenner of all people made every sincere gesture of respect and resuscitation to pull Maris out of the obscure doghouse of the past to bring him to Yankee Stadium and Monument Park, where he belonged is quite a powerful image. Jeter was handled perfectly and he handled himself perfectly.
For as much as I hate the Yankees (and I do), I find it harder and harder to hate Jeter - especially after he took that shot to the face catching the foul ball that beat the Red Sox in a meaningless all or nothing mid summer "classic." Sure, I'll hate on him in the playoffs, but I have had him on my fantasy team. Is that me going soft? Is it something only marriage could do? Marrying my wife still wouldn't have me wear a Yankees hat or shirt. Hell, I'd rather fall down a flight of stairs than ever go through that horrible scenario, but alas... I digress.
Somewhere in the image of Jeter rolling on the tunnel floor and calling Mark Wahlberg a dick, there is a hilarious moment that represents this generation of baseball perfectly. Who would have thought that all it would take to make it happen was a Will Ferrell movie?
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
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?
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?
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.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Roger Maris
Waking up yesterday morning to a story in the New York Times about how the U.S. and Israel worked together to release a worm into the Iranian nuclear program so that it couldn't get up and running has me contemplating exactly what is the point of the media. On one hand, I have to ask myself if this is something above "no duh." I mean really. Why on Earth WOULD WE NOT try to take out a hostile country's nuclear program that could hurt us or our friends? On the other hand, I have to ask myself if this is about some kind of attack on the U.S. as a whole. I mean, if this is top secret, and we'll assume that it is, what business does this have playing out in the media?But alas, this is a baseball site, not a political outlet, and I use media attacks to lead into Roger Maris and the transition from the media loving players to attacking them viciously. Sure, there was Ted Williams before him, but was there ever an attack as concentrated and individually damaging as that, which was perpetrated against Roger for being "boring" (at least compared to Babe Ruth) and unable to stomach stupid questions (considering many NASCAR guys give the same kind of F U response as Roger and Cee Lo Green) and just unwilling to provide a day in day out story while pursuing the home run record that he was deemed unworthy of.
Currently, I am reading Roger Maris: Baseball's Reluctant Hero, and overall, it's pretty good. You can skip the first few chapters about how his grandparents moved to America from Europe and how his parents relationship started out in dysfunction (it ends in divorce - so it goes) and start about 30 pages into the book at chapter 4.
I've always been a Roger Maris fan since I first heard his story in 1998 as Mark McGwire pursued his record. It was sad to hear about the asterisk and the total devastation of what should have been a joyous race between Maris and Mantle (who had been hated in many circles for not being Joe DiMaggio - at least until Roger came along). Maybe the media made up for this with the race between McGwire and Sosa (and maybe the Curse of Not Being Babe Ruth made the media feel inclined to destroy them and everyone else who got close to Babe Ruth in a way that wasn't worthy - steroids be just a cover story).
But in the end, Roger took a pitch deep on the final day of the season and was branded forever with the asterisk that was there despite it's never been typed into the official record books and for 37 years he suffered in pain despite a momentary stay with the St. Louis Cardinals in 67 and 68. He then retired and died in 1985, a tragic end to a great human being. I wish I would have known his story sooner, but the fact that I do is a story I will continue to tell throughout the course of this blog.
I would recommend this book to anyone who likes Maris or baseball. I've been reading it nightly in sight of a teddy bear that belongs to my wife. More than anything else, that bear reminds me of her, and when I think about it and her, I think about how wonderful she is to me. For our wedding, she knew that gifts are given between husband and wife (I didn't, so if you're reading, take note), and she gave me the Roger Maris PSA8 rookie that I always joked she would buy me if she truly loved me. When I took it out of the box, I was shaking, and I had no idea what to say. I felt like such a fool for not knowing that I had to get her a gift as well (we ended up putting a lot of money towards the things that she wanted for our home that we bought a few months later). I ran all over Toledo looking for something worthy of her and feeling totally freaked out on the night before our wedding.
Even now, I don't know if I feel worthy of such a great gift. I'll occasionally open the locked box and pull Roger out of his protective cloth bag - not all the way mind you - and look on his visage and think of all that his family went through in 98, all that he went through from 1961 until he left baseball a completely broken man, and how his wife came through for him above and beyond the call of duty (something completely left out of Tom Clavin and Danny Peary's aforementioned book).
Maybe Roger was the best way to give me a physical gift that came through to me, but to be honest, nowhere am I happier in the gift I was given than the "I do." And perhaps that's hokey, but alas... it is what makes me happy in life.
And that thought and her presence is what keeps me from feeling the news of the world in a way that makes me sad as I wait for spring and new life and no more snow - just warmth and good times.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Ron Santo
When I was younger, I always thought that my dad's father died of yellow fever. I don't remember what actually killed him, but I was told later that it wasn't yellow fever. In much the same way of being confused by what I thought I heard, I always thought that my dad's favorite player when he was a kid was Ron Santo, but it was actually Richie Ashburn. I didn't learn the truth until I talked to my dad after Ron Santo died on December 3rd.
Interestingly enough, the Cubs have declared that my dad's birthday, his 64th, will be the celebration of Ron Santo's life and the new statue that will be displayed outside of Wrigley Field for this 3rd base great.
Santo and his 342 home runs and lifetime .277 average over 15 seasons (9 on all-star teams), were never enough for the Hall of Fame, but true fans know. Santo was a true fan of the Cubs, the team he became famous while playing on. He celebrated their trials and tribulations as a player and announcer and always seemed to believe that the Cubs would end their drought and the Curse of the Billy Goat, the stupidest curse in history, would be over.
All the same, heart problems, cancer, and losing both of his legs to diabetes took their toll on this baseball great first.
On August 10th, Chicago will play a low key game that very few people will care about. They're taking on the Nationals, and neither team will be fighting for playoff glory. It will just be another August game, but to the Wrigley Field and a few sportscasters and some die hard fans, we will take notice of a man who was truly great.
We're not asking for special favors like being let into a McDonald's in the wee hours of the morning to use the bathroom, which results in the temporary firing of an employee who gives into his star status.
We're not talking about a man who had questionable relationships outside of marriage and must wear a scarlet S on his chest as he tells neighbors where he lives in order to avoid jail time. Even football players fear the pokey. I know that I would.
We're not talking about a man who profiteers off of making animals fight each other to the inevitable death of one of them, but who deserves a presidential thank you to the coach who took his "chances" on hiring him again, despite the fact that there was nothing to lose in hiring a former all pro quarterback.
And we're not talking about how an entire town remembered his greatness because it led them to 2 Superbowl victories and moves them towards a third victory despite the fact that the only reason he's not in the slammer is because the evidence against him couldn't differentiate consensual violent sex and rape.
But Ron Santo is not Adrian Peterson, Lawrence Taylor, Michael Vick, or Ben Roethlisberger. He's just a baseball player from a different generation. He's not the kind of person that leaves the average person star struck. He's just a man and a great gamer from a different era who still inspires enough respect to be immortalized for all who care to find out the back story of a statue that will one day join other Chicago Cubs statues of Harry Caray, Ernie Banks, and Billy Williams - note that Ryne Sandberg isn't even on this list.
Somewhere is reverence for truth, justice, and the American way.
That's why baseball will always be the national pastime.
Interestingly enough, the Cubs have declared that my dad's birthday, his 64th, will be the celebration of Ron Santo's life and the new statue that will be displayed outside of Wrigley Field for this 3rd base great.
Santo and his 342 home runs and lifetime .277 average over 15 seasons (9 on all-star teams), were never enough for the Hall of Fame, but true fans know. Santo was a true fan of the Cubs, the team he became famous while playing on. He celebrated their trials and tribulations as a player and announcer and always seemed to believe that the Cubs would end their drought and the Curse of the Billy Goat, the stupidest curse in history, would be over.
All the same, heart problems, cancer, and losing both of his legs to diabetes took their toll on this baseball great first.
On August 10th, Chicago will play a low key game that very few people will care about. They're taking on the Nationals, and neither team will be fighting for playoff glory. It will just be another August game, but to the Wrigley Field and a few sportscasters and some die hard fans, we will take notice of a man who was truly great.
We're not asking for special favors like being let into a McDonald's in the wee hours of the morning to use the bathroom, which results in the temporary firing of an employee who gives into his star status.
We're not talking about a man who had questionable relationships outside of marriage and must wear a scarlet S on his chest as he tells neighbors where he lives in order to avoid jail time. Even football players fear the pokey. I know that I would.
We're not talking about a man who profiteers off of making animals fight each other to the inevitable death of one of them, but who deserves a presidential thank you to the coach who took his "chances" on hiring him again, despite the fact that there was nothing to lose in hiring a former all pro quarterback.
And we're not talking about how an entire town remembered his greatness because it led them to 2 Superbowl victories and moves them towards a third victory despite the fact that the only reason he's not in the slammer is because the evidence against him couldn't differentiate consensual violent sex and rape.
But Ron Santo is not Adrian Peterson, Lawrence Taylor, Michael Vick, or Ben Roethlisberger. He's just a baseball player from a different generation. He's not the kind of person that leaves the average person star struck. He's just a man and a great gamer from a different era who still inspires enough respect to be immortalized for all who care to find out the back story of a statue that will one day join other Chicago Cubs statues of Harry Caray, Ernie Banks, and Billy Williams - note that Ryne Sandberg isn't even on this list.
Somewhere is reverence for truth, justice, and the American way.
That's why baseball will always be the national pastime.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Addie Joss
The first time I saw Almost Famous, I was with my ex-girlfriend what feels like a million years and a million lifetimes ago. I don't remember thinking much of it at the time, but I came to love it shortly after she left. It wasn't pining over her. I can really only think of 2 incidents of pining over her in the time that she left - the first time was the first time that she was gone and it was just myself and her cat Tornado. She left us both. She had to have him, and she seemed happy to tag along into my life, but then when she got there, we realized that we were from different worlds. At that minute, it was just myself and the cat and it felt bizarre and depressing to be in that spot. Eventually, I had her take the cat, which she begrudgingly did.
The second time, I was in the midst of the depressed summer of 2002 after we broke up in April and I had too much time with my loneliness, and I went to drop off mail that had arrived for her at the apartment that we shared, but that was now only mine. In all the things the things that she did and didn't do in that time, it took me to change her addresses for her by returning stuff to the sender and posting the right address to forward things to. That time, I suggested we get together to talk, but we never did, which was a good thing. She got her mail, just like she got a box of stuff that was once hers. I always thought that she would come back for her Christmas stuff, but that was just wishful thinking. Our only Christmas together was miserable. In the end, I gave it to the woman who oversaw the apartments for her kid and threw away what she would never want. It seemed so wasteful at the time, but alas, sometimes, it's for the best.
In the movie Almost Famous, Elton John sings "Tiny Dancer," which is one of the greatest songs ever. At the time in March of 2001, I can remember listening to it and liking it, but I didn't really claim it as one of my own until it played at the right moment of my life - hiking back from Delicate Arch in Utah. It was in the same fateful walk that Elf Power's "When the Red King Comes" played. They were both mine. I never think of the ex girlfriend or things belonging to her other than Dave Matthews and The Barenaked Ladies, which I can differentiate from her in that other than when I consciously force myself to, I never think of her. There's no reason to. We never had anything much in common and our greatest moments were things that I've pretty much done with other people or that weren't that memorable to begin with - at least in the way that almost 9 years makes a person forget what happened.
However, I do think back to Almost Famous because I love the quote that is at the end where William Miller, the Cameron Crowe character asks Russell Hammond what he likes about rock music. The answer is "to begin with everything."
I think that I could answer the same thing about baseball. Everything. The game never disappoints me. If Aaron Boone hits a home run over the Green Monster in extra innings and I'm up until the wee hours hoping that the Red Sox make it to the World Series in 2003, then it's just a moment in communal misery that still says, "we'll get them next year."
If I choose to go to bed after the Arizona Diamondbacks can't score in the 8th inning of Game 7 of the 2001 World Series and it looks like the Yankees will 4-peat, then I can wake up happy when I see ESPN's headline that a bloop single wins and it's instant jubilation and the need to make Yankees fans suffer.
For me, baseball is everything... the trajectory of a long fly ball to deep center field in the St. Louis night. August 30, 1998, marks a change in everything that I am and that I will be. It signals that I have come to the promised land, and I have seen my burning bush. My heart is not hardened, but it is actually made light because I have been shown direction in life by the plague of locusts (well, Mormon crickets) that have descended on the desert north of Fallon, Nevada. From North Nutgrass, Stillwater Reservoir, Foxtail Lake and all of the other water that lies east of Route 95 heading south into Nevada's heartland, they swarm and die against my windshield and the hood of my Ford Escort. Uncle Tupelo's music plays after I refuel my car with gasoline and my body with Coke and iced animal cookies. Good stuff. I am to teach. I am to go about my journey and become something more.
For 12 plus years, I have prepared and done just that. Every time that I think it's time to get out, something rescues me and keeps me moving forward. Every time that I think it's not going to work out, something keeps me moving forward. Like much of my life, I have proceeded forward in spite of my mistakes and the turmoil of life, but I have kept going.
In reading about my baseball heroes, I see tales of lives that were destroyed and ended before they could fully realize what they might have been. I have seen great careers cut short of being the greatest. Bob Feller and Ted Williams gave the early parts of their career to military service for their country. Christy Mathewson did as well, but his was to an earlier war, but all the same, he trained and swallowed mustard gas. He was never the same. Roberto Clemente hit his 3,000th hit and died in a fiery airplane crash trying to get relief supplies to Nicaragua. Jackie Robinson gave his life to the stress and turmoil of integrating the Major Leagues with the players of the Negro Leagues so no more African Americans would have to lose out to what might have been. And Addie Joss died of spinal meningitis not 3 years after pitching a perfect game and a no-hitter. He was 31. He could have been great.
So many people could have.
And yes, they are immortalized in hallowed grounds on Lake Oswego. I can see them there. I can remember their lives and what could have been.
I sit here now and think of what could have been in my life. Where once I taught high school kids, I moved on to college students and adult education. I said that I would never go back, but here I am now, ready to go back and be great again, to feel the things that I once loved about this all over again. To feel the mix of history, literature, and writing all come together into something special for me and to make them something special in students as I once did. To feel comfortable in my skin and my classroom. To exorcise the demons of failure once and for all.
It's time to think that my life is ready to be.
If I have baseball to thank for that, then all the better for the ghosts of the past are still powerful and still have much to teach us.
The second time, I was in the midst of the depressed summer of 2002 after we broke up in April and I had too much time with my loneliness, and I went to drop off mail that had arrived for her at the apartment that we shared, but that was now only mine. In all the things the things that she did and didn't do in that time, it took me to change her addresses for her by returning stuff to the sender and posting the right address to forward things to. That time, I suggested we get together to talk, but we never did, which was a good thing. She got her mail, just like she got a box of stuff that was once hers. I always thought that she would come back for her Christmas stuff, but that was just wishful thinking. Our only Christmas together was miserable. In the end, I gave it to the woman who oversaw the apartments for her kid and threw away what she would never want. It seemed so wasteful at the time, but alas, sometimes, it's for the best.
In the movie Almost Famous, Elton John sings "Tiny Dancer," which is one of the greatest songs ever. At the time in March of 2001, I can remember listening to it and liking it, but I didn't really claim it as one of my own until it played at the right moment of my life - hiking back from Delicate Arch in Utah. It was in the same fateful walk that Elf Power's "When the Red King Comes" played. They were both mine. I never think of the ex girlfriend or things belonging to her other than Dave Matthews and The Barenaked Ladies, which I can differentiate from her in that other than when I consciously force myself to, I never think of her. There's no reason to. We never had anything much in common and our greatest moments were things that I've pretty much done with other people or that weren't that memorable to begin with - at least in the way that almost 9 years makes a person forget what happened.
However, I do think back to Almost Famous because I love the quote that is at the end where William Miller, the Cameron Crowe character asks Russell Hammond what he likes about rock music. The answer is "to begin with everything."
I think that I could answer the same thing about baseball. Everything. The game never disappoints me. If Aaron Boone hits a home run over the Green Monster in extra innings and I'm up until the wee hours hoping that the Red Sox make it to the World Series in 2003, then it's just a moment in communal misery that still says, "we'll get them next year."
If I choose to go to bed after the Arizona Diamondbacks can't score in the 8th inning of Game 7 of the 2001 World Series and it looks like the Yankees will 4-peat, then I can wake up happy when I see ESPN's headline that a bloop single wins and it's instant jubilation and the need to make Yankees fans suffer.
For me, baseball is everything... the trajectory of a long fly ball to deep center field in the St. Louis night. August 30, 1998, marks a change in everything that I am and that I will be. It signals that I have come to the promised land, and I have seen my burning bush. My heart is not hardened, but it is actually made light because I have been shown direction in life by the plague of locusts (well, Mormon crickets) that have descended on the desert north of Fallon, Nevada. From North Nutgrass, Stillwater Reservoir, Foxtail Lake and all of the other water that lies east of Route 95 heading south into Nevada's heartland, they swarm and die against my windshield and the hood of my Ford Escort. Uncle Tupelo's music plays after I refuel my car with gasoline and my body with Coke and iced animal cookies. Good stuff. I am to teach. I am to go about my journey and become something more.
For 12 plus years, I have prepared and done just that. Every time that I think it's time to get out, something rescues me and keeps me moving forward. Every time that I think it's not going to work out, something keeps me moving forward. Like much of my life, I have proceeded forward in spite of my mistakes and the turmoil of life, but I have kept going.
In reading about my baseball heroes, I see tales of lives that were destroyed and ended before they could fully realize what they might have been. I have seen great careers cut short of being the greatest. Bob Feller and Ted Williams gave the early parts of their career to military service for their country. Christy Mathewson did as well, but his was to an earlier war, but all the same, he trained and swallowed mustard gas. He was never the same. Roberto Clemente hit his 3,000th hit and died in a fiery airplane crash trying to get relief supplies to Nicaragua. Jackie Robinson gave his life to the stress and turmoil of integrating the Major Leagues with the players of the Negro Leagues so no more African Americans would have to lose out to what might have been. And Addie Joss died of spinal meningitis not 3 years after pitching a perfect game and a no-hitter. He was 31. He could have been great.
So many people could have.
And yes, they are immortalized in hallowed grounds on Lake Oswego. I can see them there. I can remember their lives and what could have been.
I sit here now and think of what could have been in my life. Where once I taught high school kids, I moved on to college students and adult education. I said that I would never go back, but here I am now, ready to go back and be great again, to feel the things that I once loved about this all over again. To feel the mix of history, literature, and writing all come together into something special for me and to make them something special in students as I once did. To feel comfortable in my skin and my classroom. To exorcise the demons of failure once and for all.
It's time to think that my life is ready to be.
If I have baseball to thank for that, then all the better for the ghosts of the past are still powerful and still have much to teach us.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Vladamir Guerrero
There's something to be said for the waiting. As Tom Petty once said, it's the hardest part, but the old proverb says that good things come to those who wait. I'm hoping that's true since I keep filling out applications and sending out resumes in hopes of more and better employment, which should be something in my wheelhouse because now I have a Masters Degree, but alas... the waiting continues.
It continues for Manny Ramirez, too, but after his dismal showing in Los Angeles, Boston, and Chicago, his suitors are non-existent in much the same way they were for Barry Bonds after his last season. This is a guy who hit .276 and 28 home runs in his final season. Never mind that he led the league with 132 walks, of which 43 were intentional (he had 120/232 official intentional base on balls in his 2004 season). In addition, his OPS was 1.045, which isn't slouch numbers, but that said, he was a steroids guy who was rather hated, so nobody wanted him other than San Francisco, who only wanted him long enough to set the HR record, and when that was done...
Now, nobody wants Manny. I guess that's because he's a steroids guy with a bad attitude as well.
For a second season in a row, nobody seems to want to take a chance on Johnny Damon, the adorable "Idiot" of the 2004 Red Sox, who gave it all up to go to New York for more years. Can't blame him, but the plan isn't panning out lately despite his .271 average and 51 RBIs for a season with Detroit. All in all, it was a better season than the one in Oakland before he went to Boston, but yeah... still up for grabs.
And we all remember Tom Verducci's telling of the Carl Pavano tale in his book about Joe Torre. We knew most of it already, but we got to read it from the perspective of the Yankees. Somehow, after injuries, he rebounded last year going 17-11 with a 3.75 ERA and 117 strikeouts. They're not shabby numbers, and they tell the tale of a man who rebounded from obscurity to make something of himself again, but alas, he's still out there in limbo.
And Jim Thome, while a full time DH is sitting on 589 home runs, which gives him a chance to hit 600 for a career, but other than rumors, he has no guaranteed spot on a roster.
Perhaps this is the era we're in where teams respect records by not signing players - or signing specific players, but alas, there are a lot of veterans, either steroids mirages or above average numbers inflated by the era who aren't signed.
And so it goes all the way to Vladamir Guerrero who reinvented himself in the regular season with Texas, but who phoned in the post season show as he had 6 RBIs, no HRs, and a 1/14 performance in the World Series. Clutch isn't the word for the guy who was once the best bad ball hitter in the game, but there is no home for him either.
Perhaps we're all on the Island of Misfit Toys, looking for a home and a solid job option for the new year.
Like me, I guess they just have to believe.
It continues for Manny Ramirez, too, but after his dismal showing in Los Angeles, Boston, and Chicago, his suitors are non-existent in much the same way they were for Barry Bonds after his last season. This is a guy who hit .276 and 28 home runs in his final season. Never mind that he led the league with 132 walks, of which 43 were intentional (he had 120/232 official intentional base on balls in his 2004 season). In addition, his OPS was 1.045, which isn't slouch numbers, but that said, he was a steroids guy who was rather hated, so nobody wanted him other than San Francisco, who only wanted him long enough to set the HR record, and when that was done...
Now, nobody wants Manny. I guess that's because he's a steroids guy with a bad attitude as well.
For a second season in a row, nobody seems to want to take a chance on Johnny Damon, the adorable "Idiot" of the 2004 Red Sox, who gave it all up to go to New York for more years. Can't blame him, but the plan isn't panning out lately despite his .271 average and 51 RBIs for a season with Detroit. All in all, it was a better season than the one in Oakland before he went to Boston, but yeah... still up for grabs.
And we all remember Tom Verducci's telling of the Carl Pavano tale in his book about Joe Torre. We knew most of it already, but we got to read it from the perspective of the Yankees. Somehow, after injuries, he rebounded last year going 17-11 with a 3.75 ERA and 117 strikeouts. They're not shabby numbers, and they tell the tale of a man who rebounded from obscurity to make something of himself again, but alas, he's still out there in limbo.
And Jim Thome, while a full time DH is sitting on 589 home runs, which gives him a chance to hit 600 for a career, but other than rumors, he has no guaranteed spot on a roster.
Perhaps this is the era we're in where teams respect records by not signing players - or signing specific players, but alas, there are a lot of veterans, either steroids mirages or above average numbers inflated by the era who aren't signed.
And so it goes all the way to Vladamir Guerrero who reinvented himself in the regular season with Texas, but who phoned in the post season show as he had 6 RBIs, no HRs, and a 1/14 performance in the World Series. Clutch isn't the word for the guy who was once the best bad ball hitter in the game, but there is no home for him either.
Perhaps we're all on the Island of Misfit Toys, looking for a home and a solid job option for the new year.
Like me, I guess they just have to believe.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Trevor Hoffman
Oh, how the once mighty have fallen and left the game. Carrie Fisher began Star Wars as an ear muff hair cut having sweet little princess with a bad attitude standing up to the greatest villain in the galaxy. When it was over, she was wearing the metal bikini and kicking ass as a Jedi Knight, her real father and mother having been revealed. In between, she hooked up with Harrison Ford's Han Solo and found true love on Endor beside the Ewoks and Wookies.
Now, she's 75 pounds heavier and the new face of Jennie Craig.
And that's what life is. I've put 75 extra pounds on my frame too, and like Carrie, I dream about the future as I contemplate the gym that I will go to later today. That's life. Making up for the things that went wrong and moving to the future.
I can imagine that Trevor Hoffman feels much the same way as he goes into retirement. Sure, there are 601 saves to his total, but I have to say the same thing many baseball columnists have said - saves are over-rated. It's not like Rollie Fingers coming in for half of a game in the middle of a game. It's not Hoyt Willhelm's knuckle ball being called in to end Roger Maris's dreams.
In 6 years of post season appearances, Hoffman has 4 saves and a 3.46 ERA. That's not clutch. It's like Casey McGehee, his teammate said, “Sometimes he appears to be Superman. Hoffy’s human, too.” However, McGehee was defending his teammate who was imploding during the beginning of his final season.
Yet, this is the guy that crapped the bed for the Padres in 07 - blowing a 3-run lead in the 13th inning to send the Rockies - not the Padres - to the playoffs. Clutch.
"Hells Bells" to the pitching mound, he had to do something to make the pros after failing as a shortstop, consistently over-throwing first base, and he did well for the most part. In 5 All Star Games, he let up 6 runs. Slamming the door shut. In 1998, he let up a big fly to Scott Brosius and made Tony Gwynn angry since he was going to go to his retirement with no ring. He was already upset - remember, the moonshot off the upper deck from a guy who only ever hit 135 home runs in 3,141 successful hits.
I'll be honest... every time I saw Hoffman in a big game, it was as if he was folding like it was laundry day in my house. Not good at all. If you look through my past posts, you'll see how much I've downplayed relievers. Take a few good years from your young closer with a fierce attitude and don't pay big unless he can do multiple innings saves in the playoffs with a sub 1.00 WHIP and a 0.00 ERA (or damn near close to it). Other than that, these modern closers better be coming in and shutting the door.
I tell my wife often that when we have a kid, we'll be teaching him to throw left-handed since there is big money for a situational southpaw reliever. Now, more than ever, I believe that (barring the fact that he can't get even bigger money to be a left-handed starter).
Something about this post being done 2 days after the announcement says anti-climactic in the same way that most of his career does. Sure, the number is impressive, but numbers aren't everything. Quality not quantity. More is not better.
That said, good luck with the future Trevor, you're definitely a gamer... you're just not worthy of Cooperstown.
Now, she's 75 pounds heavier and the new face of Jennie Craig.
And that's what life is. I've put 75 extra pounds on my frame too, and like Carrie, I dream about the future as I contemplate the gym that I will go to later today. That's life. Making up for the things that went wrong and moving to the future.
I can imagine that Trevor Hoffman feels much the same way as he goes into retirement. Sure, there are 601 saves to his total, but I have to say the same thing many baseball columnists have said - saves are over-rated. It's not like Rollie Fingers coming in for half of a game in the middle of a game. It's not Hoyt Willhelm's knuckle ball being called in to end Roger Maris's dreams.
In 6 years of post season appearances, Hoffman has 4 saves and a 3.46 ERA. That's not clutch. It's like Casey McGehee, his teammate said, “Sometimes he appears to be Superman. Hoffy’s human, too.” However, McGehee was defending his teammate who was imploding during the beginning of his final season.
Yet, this is the guy that crapped the bed for the Padres in 07 - blowing a 3-run lead in the 13th inning to send the Rockies - not the Padres - to the playoffs. Clutch.
"Hells Bells" to the pitching mound, he had to do something to make the pros after failing as a shortstop, consistently over-throwing first base, and he did well for the most part. In 5 All Star Games, he let up 6 runs. Slamming the door shut. In 1998, he let up a big fly to Scott Brosius and made Tony Gwynn angry since he was going to go to his retirement with no ring. He was already upset - remember, the moonshot off the upper deck from a guy who only ever hit 135 home runs in 3,141 successful hits.
I'll be honest... every time I saw Hoffman in a big game, it was as if he was folding like it was laundry day in my house. Not good at all. If you look through my past posts, you'll see how much I've downplayed relievers. Take a few good years from your young closer with a fierce attitude and don't pay big unless he can do multiple innings saves in the playoffs with a sub 1.00 WHIP and a 0.00 ERA (or damn near close to it). Other than that, these modern closers better be coming in and shutting the door.
I tell my wife often that when we have a kid, we'll be teaching him to throw left-handed since there is big money for a situational southpaw reliever. Now, more than ever, I believe that (barring the fact that he can't get even bigger money to be a left-handed starter).
Something about this post being done 2 days after the announcement says anti-climactic in the same way that most of his career does. Sure, the number is impressive, but numbers aren't everything. Quality not quantity. More is not better.
That said, good luck with the future Trevor, you're definitely a gamer... you're just not worthy of Cooperstown.
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