THE BULLPEN -- pitching particular kinds of baseball philosophy

Fishy Dealings

2012-02-01T23:35:00.015+01:00

I'm afraid my Copenhagen comrade's grim outlook for the National League in 2012 will prove to be prophetic, particularly when it comes to our two cherished teams: the Cubs - who are "restructuring" this season (which, apparently, is not the same as “rebuilding”) - will be young, sloppy, mildly entertaining, and ultimately abysmal, while the Rockies... well, they just haven't done a lot this off season to warrant much attention. I’m sure, though, the Boone Kid will keep us posted on the progress of his Coors Field Crusaders.

And while I'd love to spill some proverbial ink on Epstein's latest moves, I feel compelled to comment on "those slick fucks" down in Miami.

First off, I'd like to thank Ozzie Guillen and his Florida fish for taking Big Z off Chicago’s hands, even if the Cubbies were forced to eat $16.5 million of the $18 million he’s owed in 2012. For every flash of brilliance displayed by Carlito over the years, there was an equal and opposite mental meltdown waiting in the lurch. And boy did he go out in a blaze of glory: in his final appearance as a Cub late last season, he served up five homeruns, was ejected for throwing at Chipper Jones, and finished by “retiring” after the game. Of course, now that he’s far from the accursed confines of Wrigley Field and soon to be throwing in balmier climes under Ozzie Guillen (his Venezuelan pal and paisano), Chicagoans should expect nothing less than a Cy Young-caliber year from their former ace. That’s just Cub luck. Vaya con Dios, Carlito...

In addition to picking up Zambrano, the Marlins have made a splash by signing a boatload of talent, which includes: a freshly-shorn Jose Reyes, fireball closer Heath Bell, the mysterious Leo Núñez (aka Juan Carlos Oviedo), and former Southside star Mark Buehrle. With Hanley Ramirez moving to third to make room for the incoming Reyes, along with a solid starting five and a formidable closer in Bell, the Fish have to be considered the frontrunners in the NL East. As a matter of fact, I’m sure no one would be surprised to see the Marlin’s walk away with yet another World Series trophy this year – as they seem to do in nonchalant fashion every few years, only to unload their roster and start from scratch the following season.

Here one might ask: But how can those tight-fisted Marlins afford to spend so freely in the offseason? Don’t they have to pay for that new baseball-only stadium built for the team this year?

The answer: No, of course not! You see, all the organization had to do was complain to the city that the team was losing money, threaten relocation, and then convince local politicians to use tax money to fund 80% of the cost of the $634 million dollar stadium (who needs schools and hospitals when we can have ballparks!), which is expected to generate loads of revenue for the owners. Slick indeed. Why, the deal between the team and the city was so slick that the SEC has taken an interest in the team’s financial records and the specifics of the stadium’s financing. Regardless of how that investigation turns out, though, the fact of the matter is that those wily Marlins will somehow have managed to field a team of state-subsidized multimillionaires to play baseball, which is certainly a neat trick. Oh, and as a token of appreciation for the city's generosity, the organization has officially changed its name from the “Florida” to the Miami Marlins, even adopting a nauseating new logo, replete with blasts of South Beach pastels. It looks like everyone walks away a winner.

2012-01-21T13:04:00.002+01:00

From the Darkness...a peek at the NL for 2012

2012-01-07T17:48:00.001+01:00

The Hot Stove is Set on Low

Well, the Cubbies finally got a first baseman, but it ain't the dude they needed for winning the division this year. Young Rizzo the Rat has scurried from east coast to west, and now arrives in the windy city of the midwest without having played more than a handful of games in the bigs. Sounds like he'll start in AAA, which the rest of the team should probably consider doing. Especially now that Fielder won't be there to help. And regarding Prince, I still don't understand why Milwaukee doesn't just bring him back and let him be a Brewer for life. Not enough funds, my ass! If Braun really does have to sit out 50 games, then the Brew Crew is screwed. Then again, the Cards let Albert slip away and it doesn't seem to bother them much. And, somehow, they'll probably continue to make late-season playoff runs and continue to win a world series every six years or so. One can't help but wish the best for Pirates fans now that they're so close to not being losers, but where the hell is the pitching? The Reds look tougher this year with a potential pair of aces up their sleeve in Latos and Cueto. The Astros...uh....well, they might be the worst team in the majors.

Joe Torre must've read Gorilla Suitcase's observations on Epstein running the Cubs from the luxury suite, with Sveum as his puppet, as Torre suddenly resigned from his position as the Dark Lord of Disciplin to muscle his way into buying the Dodgers - the team he led to the playoffs a couple years ago (with help from Manny) - with Mattingly as his malleable padawan manager. This whole fucking thing makes me sick. I didn't watch my Rockies go 9-9 in the 2011 season series vs. their annual nemesis from Smell-A so that this fucking strumpett, this fucking whore could waltz around town owing money to everybody to pay for a corrupt organization that's been bailed out and protected on high by the Prince of Darkness himself. Add to that the contrived military jerseys and boring play of the Pads, the general fascistness of Arizona, the Giants' absolute refusal to improve their offense, and the Rox signing of play-dough (in)action figure, Michael "CudDyer Maker", for $31 million -- the NL West looks uglier than ever.

The NL East, however, could be where all the fun is for 2012. I'm shamefully eager to watch the Miami Marlins play Ozzie ball all year now that they got Big Z. And if the Nats make yet another absurdly big splash to get Prince, well then all I gotta say is 'watch out, Philly'. Even if they don't get him, that's still an 85-win ballclub. And the Braves always seem to be on the verge of greatness. Which brings us to the cellar: the Mets. What a joke. Change the dimensions of the outfield so we can help our anemic lineup hit more homers! Let Reyes sign with a division rival! Sign nobody to replace him! The Madoff-Wilpon-Katz bush-leaguers are gonna lose 100 games on CitiBank field. Ha! Laughable, man.

And most ridiculous of all, we might be there to watch one, live, at the end of our springtime journey across that crazy country of baseball.

Passing the Buck

2011-12-16T22:00:00.000+01:00

Film review: Eight Men Out
Directed by: John Sayles
(1988)

Pure and simple, this film is great fun. It feels light on its feet, shuffling swiftly from World Series day games, to a behind-the-scenes build up of the sloppily conceived scandal, and back to the ballpark. And it always seems to travel in pairs. The entire cast just dances along together, and the joy is infectious. Dealing out their lines with either a knowing smirk or a nervous twitch, the audience can feel the game is rigged. At first, this casual film seems small-fry on the surface, but Sayles manages to sneak in several clever and subtle motifs to enhance the legendary story of the 1919 Black Sox scandal to the level of epic tragedy - or comedy, depending on how you respond to it.

A pair of small-potato, potential World Series fixers (played with screwball charm by Christopher Lloyd and Richard Edson), are seen in the stands speculating on which of the White Sox starters might be susceptible to their scheme. Later, they approach a money man - Abe Attell - who runs rackets for the big cheese in Chi-town - Arnold Rothstein - with their idea to fix the Fall Classic. Attell can dig it, but when he presents it to the boss, Rothstein says no. Attell decides to finance the small-timers anyway while taking a huge cut for himself.

First baseman Chick Gandil also conceives of fixing the Series while meeting with Boston's own heavy better - Sport Sullivan (who ironically gets the go-ahead from Rothstein himself) - and rationalizes that everybody will be a winner if they fix it together, so he'll gladly get the boys on board. Sullivan is surprised to hear how easy it'll be to convince seven players from the best team in the world to flop for a simple chunk of change. "You never played for Charles Comiskey," Gandil says with disgust.

His partner on the diamond, shortstop Swede Risberg, seems especially comfortable with the idea of a conspiracy. However, the top two starting pitchers, Eddie Cicotte and Lefty Williams, prove much harder to persuade. Without this pair of aces, there's no way the White Sox could intentionally lose the Series to the inferior Reds of Cincinnati. Yet, after Comiskey famously withholds a well-deserved bonus for Cicotte, he, too, figures to finally get his share.

Second baseman Eddie "College Boy" Collins and catcher Ray Schalk are the incorruptible couple; they're not even invited to the secret team meetings. The only infielder left to convince, then, is third baseman Buck Weaver (played perfectly by John Cusack - earnest, naive, and tragic, in turns). But both he and coach Kid Gleason seem so genuinely flabbergasted at the very idea of playing anything but honest baseball (although Buck knows of the fix and Gleason should've known) that we soon learn Buck can't be corrupted either.

A pair of knucklehead outfielders, Happy Felsch and Shoeless Joe, are perceived as the "dumb and dumber" of the American League and are thus easily strongarmed into the charade. (That Felsch is played by the raucous Charlie Sheen now gives the film cultish potentiality). There's plenty of pathos here (Shoeless Joe can't read and is therefore powerless outside the diamond) and cheap laughs are had on their behalf, but there's some real poetry to their play.

Third-sacker Buck Weaver plays a similarly idyllic hot corner with real tenacity (apparently Cusack was coached by recent HOF inductee Ron Santo during the film) and trademark childlike smile, spending his on-screen time off the diamond playing stick ball in alleyways with the neighborhood kids. But of course he's also playing in a figurative hot corner, as Buck finds himself in on the secret, but unwilling to comply with the fix. He stomachs the deceit, plays hard, and impulsively berates his teammates for their deliberately bad play, as if the demands of the game to play properly right now transcend all other agreements, circumstances, or realities. Only zen masters, monkeys, and childlike ballplayers are capable of such dedication to immediate play.

Buck Weaver, 1913

A pair of reporters - the proverbial Greek chorus (played by a wonderfully smarmy Studs Terkel and with corpse-like solemnity by director John Sayles) - are hot on their trail, noting the instances of fishy fuck-ups and bonehead blunders committed by what some believed, at the time, to be the greatest team they'd ever seen.

As we know by now, the Sox lost the Series in eight (!) games, then got exposed by these reporters, and were eventually indicted for conspiring to throw the Series.

However, most people forget that these immensely popular players were found not guilty by the Chicago jury. But it didn't matter to Kenesaw Mountain Landis - newly appointed commish and totalitarian dictator of baseball. He promptly banned all players for life, as we're often reminded of every time another scandal emerges in baseball or each time we come across Field of Dreams.

So it's home to their families, to their farms, to their ignominious ends. The newly dubbed Black Sox faded into the fabric of American legend. All except for Buck Weaver, who campaigned tirelessly to have his name cleared and his reputation restored so he could return to the game he never could let go of. He was denied and ignored, and he died at 65. At the end of the film, Buck is shown five years after his expulsion watching some bush-league game in Hoboken with a crowd of young men murmuring about the rightfielder, who looks an awful lot like Shoeless Joe. Of course it's him, but Buck assures them "all those players are gone."

The cynic would say Buck only set himself up to be the sap, keeping mum, and believing his teammates would turn the corner and play on the level - or, in the end, believing in some sense of fairness in the baseball hierarchy. But Buck Weaver is clearly a tragic character. It wasn't so much the corruptibility of his fellow teammates -- The Southside Seven -- but the contemptuousness of organized crime, and ultimately of organized baseball itself (embodied in tight-asses Comiskey and Landis) that set him up as the tragic hero of the film. The childlike way in which he played both an ebullient and stalwart Series on such an uneven playing field, combined with his desperate pleas for latter-day absolution, simply puts to rest any doubt of the tragic nature to Buck Weaver's life in baseball.

To be honest, I found Eight Men Out (the film) to be even more enjoyable than Eliot Asinov's detailed, engrossing, but poorly-paced 1963 book by the same name (8 Men Out). Hell, it's the best baseball film I've seen.

Yet.

Ups and Downs, Rox and Browns

2011-12-09T18:28:00.001+01:00

With the Face of the Franchise now stolen away from both the Mets and Cardinals, the slick crooks of Little Havana and Disneyland are shamelessly vomiting out hundreds of millions of dollars for each their own southpaw starter. Not content to have raped Queens of her star, Miami ripped the soul out of the southside and stole away Mark Buehrle (he of the Perfect Game), while the crowds in L.A. coo at C.J. Wilson's decision to play for his hometown.

But what's new here in the BULLPEN? Well, here's one headline:

CUBS AND ROCKIES SWAP FAILURES

The Rox finally disposed of another pasty white lug who couldn't man the hot-corner. But I haven't seen anything out of Colvin to make me think he's any better of a player than Stewart, except for that video on mlb of him legging out a triple (at least he looks faster than oafish Ian). The Cubs also get righthanded reliever Casey Weathers in the deal, who I barely remember even hearing about last season. But apparently the Rox brass is blaring loudest about acquiring this DJ LaMaheiu fella (sounds ridiculously Smooth Jazz Radiojockeyish), apparently another infielder to add to the merry-go-round.

With Herrera, Nelson, EY Jr, and LaMeheiu all undoubtedly inadequate in some ways or others, it's looking like the platoon-horny schmucks in charge don't mind prolonging mediocrity and destroying the careers of decent young infielders by turning them into schizophrenic failures, unable to grow some cajones and get beyond their collective performance anxiety. Shoot, the same probably goes for our third outfielder, too. Whomever he may be.

* * *

Out in the deep green grass of Coors roams the long-legged doe, Dexter Fowler, still green himself, but with the potential to be one of the best centerfielders in the sport. He's also expected to have a breakout season offensively. For real this time. But unless Jim Tracey gets him out of the leadoff spot and back to the 2-hole where he's most comfortable, there's gonna be some seriously disappointed fans in Denver.

Carlos "The Little Pony" Gonzalez can play anywhere and make it look easy. The dude loves to dive and slide and flash the leather, as much as he enjoys showing off that powerfully smooth swing. The Little Pony of the national league could make a run at MVP again, now that expectations have been tempered.

But the story of the third outfielder has been a woeful tale for the Rockies over the past several years. Watching Brad Hawpe shrivel from an All-Star rightfielder into an incompetent firstbaseman for the Padres, Rox fans have to wonder if we can really expect anything better from the Seth Smith, Ryan Spilborghs, and/or Tyler Colvin trio. Why not deal these players for pitching, and bring up Wheeler or Blackmon again?

* * *

Let's get the ball back into the infield. Although it'd be nice to snag Martin Prado, I think better value lurks with Placido Polanco. He was forgettably brilliant last May (.398, 10/5 BB/K, 19 RBI), and always wins a gold glove no matter where he plays (2B in 2009, 3B in 2010), plus he never strikes out. So add another veteran goldglover in the infield with Tulo and Helton -- likely the best defenders at their respective positions in all of baseball -- then simply start the best glove of the four platooners from above (at either 3B or 2B). That sounds solid enough to challenge the '07 Rockies for the best team fielding percentage record in the history of the major leagues! (Lest we forget those glory days).

But what about the Rockies of today? Make no mistake, the Rox have been active this off-season. Active like somebody who insecurely keeps himself busy all the time in order to appear hard at work. They stupidly released a very valuable closer in Huston Street. And smartly cut Wigginton, just for the hell of it. They saved a tiny bit of money on the Iannetta/Hernandez flip. And for whatever reason, signed an undesirable, flyball-inducing innings-eater, Kevin Slowey. That still leaves a lot of money to get an Ace. And an Ace we need, oh-so-badly, ever since we traitorously traded Ubaldo.

Well, CJ Wilson went to Disneyland with Whinnie the Pujols, so there's only one Ace left out there.
It's the highly coveted Yu Darvish.
This is it, Rox. Your last chance.
This guy's numbers are no fluke.

Check it out, it's the Stat of the Week

Alas, we all know the emptyheaded Monforts are cheap bastards and there's no way in hell the Rockies could ever muster enough sophistication and/or foresight to pull this one off. Not as long as these same twisted minds are still in control. Given their history of terrible pitching contracts and the discriminatory practices of their more recent past, would it surprise anyone if the Rockies were reticent to go after Japaense-Iranian Yu Darvishsefad as opposed to simply "trusting" in dudes like Alex White, Drew Pomeranz, and Christian Friedrich (suspiciously Jeff Franciscan in his underwhelmingness) -- who stunk it up in Double-A last year (6-10, 5.00 ERA, 1.49 WHIP)? One thing has become clear over the years. Despite a consistently full Coors field, the old white men at the top only care about augmenting their own wealth, like every other jerk in the 1% -- to use the parlance of our times.

Thus, dear friends, with all your typical major league b.s. continuing to give Baseball a bad name, it may be time once again (after this season, of course) to abandon the mlb, and, in the meantime, to get to know the local amateur team, the Denver Browns, in time for my spring visit back home.

Moneyball, Epstein, and the Cubs

2011-12-02T03:55:00.015+01:00

Chicago

After a memorable October Classic – intriguing for the opposing managing styles of the two clubs, bizarre for the number of little league blunders committed by both sides, and exciting for its unlikely lead changes throughout – we’re finally past November and settling in for the arrival of The Hawk, as winter is known around these parts.

Baseball’s return to the North and South sides is quite a few page-flips ahead in the calendar, and city sport fans seem content pondering the improved fortunes of their beloved Bears (it’s the offensive line, if you ask me). And yet, perhaps for the unseasonable warmth and sunshine we've had, or maybe with the NBA away settling its absurd labor dispute, baseball doesn’t feel that far away. At least not for Cub fans.

The hiring of President Theo Epstein and, to a much lesser extent, manager Dale Sveum has created a stir, and local papers continue to provide a steady stream of news about the Northsiders, even if the tidbits are relegated to the final pages of the sports section.

Who the hell is Theo Epstein, and what does he have to offer the Cubs?

At first glance Epstein is just another upper-tier, baseball executive: white bread, Ivy League, highly paid, essentially bland and inoffensive to eye or ear. He does stand out for being relatively young – in fact, he became the youngest GM in MLB history in 2002 when the Red Sox hired him at the ripe age of 28. But why?

Epstein’s brand of baseball, as popularized in the book-come-movie Moneyball, seems to represent a paradigm shift in managerial thinking. In many ways, it's a story that illustrates the differences between theory and practice, with the former represented by sabermetrics pioneer Bill James, and the latter personified by the likes of Oakland A’s GM Billy Beane and Epstein. (Full disclosure: When it comes to mathematics, I have trouble grasping anything beyond long division, and I am thus incapable of comprehending, let alone explaining, the more technical aspects of James’ statistical… innoventions. I will, however, drop James’ name and ideas shamelessly throughout the present and future posts.)

We can imagine James the theoretician, on duty as a night watchman at a pork and beans factory in the late ‘70s, hunched over a desk, pouring over piles of box scores and baseball stats, dreaming up new ways to answer a very simple question: what is it that makes one team score more runs than another? (Hearing about night watchman James immediately conjures up Einstein in his younger years, which he spent working at a Swiss patent office while moonlighting with his theory of relativity). Unconvinced by traditional baseball stats, James looked to previously unquantifiable aspects of the game to come up with categories like runs created (runs a player helps create, as well as a team’s projected number of runs), range factor (defensive ability, quantified), and even something cool called a “Pythagorean Winning Percentage.” It goes without saying that fame and fortune did not come overnight to the statistician, but as players' salaries continued to climb to astronomical heights in the decades that followed, his quantitative approach to the game would soon be not only theoretically intriguing, but a financial necessity for front office staffs.

Perhaps James, much like your average fantasy league nerd, simply relished in assembling imaginary squads of speedy hitters with sky-high on-base percentages who would consistently outscore their opponents. Was it merely intellectual curiosity and a passion for the game which drove him to compile his lengthy Baseball Abstracts?

Whatever his original motivations may have been, the practical applications of sabermetrics would not materialize until the early 2000s, when Billy Beane’s small market A’s lost key players to wealthier clubs. Unable to compete with the salaries offered up by the East Coast oligarchs, Beane brought in a young Yale grad and sabermetrician to help rebuild his team by assembling a collection of overlooked veterans, rookies, and would-be wash-ups – who were willing to play for peanuts compared to, say, a newly pinstriped (and bloated) Jason Giambi.

In short: sabermetrics, when put into practice by baseball management, ceases to be a theoretical exercise in assessing players and projecting winners, and becomes yet another example of capitalism's streamlining, wage-repressing logic. Which is not to say that professional baseball players have anything in common with South Asian textile laborers. The fact that the Cubbies are about to dole out $20 million next season to the likes of Carlos Zambrano is enough to make anyone's stomach turn – especially mine.

Which brings us back to Chicago. It will indeed be interesting to see what Epstein has in store for Wrigleyville in 2012. As far as intangibles go, he's proven himself a winner for bad luck clubs by breaking the so-called Curse of the Bambino and bringing two World Series trophies to Beantown. To be sure, Boston classifies as a big market team and has the payroll to match, but Epstein's initial approach was indeed inspired by Beane's success in Oakland (Incidentally, Beane turned down the job in Boston in 2002 before it was offered to young Epstein).

Interestingly, though, a number of other clubs have since gone Moneyball, which means that, thanks to simple supply and demand, previously overlooked players with high on-base and slugging percentages are now worth more than they were a decade ago. As a result, Moneyball has expanded to take a number of defensive categories into account, and each team's front office has its own means of rating a player's defensive performance. As Peter Gammons reported while Epstein was still in Boston: "The Red Sox have their own service that charts games, including how hard balls are hit. 'It goes beyond zone ratings,' says. 'We try to measure players by what the average defensive player at that position would get to.'" (http://sports.espn.go.com/mlb/gammons/story?id=1880247)

Exactly how Epstein tackles the Cub dilemma is anybody's guess at this point. Will he go young, fast and unpredictable? Proven, solid and dull? Flashy and overpaid? If anything, the hiring of a somewhat bland and docile Dale Sveum is a sure sign that things on the field will be run from the front office, and not the dugout. And even with the bloated contracts of Zambrano and an aged Alfonso Soriano, the Cubs have room on the roster and payroll to make some huge off-season acquisitions. If Epstein wanted control, he's got it - now it's just a matter of what he will do with it. I, for one, will be watching.

Turkey Day Podcast Test Run

2011-11-24T00:57:00.001+01:00

A sonic shout-out to anybody who is caught listening:
Happy Thanksgiving.
I'll be baking some Arab Spring Stuffing
And mixing up a pot of Chili-Occupied Smashed Potatoes
While waiting for a fellow reliever
To pitch something on this here blog.

Bullpen Podcast, test run

"Uncloudy Day" by John Fahey

In a Race to Get Reyes

2011-11-17T14:35:00.001+01:00

With all due respect to the author of the post "Colorado Dreamin'", you gotta be more than a mile high if you think there's any chance in hell the Rockies would get (or even pursue) Jose Reyes. Or that a high profile superstar, having played his entire mlb career in New York, would have the slightest interest in leaving the Big Apple to chill out in Denver during his prime years as a sizzling shortstop who'd be forced into playing second base for a mid-market team and for an almost exclusively white, middle-class, family-friendly fanbase in the Rocky Mountains.

No way!

Jose Reyes needs to play for their division rivals, the San Francisco Giants.

The race is on!

The photo of Reyes below, probably taken during or after another Amazin' defeat at some point over the past few years, clearly shows him longing for the West Coast ... and the chance to play loose and free baseball once again, this time with the Misfits -- the 2010 World Champs -- playing for fun, and playing in front of those unmistakeably wacky fans, in the coolest city in the country.

Reyes would be a much better fit with the misfits

San Francisco's eclectic mix of deadheads, deadbeats, southpaws, transplants, and various Bay Area bizarros needs the electricity and exuberance of a player like Reyes. It would set that stadium on fire. The ground would tremble like it was 1989.

The triumphant return of Profesor Reyes and his bigscreen, between-inning, Spanish language lessons would only be the beginning. Beard-growing challenges, psychedelic play on and off the diamond, The Freak and a Kung-Fu Panda at his side.

Now that's a wonderfully strange brew I'd like to get drunk on for the next few years.

But let's get out of the sky and back to the diamond. Other than Omar Vizquel (from '05-'08), have the Giants ever had a cool and/or good shortstop since their move to San Francisco? Don't say Royce Clayton. Or the likeable Shawon Dunston, who never played more than 90 games in any of the three seasons he played by the bay. Simple fact is, the Giants historically need a cool shortstop as much as they immediately (and desperately) need one.

And the thought of bringing old teammates back together, Beltran and Reyes -- two great players plagued by unfortunate injuries -- warms the heart of any baseball fan who sympathizes with those who love(d) the Mets.

In Queens, Reyes was "the face of the franchise" as the fella says. The Mets would be crazy to let him go to this new Miami team. But if he wants to head West for the Golden Gates of Unlimited Devotion, then they'd really be doing something great for the country of baseball by thanking him for what a long, strange trip it's been, and wishing him well.

Sorry, New York, this race is a steal-your-face.

What a Week for Wilson Ramos

2011-11-15T22:39:00.001+01:00

¡Accent on the O!

Los Nacionales beisból trackings

What a week for Wilson Ramos,

who was kidnapped

by Colombians

before gametime in
Aragua

Whisked away

to the mountains of

Carabobo.

An elderly couple

provided food and water

while he waited

and he must've wondered

"¿Qué es ésta weá?"

He'd been taken

at gunpoint

and they wanted some

dinero

Or perhaps
to capture a catcher
to hit cleanup on
La Selección
de béisbol
de Colombia

Baseball
is the most popular sport
en Venezuela

A

15 minute

shootout

to rescue Wilson

in an airlift operation

succeeded

Baseball
is the not most popular sport
en Colombia

Wilson Ramos
was naturally
relieved
It was a
final feliz

His friend

Miguel Cabrera

was the first to call

his sister
with the

buena noticia

She did not believe him

Sure!

Just call the

Venezuelan
Ministro del
Poder Popular para
las Relaciones
Interiores
y
Justicia

And it was so

Eleven Colombians

have been arrested

of whom only 6
showed their
facemasks

The papers didn't say
if they played
béisbol
nor
beisból

The papers did say

his abductors

were linked to
"kidnapping groups"

But c'mon, Colombia

Gotta
kidnap somebody better
than Wilson Ramos
no?

The very next day

Ramos finished a distant

fourth

for
the
NL

ROY

What a week for Wilson Ramos

Colorado Dreamin'

2011-11-15T13:31:00.001+01:00

The Colorado Rockies need to be active this off- season. The Rox have David Wright in the crosshairs, which would be expensive but exciting. They're reportedly also interested in Martin Prado and Grady Sizemore. But consider this unlikelihood from an alternate reality: the Rox should sign Jose Reyes to a multi-year deal instead.

Why, you may ask, when they already have Tulo at SS? Well, besides the fact Reyes is about the coolest player in the game, and the Miami Marlins seem to be on the same wavelength (with Hanley Ramirez at SS), here are some less subjective reasons...

1) Because Reyes can play 2B. Thankfully, the Rockies let their old friend Jamie Carroll sign with Minnesota, and last year's pickup Mark Ellis signed with the Dodgers. The Rockies are now left with Eric Young Jr. - who for whatever reason isn't the guy they believe in.

2) Because Reyes is a switch-hitting lead-off man who won the NL batting title and steals lots of bases. The Rockies haven't had a good lead-off hitter since Eric Young, Sr back in the mid 90's. Imagine what Reyes could do at Coors! Triples, homers, doubles, oh my!

3) Because the Rockies need versatility in the infield. For whatever reason, Colorado infielders are consistently getting injured. EY and Herrera and Stewart and Tulo and Helton, all spend lots of time on the DL. And perhaps Tulo's 10 yr. contract and 6'4", 220lb frame suggests he may have to move to third base at some point down the road. Although make no mistake: he's currently the best defensive shortstop in the majors. Even if that's a ridiculous non-concern right now, think of how versatile the Rockies infield would be with Reyes able to play 2b, 3b, and more-than-adequately fill in for Tulo at SS. Unless of course Reyes himself gets injured. Again.

4) Because the Rockies will obviously never have good pitching. But emphasizing stellar defense, speed, and incredible hitting (a faster version of the Blake Street Bombers, with multiple batting title winners and perennial MVP candidates) might just be enough to win the NL West and return to the playoffs.

5) And most importantly, because their lineup would be the fastest, most exciting, and most fun to watch in all of baseball. Dexter Fowler could return to the two-hole where he's said several times he feels more comfortable. And if they're serious about giving Ian Stewart another shot, then drop him to 8th in the order and take a lot of the run-producing pressure off. The lineup looks amazing...

1. Reyes - 2b

2. Fowler - CF
3. Gonzalez - LF
4. Tulowitzki - SS
5. Smith - RF
6. Helton - 1b
7. Pacheco/Iannetta - C
8. Stewart - 3b
9. Pitcher

Otherwise, if the Rockies are completely unwilling to go all-out for Reyes, they're gonna have to sign both Prado and Sizemore -- as it looks like Seth Smith would be part of the Prado trade -- needing not only a solid starting outfielder to replace Smith, but also an above-average infielder like Prado (seeing as how there are gaping holes at both 2b and 3b).

In that case, the lineup could look like this...

1) Fowler - CF
2) Prado - 2b
3) Gonzalez - LF
4) Tulowitzki - SS
5) Sizemore - RF
6) Helton - 1b
7) Pacheco/Iannetta - C
8) Stewart - 3b
9) Pitcher

Hmmm...that ain't too shabby either.

In the third scenario, one that also looks pretty damn good, the Rockies get David Wright and allow EY Jr. (and perhaps Jonathan Herrera) to man the keystone position.

1) Young - 2b
2) Fowler - CF
3) Gonzalez - LF
4) Tulowitzki - SS
5) Wright - 3b
6) Helton - 1b
7) Pacheco/Iannetta - C
8) Smith - RF
9) Pitcher

Bottom line is that the Rockies gotta do something. Getting the affordable James Loney, whom the Dodgers don't give a shit about, would be a smart move. The dude loves hitting at Coors (.337/.385/.581) and has a good enough glove to replace the ancient (but capable) Todd Helton. But that'll never happen as long as Helton gets paid tens of millions of dollars yet again this season.

Here's one more lineup to ponder over...

1) Young - 2b
2) Sizemore -RF
3) Gonzalez - LF
4) Tulowitzki - SS
5) Prado - 3b
6) Helton - 1b
7) Iannetta/Pacheco - C
8) Fowler - CF
9) Pitcher

Pitching will forever remain anathema to Denver baseball fans. Signing Colorado-native Brad Lidge on the cheap might be a good idea, thus letting closer Huston Street walk. But starting pitching will be a huge problem for the Rox. JDLR won't be ready until May and none of our highly-touted prospects look ready to be in a major league rotation. We gotta go after Wandy Rodriguez, C.J. Wilson, and Edwin Jackson. Then we might just have a competitive rotation.

But I fear that the hot stove will soon burn all these half-baked ideas into a cloud of smelly smoke...and the Rockies will once again end up dishing out silly one-year deals to guys like Ty Wigginton and Jose Lopez.

May the winter meetings have mercy on us all.

Nobody Owns This Game

2011-09-18T16:28:00.000+02:00

It took only three days to watch the 24 hours of Baseball by Ken Burns. The first inning immediately gave me goosebumps, with beautiful waterfalls of words gushing from the likes of Whitman and Costas and Donald Hall, immediately illustrating the literary, reflective, and poetic qualities that always seem to gravitate toward this great game. But it was a slow and steady descent from there. Still enjoyable, and not without its moments of real brilliance -- particularly John Chancellor's easygoing narration through nine innings, and Keith David's tenor in the 10th -- the series gradually abandons its humor, playfulness, and eccentricity and instead falls into the same rhetoric of patriotic cliches and queasy nostalgia that is more becoming of Fox than PBS. Especially in the deplorable 10th inning which never shuts up about the goddamn Yankees and those pathetic Red Sox who finally break the Curse.

Most television documentary series simply follow the prefabricated narrative already entrenched in our collective memories, so why not do something more interesting and unexpected and enlightening? To be fair, the first and fifth innings did just that. Quirky personalities and idiosyncrasies are celebrated, humor plays a central role, and there's real poetry in the words and images. But the lingering images and stories are inevitably those of the latter innings, still fresh in the memory, and still stinking of sentimentality and sensationalist journalism. Hardly any players and no ordinary fans are interviewed. And in the 10th inning especially, we learn jack shit from the fatherly blatherings of some wealthy white BoSox columnist yacking on about Yawky Way providing an emotional bond between him and his pug-nosed son. Are we supposed to swallow this horse shit as if it means something to the rest of us?

Aw, I'm sounding like a sour old man. The series is definitely worth watching. But the series must go on, if only to redeem it from falling into a kind of hokey purity where the cursing and fun have vanished, replaced by stuffy old stiffs whose seriousness about scandals is just plain laughable, man. And enough with the goddamn national anthem already! Only the 8th inning, which starts with the infamous Hendrix recording from Woodstock, has any value after the first inning's predictable opening of blaring and honking horns playing the star spangled banner. Jimi's version shimmers as it always has; an epic departure from the status quo -- much like the social life and the style of baseball in the 60's and early 70's -- which were introspective and critical of stolid American institutions, and therefore insightful and provocative, paralleling the electrifying and truncated careers of players like Clemente and Koufax and Curt Flood. Disappointingly, these are the only three players discussed in any depth from this era, which otherwise is brushed over in favor of continual fawning over the dynasty teams.

It would've been more becoming of a PBS documentary to provide some insight into the smaller market teams, unsung players, and eccentric baseball cultures across America. Or to examine in depth one of the most amazing phenomenons in baseball history: Shadow Ball. The superficial treatment of such a complex practice didn't do it justice. In the tenth inning, nobody even comments on baseball finally coming to the great city of Denver and all the unique things about the Rockies playing mile high baseball, and how it has changed the game (statistical controversy, the humidor, etc.) Moreover, baseball isn't just "our game" as Burns and co. posit -- it is also the national sport in several other places around the world; the national teams of which usually kick the shit out of "our" boys. Cuba and S. Korea aren't even mentioned, and what little is said of Japanese or Caribbean hardball is of only passing interest to the director.

On that note, I just sent my dad a copy of "21" - the recently published graphic novel about Roberto Clemente, his favorite player. The text might not be great, but the illustrations provoke the imagination to wonder what he looked like playing with such exuberance in real life. And I'm finishing my copy of "A Zen Way of Baseball" by Sadaharu Oh tonight and will try to write a piece about it. Not familiar with the world's leading home run hitter of all-time? Not surprising; Burns and the gang fail to even mention his name once.

Push it Fair

2011-06-30T14:13:00.000+02:00

The mlb network recently revealed the top spot on their melodramatic list of the top 20 Greatest Games played in the last 50 years...

1975 World Series, Game 6 - Fenway Park
Big Red Machine vs. Boston Red Sox
Reds up 3 games to 2

Last year, after the Giants won a thrilling World Series, several of us experienced that immediate, gut-wrenching sensation of off-season withdraw and thus threw in an old videotape of this all-time classic.

Copenhagen, November 2010-

We can hear the ancient green ballpark groan at season’s end, worn and weathered under the dirtywhite nightlights beaming dimly on the weathered grass and infield dirt. The faded, grainy VHS image could be of any old baseball field on any one of those damp and frigid nights in late autumn. But it’s not. It’s Fenway in October. Those dizzy dimensions and that palpable anxiety are dead giveaways. We marvel drearily at the many nuances of mid- 70’s Americana: post-Nam exhaustion mingling with stubborn Irish hope; tweed jackets with elbow patches on flailing professor arms; clumsy on-screen text graphics generated by the world’s first computer; and most impressive of all, the personal style of the ballplayers…

Louis Tiant gesticulating with Satchel-like spasms and an array of flamboyant windups refuses to let the Big Red Machine find a groove in front of his Papi – "the Carl Hubbel of Cuba" beaming with joy under his dark brown fedora, shrouded in cigar smoke and untold tales of triumph. Pete Rose all coiled up in clenched stillness, waiting to strike from the left side; steps toward the ball, but holds up, his hands hang back on a slow curve…a hard twist of the hips and he rips a single to right-center. Fred Lynn: ROY, MVP, WS 3-run homer, and then busts his tailbone slamming into the centerfield wall. Joe Morgan’s back elbow flapping up and down in the batters box, his loose and sure fielding sure has style. And all the big hits by low profile players: Cesar Geronimo, a heroic name at a heroic moment, probably gave birth to a son named Sitting Bull Machiavelli, homers to put the Reds up 6-3. Then Bernie Carbo, looking overmatched at the dish, suddenly smacks a game-tying homer while drunk and stoned.

Cormac McCarthy could’ve said this old park hums with age and mystery. Yet from another angle, Fenway seems virgin – classic and pure – patiently waiting for a miracle to break that dreadful Curse. Foul ground and outfield walls not yet polluted by slogans and logos. Every blade of grass and craggy corner acquiescing to the grandeur of the green monster.

-Check it out, man…no fucking ads on the field or the backstop. It’s beautiful.
-There’s Sparky in the dugout, Wes…
-Mmm-hmm
-Toorn dees sheet auf, mahn. Beisbol boring!
-Shut the fuck up, Eduardo. And show some respect for Sparky; he just died.
-What da fuck is Sparky? Who cares?
-Here, take the doobie, CW
-Ooo….nice
-No goddamn ads or flags or flyovers…just baseball. It’s fucking beautiful.

Bottom of the 9th, runners at first and third with no outs, left-fielder George Frasier makes a concentrated catch right at the stands in shallow left and heaves it hard past the noses of nervous on-lookers leaning in to see if Doyle can tag and score. Shouldn't he have tried to slide instead of dive? Probably. The double play kills the inning and quiets the crowd. Everyone here is asleep, scattered on the floor, in the hammock, on the couch and I’m too tired to go into extras. Fisk will have to wait till tomorrow to hit it…

Late morning.

A couple dudes still sleeping on the floor, one in the hammock. The VCR clicks into motion and Joe Morgan strokes a fastball for an opposite field hit. Fast forward. Morgan again, snapping a throw on the run right into the first baseman’s glove with perfect nonchalance. Nothing too flashy, no big stats for this game, but making his presence strongly felt. A complete player with both bat and glove, he won the most prestigious individual awards and team championships before entering the Hall and working the mic on Sunday night baseball telecasts with Jon Miller.

Fast forward to the top of the 11th. Ken Griffey Sr. on first. Morgan pulls one to deep right field, Evans sprinting toward the tiny wall, Griffey sprinting around the bases -- confident it'll go over the short fence or drop for extra bases -- and Evans makes a spectacular if awkward catch with fans hands all around him. He turns and immediately chucks the ball toward first base, off-line but in plenty of time with that strong arm to double-off Griffey.

“The best game I ever played in” – said by a guy who loved winning more than anybody. Pete Rose, a notorious competitor (who even gambled 10,000 bucks per game on his team finishing 162-0), yelled out after Carbo's homer, "This is fun!" Dude should be in the Hall.

And, of course, 12th inning…Fisk waves it fair. The media thus found a way, serendipitously, to sensationalize the game, pre-fabricating narratives and placing cameras everywhere to plan for shots like Fisk hopping up the baseline. This time, though, it was accidental and for that very reason, magical. And the mytho-poetics of this great sport continue to express themselves in popular culture; in mediocre film (Good Will Hunting), high-brow literature (DeLillo’s Underworld), and on the internet (Dock Ellis & the LSD No-No). That majestic homer off the foul pole means the Red Sox live to see another day.

And finally she yawns – a silent roar – creaking under the weight of rowdy fans flooding onto Yawky Way with that stubborn hope still in the air, ‘cuz maybe some damn miracle might release us from this Curse -- tomorrow night in Beantown in the seventh and final game versus the Big Red Machine, with The Spaceman on the mound.

But the Game had become and continues to be “more Machine now than Man….twisted and evil,” reflected not so much in Vader-like villains of yesteryear, (the recently deceased Steinbrenner comes to mind), but the robotic, joyless, business-like metamorphosis of ballplayer into corporate cog. The blind consumer that is the Fan. More subtle then, strikingly obvious now. And as the Machine prevailed in the past, it does so today with an even greater autonomy free from human intervention. And the Spaceman loses.

The Machine is also dominating the way we humans perceive, interpret and appreciate baseball today. Rather than raging in anger at the removal of our favorite players from our favorite teams, we placidly accept the supremacy of a mechanical kind of logic positing greed as the strongest motivator in a multi-billion dollar industry crawling with blood-sucking agents and empty-headed athletes. Ticket prices continue to rise as our teams turn into souless corporations and continue to be disfigured beyond recognition. Fans are arrested at ballgames for not sitting through the Bush-era war chant of “God bless America”. The 7th inning stretch not only stretches our patience with all of the hokey patriotism and jingoist arrogance, but is in itself a stretch in its pathological attempt to link the game of baseball with military might and flag-waving herds of passive consumers. It stretches the thruth like so many other lies of the Bush era, refusing to acknowledge that beisbol is an international game with international citizens who happen to play in the US and Toronto and some of whom are deeply offended and saddened by such contrived nationalism (high-five, Carlos Delgado).

On yet another militant level, the violent mechanism of the Police and their intimidating presence – shooting taser guns at foolhardy fans for nothing more than running on the field – adds to the paranoia and dehumanization of our culture at large, and baseball in particular. In the past, it was we Fans who determined when we would run on the field together (see one of "Baseball's Best Moments": KC vs. NYY 1977, Chambers HR), in a triumph of joy over security.

And, again, the Machine now consumes a new discourse, dictating the way in which we value life, players, and how we value the Game – this time all according to strictly quantifiable sets of subjective criteria.

We can ask ourselves, without a trace of nostalgia, where are the Charlie Hustles of today? A guy who could coach and play (balls-out) simultaneously, all while using that passion and cockiness and wealth to gamble on his team to win every fucking game they played in.

Not even bothering to interview Rose along with teammates Morgan and Bench, the demeaning mlb network removes the wild card from the deck, playing it safe, tossing the same pre-written softballs to the dumb jocks and watching their woozy and bloated heads blather on about the same story they’ve told a thousand times in the same way. But these dumb jocks were great players and played hard and smart baseball to beat the Beantowners in that conveniently forgotten seventh and final game. The Big Red Machine were World Series champs.

Now, in 2010, Brian "The Machine" Wilson and that magical mess of misfits shut down the over-pumped Texas sluggers to win the World Series. Reluctantly embraced by the Machine proper, even the misfits had to be commodified. Fake coal-black beards, Kung-Fu Panda outfits, and even Torture Ball as a brand are all assimilated into the Machine as part of the corporate takeover of baseball culture. And we, the fans, are a bunch of suckers.

Welcome to the Machine.

BroadCasting

2011-06-20T17:20:00.004+02:00

The cleanup man whips around and yells something at the pitcher, his furrowed brow and flexed neck muscles ready to explode. Hesitating, the ump decides not to issue a warning. The slugger finally makes his way down to first base. Two guys on, two runs in, only one out...

Listening to the ESPN Sunday Night Baseball goons regurgitate the nerd lingo dictated into their earpieces, I can’t help but feel a sad longing for the days of Joe Morgan. But remember, he was fired from the network. Probably for the best. Well, actually, not really. The best voice in the game, Jon Miller, was also canned. But still, there was something soothing about Morgan's voice and the fact that my grandpa always thought he was the world's greatest player - and by extension - announcer.

Vin Scully is now the last dinosaur of baseball broadcasting and it wouldn't surprise me if Dodgers brass hovers around the old man after every game, asking him about his health while offering him some deep fried garbage. Baseball television broadcasts are in a disturbingly clone-like era where Fox seems to have replicated the Buck/McCarver two-headed monster in each city. At least Morgan and Miller were silly and different. Will Fox dare to give Scully the hook at some point if he shows a similar unwillingness or inability to become a corporate stooge? Morgan was not willing or able. In fact, I'd like to think the conversation between Morgan and ESPN went something like this:

ESPN: Mr. Morgan, we’d like for you to repeat the statistical information given to you in your earpiece, word-for-word.

Joe Morgan: What the fuck are you talking about?

ESPN: Listen, Joe… The game is changing; how we look at the game is changing. There are a lot of hard-working people coming up with new and better statistical categories for evaluating productivity. And you need to cooperate here. We’ll have our statisticians tell you what to say and all you have to do is repeat it; just throw it out there for the audience to latch onto.

JM: I don’t need to be told what to say, like some goddamn puppet. I’ve been around this game my whole life. Don’t you think I know how to evaluate a player based on my intimite knowledge and experience of the game? I can sense when a player is pressing; you can feel it in your belly when the runner on first is gonna steal; my instincts tell me more about how a pitcher should approach a batter in a given scenario, far more than new-age stats will ever do.

ESPN: We’re not asking you to do this Joe; we’re telling you this is part of your new job responsibilities as a color commentator. You’d be wise to read up on the new stats and get familiar with the terminology.

JM: I’m not gonna sit around repeating a bunch of numbers babbled in my earpiece all game, throwing me off and preventing me from sittin’ back and observing all the little things between the lines. I know what I’m talking about here.

ESPN: Joe, this is the direction in which the network is already going full-speed ahead on, and you’re just holding us back at this point. Perhaps it’s best if you reconsider your position with us.

JM: I’ve been doing Baseball Tonight for over 20 years, helping to make it the most popular weekly baseball event on tv, and this is how you show your appreciation and loyalty?

ESPN: We’re giving you a chance to keep your job by adapting to our new vision on how to announce baseball games based on Sabermetric research.

JM: No. You’re telling me how I should perceive the game and forcing me to communicate my observations in quantifiable statistical categories instead of letting me continue to describe the qualitative aspects of movement, process, situation, and sensibility.

ESPN: For the last time, Joe, we’re not asking you to get on board with us. We’re telling you where the ship is sailing and expecting you to do your part or find another job.

JM: Then sail your fucking ship as far away from me as fast as you can. I’m done.

...alas, the conversation was probably nothing like this at all.

Listening to Bobby Valentine talk about the great left-field play of diminuitive Brett Gardener last night, he stumbles over some strange sentences whispered into his earpiece,

“Gardener is second in the league to…Parra…uhh…among left-fielders …with…uh…thirteen…runs…uh…prevented. Yes, thirteen runs saved.”

Obediantly repeating the words like a good corporate stooge, but sounding like a tool in doing so. “He’ll learn,” the ESPN producers cry, “at least it’s better than Morgan not broadcasting anything we tell him to say.”

Orel Hershiser talks exclusively about pitchers and their challenges and accomplishments. He’s not been heard from for an inning or two, as he’s probably been told to recite and record a prepared interlude constructed between innings on pitch sequences to specific batters and how to approach a hitter the second and third time around. Suddenly, we hear his voice, after a prolonged absence, chime in with haste and overconfidence to tell us about how and why Sabathia attacks Soriano, pitch-by-pitch.

Don't get me wrong; the dutiful dictation done by these three elderly, wealthy, white men in stiff suits, starched shirts and in their square booth is more informative and analytical than an old Jon Miller/Joe Morgan broadcast, without a doubt. But in their attempts to analyze and criticize every nuance of the game and to quantify as many variables as technologically possible, they fail to let the game reveal anything surprising or unexpected to them or to us; they don’t allow themselves enough time to enjoy the game being played right in front of them. And we sure as shit don't feel like part of a conversation.

The aesthetics of the game are wiped away; style no longer has any substance. Personality is only interesting in so far as it can be absorbed into the Monoform. Nick Swisher with a shit-eating grin on his face sure looks good in those Norelco shaver commercials, eh guys? And he’ll make a great tv personality one day, so watch out – he might be here in the booth sooner than you think!

Grooming and manipulating and engineering forces, like the Emperor, to succomb to the dark side (negative, reactionary forces). Or striving to constrain or destroy positive forces (affirmative, active forces) by breaking them up – like the Jon Miller/Joe Morgan tandum – out of a deep-seated resentment toward human interference; nothing more than rusty cogs in the corporate machinery.

So baseball fans are relieved of an old stick-in-the-mud announcer, too damn stubborn to bend toward this new nerdball movement. Yet, we're left with a trio of petty, stiff and sanctimonious dweebs doing what they’re told, keeping an air-tight broadcast free of any unanticipated variables that might fuck with their pre-fabricated storylines; constraining and controlling the interpretation of the game to a single monolithic narrative, replete with a televisual grammar and logic that works the audience over, pounding us in the gut again and again with the same silly sequence of shots – strike three, zoom-in on pitcher who struts around the mound in confidence, cut to batter walking back to dugout with head down, then looking toward the field as if staring at the pitcher (“I’ll get you next time”), but is actually just passively watching the replay on the jumbotron; cut to establishing shot of stadium for an enthusiastic endorsement of some corporate product; cut back to centerfield camera for the next at-bat; repeat.

Why don’t we ever get to see how the infielders throw the ball around-the-horn after a strikeout? How they might be getting into the game, and if they look tense or playful when doing so. We need to hear the silence of between-inning breaks; the hum of the stadium organ, the murmur of the crowd as they do “the wave”, the indecipherable words of the p.a. announcer low and soft in the background; and the sight of the grounds crew working the infield over, players running out to their outfield positions to toss lazy fly balls to each other, the pitcher’s warm-up throws, the batter studying the pitches from the on-deck circle, “coming down!”…

And I continue to wonder why me and my buddies can’t have a crack at announcing games. Spontaneous, but well-informed. Teaching about the new statistical categories as one of many ways to appreciate the game. Full of humor and wit and exuberance. Aware of mistakes made, but highlighting the achievements and positive contributions done on the field. And with a lot more audience-involvement.

For starters, challenging baseball fans to discuss forming a Fans Union together so we can, among other things, claim the right to overthrow bad television and radio announcers that make listening to our hometeam a painful obligation instead of the stirring and thought-provoking experience it can potentially become.

The catcher has been out to talk with our hurler. He says little. Each man knows what is needed. First pitch fastball on the outside corner for strike one. Second pitch fastball away. Third pitch fastball inside, fouled off. Fourth pitch slider low and away. 2-2 pitch, changeup, low...

It's a grounder to short...6...4...3...double play. Mercifully ends the inning.

Sam Fuld's Catch

2011-04-10T14:18:00.003+02:00

Now the clean-up man steps up. Our pitcher is sweating profusely. Licking his chops, with a man in scoring position, the slugger has him right where he wants him. The southpaw in the stretch, checks the runner at second, stares in at the hefty hitter on the right side...

We don't have SportsCenter out here in Copenhagen, so we haven't been smothered with images of great moments like this in an endless repetition without reflection, emptying the moment of its beauty and meaning.

With Manny gone, Damon looks to do the DH'ing as the Rays now turn to a defensively-strong outfield, relying on one particularly scrappy and unproven player:

Sam Fuld - RF
Tampa Bay Rays

Last night, the bases loaded with ChiSox and Juan "in a million" Pierre at the plate, something utterly amazing happened in the outfield. Smallish Sam Fuld was playing Pierre shallow in right. Pierre skillfully pulled the ball toward the deepest corner of right field. At Fuld speed, this dude sprints after the soaring drive with the dedication of a pit bull after a frisbee. In Fuld stride, he literally FLIES -- recklessly and freely -- headfirst onto the gravel warning track, glove and body Fuldy extended to retrieve the sure-thing triple... It lands perfectly in the pocket of his outstretched mitt, as he's gliding in midair. Sam lands and slides awesomely through the warning track, turning onto his side right up to the base of the wall - and stopping millimeters from it, like an expert stuntman.

Even the fat and rowdy beer guzzling Southside boys behind the fence couldn't help but show their aggressive admiration, as the diminutive Sam Fuld jogged joyfully back to the dugout, briefly checking his left elbow for marks, beaming with childlike pride. It was beautiful.

p.s. 4/12/11

After "the flight" he took to prevent an inside-the-park grand slam, Sam Fuld promptly robbed Dustin Pedroia of a double last night at Fenway with a great diving grab.

But that's not all.

He fucking roped a homer off Dice-K right around the Pesky pole - like a gritty old player of the deadball era. Then in his next at-bat blooped a pitch to left-center field and stretched it into a double with a hard head-first slide easily beating the tag. He then showed-up his defensive counterpart Ellsbury in the outfield by driving one deep over his head - but not out of reach - "giving him the chance to make a great play", as Jacob of the Bare-Knuckle Boxers put it.

As a grand finale, needing only a single for the cycle, he slices a line-drive to left that's hit too hard for Crawford to cut-off and excitedly, instinctually rounds the bag and glides into second for his second double and no cycle.

Who is this guy?

...the sign is for a fastball high and tight. The hurler nods in approval, comes set. And the pitch...the two-seamer sails on him...heading for the slugger's head...he jumps while turning away...and it beans him in the back.

Moons Over My Manny

2011-04-09T19:09:00.005+02:00

Dreaded slugger of epic might
Joyful jester who kept it light
Did some drugs
Jacked some dingers
Peed on rugs
The smile that lingers

...he swings!

He rips the fucking cover off the ball

It bajooms of the left-centerfield wall.

RBI Double

Razing Arizona & a Rocky Road for the future

2011-02-28T12:56:00.005+01:00

With one out, a guy on third and the no.3 hitter up, the team up to bat must score. It's imperative; but far too often that runner doesn't score. Presumaby the team's best hitter, the no.3 guy will drive in that run with either 1) a hit, 2) a sac-fly, 3) a grounder to the right side of the infield, or 4) a squeeze bunt. The fourth option is literally NEVER attempted, although its probability for success may be greater than all of the other options, especially when ahead in the count. The typically bloated egos of both manager and hitter are no doubt partly responsible for their unwillingness or inability to pull of the squeeze play -- it's not a play that exhibits masculine prowess -- but there's another weakness on their part that seems even more disappointing. The fear of danger and deviance.

A failed squeeze play is just as exciting as one that succeeds. But the chances of a squeeze succeeding in the right situation are no more risky or prone to fail than any of the other scenarios outlined above. But for some reason, sports fans are quicker to chastise strategic guile and daredevilry and abnormality than we are to condemn conservative decision making when it fails.

When applying for that mlb "dream" job, they demand you send in a video clip answering some questions, which I'm unable and too lazy to provide. The job's fine print reads like a probation sentence; but watching and commenting on all that baseball could be crazy and fun, especially if they pay up big. One question on the app asks: "What will be the biggest MLB storyline of 2011"? To which I proclaimed 2011 to be the year we initiate a Fans Union. Shit, the timing couldn't be better!

Watched the Rox archived spring training opener yesterday in its entirety, and there were several interesting things to note...

1. This Salt River facility at Talking Stick is perhaps the most vainglorious land seizure of Indian territory for white man's recreation in recent American history. A casino, shopping village and golf course surround the excessively large baseball wonderland, providing several more reasons we should all burn that feckin' state to the ground.

2. The taboo of building white man's bullshit on Indian burial ground -- like cutting down a magical fairy tree in Ireland -- has long been an effective myth in preventing the objectification of the earth for capitalist ends. Those who fail to heed these mystical warnings are punished by having two of our star players collide in foul territory on the first batter in the first inning of the first spring training game ever on this field. Let that play not be forgotten, as it no doubt portends future disasters of cosmological proportions.

3. After grounding into a d.p. and moving sluggishly behind the dish for a couple innings, Chris Iannetta further demonstrated he's not our best catching option. Add to this an amazing at-bat by Jordan Pacheco, some great footwork and pick-off attempts from McKenry, and the promising past of Mauer back-up, Morales, the Rox have plenty of better options to go to this year, which could make our catcher not a weakness but an asset.

4. Dexter Fowler looked good from both sides of the plate and hit the ball hard both times. Top 3 defensive centerfielder in the game could be in for a solid season at the plate, which would be HUGE.

5. Johnny Herrera continues to show he's got the best batting eye on the team, good speed, and a solid glove at 3B. Goodbye Strikeout Stewart, you and Iannetta need to be traded for a young firstbaseman.

6. Good to see the vets put a HURT on the ball in each at-bat: Wiggy, Lopez and Jacobs all looked mean and confident up there.

With that said, here's my immodest proposal to J.T. for 2011 --

Suggested Rox opening day lineup:

1. Herrera - 3b
2. Fowler - CF
3. CarGo - LF
4. Tulo - SS
5. Lopez - 2b
6. Helton - 1b
7. Pacheco - C
8. S. Smith - RF
9. Jimenez - P

The third base coach is flashing signs to the no.3 hitter who, out of habit, looks back with feigned seriousness as if there's even a remote chance the squeeze is on. Nobody in the stadium expects it. The aging hot cornerman is standing well behind the bag. The man on third gets a very healthy lead down the line...the pitcher decides to work from the windup...staring straight ahead, focusing on the batter as he's been told so many times.

The runner anticipates the exact moment when the pitcher will initiate a series of subtle and coordinated moves -- looking down at the very instant his glove starts to rise upward while his weight rocks backward ever so slightly -- and he's off! In a sprint down the baseline against a 90mph fastball, with only the pitcher's windup giving him a small headstart. Is it a straight steal of home!? Can't be! Impossible! And the pitch comes in at 85mph right down the middle...our no.3 hitter in his head knows how to square up to bunt, but his body refuses.

This watermelon looks so juicy, just floating in there all big and round and right down the pipe! Give it a hack and hit it out of the park; it's worth two runs instead of only one. Simple fucking math! Adios, pelota....

And then....

Miyamoto Musashi and the Splendid Splinter

2010-06-20T13:11:00.008+02:00

Miyamoto Musashi:

Japanese Swordsman
Samurai Warrior
Painter (Self Portrait on left)
Author of The Book of Five Rings

Ted Williams:

American Batsman

"The Splendid Splinter"
"Teddy Ballgame"
Expert Flyfisherman
Ace Fighter Pilot
Author of The Science of Hitting

These two wizards take a no-nonsense approach to articulating their craft. Without getting too technical here, if we apply Musashi's 5 categories (or "rings") to William's text, the art of both samurai swordsmanship and that of hitting a baseball show interesting parallels. Here's a very quick glance...

Earth -

The Sword: martial arts, leadership, and training are analagous to building a house

The Bat: good, solid base (digging in with the back foot, slightly closed stance w/ front foot open toward pitcher, up on the balls of your feet, balance and weight proportioned evenly, butt and hips ready to start it all), practice, practice, practice.

Water -

The Sword: style, basic technique, fundamental principles

The Bat: fluid flow of power starting with backward cocking of hips to the single motion of hips followed by hands and finally arms

Fire -

The Sword: the heat of battle, different types of timing

The Bat: battle between batter vs. pitcher, hitting the ball hard, focus and concentration, aggressiveness, the importance of timing together with anticipation

Wind -

The Sword: "wind" is the same character as "style" in Japanese. Musashi describes the failings of contemporary schools of swordfighting

The Bat: one's style of hitting need not be changed. Williams describes the failings of contemporary schools of hitting/bunting

Void -

The Sword: zen-influenced thoughts on consciousness and the correct mindset

The Bat: "hitting is 50% from the neck up"

That was a big out.
There's some serious swagger in the next hitter as he lifts his lumber out of the on-deck circle.
There's a meeting on the mound...

Patience, Lads

2010-05-19T21:12:00.002+02:00

So it's 1-0, now, nobody out, and a guy on third. It's been a few minutes since that high fastball passed within a few inches of his orbital bone, and our two-hole batter digs in, trying to look unfazed. He's been hit in the head before. Only once, but that's enough. The pitcher knew this, of course -- they all know it.

Our batter takes another fastball, low and away, for ball two. He was taking all the way. That first pitch turned this into a battle of wills, rather than a battle of wits, and he wasn't going to stand there and get bullied by this guy, lose his cool. So, great, a hitter's count -- just make contact and score the runner on third.

But he's angry, now. He was afraid of getting hit in the head, almost did, and now he's pissed. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.

The third pitch is a hard slider that comes in on his hands, and he fouls it away. 2-1. The next is a high fastball ... he tracks it, and in a split second he's telling himself to speed up his hands ... "Catch up to it, it's right there!" ... and he comes up empty. 2-2. The catcher mocks him for "trying to win the game with one swing."

This has been an awfully unpleasant at-bat already. Our hitter is starting to feel like he's never played baseball before. He calls timeout to collect himself. Various bits of baseball advice handed down to him over the years flash across his mind, sayings and phrases and profanity that amount to, in not so many words, "Keep it simple, and be optimistic." Pretty useless, really, but he follows it anyway and stands in the box ready to simply "make contact."

That hard slider comes in again and he fouls it off. Encouraging. Waste some more pitches. He briefly considers that in the entire at-bat only that first slider was even arguably in the strike zone, but who cares. Make this guy pay and get the run across. He sits fastball, and here it comes ... diving, dancing, sinking past his bat and into the dirt. A split-finger.

On the way back to the dugout, he can't look at the pitcher, his manager, or his teammates ...

Ubaldo's No-No

2010-04-19T13:44:00.025+02:00

Hearing the ump call 'Ball One', our manager races out of the dugout - absolutely livid - as the high heater seemed to have grazed his batter in the helmet. It's early in the game, otherwise he'd be kicking some dirt and throwing shit. So after a smattering of saliva and swear words, we're ready for the 1-0 pitch with our lead-off man wandering off of third...

the radio broadcast:
1st inning:

"Well, the wind may play a factor in this one tonight. It has been swirling around the ballpark here in Atlanta...other than that, should be a good night for baseball..."

Cargo with a lead-off double, Fowler moves him over to third, Helton walks, Tulo sac fly. 1-0.

2nd inning:

-Steely Dan's "Reeling in the Years" segues into a commercial break, and "Touch of Grey" by the Dead brings us back to the action

-Jack Corrigan tells some bizarre story about doing a college football game in Japan, which was suddenly moved to a baseball field where broadcasters sat in small "port-o-potties" to announce the game

-continuing on the Asian theme, Jerry Schemmel notes how China broadcasts all Houston Rockets games across the entire country, in honor of Glorious Super Excellent Giant Hero Faithful Patriot, Yao Ming.

-then on to how international the sport of baseball has become, with 28% of players on opening day rosters this year born outside the U.S. - "you wonder how long it will be before some of the European players join [the mlb]"

-segue music: "Baseball is Turning Japanese" - tr.16 on the 2008 Los Olvidados Fantasy Baseball Soundtrack

3rd inning:

"The appeal...the umpire says no, he did not go around"..."Ubaldo's been just wild enough that he hasn't gotten the borderline call, because he doesn't deserve the borderline call; he's just been everywhere with his pitches"...."Here's the 3-2 delivery, swung on and missed, strike three! Challenged him that time with that fastball, 97mph. And there are two outs. Boy, just looks like he can still throw strikes. It's gonna be tough to hit him tonight, again..."

"Not that he's been digging at the mound or whatever, but like Jason Hammel last night, it seems like Ubaldo's delivery is not as fluid tonight and you don't know if it's something he's doing, or if the mound is impacting on that..." "You know Jack, I'm with you completely...I think you're right, he seems to have something that's causing him to labor so far." "But, you look up, he hasn't given up a hit yet..."

"It's cold enough that Kawakami now has a jacket on at second base"

- 2 on, 2 out, 2-0 count to Chipper Jones...

"Jimenez trying to settle down and find the strike zone...47 pitches now, 23 strikes and 24 balls...McCann waiting on deck...here's his pitch...that one missed, away, and...there's a throw to second base and OUT! Miguel Olivo! A shot to Tulowitzki and he picks off Kawakami at second base to retire the side. Boy, that's a friend of Jimenez right there: his catcher, Miguel Olivo"

4th inning:

"This place interesting, too, in that it started out as Centennial Olympic Stadium. And then they did a poll to see what the fans thought they should name the new baseball stadium, and of course the fans said we wanna name it Hank Aaron Stadium. But, no, it turned out to be Ted Turner Field. And some in Atlanta, we're told, not real happy about that"

With Hawpe running from first on a 3-2 count, Ian Stewart slices a single to left, splintering his bat, sending a shard into Kawakami's back.

"Hawpe and Stewart have singled, they're at second and first, two outs here in the 4th, a one-to-nothing Rockies lead. Ubaldo hits it up the middle! into centerfield for a basehit! McClouth up with the ball, coming to the plate...Hawpe...he will... SCORE!"

"Kawakami...from the stretch, the pitch - Carlos lines it towards left-center field! ...that's gonna go to the wall! It'll score a pair! Nearly a carbon-copy of his first inning double; a two-run blast from Carlos Gonzalez, it's 4-0 - Rockies"

...

"Ubaldo hasn't been close with any pitch...it's 3-0 to Chipper Jones...and way high again, ball four. Five walks, twelve men into the game." "Oh, and now they're gonna call a balk on Jimenez. Started to raise his body, then stopped"

"That breaking pitch has gone for more strikes than the fastball; he's able to control that one a bit better. 54 pitches and only 24 strikes, yet he's got a 4-0 lead"

"A walk, a balk, and a groundball out to give the Braves a scoring threat here in the 4th...1-2 pitch....SWWWUUUUUUEEEEENNG and a miss! he got 'em with a breaking ball; and that's out number two." "Maybe that's the strategy, Jack, you walk a player so you can get into the stretch and then you can throw 100mph." "Tell you what, he's had better command from the stretch tonight." "I know, I say it tongue-and-cheek, but actually he's been effective that way"

5th inning:

Comparing and contrasting three great left-handed hitters in recent memory:
Todd Helton, Wade Boggs, and George Brett

Double-play ends the top-half of the inning, "China Grove" by the Doobies segues into the break...

"The 2-0 to Heyward is...well, I'm not sure where that one was, but apparently not in the strike zone. 3-0. And that's ball four, not close. Walk number six." "You have to believe walks are gonna catch up to ya; you walk 6 guys in five innings, something bad is gonna happen..."

"Strike one. And here we go, we get in the stretch again and the strikes start coming." "Yeah, almost like - 'just pitch out of the stretch, Ubaldo'". "Of the six walks, three of 'em were on four straight balls"

"Hit to deep center and the wind's gonna knock it down. That ball had the sound of being well hit, but the wind said no-no" [Ha!!!]

"Another strike. I've gotta ask Ubaldo about this tomorrow; it's unbelievable, the difference in his command from the stretch tonight." "3-2 to McClouth ... SWWWWUUUUUEEEENG and a miss he got 'em!"

6th inning:

- commercial break: "You just heard the bottom of the fifth. If you're at the bottom of your fifth, you need to get to Applejack Wine and Spirits...Minutes from anywhere, just off I-70"

"And we'll see the Major League debut of lefty Johnny Venters...he was a 30th rd. pick in the 2003 draft of the Atlanta Braves...finally making his debut and he'll face Ian Stewart."

"No runs...and I'll say it, no hits, so far for the Braves." "Hah. You're new school, I'm old school."

...

Sugarhill Gang's "Rapper's Delight" leads us into the bottom of the sixth...

"How about this: in the stretch is Jimenez now, Jack, and it's strike one." "Well we've been talking about it...you get yourself in trouble from the windup." "From the Rockies perspective, they'd love Ubaldo to have a quick sixth and possibly seventh and turn it over to the bullpen." "And that is...a called strike three!" "And that gives him one more strike than balls, out of 87 total pitches."

"It's gonna be a 1-2-3 inning for Jimenez as we head to the top of the 7th inning"

7th inning:

Cargo strikes out on three pitches. Fowler hits the ball hard, again, and McClouth runs it down with help from the wind. Dex suffers another 0-fer. Helton follows with a "seeing-eye grounder" for a hit. Tulo grounds out, first pitch swinging once again.

Seventh inning stretch...4-0 Rockies

"He's gonna pitch again from the stretch...[cut in broadcast! two fucking commercials interrupt the game -- mlb must've stolen this call to post on their website -- and we're back with...] ... that was remarkable!"

"Dexter Fowler was maybe a step or so to the right side of secondbase in centerfield, he just outran this baseball, dove and made the catch. His batting gloves fell out of his pockets and all Ubaldo could do was go 'wow!'" "What a catch by Dexter Fowler!...an amazing catch, cuz number one to go spread out like that and also to turn the glove, so as not to lose the ball." "Dex might be as good as there is in centerfield in major league baseball and here's the pitch, there's a liner to center, Dexter Fowler coming on...on the run...MAKES the catch!...at his knees! ANother great running catch -- not quite as spectacular as the last one -- but Fowler gets out number two with that great catch."

"Since he moved into the stretch...Ubaldoo's retired 8 in a row." "Here's the pitch...STRIKE THREE CALLED ON HEYWARD!"

8th inning:

"One out in the Rockies' 8th. Ubaldo Jimenez has thrown 105 pitches, so he will come out for the 8th inning..."

Jack: "The game has featured an RBI single from Ubaldo, the wind taking a couple potential home-runs away from the Rockies, a spectacular catch from centerfielder Dexter Fowler to keep the 'you-know-what' going -- I'm old-school folks, I'm not gonna do it -- I keep tellin' you again and you can read between the lines or ask somebody what I mean when I say there have been six baserunners for the Braves, but they have gotten on-base by walks."

...

"Ubaldo Jimenez has allowed just six walks in the game...Cabrera swings and rolls it to first...out number one on one pitch!"

Fan question: Who is the youngest ROY in the history of the game:
NL - 1984, Doc Gooden - age 19
AL - 1978, Lou Whitaker - age 21

"Strike two called on pinch-hitter Hinske...[crowd boos loudly]...the pitch, SWUUUEEENG and he got 'em! Out number two in the 8th inning. Strikeout number seven for Ubaldo Jimenez. 110 pitches on the night for Ubaldo...To the best of my recollection, Ubaldo's career high in pitches is 127...129 from a year ago."

"The 1-2 pitch, popped up...in foul ground on the right side, and...OLIVO's GOT IT! And we'll go to the ninth! Three outs, four to go [sic] for Ubaldo Jimenez!! The Rockies lead it, 4-0!"

9th inning:

"New pitcher for the Braves is Jesse Chavez...and leading off, most appropriately, Ubaldo Jimenez - who has an RBI single in three tries tonight and a run scored." "Maybe the Skipper said, 'just go out there and make an out and come back'"..."Swing and a miss, he got him."

"Well, the fans here in Atlanta - they know what is going on - it has gotten quiet in this ballpark. Dexter Fowler, 0-4, lined out his last time up, drives this to center field...McClouth going back, and he will grab it. We head to the bottom of the ninth! Rockies- 4, Braves- nothing"

...

"4-0 Rockies, bottom of the ninth, Martin Prado will lead it off. Ubaldo Jimenez has allowed six walks on the night to Atlanta - that's it...first pitch a breaking ball for strike one to Prado. Chipper Jones on deck, Brian McCann to follow. Prado the hottest of the Braves' hitters...The 1-1 pitch...breaking ballllllllll....low, two balls and a strike. 32,602 here wondering if they're gonna see something special. The 2-1 pitch...in the air, on the infield...Clint Barmes calls off Todd Helton. That's out number 25!

"Here's Chipper Jones...outfield straight away and deep for Jones. Last baserunner was a lead-off walk to Heyward in the 5th...The 2-0 to Jones, GOOOOD rip at a fastball and he FOULED it back to the screen. Two balls and a strike. Jimenez takes a deep breath as he again puts that glove on his left knee to lean in for the sign from Miguel Olivo. Now he straightens, working from the stretch, the pitch...in the air towards leftfield, Carlos Gonzalez calls it. That's out number 26!

"Two outs in the Braves' ninth! Brian McCann, the man that stands between Ubaldo Jimenez and history. The Braves fans here come to their feet; in part in recognition for Brian McCann, in part in recognition for Ubaldo Jimenez. First pitch to McCann a breaking ball for strike one! April 5, 1993 the first game in Rockies history. The pitch to McCann, fouled away, strike two! On April 17, 2010 - Ubaldo Jimenez perhaps one pitch away from history! McCann asks for time; rubs the sweat off the top of his forehead. Jimenez patiently waits for him to come back into the batter's box...The 0-2 pitch, fouled away to the left. 125 pitches on the night, in a sometimes erratic but brilliant performance by Ubaldo Jimenez...Now he sets...another 0-2, fouled farther down the left side. Ubaldo taking a slow walk around the mound, holds his arms above his head for a moment. Now he's ready. Another 0-2, bounced it to home-plate [foul]. His heartbeat I'm sure -- as calm as this young man is -- has to be going a little hard right now. Shakes off two, now he's ready, the 1-2 pitch...BOUNCING BALL TOWARDS SECOND, BARMES HAS IT, TO FIRST....IT'S A NO-HITTER!!!!!!!!!!!! FOR THE FIRST TIME IN ROCKIES HISTORY! UBALDO JIMENEZ HAS NO-HIT THE ATLANTA BRAVES! WHAT A NIGHT FOR UBALDO JIMENEZ! MOBBED BY HIS TEAMMATES...ALL THE GUYS FROM THE BULLPEN, RACING IN!

"Jim Tracy made him the ace of the staff in spring training, and on an April night in Atlanta, Georgia on his 128th pitch, Ubaldo Jimenez is into the record books. The first no-hitter in Rockies history! That's why I talked about April 5, 1993 - that's when it began - and tonight, their most spectacular pitching performance!! The final score -- on a no-hit night for Ubaldo Jimenez -- the Rockies- 4, Braves- nothing."

From the stretch, the southpaw shakes off a series of signs...grinding his teeth he...steps off the rubber. The crowd is already getting restless...

Week One, Baseball is Alive With Pleasure!!

2010-04-13T13:33:00.006+02:00

Still Top of the first, no one out and with the leadoff batter on third base the manager starts to feel the urge to run to the telephone if only to hear a friendly voice. The second batter approaches the plate, taps his cleats once, takes two easy swings and sets his feet. He then does a slow follow through with the bat stopping when the bat is pointed firmly at the pitcher. The pitcher stares blankly into the catcher, acknowledging the sign with a faint twitch of his cheek and then places his foot on the rubber......

And now for my foray into the baseball bloggers quagmire.

The End of Week one.

Sheesh... the excitement of MLB week one can only be truly matched by the ultimate frustration of watching Mr. Ortiz go 2-14.

Though I would like to vouch for the gastrointestinal health of N. Swisher Esq. I will have to digress and move to some ramblings on this great game of ours in the full swing of or new and expanded league system.

Some of the many meanings and beauties of this game are these:
that it matches mind over matter, it shows you that youth does not always triumph over age and wisdom, and that the spectacle of the moment can be made insignificant by the collective moments of a grand time continuum.

Take what I think is one of sports most intense competitions, the pitcher/batter duel. Most people see a mindless combination of chance that sometimes leads to bat on ball action but the reality of the Cat and Mouse strategy is magnified by the fact that Cat can become mouse in the space of 1/3 of an inning. Pitch selection and placement meets the whimsy and discipline of the batter and the outcome always seems uncertain until it happens.

The journeyman batter or pitcher is often at the advantage of his more youthful comrades and can still make them look like the children they are. Skills honed over time have great value in baseball.

Though Comm. Selig would have you believe that opening night is like some sort of adolescent Super Bowl the players knew better and made you see that the greatest show on earth Neil Diamond does not make ( My apologies to sweet ass Caroline where ever you are baby). The painful performances of opening week will ultimately fade in comparison to the marathon that is yet to come.

To me all this does not even begin to cover the grace of the very game itself that appears when the teams hit the field. Just watching Ichiro swing a bat can be a Zen like experience in itself

Why is baseball not as popular now compared to some other American sports? Who Knows!??! No! It is because all these things are not evident under quick passing examination. Baseball is not to be understood by simply being watched, it only becomes truly great when it is actively "followed"

The pitcher rears back, kicks his leg and lets loose the pitch, his arm snapping forward. The batters arms start to move back, his left leg shifts, his eyes follow the ball. Suddenly his legs collapse as he twists his shoulders over while the high fastball hits the brim of his helmet, knocking the helmet free but thankfully not his cheekbone. Ball One.........

Kroh and Phased Groupings Play Voltage on Opening Night

2010-04-05T06:58:00.022+02:00

Top of the 1st. Nobody on, nobody out. The opening pitch has been thrown. It's a slow bender from a southpaw, looping in around the knees on a right-handed hitter. He stands crouched over at the waist like Pete Rose, keeping his weight back, waiting, recoiling, concentrating...

Of all the various examples of baseball as a cultural practice on our planet, most of us have experience and knowledge with little more than the major leagues. Little league games, for example, are a blast -- both as a kid and as a coach -- with all of the excitement and 10 times the humor of professional ball. And nothing beats playing in a summer baseball/softball league; whether it's drinking beers, havin' a smoke and a laugh with some friends or extending yourself athletically. And the best new tournament in transnational sports -- The World Baseball Classic -- is a window into wonderfully different ways of playing and appreciating the game.

It's opening day (night, actually) in the mlb, prefabricated to be a Yankees/Red-Sox matchup. The Bronx Dynasty came out aggressive, with Jeter grounding out on the first pitch of the season. Ellsbury led off with an equally anxious lineout to center on Sabathia's first offering. Beckett buckled in the 2nd -- back-to-back solo homers by an increasingly oldschool-looking Posada, smothered in pinetar (George Brettian graffitti, coloring both his helmet and the ash Lousville Slugger weilded in his characteristic loosefingred, barehanded grip) and by Curtis "Mayfielder" Granderson -- looking out of place in that Bronx business suit, his smoothnfluid swing sends a low fastball deeeeep into the centerfield bleachers.

Learning to appreciate all of the multifarious ways in which a baseball game can be enjoyed, is a lot like learning how to play a good game of chess.

The bizarre right hand of Youkilis is in perfect sync with all orthodox elements of the Hebrew Hammerstrike. He clobbers a double. Moments later, trots home on a sac fly ... Beckett slings one high-and-tight on Jeter, sending the captain pirouetting twenty feet back out of the box like a ballerina. After a primadonna pause allows the shortstop to smirk just long enough at the game so as to question its grit, he smacks a worm-burner by Scutaro, for an acerbic RBI single ... Pedroia beats out Teixiera's nifty infield play by diving headfirst into the bag, but the callous ump calls him out.

Umpires and Empires are obsessed with administering control, maintaining order, and executing discipline. Profit-minded, closed-minded and efficient creatures, their accomplices go by names like Sports Psychologist, General Manager, and Agent. It is in their interest to control and constrain baseball discourse and practices, ultimately for power and profit.

Sabathia looks strong and smooth ... Double-steal with the speedy Gardner at third catches the Beantowners with their pants down ... The old numbercards under the green monster flip to 5-1 for the visitors and Beckett hits the showers ... But the Boston bats come to life in the 6th: Pedroia walks, longtime Yankee-killer Victor Martinez doubles, Youk shoots one to opposite field for a 2-run triple. CC Rider now riding the pine in time to see the Sox tie it at 5.

Striving for power and profit defines the capitalist project; objectifying, essentializing, commodifying all cultures and forms of life into the predictable, predetermined discourse of the marketplace.

Some dude slithers out on the diamond during the stretch. A lovely looking woman at his side, he grabs a mic instead and performs a putrid patriot act. Suddenly, Carlos Delgado's missing presence is felt more than ever ...

... Pedroia the wee strongman wallops one over the monster. 7-7 in the 7th. Youk clobbers a double, again; sprints home, again. All part of the script? ...

... Sleazy Neil Diamond saunters up the firstbase line with an unworn hometeam cap and a worndown voice to sing his song on schedule. How much - if any - of this shit are fans expected to endure?

The pre-written narratives -- unchanging and mind-numbingly predictable -- spew forth from the shitbox as they have for generations. In baseball, it's the melodramatic backstories. The pompous tone and vapid, humorless rhetoric. The bombardment of images to combat uncomfortable cadences. The inability to reflect and a refusal to involve. Ted Williams refused to tip his hat to the pre-scripted "natural" ending, ending his career with a homer on his final at-bat and ducking quietly into the dugout to disappear from the public eye. Outta sight, outta mind. He left the fans with room for new memories of new endings.

Little Bigman once again blasts a basehit, this time toward the flatulent Nick Swisher who has no hope of throwing out lightning fast veteran Mike Cameron. The Sox can breathe a bit easier, up two runs ... Posada plays the part and plops a basehit, his third of the game, to give his team a chance. Yet, it's all for naught, as the Bo-Sox quickly close out the ninth with a 9-7 win, sending many a drunk New Englander home happy on a balmy Boston night.

New endings and new beginnings in the unwritten narratives-to-come. We gotta think outside the box, in new vocabularies, creating new concepts and meanings -- and experiment with living them out, putting these linguistic/cultural practices to use, embodying those very changes we hope to see. Still centered on the actualities, while striving for the potentialities.

The batter sits on the loopy curve, squares it up and bludgeons the soft offering past the hot corner - fair ball! He's got wheels, so he's digging for three right out of the box. Scampering after the ricochet, our leftfielder heaves the ball from the deepest corner of the park toward third base. Headfirst slide...the tag...he's SAFE!

opening pitch

2009-11-06T02:12:00.070+01:00

The great game of baseball goes through perpetual -- if only subtle -- changes and there's no better time than the off-season to discuss how to improve our experience and enjoyment of the sport. It might be suggestions on why big leaguers and school teachers should swap salaries; or a pointed critique of how mainstream media has affected the game; or simply a look back at an intriguing player, team or time in baseball history that may enlighten us or make us laugh.

So without further ado, I guess it's time to kick-start this here blog by simply and soberly looking at....

What made the '09 Rockies so goddamn cool

First, the brilliant mid-season turn away from emphasizing populist power-hitting philosophies ("production" via HRs, RBIs) and moving instead toward qualities that defined earlier generations (great fielding, base-running, starting pitchers going a minimum of 6 innings) and even some nods to nerdball (players with solid OBP, OPS, and UZR). Second, each individual on this very young team was capable of playing complementary baseball better than most. And just what the hell is that supposed to mean? Well, it's probably best embodied in some truly unique individual moments (the so-called 'intangibles'), but also the team's ability to creatively adjust to the ever-changing dynamics of situational baseball -- in the context of both a specific at-bat, inning, or game and also in the long-term context of the season itself. By the time the playoffs rolled around, the Rox were unrecognizable when compared to their opening day dynamic.

SPECIFIC SITUATION: Clean-up hitter Troy Tulowitzki (SS) in the stretch run of the NL West pennant/wild-card race put down a perfect bunt with a runner on first against Matt Cain (SP) on the road at SF (Sept.16) in an effort to manufacture an early run (to no avail -- so he hit a homer instead in the 4th inning to break the 0-0 tie and turned two double-plays to preserve the win). Most noteworthy because Tulo simply owned Cain (one of the best pitchers in baseball last year) and deciding to drop down a surprise bunt against him says a lot about Tulo's versatility as an individual player, but more interestingly illustrates the way in which even the no.4 hitter on a team is willing and able to strategically alter the situation from an individual advantage to a team advantage by performing beyond or outside of his designated role as clean-up hitter. I know of no other clean-up hitter in the majors who put down a bunt last season. Tulo lead all shortstops in homers, was 2nd in RBI, t-2nd in Runs scored, and t-2nd in triples: (.297/101/32/92, 20sb and 9 triples). Not to mention, Tulo also led all shortstops in SLG and OPS (.552/.930) and was t-5th in OBP (.377). Yet, his great season -- punctuated by unselfish moments -- was not an anomaly; one could find several examples from the likes of Torrealba and Spilborghs, Garret Atkins and Omar Quintanilla.

LONG-TERM CONTEXT: Several of us hoped to see rookies Dexter Fowler (CF), Carlos Gonzalez (LF/CF) and Eric Young Jr. (2B/OF) -- none of whom were on the opening day roster -- work their way into the starting lineup by August. By that time, both Dex and Gonzo were starting and with Clint Barmes (2B) struggling mightily at season's end, EY Jr. ended up getting a few starts as well. The recipe for success -- much like in '07 -- seemed to be to trust in the ability of our rookies to play surprisingly great baseball. After experimenting with Gonzo in the lead-off spot after Dex got injured, he made the adjustment away from the power label that plagued him in AZ and OAK and toward getting on base, hitting line-drives, and showing an uncanny ability to steal bases by reading pitchers like a hawk. Dex came back, he assumed the no.2 spot in the lineup and looked smarter at the plate -- in both moving the runner over, but also in providing solid OBP and incredible speed on the bases. Rockies and Rookies...a recipe for success, but more importantly - playful baseball. We'll never forget 2007 when the Rox similarly relied on rookies like Tulo, Ubaldo Jimenez (SP) and Franklin Moralis (SP) to reach the World Series for the first time in franchise history. All that's left now is to insert EY Jr. at 2B (batting leadoff?) and watch him thrive amongst similarly fun players.

And let's not forget, let's not forget, dude, the unheralded and unsung players who came off the bench to carry the Rockies for stretches at a time: Seth Smith (NL Player of the Week Aug.31-Sept.6), Franklin Morales (6 for 6 in Save opportunities from Sept.2-11 while Street was injured), and unforgettable moments like Ryan Spilborghs walk-off grand slam in the bottom of the 14th against those pesky Giants (Aug.24).

So, yes, Tulo and Helton were both healthy again after an injury-ridden '08 and Brad Hawpe (RF) made the all-star team after a blistering first half, and yes, a managerial change helped spark the Rox to an incredible 74-42 record after Jim Tracy was hired -- yet, for all the offensive and defensive talents and efforts, it was the unbelievably consistent starting pitching that really rejuvenated the '09 Rockies; Jimenez, Jorge De La Rosa, Jason Hammel, Aaron Cook, and Jason Marquis all won 10 or more games in '09 and Huston Street proved himself as one of the game's elite closers. At Coors Field! Now that's a team effort.

All this arm-chair prognosticating about mlb clubs utilizing custom-design stadiums and rosters to provide home field advantage next season is a bit tardy...the Rox were clearly ahead of the pack when they instituted the humidor (2002) and let the grass grow high (slowing down grounders) in the infield to give our low-ball pitchers a chance to actually win a few games. Most surprisingly, they gave up on the "Blake Street Bombers" image in favor of an athletic squad who set the mlb record in '07 for best team fielding percentage in history. And to think, only a few years ago we wasted billions of dollars on old arms like Hampton, Saberhagen and Neagle, but now have a team almost entirely homegrown.

2009 was without a doubt the best in Rockies history, but 2010 looks even more exciting

ALTERNATIVE OPENING DAY LINEUP for 2010:
1. Eric Young Jr. (2B)
2. Dexter Fowler (CF)
3. Carlos Gonzalez (LF)
4. Troy Tulowitzki (SS)
5. Todd Helton (1B)
6. Brad Hawpe (RF)
7. Chris Iannetta (C)
8. Ian Stewart (3B)
9. Ubaldo Jimenez (SP)