They put Neil Diamond in the rock-n-roll hall of fame the other day. Neil Diamond. Think about it, let it sink in. Neil Diamond. Bucky fuckin' Dent, Neil fuckin' Diamond. He wrote "I'm a Believer" for the Monkees. Had a string of hits in the late sixties and early seventies that never veered far from vegas worthy hip shakers like "I thank the Lord for the Nighttime" "Cherry Cherry" and quasi maudlin fare such as "I am, I said" and thankfully, just in time for Elvis to get fat and Red Sox fans to get perverse in their traditions, "Sweet Caroline". How this qualifies him to be honored on equal terms with The Beatles, Stones, Dylan, Velvet Underground, etc., is beyond me.
But then, I dislike hall of fames in general, and none burns my ass more than baseball's. Please, pull out your baseball encyclopedia and look up the lifetime statistics of Bill Mazeroski, Nellie Fox, Ozzie Smith, Ryne Sandburg, Lou Whitaker and Alan Trammell. And then explain to me why the first four are enshrined as "immortals" and the last two, who were a double play combination longer than any other in m.l.b. history, a feat that should be honored in itself at Cooperstown, are not.
Because what it really comes down to is who is in charge of the choosing, or balloting, or voting, or whatever. History is written by the historians; ya heard that one, right? And that is so very true with baseball and its journalistic chroniclers. Nowhere else do you find so many bitter, petty writers plying their craft as in the line of baseball writer. Remember the legend that is Robert Duvall, as baseball writer Max Mercy in "The Natural"? What does he tell Roy Hobbs at one point--that ballplayers come and go but he remains. That he, the writer, can make or break a player. It's the most honest moment in the film.
Not that I don't love "The Natural". god knows I do. god KNOWS I do. But it's a document of fiction, fairy tale, and Hollywood magic. But that scene between Duvall and Robert Redford rings true through the mythology and contrivance that is the rest of the film. Baseball writers do think they are bigger than the game, the players, the history. And the result? Bert Blyleven, a Neil Diamond of a ballplayer, gets an honor that puts him alongside Cy Young, Christy Mathewson, Bob Feller, Bob Gibson, and Tom Seaver. Really? Wow.
This hall of fame thinking hits me as we hit the two week mark before my Tigers take on the Yankees opening day. Who's a future hall of famer playing today? Who's a shoo-in? Jeter, yeah. 'Specially after he gets 74 hits for 3,000. (thank god he's working on that strideless swing.) Ichiro, absolutely, three thousand hits or not. He's the purest of pure hitters. Pujols, sure. If he keeps it up for another five to ten years (though the statistical milestones that used to ensure induction are sort of falling away as fewer and fewer of the ever increasing number of major leaguers cannot and do not reach them; I suppose if Prince Albert retired now, they'd usher him in in five years anyway. And I wouldn't squawk.)
Who else? Manny Ramirez, maybe, if the writers choose to forget the steroids. Which, of course, covers A-Rod, and Big Papi, as well. I suppose Jim Thome gets in.
And then, I'm at a loss. Sure, my boy Tim Lincecum's had a hell of start to his career; Mauer and Morneau are swell hitters, as is Ryan Howard, and Miguel Cabrera might put up some impressive lifetime stats if he stops eating, drinking, and threatening Floridians with phantom firearms in his ditty bag. But, man, there just ain't that many great ballplayers anymore.
That's expansion; that's dilution; that's major league ball, 2011. Welcome to the machine. And you know what? At the end of the day, I don't really mind. Because the lack of true legends, the dearth of real superstars, the absence of marquee names year in, year out, putting up All-Star, hall of fame numbers, allows me to focus on the game itself; the beautiful thing that baseball is.
On KNBR Sports Radio, San Francisco, they like to play a drop of former Giants second baseman and perhaps, future hall of famer, Jeff Kent. It goes something like this: "....Enjoy the game!"
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog blog media content blog blog blog blog. Did I mention blog? I've gotten a real job just in time to disrupt this goldmine of media content which is Baseball and Everything Else. My first thought after walking out of work (a phrase that in and of itself depresses me) for the first time was , god, I can't wait to quit this job. But I probably won't. I need to buy baseball tickets.
Mitchell Page died, did anyone see that? Yeah, of course you did, computer savvy and technology based life forms that you are. Mitchell Page, Dwayne Murphy and Tony Armas. There was a hitting outfield. Of course, that was when Oakland actually seemed like a major league baseball franchise. Oh, I know the A's have a swell young pitching staff, and they picked up Godzilla, and blog, blog, blog, media, blog, content, content, blog, media.
Mitchell Page dies at a tragically early age and Yogi Berra falls on his ass and carries on. AFLAC never asked Mitchell to do a commercial. It's the way this world works.
When are the Phillies going to trade for Michael Young? What second baseman should cover for Chase Utley? I know my Tigers have three young second baseman (Sizemore, Worth, Rhymes) but you know who can play middle infield, hit for Utley like power and provide veteran leadership to the Fightin' Phils?Carlos Guillen. It's my little daydream for today.
Mitchell Page died, did anyone see that? Yeah, of course you did, computer savvy and technology based life forms that you are. Mitchell Page, Dwayne Murphy and Tony Armas. There was a hitting outfield. Of course, that was when Oakland actually seemed like a major league baseball franchise. Oh, I know the A's have a swell young pitching staff, and they picked up Godzilla, and blog, blog, blog, media, blog, content, content, blog, media.
Mitchell Page dies at a tragically early age and Yogi Berra falls on his ass and carries on. AFLAC never asked Mitchell to do a commercial. It's the way this world works.
When are the Phillies going to trade for Michael Young? What second baseman should cover for Chase Utley? I know my Tigers have three young second baseman (Sizemore, Worth, Rhymes) but you know who can play middle infield, hit for Utley like power and provide veteran leadership to the Fightin' Phils?Carlos Guillen. It's my little daydream for today.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Even Cubs fans think big this time of year
Here's baseball season again. I guess I have to stay alive awhile longer. Were I to commit myself to Bellevue, beg them to plug me full of drugs that will zombify me, do you think they would still allow me to watch a baseball game now and then? A tiny smile could cross my usually blank, medicated face. As long as I don't watch my team, the Detroit Tigers. God knows the first predictable, bound to fail move Jim Leyland would make would rouse me from my emotional coma and the jig would be up. "Mr. Clark, you were quite lucid, not to mention, loud, when the manager came to the mound to remove Verlander in a tie game. We think you should be released immediately." So much for pleasant dreams.
That's what spring training is for, pleasant dreams. The Cubs fans (god love 'em, they ARE cute with their little bear logo) even think big this time of year. I'm no different; the Tigers have a potentially strong pitching staff, and the offense looks good on paper, and if I can just get over my jaded, had enough of Leyland attitude, I can almost close my eyes and see...another long, disappointing season.
Let's get this straight right off: I've forgotten more baseball than most people know, and I pride myself on objectivity and intelligence when it comes to major league opinions. That is to say, I'm no Yankees fan. I have no problem criticizing my team, even while living and dying with them for 162 games.
For example, could someone please shoot Brandon Inge? and Carlos Guillen? Inge, just cause he's close to worthless, and Guillen, because he's a spent horse that needs put out of his (and mine's) misery. Criticizing Inge, though, gets me the same response I've gotten for years at jobs, or in social scenes: I enumerate my problems with an individual and I'm rebuked as a hyper-critical, mean spirited jerk. "He's a nice guy," they'll say. Yeah, well, I didn't say the chick who couldn't count change at the bookstore was a bad person, and I'm not saying Brandon Inge is either. What I am saying is, Brandon Inge is a lifetime .237 hitter who strikes out on lousy pitches in clutch situations on a sickeningly consistent basis. How many games have I watched where he's come to the plate, runners on, runners in scoring position, less than two outs, two outs, doesn't matter. If it's anywhere near a clutch situation, please watch Brandon take his pathetic cut at a pitch a foot or more outside and low. I mean, bully for loyalty, Mr. Illitch, Mr. Dombrowski, Mr. Leyland, but really? He leaves you so wanting as an offensive presence, and I'm tired of hearing about his defense. Is he Brooks Robinson? No, no he's not. But I'm saddled with his ass for another season. Two more seasons actually, and why do I fear the picking up of his 2013 option?
And then there's Guillen, old, brittle, and perpetually without an actual position. Let's put him at second! Let's put him in the outfield! Let's watch him hit a few exciting, sometimes timely, first pitch homeruns and then count the trips to the disabled list.
I want to see Boesch, Jackson, and Casper Wells in the outfield. I want Strieby and, if I must, Raburn, behind them. I want Alex Avila batting ahead of Inge. I would force Cabrera to third, so Victor Martinez could play first regularly. Move Inge to second base (he's such a gamer!) but I'd prefer one of the young guys, Sizemore, Worth, there instead.
Oh yeah, shoot Zumaya, too. Never going to have another 2006. Tired of hearing about it.
I hope Verlander stays on his game, I hope Porcello rebounds, I hope Scherzer is solid and a winner, not just an innings eater. I hope, I hope, I hope. It's spring training.
Another spring hope is that the Yankees utterly collapse. And I don't even hate the Yankees. It's just that living in New York, the papers are so much more fun when the Yankees are spitting the bit.
I also hope Don Mattingly (I know, more Yankee hate. Sorry.) fails as manager. I have this problem with the Mattingly, Willie Randolph types who sit next to a Joe Torre for years, can't or won't manage in the minors, and then feel entitled to a managership. Managing is more than knowing how to sit or stand in the dugout looking stoic and concerned.
I don't see any runaway winners this year. The Phillies have the horses to start, but are they as good a team as Atlanta? By the same token, San Francisco, my lifelong second favorite team, won't repeat. Great starting pitching may win them the West, but their brutally punchless offense won't get to ride those coattails for a second year in a row. The N.L. Central? God, who cares? Cincinnati, by default, I suppose. Personally, I'm just going to enjoy the Cardinals and Tony LaRussa falling apart as Albert Pujols lame ducks his way to the MVP.
Which reminds me: Cubs fans, enjoy the increased beer prices at Wrigley once you sign Albert to that ten year, 350 million dollar contract.
Actually, I keep suggesting that the Cardinals' season will go so wrong, and with no hope in sight to sign Pujols, that they will trade him to the Yankees mid-season. You don't think it could happen? Why, cause Texeira is long term tied to first base? Let me tell you, Joba Chamberlain, Andrew Brackman and Curtis Granderson, welcome to St Louie. And then the Yankees negotiate their latest absurd, nauseatingly overpaid contract. Posada is gone after 2011, so D.H. is all Albert's next year and forever. It's a thought.
What else can the Yankees do? They won't be able to control themselves.
But they still won't make the playoffs this year. Boston gets the east, Tampa fights hard, Baltimore overachieves, but the Bosox still prevail. And only a Central team, Detroit, Minnesota, or Chicago (if Ozzie doesn't just once and for all lose his mind), playing solid and with momentum, will stop them.
I suppose the Angels come back a little from last year, but I don't have much faith in the AL West. I don't believe in the Rangers or Athletics organizations enough to believe in their teams. And Seattle? Aren't we all just waiting for Felix Hernandez to be traded or have a career threatening injury?
But I don't make predictions . I like to watch the season unfold and form my opinions from the field.
The only predictions I like to make in spring training are the fun ones, like the Yankees will miss the playoffs, cause that riles my Yankee-loving friends and tickles me.
Oh yeah, baby, baseball. It's the game for me. I've pulled out my thirty year old Mizuno glove, and traded my winter touk for my cap with the olde english D. I'll be hitting CitiField with my Mets friends and causing trouble in the Bronx with my Yankees friends. I'll be the one at the party who asks if we can get the game turned on. I'll be the one suggesting a bar solely for its multiple televisions and selection of games. I'll be the one poring over the boxscores and checking the standings after one game.
It's late, this is my first posting ever, and so everything else will have to wait til another day. I'll leave you with two last spring training hopes. One, that Barry Bonds' trial just dies away and he continues his post baseball exile, because the years and years it has taken to get him in a courtroom has rendered the whole rhyme and reason of the thing moot. He took steroids. We all know this, even if we all don't want to admit it, even to ourselves. But at this point, well, enough Barry Bonds. He's gone, let him stay that way.
On the other hand, my second and final spring training hope is that Roger Clemens does go to jail. Just cause he turned out to be a big, dumb hick with a big, dumb mouth. Does anyone remember at his Capitol Hill hearing how he sought to justify his training methods, questionable or otherwise, by elevating pitching for the U.S. in the Baseball Classic to some call to action by his country? When no one asks you to testify under oath, and you demand to testify under oath, and then proceed to lie under oath, well, give the Rocket what he deserves: a huge lesson in humility and honesty.
Okay, next time maybe we deal with contraction, or my long germinating plan for an entirely separate major league for small market teams. Or maybe I just explain why Warren Zevon was so great.
Art and Flowers, friends, Art and Flowers......e.c.
That's what spring training is for, pleasant dreams. The Cubs fans (god love 'em, they ARE cute with their little bear logo) even think big this time of year. I'm no different; the Tigers have a potentially strong pitching staff, and the offense looks good on paper, and if I can just get over my jaded, had enough of Leyland attitude, I can almost close my eyes and see...another long, disappointing season.
Let's get this straight right off: I've forgotten more baseball than most people know, and I pride myself on objectivity and intelligence when it comes to major league opinions. That is to say, I'm no Yankees fan. I have no problem criticizing my team, even while living and dying with them for 162 games.
For example, could someone please shoot Brandon Inge? and Carlos Guillen? Inge, just cause he's close to worthless, and Guillen, because he's a spent horse that needs put out of his (and mine's) misery. Criticizing Inge, though, gets me the same response I've gotten for years at jobs, or in social scenes: I enumerate my problems with an individual and I'm rebuked as a hyper-critical, mean spirited jerk. "He's a nice guy," they'll say. Yeah, well, I didn't say the chick who couldn't count change at the bookstore was a bad person, and I'm not saying Brandon Inge is either. What I am saying is, Brandon Inge is a lifetime .237 hitter who strikes out on lousy pitches in clutch situations on a sickeningly consistent basis. How many games have I watched where he's come to the plate, runners on, runners in scoring position, less than two outs, two outs, doesn't matter. If it's anywhere near a clutch situation, please watch Brandon take his pathetic cut at a pitch a foot or more outside and low. I mean, bully for loyalty, Mr. Illitch, Mr. Dombrowski, Mr. Leyland, but really? He leaves you so wanting as an offensive presence, and I'm tired of hearing about his defense. Is he Brooks Robinson? No, no he's not. But I'm saddled with his ass for another season. Two more seasons actually, and why do I fear the picking up of his 2013 option?
And then there's Guillen, old, brittle, and perpetually without an actual position. Let's put him at second! Let's put him in the outfield! Let's watch him hit a few exciting, sometimes timely, first pitch homeruns and then count the trips to the disabled list.
I want to see Boesch, Jackson, and Casper Wells in the outfield. I want Strieby and, if I must, Raburn, behind them. I want Alex Avila batting ahead of Inge. I would force Cabrera to third, so Victor Martinez could play first regularly. Move Inge to second base (he's such a gamer!) but I'd prefer one of the young guys, Sizemore, Worth, there instead.
Oh yeah, shoot Zumaya, too. Never going to have another 2006. Tired of hearing about it.
I hope Verlander stays on his game, I hope Porcello rebounds, I hope Scherzer is solid and a winner, not just an innings eater. I hope, I hope, I hope. It's spring training.
Another spring hope is that the Yankees utterly collapse. And I don't even hate the Yankees. It's just that living in New York, the papers are so much more fun when the Yankees are spitting the bit.
I also hope Don Mattingly (I know, more Yankee hate. Sorry.) fails as manager. I have this problem with the Mattingly, Willie Randolph types who sit next to a Joe Torre for years, can't or won't manage in the minors, and then feel entitled to a managership. Managing is more than knowing how to sit or stand in the dugout looking stoic and concerned.
I don't see any runaway winners this year. The Phillies have the horses to start, but are they as good a team as Atlanta? By the same token, San Francisco, my lifelong second favorite team, won't repeat. Great starting pitching may win them the West, but their brutally punchless offense won't get to ride those coattails for a second year in a row. The N.L. Central? God, who cares? Cincinnati, by default, I suppose. Personally, I'm just going to enjoy the Cardinals and Tony LaRussa falling apart as Albert Pujols lame ducks his way to the MVP.
Which reminds me: Cubs fans, enjoy the increased beer prices at Wrigley once you sign Albert to that ten year, 350 million dollar contract.
Actually, I keep suggesting that the Cardinals' season will go so wrong, and with no hope in sight to sign Pujols, that they will trade him to the Yankees mid-season. You don't think it could happen? Why, cause Texeira is long term tied to first base? Let me tell you, Joba Chamberlain, Andrew Brackman and Curtis Granderson, welcome to St Louie. And then the Yankees negotiate their latest absurd, nauseatingly overpaid contract. Posada is gone after 2011, so D.H. is all Albert's next year and forever. It's a thought.
What else can the Yankees do? They won't be able to control themselves.
But they still won't make the playoffs this year. Boston gets the east, Tampa fights hard, Baltimore overachieves, but the Bosox still prevail. And only a Central team, Detroit, Minnesota, or Chicago (if Ozzie doesn't just once and for all lose his mind), playing solid and with momentum, will stop them.
I suppose the Angels come back a little from last year, but I don't have much faith in the AL West. I don't believe in the Rangers or Athletics organizations enough to believe in their teams. And Seattle? Aren't we all just waiting for Felix Hernandez to be traded or have a career threatening injury?
But I don't make predictions . I like to watch the season unfold and form my opinions from the field.
The only predictions I like to make in spring training are the fun ones, like the Yankees will miss the playoffs, cause that riles my Yankee-loving friends and tickles me.
Oh yeah, baby, baseball. It's the game for me. I've pulled out my thirty year old Mizuno glove, and traded my winter touk for my cap with the olde english D. I'll be hitting CitiField with my Mets friends and causing trouble in the Bronx with my Yankees friends. I'll be the one at the party who asks if we can get the game turned on. I'll be the one suggesting a bar solely for its multiple televisions and selection of games. I'll be the one poring over the boxscores and checking the standings after one game.
It's late, this is my first posting ever, and so everything else will have to wait til another day. I'll leave you with two last spring training hopes. One, that Barry Bonds' trial just dies away and he continues his post baseball exile, because the years and years it has taken to get him in a courtroom has rendered the whole rhyme and reason of the thing moot. He took steroids. We all know this, even if we all don't want to admit it, even to ourselves. But at this point, well, enough Barry Bonds. He's gone, let him stay that way.
On the other hand, my second and final spring training hope is that Roger Clemens does go to jail. Just cause he turned out to be a big, dumb hick with a big, dumb mouth. Does anyone remember at his Capitol Hill hearing how he sought to justify his training methods, questionable or otherwise, by elevating pitching for the U.S. in the Baseball Classic to some call to action by his country? When no one asks you to testify under oath, and you demand to testify under oath, and then proceed to lie under oath, well, give the Rocket what he deserves: a huge lesson in humility and honesty.
Okay, next time maybe we deal with contraction, or my long germinating plan for an entirely separate major league for small market teams. Or maybe I just explain why Warren Zevon was so great.
Art and Flowers, friends, Art and Flowers......e.c.
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