Sunday, October 29, 2006
RBI Watch: Year-End Spectacularationism Edition
Carlos Zambrano is the man.
Even though he hit .300 last year as a pitcher, dude had 4 career homeruns; 6 bombs this year netted him 11 Pitcher RBIs, which was good enough to distance himself from Jake Peavy, former Jay Dave Bush, and probable NL Cy Young winner Brandon Webb, each of whom drove in 9 for their respective run-thirsty teams...and the excitement doesn’t end there!
Oh, wait...yes it does.
On a different note, Johan Santana should be cruising towards his third consecutive Cy Young award this year, and it would be a travesty that Bartolo Colon won last year but for the fact that the award is meaningless; much like the MVP or Gold Glove Awards (and I would include Silver Sluggers as well if anyone gave a rat’s ass about them), anything decided by a bunch of media-types/Red Sox/Yankees fans cannot be judged as to have been delivered sans bias...soon to be evidenced by Derek Jeter winning the AL MVP. Yes, it was the best season of the incredibly over-hyped Yankee Captain’s career, but it was Aaron Hill’s best season too, so that shouldn’t be a determining factor, goddamnit.
2006 saw a pretty nice regular season stained by the Worst World Series EVER; Detroit and St. Louis misplayed more balls than an hooker with carpal tunnel syndrome, and Kenny Rogers is just a fucking moron. Any Series that ends with David Eckstein winning the MVP Award should take a good, long look in the mirror and figure out whether it’s better to unveil a nice "story" or an enjoyable Fall Classic.
God, that sucked.
¶ 11:16 AM 0 Comments
Even though he hit .300 last year as a pitcher, dude had 4 career homeruns; 6 bombs this year netted him 11 Pitcher RBIs, which was good enough to distance himself from Jake Peavy, former Jay Dave Bush, and probable NL Cy Young winner Brandon Webb, each of whom drove in 9 for their respective run-thirsty teams...and the excitement doesn’t end there!
Oh, wait...yes it does.
On a different note, Johan Santana should be cruising towards his third consecutive Cy Young award this year, and it would be a travesty that Bartolo Colon won last year but for the fact that the award is meaningless; much like the MVP or Gold Glove Awards (and I would include Silver Sluggers as well if anyone gave a rat’s ass about them), anything decided by a bunch of media-types/Red Sox/Yankees fans cannot be judged as to have been delivered sans bias...soon to be evidenced by Derek Jeter winning the AL MVP. Yes, it was the best season of the incredibly over-hyped Yankee Captain’s career, but it was Aaron Hill’s best season too, so that shouldn’t be a determining factor, goddamnit.
2006 saw a pretty nice regular season stained by the Worst World Series EVER; Detroit and St. Louis misplayed more balls than an hooker with carpal tunnel syndrome, and Kenny Rogers is just a fucking moron. Any Series that ends with David Eckstein winning the MVP Award should take a good, long look in the mirror and figure out whether it’s better to unveil a nice "story" or an enjoyable Fall Classic.
God, that sucked.
¶ 11:16 AM 0 Comments
Jackie Robinson Created Major League Baseball
In the same exact way that most cite baseball as being "Baseball" from 1900 (or 1901) on, I call on 1947 to be the MLB’s inaugural year. Much like a long-time comic-book character being re-introduced with a brand-new Issue #1, the revisionist in me would suggest that Baseball, as a game, wasn’t whole until the 1947 season, or, obviously, when Jackie Robinson helped usher in the "coloured" folk to this otherwise lily-white show of athletic prowess.
Babe Ruth, Ty Cobb, Honus Wagner, Cy Young, Walter Johnson...I don’t buy it. Not when a ground-rule double was counted as a homer, when Nap Lajoie was allowed to bunt off strike after strike until he got one he liked, when Cap Anson could spearhead an initiative to keep blacks from playing with everyone else...no. As much as I love the anecdotal evidence of Satchel Paige’s other-planetary talent, or the stories of Cobb and Tris Speaker fixing more games than Shoeless Joe Jackson could count, it wasn’t just a different time; it was a different league, a different sport.
Hack Wilson’s 191 RBI in 1930 mean as much to the Major League record-books as Wilt Chamberlain’s 100-point game in 1962: an impressive mark, but completely unrelated to the game of Baseball as it stands today. So here’s the demarcation line, and one that celebrates its 60th season when training camp breaks next year, along with some corrected "All-Time" stats for the revisionist in all of us to savour...including some "Modern Day" omissions that convey my own suspicions as to who joined the Steroid Party, evidenced particularly by my revamped Single-Season Homerun Records:
BATTING AVERAGE
.394 Tony Gwynn, 1994
.390 George Brett, 1980
.388 Ted Williams, 1957
.388 Rod Carew, 1977
.379 Larry Walker, 1999
ON-BASE PERCENTAGE
.526 Ted Williams, 1957
.512 Mickey Mantle, 1957
.499 Ted Williams, 1947
.497 Ted Williams, 1948
.490 Ted Williams, 1949
SLUGGING PERCENTAGE
.750 Jeff Bagwell, 1994
.731 Ted Williams, 1957
.729 Frank Thomas, 1994
.720 Larry Walker, 1997
.710 Larry Walker, 1999
OPS
1.257 Ted Williams, 1957
1.216 Frank Thomas, 1994
1.201 Jeff Bagwell, 1994
1.177 Mickey Mantle, 1957
1.172 Larry Walker, 1997
RUNS BATTED IN
165 Manny Ramirez, 1999
159 Ted Williams, 1959
159 Vern Stephens, 1959
157 Juan Gonzalez, 1998
155 Joe DiMaggio, 1948
Yes, though Ted Williams’ legendary .400 season has gone kaput under this revisionist system, he is still the Greatest Hitter Ever…and if someone is to beat Gwynn’s abbreviated 1994 batting average, they will almost certainly play for the Colorado Rockies.
50+ HOMERUNS IN A SEASON
61 Roger Maris, 1961
58 Ryan Howard, 2006
57 Alex Rodriguez, 2002
56 Ken Griffey Jr, 1997
56 Ken Griffey Jr, 1998
54 Ralph Kiner, 1949
54 Mickey Mantle, 1961
54 David Ortiz, 2006
52 Mickey Mantle, 1956
52 Willie Mays, 1965
52 George Foster, 1977
52 Alex Rodriguez, 2001
52 Jim Thome, 2002
51 Ralph Kiner, 1947
51 Johnny Mize, 1947
51 Willie Mays, 1955
51 Cecil Fielder, 1990
51 Andruw Jones, 2005
How about the pitchers, you ask? Well, all I can truly say is thanks for asking:
EARNED RUN AVERAGE
1.12 Bob Gibson, 1968
1.53 Dwight Gooden, 1985
1.56 Greg Maddux, 1994
1.60 Luis Tiant, 1968
1.63 Greg Maddux, 1995
WHIP
0.737 Pedro Martinez, 2000
0.811 Greg Maddux, 1995
0.843 Dave McNally, 1968
0.853 Bob Gibson, 1968
0.855 Sandy Koufax, 1965
WINS (as if they matter)
31 Denny McLain, 1968
28 Robin Roberts, 1952
27 Don Newcombe, 1956
27 Sandy Koufax, 1966
27 Steve Carlton, 1972
27 Bob Welch, 1990
So, the often-cited reason for 1968 being the Year of the Pitcher, that reason being that the mound was raised, looks to hold true; 1968 was to the pitcher as 1994 (excepting Maddux) was to the hitter. Strikeout and Save records remain the same, as they are already crammed full of post-1947 names, but if you're one of those compulsive-types, there are some post-1947 odds and ends in the "complaints" section.
Otherwise, hey: Come celebrate with me as training camp breaks in early ‘07 for what should be a fanTAStic 60th year of Major League Baseball.
And, of course, by "come celebrate with me", I mean send a card or something; by rule, I don’t much like people...much less people coming over for anything other than to bring me liquor or pizza. ¶ 9:19 AM 3 Comments
Babe Ruth, Ty Cobb, Honus Wagner, Cy Young, Walter Johnson...I don’t buy it. Not when a ground-rule double was counted as a homer, when Nap Lajoie was allowed to bunt off strike after strike until he got one he liked, when Cap Anson could spearhead an initiative to keep blacks from playing with everyone else...no. As much as I love the anecdotal evidence of Satchel Paige’s other-planetary talent, or the stories of Cobb and Tris Speaker fixing more games than Shoeless Joe Jackson could count, it wasn’t just a different time; it was a different league, a different sport.
Hack Wilson’s 191 RBI in 1930 mean as much to the Major League record-books as Wilt Chamberlain’s 100-point game in 1962: an impressive mark, but completely unrelated to the game of Baseball as it stands today. So here’s the demarcation line, and one that celebrates its 60th season when training camp breaks next year, along with some corrected "All-Time" stats for the revisionist in all of us to savour...including some "Modern Day" omissions that convey my own suspicions as to who joined the Steroid Party, evidenced particularly by my revamped Single-Season Homerun Records:
BATTING AVERAGE
.394 Tony Gwynn, 1994
.390 George Brett, 1980
.388 Ted Williams, 1957
.388 Rod Carew, 1977
.379 Larry Walker, 1999
ON-BASE PERCENTAGE
.526 Ted Williams, 1957
.512 Mickey Mantle, 1957
.499 Ted Williams, 1947
.497 Ted Williams, 1948
.490 Ted Williams, 1949
SLUGGING PERCENTAGE
.750 Jeff Bagwell, 1994
.731 Ted Williams, 1957
.729 Frank Thomas, 1994
.720 Larry Walker, 1997
.710 Larry Walker, 1999
OPS
1.257 Ted Williams, 1957
1.216 Frank Thomas, 1994
1.201 Jeff Bagwell, 1994
1.177 Mickey Mantle, 1957
1.172 Larry Walker, 1997
RUNS BATTED IN
165 Manny Ramirez, 1999
159 Ted Williams, 1959
159 Vern Stephens, 1959
157 Juan Gonzalez, 1998
155 Joe DiMaggio, 1948
Yes, though Ted Williams’ legendary .400 season has gone kaput under this revisionist system, he is still the Greatest Hitter Ever…and if someone is to beat Gwynn’s abbreviated 1994 batting average, they will almost certainly play for the Colorado Rockies.
50+ HOMERUNS IN A SEASON
61 Roger Maris, 1961
58 Ryan Howard, 2006
57 Alex Rodriguez, 2002
56 Ken Griffey Jr, 1997
56 Ken Griffey Jr, 1998
54 Ralph Kiner, 1949
54 Mickey Mantle, 1961
54 David Ortiz, 2006
52 Mickey Mantle, 1956
52 Willie Mays, 1965
52 George Foster, 1977
52 Alex Rodriguez, 2001
52 Jim Thome, 2002
51 Ralph Kiner, 1947
51 Johnny Mize, 1947
51 Willie Mays, 1955
51 Cecil Fielder, 1990
51 Andruw Jones, 2005
How about the pitchers, you ask? Well, all I can truly say is thanks for asking:
EARNED RUN AVERAGE
1.12 Bob Gibson, 1968
1.53 Dwight Gooden, 1985
1.56 Greg Maddux, 1994
1.60 Luis Tiant, 1968
1.63 Greg Maddux, 1995
WHIP
0.737 Pedro Martinez, 2000
0.811 Greg Maddux, 1995
0.843 Dave McNally, 1968
0.853 Bob Gibson, 1968
0.855 Sandy Koufax, 1965
WINS (as if they matter)
31 Denny McLain, 1968
28 Robin Roberts, 1952
27 Don Newcombe, 1956
27 Sandy Koufax, 1966
27 Steve Carlton, 1972
27 Bob Welch, 1990
So, the often-cited reason for 1968 being the Year of the Pitcher, that reason being that the mound was raised, looks to hold true; 1968 was to the pitcher as 1994 (excepting Maddux) was to the hitter. Strikeout and Save records remain the same, as they are already crammed full of post-1947 names, but if you're one of those compulsive-types, there are some post-1947 odds and ends in the "complaints" section.
Otherwise, hey: Come celebrate with me as training camp breaks in early ‘07 for what should be a fanTAStic 60th year of Major League Baseball.
And, of course, by "come celebrate with me", I mean send a card or something; by rule, I don’t much like people...much less people coming over for anything other than to bring me liquor or pizza. ¶ 9:19 AM 3 Comments
Monday, October 23, 2006
Go Ahead and Shove Babe Ruth Up Your Ass
Originally posted, under a different title, September 29, 2006.
As a precursor to my SUPER anticipated end-of-season baseball post, I’m going to run with an idea started by Mr. James Leroux, as well as one pushed through by those traditionalists down at Sports Illustrated, with a teensy bit of a twist: MY (capitals intended) All-Time MLB Team, comprised entirely of players whom I‘ve seen and been entertained by. Aren’t you folks in for a treat (sarcasm intended):
CATCHER
Mike Piazza, Los Angeles Dodgers, circa 1997
Maybe Jose Canseco poisoned my mind, but when Ivan Rodriguez came into training camp at the beginning of last year looking like Jason Giambi had eaten half of him, well...I started to believe Canseco’s steroid allegations. Too bad, since Rodriguez was the greatest backstop I’ve still ever seen: guns to first from his knees, stupid caught-stealing percentages, and a .300+ bat with some pop had him on the shortlist of Greatest Ever. Now, I’ll have to go with the defensively-challenged Mike Piazza...not exactly a hard choice, but I would have a preferred a game-caller with a little more going for him than Most Homeruns Ever by a Catcher. Still, it’s hard to argue with .362, 200 hits, 40 HR and 120 RBI...from a catcher. Fuck me.
FIRST BASE
Carlos Delgado, Toronto Blue Jays, circa 2000
As if the "King Carlos" post wasn’t hint enough, Delgado’s my main man; he’s the Jay I watched come up to the majors in 1994 with 8 HR in 13 games before completely peaking with this ridiculous season. Dude couldn’t be stopped...at least in the batter’s box; he looked kind of like a walrus swatting at flies in the field, but so what? Killer with the bat, especially in 2000, and with a dynamite two-handed uppercut swing, entertainment is everything.
SECOND BASE
Roberto Alomar, Toronto Blue Jays, circa 1993
Yeah, another Blue Jay...who’s been better at 2B since 1990? If you said "nobody" you’d be goddamn right, and I’d be impressed with that level head you have on your shoulders. Part of the wondrous WAMCO lineup of these World Champion Jays (the lineup that Paul Molitor famously mangled by saying that it could be pluralized if you added Ed Sprague to the end of it...ugh), Alomar was, and still is, the best all-around player in Jays’ history.
THIRD BASE
Kelly Gruber, Toronto Blue Jays, circa 1990
Before anyone gets all pissy at the idea of three Blue Jays in three of the first four spots, keep in mind that the best third-sacker I’ve ever seen was Ken Caminiti; a switch-hitter with power, perfect strikes across the diamond from his back, a Padres playoff run...but there’s no way I can keep him in here, what with the admission of steroid-use and all, so this spot goes to the Anne Murray fan from California. Mr. Gruber, he of the high-flying mullet and pelican running-style (all elbows and knees), was the Eric Byrnes of his generation: a cannon to first or a throw into the stands; an absolute bomb to left or a strikeout that made him look as though he had been spun around by some kind of unseen, gale-force wind. Still, it’s the memories of Gruber that make me want to play third base on my softball team even today...though, to be honest, I’m okay with short.
SHORTSTOP
Nomar Garciaparra, Boston Red Sox, circa 2000
I’ll never forget the 5 HR Barry Larkin hit in two games back in 1991 (even though it took some Retrosheet action to give me the actual year), but it’s Nomah’s hitting, no, pre-pitch routine, that gives him the edge over all others. Way more likeable than A-Rod, way less corporate than Cal Ripken Jr, Garciaparra was, and is, even at first for the Dodgers, incredibly fun to watch hit.
CENTERFIELDER
Ken Griffey Jr, Seattle Mariners, circa 1997
Devon White was the most effortless, Jim Edmonds was the most spectacular, and, for some reason, Vernon Wells always looks as though he should be doing more...I don’t know what it is, but he’s seems almost too effortless, both on the field and at the plate. For a while, I considered Junior to be TOO GOOD, as if that’s a bad thing...it still kind of feels like calling Michael Jordan my favourite player of all time; it’s like I know SO MUCH about the game that I’m supposed to unearth some hidden gem that nobody but hardcore FANS will appreciate, but what the fuck. Griffey is, hands down, the best I’ve ever seen. Too bad about that move to Cincy, though.
OUTFIELDERS
Vladimir Guerrero, Montreal Expos, circa 2002
A recent FOX Sports montage of wood-chopping Guerrero homeruns was, honestly, way too enjoyable for me...but seriously: a rocket pulled down the right-field line from the bottom, outside corner of the plate? An opposite-field shot on a face-high pitch a foot from the plate? Who cares if he runs like a three-legged yak with vertigo? He had a cannon in right, and was a HR away from 40-40 in 2002...what do you mean he was thrown out 20 times?
Manny Ramirez, Boston Red Sox, circa 2004
Boy oh BOY did I want to include Larry Walker’s 1997 on this list, but the dreaded Coors Field effect, as evidenced after Walker’s MVP season by Todd Helton’s ludicrous, videogame career numbers, has had a much more prevalent effect on legitimacy than I would have thought back in the wonderful days of my 21st year...easy fix, though: I’ve always described Ramirez, easily, too, since I don’t know him personally, as a kind of idiot-savant, pure hitter. The description, by rote, goes as follows:
Can’t field, runs like he has an ass full of bricks, but he can fucking hit for days.
Watching Manny connect on a line-drive single to right or a moon-shot over the Monster in left is like watching someone do exactly what they were put on earth to do. Unfortunately, it just so happens that Ramirez hits baseballs for 20 mil a year instead of, say, teaching the world to sing. Oh well.
DESIGNATED HITTER
Tie-
David Ortiz, Boston Red Sox and
Travis Hafner, Cleveland [insert racist slur here]s,
circa RIGHT NOW
Hafner looks as though he’s hitting golf balls with a picket-sign, and if there IS such a thing as clutch, Ortiz is the very personification of such. Both are stupefying hitters with the kind of power that makes Donald Trump look like an old-timey newsie with dirt-crusted pantaloons and malaria, and both are more enjoyable to watch than Frank Thomas in his admittedly incredible prime.
STARTING PITCHER
Pedro Martinez, Boston Red Sox, circa 1999-2000
The "zany" part of me wants to say Dwight Gooden as a rookie, or Dave Stewart based solely on his menacing stare, but the fact is that baseball might never have had a better pitcher in its history than Pedro Martinez over the break of the new century. Randy Johnson is still what I consider to be the sci-fi nightmare from 1920s slugger’s dreams, all 6'10" and 100mph of him, and Roger Clemens’ longevity has allowed him to cruise on past 340 wins, but Pedro was so ridiculous over his two-year span that words cannot describe it. Okay; maybe "zassanfoloco", but that’s maybe a stretch.
CLOSER
Dennis Eckersley, Oakland Athletics, circa 1989
There was a Sports Illustrated article about a hundred years ago profiling Eck, and all I remember is the mullet, the moustache, and this fabulous picture of him, mid-delivery, closing one eye as if he was literally painting the corner of the plate. Eric Gagne’s perfect 55-for-55 season in 2003 has been brought into question during a recent tirade by Jim Traber, and that’s alright for the purposes of this particular list; it’s not as though Eckersley isn’t deserving of this "honour" - dude won a fucking MVP for chrissake.
As always, you’re welcome.
¶ 3:12 PM 0 Comments
As a precursor to my SUPER anticipated end-of-season baseball post, I’m going to run with an idea started by Mr. James Leroux, as well as one pushed through by those traditionalists down at Sports Illustrated, with a teensy bit of a twist: MY (capitals intended) All-Time MLB Team, comprised entirely of players whom I‘ve seen and been entertained by. Aren’t you folks in for a treat (sarcasm intended):
CATCHER
Mike Piazza, Los Angeles Dodgers, circa 1997
Maybe Jose Canseco poisoned my mind, but when Ivan Rodriguez came into training camp at the beginning of last year looking like Jason Giambi had eaten half of him, well...I started to believe Canseco’s steroid allegations. Too bad, since Rodriguez was the greatest backstop I’ve still ever seen: guns to first from his knees, stupid caught-stealing percentages, and a .300+ bat with some pop had him on the shortlist of Greatest Ever. Now, I’ll have to go with the defensively-challenged Mike Piazza...not exactly a hard choice, but I would have a preferred a game-caller with a little more going for him than Most Homeruns Ever by a Catcher. Still, it’s hard to argue with .362, 200 hits, 40 HR and 120 RBI...from a catcher. Fuck me.
FIRST BASE
Carlos Delgado, Toronto Blue Jays, circa 2000
As if the "King Carlos" post wasn’t hint enough, Delgado’s my main man; he’s the Jay I watched come up to the majors in 1994 with 8 HR in 13 games before completely peaking with this ridiculous season. Dude couldn’t be stopped...at least in the batter’s box; he looked kind of like a walrus swatting at flies in the field, but so what? Killer with the bat, especially in 2000, and with a dynamite two-handed uppercut swing, entertainment is everything.
SECOND BASE
Roberto Alomar, Toronto Blue Jays, circa 1993
Yeah, another Blue Jay...who’s been better at 2B since 1990? If you said "nobody" you’d be goddamn right, and I’d be impressed with that level head you have on your shoulders. Part of the wondrous WAMCO lineup of these World Champion Jays (the lineup that Paul Molitor famously mangled by saying that it could be pluralized if you added Ed Sprague to the end of it...ugh), Alomar was, and still is, the best all-around player in Jays’ history.
THIRD BASE
Kelly Gruber, Toronto Blue Jays, circa 1990
Before anyone gets all pissy at the idea of three Blue Jays in three of the first four spots, keep in mind that the best third-sacker I’ve ever seen was Ken Caminiti; a switch-hitter with power, perfect strikes across the diamond from his back, a Padres playoff run...but there’s no way I can keep him in here, what with the admission of steroid-use and all, so this spot goes to the Anne Murray fan from California. Mr. Gruber, he of the high-flying mullet and pelican running-style (all elbows and knees), was the Eric Byrnes of his generation: a cannon to first or a throw into the stands; an absolute bomb to left or a strikeout that made him look as though he had been spun around by some kind of unseen, gale-force wind. Still, it’s the memories of Gruber that make me want to play third base on my softball team even today...though, to be honest, I’m okay with short.
SHORTSTOP
Nomar Garciaparra, Boston Red Sox, circa 2000
I’ll never forget the 5 HR Barry Larkin hit in two games back in 1991 (even though it took some Retrosheet action to give me the actual year), but it’s Nomah’s hitting, no, pre-pitch routine, that gives him the edge over all others. Way more likeable than A-Rod, way less corporate than Cal Ripken Jr, Garciaparra was, and is, even at first for the Dodgers, incredibly fun to watch hit.
CENTERFIELDER
Ken Griffey Jr, Seattle Mariners, circa 1997
Devon White was the most effortless, Jim Edmonds was the most spectacular, and, for some reason, Vernon Wells always looks as though he should be doing more...I don’t know what it is, but he’s seems almost too effortless, both on the field and at the plate. For a while, I considered Junior to be TOO GOOD, as if that’s a bad thing...it still kind of feels like calling Michael Jordan my favourite player of all time; it’s like I know SO MUCH about the game that I’m supposed to unearth some hidden gem that nobody but hardcore FANS will appreciate, but what the fuck. Griffey is, hands down, the best I’ve ever seen. Too bad about that move to Cincy, though.
OUTFIELDERS
Vladimir Guerrero, Montreal Expos, circa 2002
A recent FOX Sports montage of wood-chopping Guerrero homeruns was, honestly, way too enjoyable for me...but seriously: a rocket pulled down the right-field line from the bottom, outside corner of the plate? An opposite-field shot on a face-high pitch a foot from the plate? Who cares if he runs like a three-legged yak with vertigo? He had a cannon in right, and was a HR away from 40-40 in 2002...what do you mean he was thrown out 20 times?
Manny Ramirez, Boston Red Sox, circa 2004
Boy oh BOY did I want to include Larry Walker’s 1997 on this list, but the dreaded Coors Field effect, as evidenced after Walker’s MVP season by Todd Helton’s ludicrous, videogame career numbers, has had a much more prevalent effect on legitimacy than I would have thought back in the wonderful days of my 21st year...easy fix, though: I’ve always described Ramirez, easily, too, since I don’t know him personally, as a kind of idiot-savant, pure hitter. The description, by rote, goes as follows:
Can’t field, runs like he has an ass full of bricks, but he can fucking hit for days.
Watching Manny connect on a line-drive single to right or a moon-shot over the Monster in left is like watching someone do exactly what they were put on earth to do. Unfortunately, it just so happens that Ramirez hits baseballs for 20 mil a year instead of, say, teaching the world to sing. Oh well.
DESIGNATED HITTER
Tie-
David Ortiz, Boston Red Sox and
Travis Hafner, Cleveland [insert racist slur here]s,
circa RIGHT NOW
Hafner looks as though he’s hitting golf balls with a picket-sign, and if there IS such a thing as clutch, Ortiz is the very personification of such. Both are stupefying hitters with the kind of power that makes Donald Trump look like an old-timey newsie with dirt-crusted pantaloons and malaria, and both are more enjoyable to watch than Frank Thomas in his admittedly incredible prime.
STARTING PITCHER
Pedro Martinez, Boston Red Sox, circa 1999-2000
The "zany" part of me wants to say Dwight Gooden as a rookie, or Dave Stewart based solely on his menacing stare, but the fact is that baseball might never have had a better pitcher in its history than Pedro Martinez over the break of the new century. Randy Johnson is still what I consider to be the sci-fi nightmare from 1920s slugger’s dreams, all 6'10" and 100mph of him, and Roger Clemens’ longevity has allowed him to cruise on past 340 wins, but Pedro was so ridiculous over his two-year span that words cannot describe it. Okay; maybe "zassanfoloco", but that’s maybe a stretch.
CLOSER
Dennis Eckersley, Oakland Athletics, circa 1989
There was a Sports Illustrated article about a hundred years ago profiling Eck, and all I remember is the mullet, the moustache, and this fabulous picture of him, mid-delivery, closing one eye as if he was literally painting the corner of the plate. Eric Gagne’s perfect 55-for-55 season in 2003 has been brought into question during a recent tirade by Jim Traber, and that’s alright for the purposes of this particular list; it’s not as though Eckersley isn’t deserving of this "honour" - dude won a fucking MVP for chrissake.
As always, you’re welcome.
¶ 3:12 PM 0 Comments
King Carlos
Originally posted August 22, 2006.
Carlos Delgado is bomb:
September 17, 1998
2 HR against Detroit including 100th career
April 20, 2001
3 HR against Kansas City including 200th career
September 25, 2003
4 HR in 4 AB against Tampa Bay including 300th career
August 22, 2006
400th career HR is the 11th Grand Slam of Delgado’s career and his 31st HR of the season, giving him, as of right now, 40 multi-HR games and 10-straight seasons of 30+ homeruns.
Too bad JP Riccardi lowballed King Carlos two years ago...imagine Vernon Wells, Delgado and Troy Glaus hitting 3-4-5 on the Jays? There’s only one word for that:
Bomb.
Epilogue:
Sure, Albert Pujols ALSO hit a Grand Slam AND drove in 7 runs...and, sure, Carlos Beltran hit a walkoff-job giving the Mets the win, but those mitigating factors in no way take away from Delgado's bomb-ness...and, again sure, Delgado's 400 at 34 when compared to Phat Albert's 239 at 26 makes the argument that El Hombre is much MORE bomb, that, also, does not take away from King Carlos' bombocity; it just shows how much better Pujols is than ANYONE EVER.
See, Pujols isn't bomb like Delgado; he's FUCKING RIDICULOUS, like Ted Williams.
I hope that clears everything up.
¶ 3:04 PM 0 Comments
Carlos Delgado is bomb:
September 17, 1998
2 HR against Detroit including 100th career
April 20, 2001
3 HR against Kansas City including 200th career
September 25, 2003
4 HR in 4 AB against Tampa Bay including 300th career
August 22, 2006
400th career HR is the 11th Grand Slam of Delgado’s career and his 31st HR of the season, giving him, as of right now, 40 multi-HR games and 10-straight seasons of 30+ homeruns.
Too bad JP Riccardi lowballed King Carlos two years ago...imagine Vernon Wells, Delgado and Troy Glaus hitting 3-4-5 on the Jays? There’s only one word for that:
Bomb.
Epilogue:
Sure, Albert Pujols ALSO hit a Grand Slam AND drove in 7 runs...and, sure, Carlos Beltran hit a walkoff-job giving the Mets the win, but those mitigating factors in no way take away from Delgado's bomb-ness...and, again sure, Delgado's 400 at 34 when compared to Phat Albert's 239 at 26 makes the argument that El Hombre is much MORE bomb, that, also, does not take away from King Carlos' bombocity; it just shows how much better Pujols is than ANYONE EVER.
See, Pujols isn't bomb like Delgado; he's FUCKING RIDICULOUS, like Ted Williams.
I hope that clears everything up.
¶ 3:04 PM 0 Comments
The RBI Watch & Those Super-Duper Astros
Originally posted July 17, 2006.
Carlos Zambrano of the Chicago Cubs is our new leader with 8 big, fat RBIs...he’s also having a nice little season at 9-3 with a 3.23 ERA and second in the majors with 131 K. There; now that we’ve got that piece of business out of the way, let’s get into the meat and potatoes of this post: I...fucking...HATE...the Houston Astros. They’re as fun to watch as a diseased marmot being eaten by a crazed prostitute; they hit like they’re swinging licorice, and ENOUGH ALREADY about Andy Pettitte’s "buddy" Roger Clemens. I love the comment by Lance Berkman, who’s hitting the living shit out of the ball (.324/1.019/25 HR/85 RBI) but still looks to be somewhat of a dipshit himself, that he was "pissed" about all this talk of the Astros giving Rocket Roger no support.
Ah. That makes sense; he’s mad at the reporters because Clemens has an ERA under 3...and has 3 losses in 5 starts; he’s mad because the Astros have given him just over 3 runs a game during those starts, including two gems of 1 run and zero runs; he’s not mad that, aside from him, the Astros’ offence looks like 8 basketball players shooting at a hoop the size of a cock-ring? I’ve seen them twice on Sunday Night Baseball, and the only person worth sitting and watching hit is Berkman...and he just gets walked if there are men on base. BORING. And no, I don’t blame the game itself, like everyone in San Francisco did when Barry Bonds was getting all those walks; I blame the Houston front office, who has surrounded Berkman with the likes of Preston Wilson, a creaky Craig Biggio, and Adam Everett. Sure, they "landed" a rapidly declining Aubrey Huff, but he’s taking the place of last year’s 36-HR machine Morgan Ensberg, who is on the DL with his .236 batting average. All this and I like Roy Oswalt.
Enough’s enough; get them off of nationally-televised programs until they, collectively, can hit better than me when I’m drunk.
Albert Pujols is still on pace for 145 RBI, and talk about hitting the tar out of the ball:
.328/1.169/31 HR/82 RBI in 74 of the Cardinals’ 91 games.
Christ, that’s good; dude’s slugging .726 for fuck’s sake.
(side note: sorry about all of the swearing; I’ve just started work at a job that places a premium on NOT swearing, and, well...I’m hot, too. That right there, my friends, is some pretty poor justification for cursing like I’ve caught my lips in a car door.)
Another non-sequitor: If any of you want the physical manifestation as to why AJ Pierzynski is so loathed, check out his picture at MLB.com:
...there’s just something about that face that makes me want to stick a cattle prod in his eye. I can’t wait for the days after he retires and he gets pummeled for talking trash at the Mafioso card-game he’s turned to when the excitement of the Bright Lights is gone. Beautiful imagery.*
*I couldn’t bring myself to create another post on AJ Pierzynski, so this is an edit from the day after The Sucker Punch that Michael Barrett of the Cubs laid on ol’ AJ’s kisser. Suffice it to say, it was a beautiful thing, and it’s nice to know that his face was, indeed, just that punchable.
¶ 2:52 PM 1 Comments
Carlos Zambrano of the Chicago Cubs is our new leader with 8 big, fat RBIs...he’s also having a nice little season at 9-3 with a 3.23 ERA and second in the majors with 131 K. There; now that we’ve got that piece of business out of the way, let’s get into the meat and potatoes of this post: I...fucking...HATE...the Houston Astros. They’re as fun to watch as a diseased marmot being eaten by a crazed prostitute; they hit like they’re swinging licorice, and ENOUGH ALREADY about Andy Pettitte’s "buddy" Roger Clemens. I love the comment by Lance Berkman, who’s hitting the living shit out of the ball (.324/1.019/25 HR/85 RBI) but still looks to be somewhat of a dipshit himself, that he was "pissed" about all this talk of the Astros giving Rocket Roger no support.
Ah. That makes sense; he’s mad at the reporters because Clemens has an ERA under 3...and has 3 losses in 5 starts; he’s mad because the Astros have given him just over 3 runs a game during those starts, including two gems of 1 run and zero runs; he’s not mad that, aside from him, the Astros’ offence looks like 8 basketball players shooting at a hoop the size of a cock-ring? I’ve seen them twice on Sunday Night Baseball, and the only person worth sitting and watching hit is Berkman...and he just gets walked if there are men on base. BORING. And no, I don’t blame the game itself, like everyone in San Francisco did when Barry Bonds was getting all those walks; I blame the Houston front office, who has surrounded Berkman with the likes of Preston Wilson, a creaky Craig Biggio, and Adam Everett. Sure, they "landed" a rapidly declining Aubrey Huff, but he’s taking the place of last year’s 36-HR machine Morgan Ensberg, who is on the DL with his .236 batting average. All this and I like Roy Oswalt.
Enough’s enough; get them off of nationally-televised programs until they, collectively, can hit better than me when I’m drunk.
Albert Pujols is still on pace for 145 RBI, and talk about hitting the tar out of the ball:
.328/1.169/31 HR/82 RBI in 74 of the Cardinals’ 91 games.
Christ, that’s good; dude’s slugging .726 for fuck’s sake.
(side note: sorry about all of the swearing; I’ve just started work at a job that places a premium on NOT swearing, and, well...I’m hot, too. That right there, my friends, is some pretty poor justification for cursing like I’ve caught my lips in a car door.)
Another non-sequitor: If any of you want the physical manifestation as to why AJ Pierzynski is so loathed, check out his picture at MLB.com:
...there’s just something about that face that makes me want to stick a cattle prod in his eye. I can’t wait for the days after he retires and he gets pummeled for talking trash at the Mafioso card-game he’s turned to when the excitement of the Bright Lights is gone. Beautiful imagery.*
*I couldn’t bring myself to create another post on AJ Pierzynski, so this is an edit from the day after The Sucker Punch that Michael Barrett of the Cubs laid on ol’ AJ’s kisser. Suffice it to say, it was a beautiful thing, and it’s nice to know that his face was, indeed, just that punchable.
¶ 2:52 PM 1 Comments
The Slugging of Albert Pujols & The RBI Watch: Update Edition
Originally posted May 24, 2006.
All right; so his RBI production has dropped off every year Albert Pujols has been in the league, as I mentioned in an earlier post, but that doesn’t look to a problem so far this year: 57 RBI in 46 games? 23 bombs? That works out to 84 HR and 200 RBI...so I’d have to say that if he doesn’t shoot past that 130 RBI high-water mark, it’ll have been because he got hit by a bus.
As for Boston’s "crappy" trade of Bronson Arroyo for Wily Mo Pena, Arroyo’s cruising along at 6-2 in 10 starts with a 2.29 ERA and 1.06 WHIP for the equally surprising Cincinnati Reds, while the Red Sox have Wily Mo starting in CENTER (?), hitting .327 with an OPS of .879...or, 4 HR and 18 RBI in 33 games. Still a crappy trade for Boston, though Arroyo, as expected, hasn’t kept up his early-season power-hitting, as those 2 HR and resultant 2 RBI remain his only entries in those categories, not to mention his .071 batting average. But, who cares?
Speaking of Who Cares, the new leader in Pitcher RBI is Arizona’s Brandon Webb, leading the charge with a robust 7 on .179 hitting...while also posting a 7-0 record in 10 starts, a 2.44 ERA, and a 1.10 WHIP. That’s a phenomenal start to the year on both sides of the batter’s box, and he’s a good 3 ribbies up on the nearest pitcher.
As for my original belief in regards to the "irredeemably pathetic" Houston Astros’ offense, well, it looks as though Lance Berkman is going to quash that idea all by himself: .304/.996, 14 HR, 43 RBI in 42 games will tend to do that...though maybe I was channeling the San Antonio Spurs’ Game 7 overtime performance against Dallas in talking about "offensively inept" teams.
Oooh...burn. ¶ 2:47 PM 0 Comments
All right; so his RBI production has dropped off every year Albert Pujols has been in the league, as I mentioned in an earlier post, but that doesn’t look to a problem so far this year: 57 RBI in 46 games? 23 bombs? That works out to 84 HR and 200 RBI...so I’d have to say that if he doesn’t shoot past that 130 RBI high-water mark, it’ll have been because he got hit by a bus.
As for Boston’s "crappy" trade of Bronson Arroyo for Wily Mo Pena, Arroyo’s cruising along at 6-2 in 10 starts with a 2.29 ERA and 1.06 WHIP for the equally surprising Cincinnati Reds, while the Red Sox have Wily Mo starting in CENTER (?), hitting .327 with an OPS of .879...or, 4 HR and 18 RBI in 33 games. Still a crappy trade for Boston, though Arroyo, as expected, hasn’t kept up his early-season power-hitting, as those 2 HR and resultant 2 RBI remain his only entries in those categories, not to mention his .071 batting average. But, who cares?
Speaking of Who Cares, the new leader in Pitcher RBI is Arizona’s Brandon Webb, leading the charge with a robust 7 on .179 hitting...while also posting a 7-0 record in 10 starts, a 2.44 ERA, and a 1.10 WHIP. That’s a phenomenal start to the year on both sides of the batter’s box, and he’s a good 3 ribbies up on the nearest pitcher.
As for my original belief in regards to the "irredeemably pathetic" Houston Astros’ offense, well, it looks as though Lance Berkman is going to quash that idea all by himself: .304/.996, 14 HR, 43 RBI in 42 games will tend to do that...though maybe I was channeling the San Antonio Spurs’ Game 7 overtime performance against Dallas in talking about "offensively inept" teams.
Oooh...burn. ¶ 2:47 PM 0 Comments
I Am Sick and Tired of Watching Tim Duncan Play Basketball
Originally posted May 18, 2006.
Let me start off by saying that Tim Duncan is a goober; that he has a nickname (The Big Fundamental) that serves to both convey his "old-school" playing "style" and to make fun of him at the same time; that banking in five-foot jump-hooks over undersized defenders is not "incredible", it’s FUCKING BORING. These NBA announcers are in constant hysterics while doing the play-by-play of Spurs games, producing ejaculate screams of delight whenever he hits another ugly-looking shot or pumps his fist once every forty games or so in a rare show of "heart". This guy is a two-time MVP, three-time Finals MVP, and is generally considered to be the best thing to hit the NBA since Michael Jordan...but imagine if Kevin Garnett played alongside David Robinson to begin his NBA career; if the Timberwolves surrounded Garnett with the likes of Manu Ginobli and Tony Parker instead of Wally Szczerbiak and Michael Olowokandi; if Minnesota had even an idea of how to put a team together instead of importing Latrell Sprewell and calling it a "championship-level" team. Big Ticket has himself an MVP and is more talented and infinitely more watchable than Duncan, but for what? For nothing; Garnett’s prime is being wasted while Duncan continues to garner undue attention because he’s backed by an adept management structure. At least when everyone was pissed off at Shaquille O’Neal for being so dominating, Shaq had some style to go with his unreal size and colossal power. I mean, the guy dove for loose balls, shimmied and shook after making an exciting play, pulled a fucking BACKBOARD down on his back after one particularly monstrous dunk and destroyed a basket-support after another; Diesel is a legend, and, best of all, he has banked in, maybe, three shots in his career...and those were accidents.
It is NOT good to watch a player score 50 on a "variety" of five-foot window-shots, no matter what anyone says. The greatest players have something about their game that makes them distinct, something that is more than just numbers: George Gervin’s finger-roll, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar’s skyhook, Michael Jordan’s line-drive fade away, Allen Iverson’s skyhigh floater, Larry Bird-cum-Dirk Nowitzki’s unblockable behind-the-head jumpshot, Isiah Thomas-cum-Tim Hardaway’s killer crossover, Hakeem Olajuwon’s "dream shake", Patrick Ewing’s 17-foot baseline fadeaway, Charles Barkely’s mad-dash two-hand tomahawk...even Shaq’s outlawed monkeydunk that produced the aforementioned spectacles, or Duncan-teammate Tony Parker‘s running "teardrop"...and Tim Duncan has his bank shot. That’s his contribution. So, while NBA "vets" might enjoy watching Duncan win with his mundane game, the rest of us are hoping like hell that the Dallas Mavericks finish off what they started so that we can finally enjoy the later rounds of the NBA playoffs without being force-fed the Tim Duncan ideal of How Basketball Is Supposed To Be Played. Enough already. ¶ 2:42 PM 0 Comments
Let me start off by saying that Tim Duncan is a goober; that he has a nickname (The Big Fundamental) that serves to both convey his "old-school" playing "style" and to make fun of him at the same time; that banking in five-foot jump-hooks over undersized defenders is not "incredible", it’s FUCKING BORING. These NBA announcers are in constant hysterics while doing the play-by-play of Spurs games, producing ejaculate screams of delight whenever he hits another ugly-looking shot or pumps his fist once every forty games or so in a rare show of "heart". This guy is a two-time MVP, three-time Finals MVP, and is generally considered to be the best thing to hit the NBA since Michael Jordan...but imagine if Kevin Garnett played alongside David Robinson to begin his NBA career; if the Timberwolves surrounded Garnett with the likes of Manu Ginobli and Tony Parker instead of Wally Szczerbiak and Michael Olowokandi; if Minnesota had even an idea of how to put a team together instead of importing Latrell Sprewell and calling it a "championship-level" team. Big Ticket has himself an MVP and is more talented and infinitely more watchable than Duncan, but for what? For nothing; Garnett’s prime is being wasted while Duncan continues to garner undue attention because he’s backed by an adept management structure. At least when everyone was pissed off at Shaquille O’Neal for being so dominating, Shaq had some style to go with his unreal size and colossal power. I mean, the guy dove for loose balls, shimmied and shook after making an exciting play, pulled a fucking BACKBOARD down on his back after one particularly monstrous dunk and destroyed a basket-support after another; Diesel is a legend, and, best of all, he has banked in, maybe, three shots in his career...and those were accidents.
It is NOT good to watch a player score 50 on a "variety" of five-foot window-shots, no matter what anyone says. The greatest players have something about their game that makes them distinct, something that is more than just numbers: George Gervin’s finger-roll, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar’s skyhook, Michael Jordan’s line-drive fade away, Allen Iverson’s skyhigh floater, Larry Bird-cum-Dirk Nowitzki’s unblockable behind-the-head jumpshot, Isiah Thomas-cum-Tim Hardaway’s killer crossover, Hakeem Olajuwon’s "dream shake", Patrick Ewing’s 17-foot baseline fadeaway, Charles Barkely’s mad-dash two-hand tomahawk...even Shaq’s outlawed monkeydunk that produced the aforementioned spectacles, or Duncan-teammate Tony Parker‘s running "teardrop"...and Tim Duncan has his bank shot. That’s his contribution. So, while NBA "vets" might enjoy watching Duncan win with his mundane game, the rest of us are hoping like hell that the Dallas Mavericks finish off what they started so that we can finally enjoy the later rounds of the NBA playoffs without being force-fed the Tim Duncan ideal of How Basketball Is Supposed To Be Played. Enough already. ¶ 2:42 PM 0 Comments
The Conflicting Legacies of Ken Caminiti and Rafael Palmeroid
Originally posted May 16, 2006
During the Great Homerun Race of 1998, Gary Smith of Sports Illustrated wrote a remarkable story about his journey through three cities in three days; three ballgames involving the three leaders in their historic quest for 62. It was kismet; late-July’s Game 1 featured Mark McGwire’s 43rd homerun of the season, as well as the unheralded Greg Vaughn’s 35th; Game 2 the next night in Tampa Bay was the setting for Ken Griffey Jr’s 40th, well ahead of the pack in the American League; but Sammy Sosa’s 37th in Chicago a night later was the cream of the crop: the article opens with a picture from this game of the author, smiling and pumping his fist from the stands of Wrigley Field as two of the Cubs faithful wrestle over their hometown-hero’s HR ball not three feet from him. A perfect story; the kind of story that becomes an instant highlight in a baseball-writer’s career. Years later, of course, when steroid allegations are leveled against two of the four participants (and probably, rightfully, a third), Smith wrote another article about the diminishing of his memories due to this rampant cheating, the disappointment of not being able to relive that time with the same sheer joy that he had as he covered it. Smith seemed angry, but more than that he seemed heartbroken.
It is that same way in which I remember Ken Caminiti. The former San Diego Padres MVP was the greatest Third Baseman I’ve ever seen to this day; the switch-hitter hit homeruns from each side of the plate in the same game 10 times, 3 of those in a four-game span; he once threw out a batter, FROM HIS BACK, after falling while making a stop at the hot corner; during his MVP year, battling dehydration, he famously pulled the IV out of his arm just before game-time, devoured a Snickers bar, and then bombed 2 HR against the Mets. He was also the first big-leaguer to speak out on steroids, confessing that that MVP season was directly attributable to the drugs. Though he died in 2004 at the age of 41, and he was, by all accounts, a degenerate drug and alcohol abuser by the time his playing career ended, those same accounts paint Caminiti as an extremely likable guy; I can’t find any even anecdotal evidence that his personal problems produced conflict with anyone other than himself.
Juxtapose that with the saga of Rafael Palmeroid: one of 4 players in Major League History to have garnered 3000 hits and 500 homeruns, "Raffy" was hung out to dry in 2005 by the greedheads at the MLB head-office, who already had a positive steroid sample from Palmeriod but waited to announce the results until after his 3000th hit, making an example of the man who famously testified with a pointed finger to congress that he had never taken drugs, "period." Sympathy poured in for the quiet, unassuming Palmeroid; excuses were made for him, as he had neither the build nor the gaudy numbers one associates with steroid-use...but then the wheels fell off. Palmeroid changed his statement so that it read that he never knowingly took steroids; he fingered the well-respected Miguel Tejada as the culprit for his positive test while attempting to wriggle out from under the thumb of MLB; the resultant boos he received upon his return from the mandatory (and laughable) 10-game suspension were met with ear-plugs duct-taped into his ear as some sort of misguided "I’m not listening" message to the jilted fans. This first-ballot Hall of Famer at the end of 2004 was sent home in disgrace before 2005 had ended, disappearing from the public eye since.
Watching Caminiti play was exciting, while watching Palmeroid was not, so I am biased...but so what? Though Caminiti’s story is most certainly a cautionary tale, as well as an horrifically tragic one, despite the entirety of the blame falling squarely on his own shoulders, he will be remembered as both a hero in San Diego and the man who first opened his mouth on what is now known as The Steroid Era; Palmeroid, the quiet "superstar" who amassed historic numbers in a respectful, headline-free manner will be remembered conversely as a cheat, a liar, and an all-around bad guy, deservedly or not. And though neither of these disgraced players are to emulated, obviously, Caminiti was the one-time hero who attempted, too late, to make up for his sins through confession, while Palmeroid was the rat who tried to save himself while blaming everyone else for his own doings; Caminiti’s peaks where every bit as high as his valleys, whereas Palmeroid only found the lights of fame by attempting to remain hidden.
Caminiti is still one of only two current or ex-ballplayers who has ever discussed steroid use with candor, and the only one who didn‘t look to capitalize financially on it (unlike a certain former MVP, who tried to parlay this information into another Major League job before writing his "tell-all" book); yes, he waited until he was no longer employable; yes, he was unapologetic about said steroid-use; yes, he was a cheat...but he did shatter the long-standing myth that ballplayers weren’t doing steroids, and he was straightforward and honest about it. Palmeroid, unfortunately for him, was not, and has paid the price for it; his near-invisible career has carried through to his retirement, and he will be remembered as a cheat with fictional-numbers; he might still speak up one day, but the belief here is that if he does, it will only be to dig himself a deeper hole while vying for his "spot" in the Hall of Fame.
So, out of this story comes two legacies, though only one, surprisingly, worth remembering.
¶ 2:34 PM 0 Comments
During the Great Homerun Race of 1998, Gary Smith of Sports Illustrated wrote a remarkable story about his journey through three cities in three days; three ballgames involving the three leaders in their historic quest for 62. It was kismet; late-July’s Game 1 featured Mark McGwire’s 43rd homerun of the season, as well as the unheralded Greg Vaughn’s 35th; Game 2 the next night in Tampa Bay was the setting for Ken Griffey Jr’s 40th, well ahead of the pack in the American League; but Sammy Sosa’s 37th in Chicago a night later was the cream of the crop: the article opens with a picture from this game of the author, smiling and pumping his fist from the stands of Wrigley Field as two of the Cubs faithful wrestle over their hometown-hero’s HR ball not three feet from him. A perfect story; the kind of story that becomes an instant highlight in a baseball-writer’s career. Years later, of course, when steroid allegations are leveled against two of the four participants (and probably, rightfully, a third), Smith wrote another article about the diminishing of his memories due to this rampant cheating, the disappointment of not being able to relive that time with the same sheer joy that he had as he covered it. Smith seemed angry, but more than that he seemed heartbroken.
It is that same way in which I remember Ken Caminiti. The former San Diego Padres MVP was the greatest Third Baseman I’ve ever seen to this day; the switch-hitter hit homeruns from each side of the plate in the same game 10 times, 3 of those in a four-game span; he once threw out a batter, FROM HIS BACK, after falling while making a stop at the hot corner; during his MVP year, battling dehydration, he famously pulled the IV out of his arm just before game-time, devoured a Snickers bar, and then bombed 2 HR against the Mets. He was also the first big-leaguer to speak out on steroids, confessing that that MVP season was directly attributable to the drugs. Though he died in 2004 at the age of 41, and he was, by all accounts, a degenerate drug and alcohol abuser by the time his playing career ended, those same accounts paint Caminiti as an extremely likable guy; I can’t find any even anecdotal evidence that his personal problems produced conflict with anyone other than himself.
Juxtapose that with the saga of Rafael Palmeroid: one of 4 players in Major League History to have garnered 3000 hits and 500 homeruns, "Raffy" was hung out to dry in 2005 by the greedheads at the MLB head-office, who already had a positive steroid sample from Palmeriod but waited to announce the results until after his 3000th hit, making an example of the man who famously testified with a pointed finger to congress that he had never taken drugs, "period." Sympathy poured in for the quiet, unassuming Palmeroid; excuses were made for him, as he had neither the build nor the gaudy numbers one associates with steroid-use...but then the wheels fell off. Palmeroid changed his statement so that it read that he never knowingly took steroids; he fingered the well-respected Miguel Tejada as the culprit for his positive test while attempting to wriggle out from under the thumb of MLB; the resultant boos he received upon his return from the mandatory (and laughable) 10-game suspension were met with ear-plugs duct-taped into his ear as some sort of misguided "I’m not listening" message to the jilted fans. This first-ballot Hall of Famer at the end of 2004 was sent home in disgrace before 2005 had ended, disappearing from the public eye since.
Watching Caminiti play was exciting, while watching Palmeroid was not, so I am biased...but so what? Though Caminiti’s story is most certainly a cautionary tale, as well as an horrifically tragic one, despite the entirety of the blame falling squarely on his own shoulders, he will be remembered as both a hero in San Diego and the man who first opened his mouth on what is now known as The Steroid Era; Palmeroid, the quiet "superstar" who amassed historic numbers in a respectful, headline-free manner will be remembered conversely as a cheat, a liar, and an all-around bad guy, deservedly or not. And though neither of these disgraced players are to emulated, obviously, Caminiti was the one-time hero who attempted, too late, to make up for his sins through confession, while Palmeroid was the rat who tried to save himself while blaming everyone else for his own doings; Caminiti’s peaks where every bit as high as his valleys, whereas Palmeroid only found the lights of fame by attempting to remain hidden.
Caminiti is still one of only two current or ex-ballplayers who has ever discussed steroid use with candor, and the only one who didn‘t look to capitalize financially on it (unlike a certain former MVP, who tried to parlay this information into another Major League job before writing his "tell-all" book); yes, he waited until he was no longer employable; yes, he was unapologetic about said steroid-use; yes, he was a cheat...but he did shatter the long-standing myth that ballplayers weren’t doing steroids, and he was straightforward and honest about it. Palmeroid, unfortunately for him, was not, and has paid the price for it; his near-invisible career has carried through to his retirement, and he will be remembered as a cheat with fictional-numbers; he might still speak up one day, but the belief here is that if he does, it will only be to dig himself a deeper hole while vying for his "spot" in the Hall of Fame.
So, out of this story comes two legacies, though only one, surprisingly, worth remembering.
¶ 2:34 PM 0 Comments
RBI Watch: Albert Pujols and the Decline of a Meaningless Stat
Originally posted April 25, 2006; edited to remove oral-sex humour that, while funny, wasn’t quite funny enough.
It’s a three-way race right now...3 RBI leads all pitchers, and it’s Mark Mulder, Roy Oswalt and John Thomson going for the title like Bengie Molina to first base; very slowly. Oswalt’s managed to eke out 3 ribbies while hitting .143, but at least he’s pitching; Mulder’s hitting, .333, a HR & 2B in 9 AB, might be better than his pitching; but Thomson’s case is indeed odd: 5 games, 3 starts, hitting .375 with a 1.31 ERA but no decisions? Yikes.
And speaking of RBI, has anyone else been following the fact that Albert Pujols’ career high came in his rookie year? That he’s actually decreased his RBI total every season since his frosh-130? Yes, I know It’s a meaningless stat, but it’s still strange to see all his other stats go haywire as he gets older while watching his RBI totals wane. Oh well; doesn’t look like it’s a problem this year, as he’s leading the majors in HR (12) and RBI (28), and he’s just one of the all-time greats already...and that’s why you come by 4outs: so that I can tell you what you already know.
You’re welcome. ¶ 2:19 PM 0 Comments
It’s a three-way race right now...3 RBI leads all pitchers, and it’s Mark Mulder, Roy Oswalt and John Thomson going for the title like Bengie Molina to first base; very slowly. Oswalt’s managed to eke out 3 ribbies while hitting .143, but at least he’s pitching; Mulder’s hitting, .333, a HR & 2B in 9 AB, might be better than his pitching; but Thomson’s case is indeed odd: 5 games, 3 starts, hitting .375 with a 1.31 ERA but no decisions? Yikes.
And speaking of RBI, has anyone else been following the fact that Albert Pujols’ career high came in his rookie year? That he’s actually decreased his RBI total every season since his frosh-130? Yes, I know It’s a meaningless stat, but it’s still strange to see all his other stats go haywire as he gets older while watching his RBI totals wane. Oh well; doesn’t look like it’s a problem this year, as he’s leading the majors in HR (12) and RBI (28), and he’s just one of the all-time greats already...and that’s why you come by 4outs: so that I can tell you what you already know.
You’re welcome. ¶ 2:19 PM 0 Comments
The RBI Watch: Historical Perspective
Originally posted April 14, 2006.
In 105-years of MLB action, pitchers have tallied as many as 20 RBI in a season 48 times, and since 1950, only seven. The last time a pitcher crested that wave was in 1971, when the great Ferguson Jenkins got himself 20 for the Chicago Cubs. I’m inclined to make the modern-day record Mike Hampton’s 16 for the Colorado Rockies in 2001, as nobody has come close to that in the surrounding 24 years. The undisputed Champ? Wes Ferrell, who tallied 32 RBI for the Boston Red Sox in 1935, and who also holds second place with 30 in 1931 for the Cleveland Indians...Ferrell also has three other seasons of 20+ RBI, and that could be considered a stranglehold on that particular statistical category. But what about Babe Ruth, you ask? Wasn’t he a pitcher before he started bombing his way into legend? Yes, indeed he was, and a great pitcher at that, but he’s in 20-RBI Club only once, with 21 in 1915. The Yankees switched him to the outfield pretty quickly, once they got their hands on him, so as I searched for Pitcher’s stats, he only popped up that once in the RBI Leaders. However, here’s his 1918 stat line while with the Boston Red Sox:
13-7 2.22 ERA 18 CG 1 SO 1.05 WHIP
.300 26 2B 11 3B 11 HR 66 RBI .963 OPS
A lot of those at-bats didn’t come as a pitcher, I’m assuming, so those 66 ribbies don’t officially qualify as a record; however, for argument’s sake, he has the unofficial record for Pitcher RBIs with 66.
What I’ve found out, more than anything, is that 10 or 11 RBI with usually win the title, year to year. Dontrelle Willis’ victory last year was a very typical year for Pitcher RBI, and I look forward to the exciting race that the 2006 season is sure to provide...and I wish I could say that I’m being more than half-sarcastic.
Update: Darren Oliver of the Mets has jumped into contention now, joining Bronson Arroyo, John Thomson & Mark Mulder, all with 2 RBI heading into Friday night’s action...and though none of these leaders are scheduled for tonight, the race is wide open; a bases-loaded double puts you in first, just like that. Check back for constant updates on what may indeed be the least-interesting race in Statistical History.
¶ 2:16 PM 0 Comments
In 105-years of MLB action, pitchers have tallied as many as 20 RBI in a season 48 times, and since 1950, only seven. The last time a pitcher crested that wave was in 1971, when the great Ferguson Jenkins got himself 20 for the Chicago Cubs. I’m inclined to make the modern-day record Mike Hampton’s 16 for the Colorado Rockies in 2001, as nobody has come close to that in the surrounding 24 years. The undisputed Champ? Wes Ferrell, who tallied 32 RBI for the Boston Red Sox in 1935, and who also holds second place with 30 in 1931 for the Cleveland Indians...Ferrell also has three other seasons of 20+ RBI, and that could be considered a stranglehold on that particular statistical category. But what about Babe Ruth, you ask? Wasn’t he a pitcher before he started bombing his way into legend? Yes, indeed he was, and a great pitcher at that, but he’s in 20-RBI Club only once, with 21 in 1915. The Yankees switched him to the outfield pretty quickly, once they got their hands on him, so as I searched for Pitcher’s stats, he only popped up that once in the RBI Leaders. However, here’s his 1918 stat line while with the Boston Red Sox:
13-7 2.22 ERA 18 CG 1 SO 1.05 WHIP
.300 26 2B 11 3B 11 HR 66 RBI .963 OPS
A lot of those at-bats didn’t come as a pitcher, I’m assuming, so those 66 ribbies don’t officially qualify as a record; however, for argument’s sake, he has the unofficial record for Pitcher RBIs with 66.
What I’ve found out, more than anything, is that 10 or 11 RBI with usually win the title, year to year. Dontrelle Willis’ victory last year was a very typical year for Pitcher RBI, and I look forward to the exciting race that the 2006 season is sure to provide...and I wish I could say that I’m being more than half-sarcastic.
Update: Darren Oliver of the Mets has jumped into contention now, joining Bronson Arroyo, John Thomson & Mark Mulder, all with 2 RBI heading into Friday night’s action...and though none of these leaders are scheduled for tonight, the race is wide open; a bases-loaded double puts you in first, just like that. Check back for constant updates on what may indeed be the least-interesting race in Statistical History.
¶ 2:16 PM 0 Comments
The Slugging of Bronson Arroyo & The RBI Watch: Pitcher's Edition
Originally posted April 11, 2006
Forget the 2-0 record, the 1.98 ERA, and his 0.88 WHIP...Bronson Arroyo has hit 2 HR in his 2 games with the Cincinnati Reds. All 6'5", 190 lbs. of him. I hope Boston’s pissed; they gave him up for Wily Mo Pena, who, in today’s game vs. the Blue Jays, flew out on the first pitch he saw, looked absolutely ridiculous in his second AB, striking out on three of the exact same pitches in a row that weren’t anywhere near the plate, and then knocked Frank Catalanotto’s fly ball into over the fence for a 2-run HR...great trade. Not up there with the Minnesota Twins just letting David Ortiz go, giving the Red Sox his 121 HR & 393 RBI, so far, for, literally, nothing...but that Arroyo/Mo Pena trade is looking pretty one-sided, at this point. Yeah; I know it’s based on 6 games, but so what? Crappy trade.
After I ripped on the Houston Astros for being "irredeemably pathetic" and "offensively inept", Lance Berkman has gone 8 for his last 20 with 4 HR and 10 RBI...so much for my odds of an Astros starting pitcher leading the team in RBI...although, Andy Pettitte and Roy Oswalt are both bashing at a rate that will net them 46 RBI each this year, so if Berkman’s production falls off, who knows? One thing is for sure: I’ll be keeping track with my trusty RBI Watch: Pitcher‘s Edition...last year, Florida’s Dontrelle Willis took the title with 11 RBI, barely outclassing Jason Marquis of the St. Louis Cardinals, who had 10. This year, the aforementioned Arroyo, with 1 RBI each for those 2 homeruns he’s spanked, has 2, as do John Thomson of Atlanta, and Mark Mulder of the Cards. It’s shaping up to be a tight race, folks!
With that in mind, it’s time for some Fun with First-Week Projections: Brad Wilkerson of the Texas Rangers is "on pace" to strike out 324 times, breaking Adam Dunn’s 2-year-old record by 129; Boston’s Josh Beckett looks to go 46-0, with a 1.29 ERA; The Los Angeles Angels of Someplace in Southern California’s Francisco Rodriguez, or "K-Rod", is humming along at a 162-save pace, which would break Bobby Thigpen’s record by 105, which is kind of like beating Hack Wilson’s 191 RBI record by mashing 500 ribbies, but is also on pace to surrender 81 homeruns, which would make the overall likelihood of tallying 100+ saves pretty small; I haven’t even mentioned Chris Shelton and his 116 HR for the Detroit Tigers! Last, but probably most impressive, are the Boston Red Sox and the Cleveland Indians both shooting for identical 139-23 records...which would be, by far, the best all-time. Man, there is going to be some craaaazy action this season!*
*postscript: I hit my head pretty hard while trying to get out of my car this afternoon; that might go a long way towards explaining why this post is so dumb...the end of it, anyway.
End of original post.
Arroyo ended up with a 14-11 record, 3.29 ERA and a WHIP of 1.19...to go with those 2 HR; Pena finished with a .301/.349/.489/.838 line in 84 games. Not too bad for ol’ Wily Mo, you say? What about the fact that Boston had to throw out David Wells and rookies until their arms fell off (I’m looking at you, Jonathan Papelbon) instead of a reliable starter, all so they could have 84 games of Pena. TERRIBLE.
¶ 12:10 PM 0 Comments
Forget the 2-0 record, the 1.98 ERA, and his 0.88 WHIP...Bronson Arroyo has hit 2 HR in his 2 games with the Cincinnati Reds. All 6'5", 190 lbs. of him. I hope Boston’s pissed; they gave him up for Wily Mo Pena, who, in today’s game vs. the Blue Jays, flew out on the first pitch he saw, looked absolutely ridiculous in his second AB, striking out on three of the exact same pitches in a row that weren’t anywhere near the plate, and then knocked Frank Catalanotto’s fly ball into over the fence for a 2-run HR...great trade. Not up there with the Minnesota Twins just letting David Ortiz go, giving the Red Sox his 121 HR & 393 RBI, so far, for, literally, nothing...but that Arroyo/Mo Pena trade is looking pretty one-sided, at this point. Yeah; I know it’s based on 6 games, but so what? Crappy trade.
After I ripped on the Houston Astros for being "irredeemably pathetic" and "offensively inept", Lance Berkman has gone 8 for his last 20 with 4 HR and 10 RBI...so much for my odds of an Astros starting pitcher leading the team in RBI...although, Andy Pettitte and Roy Oswalt are both bashing at a rate that will net them 46 RBI each this year, so if Berkman’s production falls off, who knows? One thing is for sure: I’ll be keeping track with my trusty RBI Watch: Pitcher‘s Edition...last year, Florida’s Dontrelle Willis took the title with 11 RBI, barely outclassing Jason Marquis of the St. Louis Cardinals, who had 10. This year, the aforementioned Arroyo, with 1 RBI each for those 2 homeruns he’s spanked, has 2, as do John Thomson of Atlanta, and Mark Mulder of the Cards. It’s shaping up to be a tight race, folks!
With that in mind, it’s time for some Fun with First-Week Projections: Brad Wilkerson of the Texas Rangers is "on pace" to strike out 324 times, breaking Adam Dunn’s 2-year-old record by 129; Boston’s Josh Beckett looks to go 46-0, with a 1.29 ERA; The Los Angeles Angels of Someplace in Southern California’s Francisco Rodriguez, or "K-Rod", is humming along at a 162-save pace, which would break Bobby Thigpen’s record by 105, which is kind of like beating Hack Wilson’s 191 RBI record by mashing 500 ribbies, but is also on pace to surrender 81 homeruns, which would make the overall likelihood of tallying 100+ saves pretty small; I haven’t even mentioned Chris Shelton and his 116 HR for the Detroit Tigers! Last, but probably most impressive, are the Boston Red Sox and the Cleveland Indians both shooting for identical 139-23 records...which would be, by far, the best all-time. Man, there is going to be some craaaazy action this season!*
*postscript: I hit my head pretty hard while trying to get out of my car this afternoon; that might go a long way towards explaining why this post is so dumb...the end of it, anyway.
End of original post.
Arroyo ended up with a 14-11 record, 3.29 ERA and a WHIP of 1.19...to go with those 2 HR; Pena finished with a .301/.349/.489/.838 line in 84 games. Not too bad for ol’ Wily Mo, you say? What about the fact that Boston had to throw out David Wells and rookies until their arms fell off (I’m looking at you, Jonathan Papelbon) instead of a reliable starter, all so they could have 84 games of Pena. TERRIBLE.
¶ 12:10 PM 0 Comments
"Small-Ball" is Complete and Utter Bullshit
Originally posted April 4, 2006.
Everyone seems to think the Chicago White Sox won their World Series by being a "Small-Ball" team, and this same everyone seems to think that there’s an impetus to put together a "White Sox-style" team for 2006...at least, so the sportswriters tell me. Scott Podsednik was feted as "The Answer" last year, because he came to Chicago for the big-bashing Carlos Lee, and the Pale Hose started winning. The obvious conclusion? A bad Stolen-Base percentage wins Championships.
Scott Podsednik is a Base-Stealer because he can’t do much else; if he could do more, he would be referred to as "talented", not as playing with "heart"...a euphemism for "he sucks, but he tried his best". Most half-bright Baseball fans realize that, more than most, the White-Sox sat back and waited for Paul Konerko and whomever else to hit those three-run shots, while gliding along on their surprising starting pitching. Very little of their success came from Podsednik stealing 59 bases in 82 attempts...which, by the way, is terrible. A high stolen base-total doesn’t make a player "havoc" on the base paths like Rickey Henderson was; the Man of Steal was a game changer because he would steal 52 out of 58, or 65 out of 75 in his prime, while getting on base at a .400-clip. Conversely, Podsednik scored 80 runs last year from the leadoff spot. Terrible stat to evoke, you say? He only played 129 games, you say? Well, if he played enough to get thrown out 23 times, he played enough to score 100 runs. Yeah, the leadoff spot is for speedy, "scrappy" players, but 25 RBI, ZERO homeruns and a triple isn’t good enough for the top of any lineup, and, in fact, the White Sox succeeded despite Podsednik. Why else would they add MORE POWER to their already-Championship-caliber team? Because if L’il Scotty didn’t run them out of the inning, they needed to score him, and players who have a mashing-mallet in their repertoire have a better chance of doing just that.
It’s just after the Opening Day-and-a-Half, and 14 teams have won games. Of those 14 teams, 12 of them hit HR to help with the scoring, averaging out to about 2.1 HR per win. The exceptions were the irredeemably pathetic, offensively-inept Houston Astros, who have a grand total of ZERO players with an RBI despite winning their game, and, oddly, the Colorado Rockies in Coors Field. Now, I’m sure that Albert Pujols’ 2 BB were a result of David Eckstein’s pluckiness, rather than El Hombre’s 2 monster-shots, just as I’m sure that Alex Rodriguez only hit that Grand Slam because there weren’t any bases for the men on base to steal...and that homeruns by David Ortiz, Vladimir Guerrero, Andruw Jones, Mike Piazza, Miguel Tejada, and Jim Thome were the direct result of the guys in front of them bunting, hitting behind the runner, and stealing bases.
Oh, and that 1-0 Astros victory? No, not the example disproving my anti-Small-Ball theory, but a run scored on a wild pitch...and I’m pretty sure the announcers, at least the home-team ones, praised the Astros for "getting that important run across", rather than the more obvious, "Hey. These Astros couldn’t hit a medicine-ball off of a tee-ball tee, and they’re incredibly mundane and boring to watch on offense", or, "Thank Christ Roy Oswalt’s still here...I mean, he could win 30 games for any other remotely competent team". Or, they could just mention the even odds of one of the Houston Starting Pitchers leading the team in RBI. Anything other than giving Small-Ball the credit.
End of original post.
The White Sox collapsed behind 151 HR from Konerko, Crede, Dye and Thome...86 from the latter two alone; Podsednik stole 40 bases and scored 86 runs in 139 games; the difference this year is that their pitching SUCKED. That’s it. No "Ozzie-Ball", or giving up outs, or "it’s been three-thousand years since they’ve won" malarky was going to save them this year, as their starting pitchers regressed to form, proving the flukiness of October Baseball.
By the way, my brother created a new term for the swinging bunt: The Swunt.
You’re welcome.
¶ 10:44 AM 0 Comments
Everyone seems to think the Chicago White Sox won their World Series by being a "Small-Ball" team, and this same everyone seems to think that there’s an impetus to put together a "White Sox-style" team for 2006...at least, so the sportswriters tell me. Scott Podsednik was feted as "The Answer" last year, because he came to Chicago for the big-bashing Carlos Lee, and the Pale Hose started winning. The obvious conclusion? A bad Stolen-Base percentage wins Championships.
Scott Podsednik is a Base-Stealer because he can’t do much else; if he could do more, he would be referred to as "talented", not as playing with "heart"...a euphemism for "he sucks, but he tried his best". Most half-bright Baseball fans realize that, more than most, the White-Sox sat back and waited for Paul Konerko and whomever else to hit those three-run shots, while gliding along on their surprising starting pitching. Very little of their success came from Podsednik stealing 59 bases in 82 attempts...which, by the way, is terrible. A high stolen base-total doesn’t make a player "havoc" on the base paths like Rickey Henderson was; the Man of Steal was a game changer because he would steal 52 out of 58, or 65 out of 75 in his prime, while getting on base at a .400-clip. Conversely, Podsednik scored 80 runs last year from the leadoff spot. Terrible stat to evoke, you say? He only played 129 games, you say? Well, if he played enough to get thrown out 23 times, he played enough to score 100 runs. Yeah, the leadoff spot is for speedy, "scrappy" players, but 25 RBI, ZERO homeruns and a triple isn’t good enough for the top of any lineup, and, in fact, the White Sox succeeded despite Podsednik. Why else would they add MORE POWER to their already-Championship-caliber team? Because if L’il Scotty didn’t run them out of the inning, they needed to score him, and players who have a mashing-mallet in their repertoire have a better chance of doing just that.
It’s just after the Opening Day-and-a-Half, and 14 teams have won games. Of those 14 teams, 12 of them hit HR to help with the scoring, averaging out to about 2.1 HR per win. The exceptions were the irredeemably pathetic, offensively-inept Houston Astros, who have a grand total of ZERO players with an RBI despite winning their game, and, oddly, the Colorado Rockies in Coors Field. Now, I’m sure that Albert Pujols’ 2 BB were a result of David Eckstein’s pluckiness, rather than El Hombre’s 2 monster-shots, just as I’m sure that Alex Rodriguez only hit that Grand Slam because there weren’t any bases for the men on base to steal...and that homeruns by David Ortiz, Vladimir Guerrero, Andruw Jones, Mike Piazza, Miguel Tejada, and Jim Thome were the direct result of the guys in front of them bunting, hitting behind the runner, and stealing bases.
Oh, and that 1-0 Astros victory? No, not the example disproving my anti-Small-Ball theory, but a run scored on a wild pitch...and I’m pretty sure the announcers, at least the home-team ones, praised the Astros for "getting that important run across", rather than the more obvious, "Hey. These Astros couldn’t hit a medicine-ball off of a tee-ball tee, and they’re incredibly mundane and boring to watch on offense", or, "Thank Christ Roy Oswalt’s still here...I mean, he could win 30 games for any other remotely competent team". Or, they could just mention the even odds of one of the Houston Starting Pitchers leading the team in RBI. Anything other than giving Small-Ball the credit.
End of original post.
The White Sox collapsed behind 151 HR from Konerko, Crede, Dye and Thome...86 from the latter two alone; Podsednik stole 40 bases and scored 86 runs in 139 games; the difference this year is that their pitching SUCKED. That’s it. No "Ozzie-Ball", or giving up outs, or "it’s been three-thousand years since they’ve won" malarky was going to save them this year, as their starting pitchers regressed to form, proving the flukiness of October Baseball.
By the way, my brother created a new term for the swinging bunt: The Swunt.
You’re welcome.
¶ 10:44 AM 0 Comments
Irresponsible Bloggetry: Baseless, Mean-Spirited Steroid Accusations
Originally posted April 1, 2006.
Let’s get right to it: How to figure out, with absolutely no evidence whatsoever, who was full of something other than their mother’s love during this, the Steroid Era? Well, if we take those who have admitted to using explicitly (Ken Caminiti, Jose Canseco), implicitly (Mark McGwire), or openly, though in "sealed" grand jury documents (Jason Giambi, Garry Sheffield, Barry Bonds), as well as those fingered by Jose Canseco (Rafael Palmeiro, Ivan Rodriguez), we begin, for the most part, to see a pattern: Action-Figure-sized ballplayers denoting obvious steroid use.
Rodriguez shrank startlingly in 2005, a la 2004-Giambi, and Palmeiro infamously failed that drug test last year, proving that Canseco wasn’t all blather, while also sticking a nail in the coffin of the idea that one could tell who was juicing by physical inspection alone; most anyone looking at Palmeiro, especially compared to Super-Heroes such as McGwire and Canseco, wouldn’t think "user" right off the bat, so to speak, but therein lies the problem of what I’m trying to accomplish, judging users from very little information here in my Hammertown bunker...but so what? Using the Action-Figure model, one could assume that Albert Belle, Dante Bichette & Bret Boone were all using, if one were so inclined...and if Sammy Sosa wasn’t juicing, then I have no faith in any of the elements that make up reality; I deny time, space and our very existence if Sosa was clean.
Using the Late-Career-Power-Surge model, one would also be able to include Brady Anderson and his ludicrous 1996 season as well, as most don’t reach 50 homers for the first time at age 32, much less from the leadoff spot. Oh, and that was 29 more than he had ever hit before, and 26 more than he ever hit again. Bonds is another well-documented example of this, going for 49 HR at age 35, and then the subsequent years of 73, 46, 45, 45...all after age 35, when he set his first career high. What about the lithe-framed Steve Finley? 10 HR at age 30, 30 the next year? 3 more 30+ HR in the following years, including a career-high 36 at age 39? That’s 238 HR between the ages of 31 & 39, and that’s ridiculous; Ted Williams hit 217 over the same span in his career, and he‘s Ted Fucking Williams. Luis Gonzalez hit 57 at age 33, and didn’t hit even 23 until he was 30; Jay Bell, furthering the possible Arizona-connection, hit 38 at age 33, which is 17 more than he had ever managed before, and 20 more than he ever managed again; Lenny Dykstra & Darren Daulton? Come on. These two fall into my Sosa-Level of certainty, especially around 1993, or, their World Series appearance; Dykstra’s jump to 19 HR, from a previous high of 10 set 6 years earlier, was less telling than just seeing his squat, muscle-bound frame launch bomb after bomb in said World Series, and Daulton’s 51 HR over ‘92-’93 were as anomalous as his too-big-for-his-frame muscles. But, to be fair, Jay Buhner hit 40 HR at 30, which was 13 more than his previous best, but Buhner wasn’t a second baseman averaging just over 10 a year, like Jay Bell; Buhner was averaging 25 a year for the four years before his 40...I’m not saying he certainly wasn’t on steroids, but it’s a much easier leap, at least perception-wise, for a bashing galoot corner outfielder to go for 40 then for a 185 lb. middle-infielder.
Of course, these examples are just the glaring, obvious examples of How Human Physiology Shouldn‘t Work, not including the reserve infielders who juiced up to hit 3 HR instead of none, or the relief pitchers trying to stick with the Big Club by throwing 98 mph instead of 92, or the natural-born mashers who add maybe 10 HR to their already impressive totals, and several millions to their already impressive paycheques...ah, steroids. So much entertainment from guys with such little nutsacks.
End of original post.
Now we’ve got the did-they-maybe "accusations" put forth from the under-interrogation ramblings of Jason Grimsley: Roger Clemens, Andy Pettitte, Miguel Tejada, Brian Roberts & Jay Gibbons, all swiped at with the steroid-brush.
This is just a never-ending well of hilarity and back-tracking Major Leaguers, and it couldn’t be more enjoyable; just wait until Alex Rodriguez tests positive for caffeine-related amphetamines from drinking that one extra Red Bull. ¶ 10:30 AM 0 Comments
Let’s get right to it: How to figure out, with absolutely no evidence whatsoever, who was full of something other than their mother’s love during this, the Steroid Era? Well, if we take those who have admitted to using explicitly (Ken Caminiti, Jose Canseco), implicitly (Mark McGwire), or openly, though in "sealed" grand jury documents (Jason Giambi, Garry Sheffield, Barry Bonds), as well as those fingered by Jose Canseco (Rafael Palmeiro, Ivan Rodriguez), we begin, for the most part, to see a pattern: Action-Figure-sized ballplayers denoting obvious steroid use.
Rodriguez shrank startlingly in 2005, a la 2004-Giambi, and Palmeiro infamously failed that drug test last year, proving that Canseco wasn’t all blather, while also sticking a nail in the coffin of the idea that one could tell who was juicing by physical inspection alone; most anyone looking at Palmeiro, especially compared to Super-Heroes such as McGwire and Canseco, wouldn’t think "user" right off the bat, so to speak, but therein lies the problem of what I’m trying to accomplish, judging users from very little information here in my Hammertown bunker...but so what? Using the Action-Figure model, one could assume that Albert Belle, Dante Bichette & Bret Boone were all using, if one were so inclined...and if Sammy Sosa wasn’t juicing, then I have no faith in any of the elements that make up reality; I deny time, space and our very existence if Sosa was clean.
Using the Late-Career-Power-Surge model, one would also be able to include Brady Anderson and his ludicrous 1996 season as well, as most don’t reach 50 homers for the first time at age 32, much less from the leadoff spot. Oh, and that was 29 more than he had ever hit before, and 26 more than he ever hit again. Bonds is another well-documented example of this, going for 49 HR at age 35, and then the subsequent years of 73, 46, 45, 45...all after age 35, when he set his first career high. What about the lithe-framed Steve Finley? 10 HR at age 30, 30 the next year? 3 more 30+ HR in the following years, including a career-high 36 at age 39? That’s 238 HR between the ages of 31 & 39, and that’s ridiculous; Ted Williams hit 217 over the same span in his career, and he‘s Ted Fucking Williams. Luis Gonzalez hit 57 at age 33, and didn’t hit even 23 until he was 30; Jay Bell, furthering the possible Arizona-connection, hit 38 at age 33, which is 17 more than he had ever managed before, and 20 more than he ever managed again; Lenny Dykstra & Darren Daulton? Come on. These two fall into my Sosa-Level of certainty, especially around 1993, or, their World Series appearance; Dykstra’s jump to 19 HR, from a previous high of 10 set 6 years earlier, was less telling than just seeing his squat, muscle-bound frame launch bomb after bomb in said World Series, and Daulton’s 51 HR over ‘92-’93 were as anomalous as his too-big-for-his-frame muscles. But, to be fair, Jay Buhner hit 40 HR at 30, which was 13 more than his previous best, but Buhner wasn’t a second baseman averaging just over 10 a year, like Jay Bell; Buhner was averaging 25 a year for the four years before his 40...I’m not saying he certainly wasn’t on steroids, but it’s a much easier leap, at least perception-wise, for a bashing galoot corner outfielder to go for 40 then for a 185 lb. middle-infielder.
Of course, these examples are just the glaring, obvious examples of How Human Physiology Shouldn‘t Work, not including the reserve infielders who juiced up to hit 3 HR instead of none, or the relief pitchers trying to stick with the Big Club by throwing 98 mph instead of 92, or the natural-born mashers who add maybe 10 HR to their already impressive totals, and several millions to their already impressive paycheques...ah, steroids. So much entertainment from guys with such little nutsacks.
End of original post.
Now we’ve got the did-they-maybe "accusations" put forth from the under-interrogation ramblings of Jason Grimsley: Roger Clemens, Andy Pettitte, Miguel Tejada, Brian Roberts & Jay Gibbons, all swiped at with the steroid-brush.
This is just a never-ending well of hilarity and back-tracking Major Leaguers, and it couldn’t be more enjoyable; just wait until Alex Rodriguez tests positive for caffeine-related amphetamines from drinking that one extra Red Bull. ¶ 10:30 AM 0 Comments
Oh, Barry: A Block of Writing in Four Acts
Originally posted February 23, 2006.
All the hand wringing for Barry Bonds to retire is a tad melodramatic for my taste. Personally, I hope his body holds out long enough for him to hit 800 homeruns...then, a la John Kruk, he could just pack his bags mid-game, leaving that perfect, monolithic number as the Holy Grail of unreachable records. And, if I get the script to him in time, here's what he'd say at his last post-game press conference:
Bonds:
That's right, you fucking vultures. 800 motherfucking homeruns.
[smug pause]
How's that feel?
Intrepid Reporter #1:
Good riddance.
Bonds:
That's right; no more Barry to kick around...but, wait. What's that ungodly number up there at the top of the all-time homerun records? 800? That's going to be there forever, isn't it? For all-time, just to remind all of you jackals that, hey, no matter how much you might loathe me, I'm fucking awesome.
Intrepid Reporter #2:
But what about the steroi...
Bonds:
[interrupting]
Dude.
[glaring]
800. Fucking. Home. Runs.
[more glaring]
800.
Intrepid Reporter #3:
Do...
Bonds:
Hey, how many Stolen Bases do I have? 500? Yeah, 500-something...how 'bout MVP's? SEVEN, you say? And those are the awards you dipshits vote for, right? Huh. Ted Williams couldn't win an MVP hitting .400 because he was "arrogant", and yet I'm the most arrogant, and greatest, ballplayer ever to have picked up a bat, and you turncoat jagoffs gave me 7 of them...8 Gold Gloves, 13 All-Star games, 2 Batting Titles, 73 homeruns in one year, and, wait...there was something else. Oh, yeah. 800 FUCKING HOMERUNS!
Intrepid Reporter #4:
What about...
Bonds:
Seriously. I own every significant single-season batting record out there.
[ticks them off on his fingers]
Slugging Percentage; On-Base Percentage; OPS; Walks; Intentional Walks; Intentional Walks with the bases loaded; homeruns...c'mon.
[looks at the faces of the assembled throng]
Shit, man...if anyone pitched to me in 2004, I would've hit .450 with an OB% of .800 and 150 homeruns, not to mention the 300 RBI. So, really.
[pause; shit-eating grin]
C'mon.
Intrepid Reporter #5:
Th...
Bonds:
I've effectively ruined the game of Baseball for you verminous, blood-sucking hack sportswriters, and there isn't one goddamn thing any of you inbred motherfuckers can do about it.
[pause for effect]
I guess you'll have to learn to love me.
[another smug smile; Intrepid Reporter #1 lunges at Bonds in a rage, but is restrained]
Ha HA! Fuck you, bitches. I'm OUT!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Originally posted on May 19, 2006.
The hand-wringing over Barry Bonds has abated a little, at least for the time being, so maybe it’s time to add my two-cents to the pile of pennies already left by Doomsday prognosticating Sportswriters. Here’s the great thing about this whole steroids issue as it relates to Mr. Bonds: There isn’t anything anyone can do about it. HA! I’m not going to sit here and condone anything about performance-enhancing supplements, but, while sitting here, I can laugh my ass off over the misguided belief that Bonds’ stats should be stricken from the record books. If you take away Barry you’ve still got Mark McGwire’s 70 in 1998 & Sammy Sosa’s 3 60+ HR seasons, which weren’t any cleaner than Bonds’ 73, on top of all the ill-gotten MVP Awards from Sosa, Jose Canseco, Ken Caminiti, Jason Giambi and possibly Ivan Rodriguez. And anyone who needed this "exhaustively researched" "tell-all" book to tell them that Barry was a juicer probably still believes that giving money to church improves anything but the priest‘s quality of life.
Sportswriters can’t write anything as to their nagging suspicions, of anything, for fear that they’ll be excommunicated from the clubhouses that they’re paid to cover…so, much like the movie reviewer who gets to unload on a terrible movie once in a while, every Sportswriter who has felt the wrath of Barry Bonds has been just lacing into him, propped up by this aforementioned "Game of Shadows" book. Even Skip Bayless, ESPN Sportswriter, apparently voiced his opinions after doing research to ascertain whether it was indeed possible for a man of Barry’s age to bulk up to the degree that he had in 2001, and got bombarded with the hateful email of the unenlightened, as well as the subsequent glare of Bonds during a clubhouse visit. (For the record, Bayless evidently found that it was scientifically impossible for a 35-year old man to put on that much muscle during an off-season without the help of steroids.) But Bonds, to this point, has never tested positive in any steroid test, so nobody can touch him. It’s all hearsay and will continue to be even if MLB decides to start testing for Human Growth Hormone…which is inexplicable and patently absurd that they haven‘t already, and the legacy of Bud Selig as the Worst Commissioner in Baseball History, putting him in some heady company. So, Barry Bonds will skate on any and all charges, unless something drastic happens, and Baseball’s hallowed All-Time HR Record will be broken, and the world will end. Until, of course, Alex Rodriguez smashes the record himself in a few years, and all the Sportswriters who are now shaking with rage will be able to take a deep breath and remember that it’s just fucking Baseball. Relax.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Originally posted May 8, 2006; edited to remove the relentless wrong-headed FJM ball-licking...or, most of it.
I will preface this by saying that I’m a huge fan of the guys over there on Fire Joe Morgan; I’m doing everything in my power to not "cut their grass", so to speak, but Joe Morgan is so indefatigably awful that it would be unfortunate, no, wrong, to not make mention of some ridiculousness solely because of their catchy moniker. So...
Over some umpteen-years of watching Sunday Night Baseball, I have found Morgan to be distasteful and arrogant in a way that I could never quite ascertain; luckily, with the help of Fire Joe Morgan, I realize that his voice is that of the pompous-ignoramus...a threatened former-"The Man" who doesn’t want his cushy post-playing job to have to involve any type of work other than recounting stories of the past that have little, if any, relevance to what questions he’s being asked as a paid expert. Tonight, Morgan went to great lengths to explain how Barry Bonds’ poor start is directly attributable to his sore ankle/foot/lead leg; how he’s flying open and allowing said leg to lift from the ground just before impact instead of after. Following a truly majestic shot by Bonds that hit off the upper-deck facing in Philadelphia, Morgan showed us how that leg managed to stay down for "the perfect swing-position" (possibly paraphrased), and nanner nanner nanner...what Morgan is failing to mention, of course, is that yes, though Bonds’ poor start might well be because of a physical ailment of some sort, his previous years of absolute and utter dominance were the result of FUCKING STEROIDS; Morgan even mentioned that this leg-thing is THE reason Bonds is not performing at the level he has over the last two, three years, and once he gets that corrected he’ll be fine...not the homerun home-plate posing on flyballs that fall ten-feet short of the wall, not the obvious look of terror in Bonds’ eye, not the fact that he’s been on FUCKING STEROIDS since 1999, no; it’s his goddamned foot. Well, to be honest, this has become a colossal bore, this Bonds Circus; anyone on air just refers to the copious booing during road games as "The Bonds Controversy" or variations thereof, and it’s become a cause for the likes of Joe Morgan to become a de facto apologist, inventing ways in which his "superior" baseball knowledge can explain away Bonds’ fall off in play this year. This isn’t just the proverbial "elephant in the room" that everyone’s ignoring; it’s another fucking planet crashing into ours without any acknowledgement, and it’s fucking ridiculous. So, as far as I’m concerned, Barry Bonds is dead, and I couldn’t care less what he does on his "quest" for 755. Don’t care, won’t care...and will only start to care again in fifteen years, when Albert Pujols will be finishing off his otherworldly career with that magic number dead-set in his sights.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Also posted on May 8.
An Historic Readjustment, or "Fairy Tale":
It’s November 28th, 1998, and I’m chucking a little good-natured ribbing at my brother over the fact that he’s just reached the big "two-oh", and as we’re enjoying some lightly-frosted vanilla-cake with a couple of Heinekens, the birthday celebrations come to a crashing halt as it’s announced that my favourite baseball player whilst growing up has been declared dead: Barry Bonds, after just reaching the zenith of his remarkable career by becoming the first man in Major League history to record 400 stolen bases and 400 homeruns, was involved in an horrific three-car pile up in San Francisco, a confirmed DOA due to the severity of the crash; he was 33. I immediately thought of that Sports Illustrated cover with the headline "I’m Barry Bonds and You’re Not," next to a picture of a typically-sour Bonds leaning on a bat from my early hero-worshipping years; I harkened back to the debates my dad and I had over whether Bonds was really good enough to be that arrogant; the thievery of what should have been his second out of four straight MVP Awards by Terry Pendleton in 1991; his first season in San Fran, where he had the finest season of his career after signing a long-term contract, not before; his amazing 40-40 season of but two years prior; of the no-doubt, first-ballot Hall of Fame numbers he left behind:
.290/.411/.556/.967
1917 H 1364 R
403 2B 63 3B
411 HR 1216 RBI
445/575 SB 1357 BB
And, in a final season that would indicate more greatness to come but for his age, this batting line:
.303/.438/.609/.1.047
167 H 120 R
44 2B 7 3B
37 HR 122 RBI
28/40 SB 130 BB
We sat around as I emphatically replayed various Bonds highlights in my head, trying to anecdotally capture this latter-day baseball legend‘s career for those who wondered why I seemed to be killing the party: the diving catches in leftfield; the beautiful choked-up swing that produced unbelievable power to all-fields; the homerun pimp-walk that was in a class of it’s own in terms of simultaneously showing up a pitcher and showing off his own audacity...a truly great player, comically prickish but supremely talented, a childhood hero of mine, had passed, but his legend would live on, tragically abbreviated but untainted: Barry Bonds is Dead. Long Live Barry Bonds.
End of original posts.
Enough, already. Never again will I write about Barry Bonds...though if something comes up, I will almost certainly change my mind.
Now THAT’S credibility.
¶ 10:04 AM 0 Comments
All the hand wringing for Barry Bonds to retire is a tad melodramatic for my taste. Personally, I hope his body holds out long enough for him to hit 800 homeruns...then, a la John Kruk, he could just pack his bags mid-game, leaving that perfect, monolithic number as the Holy Grail of unreachable records. And, if I get the script to him in time, here's what he'd say at his last post-game press conference:
Bonds:
That's right, you fucking vultures. 800 motherfucking homeruns.
[smug pause]
How's that feel?
Intrepid Reporter #1:
Good riddance.
Bonds:
That's right; no more Barry to kick around...but, wait. What's that ungodly number up there at the top of the all-time homerun records? 800? That's going to be there forever, isn't it? For all-time, just to remind all of you jackals that, hey, no matter how much you might loathe me, I'm fucking awesome.
Intrepid Reporter #2:
But what about the steroi...
Bonds:
[interrupting]
Dude.
[glaring]
800. Fucking. Home. Runs.
[more glaring]
800.
Intrepid Reporter #3:
Do...
Bonds:
Hey, how many Stolen Bases do I have? 500? Yeah, 500-something...how 'bout MVP's? SEVEN, you say? And those are the awards you dipshits vote for, right? Huh. Ted Williams couldn't win an MVP hitting .400 because he was "arrogant", and yet I'm the most arrogant, and greatest, ballplayer ever to have picked up a bat, and you turncoat jagoffs gave me 7 of them...8 Gold Gloves, 13 All-Star games, 2 Batting Titles, 73 homeruns in one year, and, wait...there was something else. Oh, yeah. 800 FUCKING HOMERUNS!
Intrepid Reporter #4:
What about...
Bonds:
Seriously. I own every significant single-season batting record out there.
[ticks them off on his fingers]
Slugging Percentage; On-Base Percentage; OPS; Walks; Intentional Walks; Intentional Walks with the bases loaded; homeruns...c'mon.
[looks at the faces of the assembled throng]
Shit, man...if anyone pitched to me in 2004, I would've hit .450 with an OB% of .800 and 150 homeruns, not to mention the 300 RBI. So, really.
[pause; shit-eating grin]
C'mon.
Intrepid Reporter #5:
Th...
Bonds:
I've effectively ruined the game of Baseball for you verminous, blood-sucking hack sportswriters, and there isn't one goddamn thing any of you inbred motherfuckers can do about it.
[pause for effect]
I guess you'll have to learn to love me.
[another smug smile; Intrepid Reporter #1 lunges at Bonds in a rage, but is restrained]
Ha HA! Fuck you, bitches. I'm OUT!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Originally posted on May 19, 2006.
The hand-wringing over Barry Bonds has abated a little, at least for the time being, so maybe it’s time to add my two-cents to the pile of pennies already left by Doomsday prognosticating Sportswriters. Here’s the great thing about this whole steroids issue as it relates to Mr. Bonds: There isn’t anything anyone can do about it. HA! I’m not going to sit here and condone anything about performance-enhancing supplements, but, while sitting here, I can laugh my ass off over the misguided belief that Bonds’ stats should be stricken from the record books. If you take away Barry you’ve still got Mark McGwire’s 70 in 1998 & Sammy Sosa’s 3 60+ HR seasons, which weren’t any cleaner than Bonds’ 73, on top of all the ill-gotten MVP Awards from Sosa, Jose Canseco, Ken Caminiti, Jason Giambi and possibly Ivan Rodriguez. And anyone who needed this "exhaustively researched" "tell-all" book to tell them that Barry was a juicer probably still believes that giving money to church improves anything but the priest‘s quality of life.
Sportswriters can’t write anything as to their nagging suspicions, of anything, for fear that they’ll be excommunicated from the clubhouses that they’re paid to cover…so, much like the movie reviewer who gets to unload on a terrible movie once in a while, every Sportswriter who has felt the wrath of Barry Bonds has been just lacing into him, propped up by this aforementioned "Game of Shadows" book. Even Skip Bayless, ESPN Sportswriter, apparently voiced his opinions after doing research to ascertain whether it was indeed possible for a man of Barry’s age to bulk up to the degree that he had in 2001, and got bombarded with the hateful email of the unenlightened, as well as the subsequent glare of Bonds during a clubhouse visit. (For the record, Bayless evidently found that it was scientifically impossible for a 35-year old man to put on that much muscle during an off-season without the help of steroids.) But Bonds, to this point, has never tested positive in any steroid test, so nobody can touch him. It’s all hearsay and will continue to be even if MLB decides to start testing for Human Growth Hormone…which is inexplicable and patently absurd that they haven‘t already, and the legacy of Bud Selig as the Worst Commissioner in Baseball History, putting him in some heady company. So, Barry Bonds will skate on any and all charges, unless something drastic happens, and Baseball’s hallowed All-Time HR Record will be broken, and the world will end. Until, of course, Alex Rodriguez smashes the record himself in a few years, and all the Sportswriters who are now shaking with rage will be able to take a deep breath and remember that it’s just fucking Baseball. Relax.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Originally posted May 8, 2006; edited to remove the relentless wrong-headed FJM ball-licking...or, most of it.
I will preface this by saying that I’m a huge fan of the guys over there on Fire Joe Morgan; I’m doing everything in my power to not "cut their grass", so to speak, but Joe Morgan is so indefatigably awful that it would be unfortunate, no, wrong, to not make mention of some ridiculousness solely because of their catchy moniker. So...
Over some umpteen-years of watching Sunday Night Baseball, I have found Morgan to be distasteful and arrogant in a way that I could never quite ascertain; luckily, with the help of Fire Joe Morgan, I realize that his voice is that of the pompous-ignoramus...a threatened former-"The Man" who doesn’t want his cushy post-playing job to have to involve any type of work other than recounting stories of the past that have little, if any, relevance to what questions he’s being asked as a paid expert. Tonight, Morgan went to great lengths to explain how Barry Bonds’ poor start is directly attributable to his sore ankle/foot/lead leg; how he’s flying open and allowing said leg to lift from the ground just before impact instead of after. Following a truly majestic shot by Bonds that hit off the upper-deck facing in Philadelphia, Morgan showed us how that leg managed to stay down for "the perfect swing-position" (possibly paraphrased), and nanner nanner nanner...what Morgan is failing to mention, of course, is that yes, though Bonds’ poor start might well be because of a physical ailment of some sort, his previous years of absolute and utter dominance were the result of FUCKING STEROIDS; Morgan even mentioned that this leg-thing is THE reason Bonds is not performing at the level he has over the last two, three years, and once he gets that corrected he’ll be fine...not the homerun home-plate posing on flyballs that fall ten-feet short of the wall, not the obvious look of terror in Bonds’ eye, not the fact that he’s been on FUCKING STEROIDS since 1999, no; it’s his goddamned foot. Well, to be honest, this has become a colossal bore, this Bonds Circus; anyone on air just refers to the copious booing during road games as "The Bonds Controversy" or variations thereof, and it’s become a cause for the likes of Joe Morgan to become a de facto apologist, inventing ways in which his "superior" baseball knowledge can explain away Bonds’ fall off in play this year. This isn’t just the proverbial "elephant in the room" that everyone’s ignoring; it’s another fucking planet crashing into ours without any acknowledgement, and it’s fucking ridiculous. So, as far as I’m concerned, Barry Bonds is dead, and I couldn’t care less what he does on his "quest" for 755. Don’t care, won’t care...and will only start to care again in fifteen years, when Albert Pujols will be finishing off his otherworldly career with that magic number dead-set in his sights.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Also posted on May 8.
An Historic Readjustment, or "Fairy Tale":
It’s November 28th, 1998, and I’m chucking a little good-natured ribbing at my brother over the fact that he’s just reached the big "two-oh", and as we’re enjoying some lightly-frosted vanilla-cake with a couple of Heinekens, the birthday celebrations come to a crashing halt as it’s announced that my favourite baseball player whilst growing up has been declared dead: Barry Bonds, after just reaching the zenith of his remarkable career by becoming the first man in Major League history to record 400 stolen bases and 400 homeruns, was involved in an horrific three-car pile up in San Francisco, a confirmed DOA due to the severity of the crash; he was 33. I immediately thought of that Sports Illustrated cover with the headline "I’m Barry Bonds and You’re Not," next to a picture of a typically-sour Bonds leaning on a bat from my early hero-worshipping years; I harkened back to the debates my dad and I had over whether Bonds was really good enough to be that arrogant; the thievery of what should have been his second out of four straight MVP Awards by Terry Pendleton in 1991; his first season in San Fran, where he had the finest season of his career after signing a long-term contract, not before; his amazing 40-40 season of but two years prior; of the no-doubt, first-ballot Hall of Fame numbers he left behind:
.290/.411/.556/.967
1917 H 1364 R
403 2B 63 3B
411 HR 1216 RBI
445/575 SB 1357 BB
And, in a final season that would indicate more greatness to come but for his age, this batting line:
.303/.438/.609/.1.047
167 H 120 R
44 2B 7 3B
37 HR 122 RBI
28/40 SB 130 BB
We sat around as I emphatically replayed various Bonds highlights in my head, trying to anecdotally capture this latter-day baseball legend‘s career for those who wondered why I seemed to be killing the party: the diving catches in leftfield; the beautiful choked-up swing that produced unbelievable power to all-fields; the homerun pimp-walk that was in a class of it’s own in terms of simultaneously showing up a pitcher and showing off his own audacity...a truly great player, comically prickish but supremely talented, a childhood hero of mine, had passed, but his legend would live on, tragically abbreviated but untainted: Barry Bonds is Dead. Long Live Barry Bonds.
End of original posts.
Enough, already. Never again will I write about Barry Bonds...though if something comes up, I will almost certainly change my mind.
Now THAT’S credibility.
¶ 10:04 AM 0 Comments
I Despise Alfonso Soriano
Originally posted February 11, 2006; edited from original version for reasons of clarity.
Sometimes a man just needs to get something off his chest.
In this particular case, it’s Alfonso Soriano whom I need to get off my chest. Metaphorically. Imagery aside, I feel a deep-down, rotten, to-the-very-core-of-me, disgust for Alfonso Soriano. A hate-on; a fist-clenching, puppy-punching, yell-at-your-grandma kind of disgust...but it wasn’t always this way. No. When the Yankees suddenly had a possible 40-40 monster on their hands during the 2002 season, I was as curious as everyone else: Alfonso Soriano & Vladimir Guerrero both going 40-40 in the same year? Preposterous! Though it turned out to indeed be preposterous that year, I still had a good laugh while sitting back & watching that year’s playoffs. Remember? The one with Alfonso Soriano chasing pitches in the dirt like he was searching for lost treasure? Yeah. That was hilarious, and it couldn’t have happened to a nicer
team.
Regardless, I never really gave a good goddamn about what Alfonso Soriano was up to after that, though I did notice things. I noticed, for instance, that pitchers began to figure out that he just flat-out would not walk; that he would chase a two-strike pitch aimed at his ankles; that he became a glorified mistake-hitter who would chow-down on hanging curveballs but hit .235 with runners in scoring position. Then, mid-to-late 2005, I watched him give up on a batted-ball up the middle...and, while he was slowing down, it looked as though he still could have just grabbed the goddamned thing, but didn’t. It was a spectacularly awful play; the kind of play that sticks in the back of even a casual observer’s mind. So, it was that play that I thought of when all of this garbage started cropping up about Alfonso Soriano Refusing to Play the Outfield. One paraphrased quote went something like, "He’s not a troublemaker, but Washington is going to have a real problem if they try to make him play the outfield"; then, it was Alfonso Soriano himself explaining that it was the Nationals’ problem, as they were the ones who traded for him; that he knew he was a free-agent at the end of 2006, and would just put up with the National league until then.
Still, with all of this filibustering going on, all I really thought about the situation was, "Alfonso Soriano is criminally overrated, and if the Nationals let him play in front of Jose Vidro at Second, then they are a bunch of idiots". Then I gave it no more thought...until I read that he set an arbitration-hearing record of $10 million, while losing his claim, sending shockwaves of murderous rage throughout every hateful bone in my body. True, I know nothing of Alfonso Soriano as a person; he could be a sweet-hearted, loving, salt-of-the-earth kind of guy, and I make no claims to the contrary. BUT, when a player starts bemoaning his position with his new team, he certainly isn't going to feel waves of sympathy emanating from Hammertown. Where’s his no-trade clause? What? He didn’t have one? Well, then, who cares? Pencil him into the Leftfield spot, and if he doesn’t want to play, get him on coffee-duty. $10 million for 2006 should bring something more than porous defense & the possibility of a 30-30 season. Could it be that his skill-set doesn’t transcend Leftfield the way it does Second Base? While a power-hitting 2B is still a bit of an anomaly, historically speaking, times are a-changin'...the two-bag is becoming the place to put fielders who can hit, but that play defense the way a piano blocks a doorway, since 3rd is usually taken by the other immobile basher on the team; it‘s also the place to put Jorge Cantu when you just can‘t figure out where to play Aubrey Huff. Christ, Jeff Kent is more than likely bashing his way into the Hall of Fame, and he covers ground like a sloth bellyful of dandelions. But Kent is going in as a Second Baseman, isn’t he Alfonso? Where are your 350-odd Homeruns going to get you from Leftfield? Well, add in your 400-some Stolen Bases, and probably right into the Hall of Fame as well, deserving or not.* Either way, I’ll make sure to send you some Kleenex, because if this works itself out as it should, you’ll be needing them out in Left, where nobody can hear you scream...or cry, for that matter.
*All figures are projected using no scientific formula whatsoever. You’re welcome.
End of original post.
So, after this rant, Mr. Soriano went out and had the best season of his career, becoming the first 40-40-40 (HR/2B/SB) guy in MLB history.
Sonofabitch.
Well, it will be very interesting to see if anyone lets him play second base again...I know if I were about to invest $800 million in a happy-swinging former two-bagger, I’d damn-well want to know if he’d be bitching about leftfield for six years. ¶ 9:38 AM 0 Comments
Sometimes a man just needs to get something off his chest.
In this particular case, it’s Alfonso Soriano whom I need to get off my chest. Metaphorically. Imagery aside, I feel a deep-down, rotten, to-the-very-core-of-me, disgust for Alfonso Soriano. A hate-on; a fist-clenching, puppy-punching, yell-at-your-grandma kind of disgust...but it wasn’t always this way. No. When the Yankees suddenly had a possible 40-40 monster on their hands during the 2002 season, I was as curious as everyone else: Alfonso Soriano & Vladimir Guerrero both going 40-40 in the same year? Preposterous! Though it turned out to indeed be preposterous that year, I still had a good laugh while sitting back & watching that year’s playoffs. Remember? The one with Alfonso Soriano chasing pitches in the dirt like he was searching for lost treasure? Yeah. That was hilarious, and it couldn’t have happened to a nicer
team.
Regardless, I never really gave a good goddamn about what Alfonso Soriano was up to after that, though I did notice things. I noticed, for instance, that pitchers began to figure out that he just flat-out would not walk; that he would chase a two-strike pitch aimed at his ankles; that he became a glorified mistake-hitter who would chow-down on hanging curveballs but hit .235 with runners in scoring position. Then, mid-to-late 2005, I watched him give up on a batted-ball up the middle...and, while he was slowing down, it looked as though he still could have just grabbed the goddamned thing, but didn’t. It was a spectacularly awful play; the kind of play that sticks in the back of even a casual observer’s mind. So, it was that play that I thought of when all of this garbage started cropping up about Alfonso Soriano Refusing to Play the Outfield. One paraphrased quote went something like, "He’s not a troublemaker, but Washington is going to have a real problem if they try to make him play the outfield"; then, it was Alfonso Soriano himself explaining that it was the Nationals’ problem, as they were the ones who traded for him; that he knew he was a free-agent at the end of 2006, and would just put up with the National league until then.
Still, with all of this filibustering going on, all I really thought about the situation was, "Alfonso Soriano is criminally overrated, and if the Nationals let him play in front of Jose Vidro at Second, then they are a bunch of idiots". Then I gave it no more thought...until I read that he set an arbitration-hearing record of $10 million, while losing his claim, sending shockwaves of murderous rage throughout every hateful bone in my body. True, I know nothing of Alfonso Soriano as a person; he could be a sweet-hearted, loving, salt-of-the-earth kind of guy, and I make no claims to the contrary. BUT, when a player starts bemoaning his position with his new team, he certainly isn't going to feel waves of sympathy emanating from Hammertown. Where’s his no-trade clause? What? He didn’t have one? Well, then, who cares? Pencil him into the Leftfield spot, and if he doesn’t want to play, get him on coffee-duty. $10 million for 2006 should bring something more than porous defense & the possibility of a 30-30 season. Could it be that his skill-set doesn’t transcend Leftfield the way it does Second Base? While a power-hitting 2B is still a bit of an anomaly, historically speaking, times are a-changin'...the two-bag is becoming the place to put fielders who can hit, but that play defense the way a piano blocks a doorway, since 3rd is usually taken by the other immobile basher on the team; it‘s also the place to put Jorge Cantu when you just can‘t figure out where to play Aubrey Huff. Christ, Jeff Kent is more than likely bashing his way into the Hall of Fame, and he covers ground like a sloth bellyful of dandelions. But Kent is going in as a Second Baseman, isn’t he Alfonso? Where are your 350-odd Homeruns going to get you from Leftfield? Well, add in your 400-some Stolen Bases, and probably right into the Hall of Fame as well, deserving or not.* Either way, I’ll make sure to send you some Kleenex, because if this works itself out as it should, you’ll be needing them out in Left, where nobody can hear you scream...or cry, for that matter.
*All figures are projected using no scientific formula whatsoever. You’re welcome.
End of original post.
So, after this rant, Mr. Soriano went out and had the best season of his career, becoming the first 40-40-40 (HR/2B/SB) guy in MLB history.
Sonofabitch.
Well, it will be very interesting to see if anyone lets him play second base again...I know if I were about to invest $800 million in a happy-swinging former two-bagger, I’d damn-well want to know if he’d be bitching about leftfield for six years. ¶ 9:38 AM 0 Comments
RIP Short-Tempered Sports Blog
It used to be The Short-Tempered Sports Blog, and now it isn’t. The whys and howcomes of this endeavour aren’t clear to me at this point, only the fact that I was tired of having to think during Baseball’s off-season; that being said, the first bunch of these posts will be re-posts, heavily annotated, to get what’s sure to be millions of new readers up to speed with what’s been happening this past season. Eventually, we’ll get into why the past 2 World Series’ have been so unfathomably fucking boring, as well as some recounting of personal dissatisfaction(s) with the hometown Toronto Blue Jays...and if that doesn’t get your juices flowing, then, well, maybe I should just do a better job of keeping you fuckers interested.
Take that, me!
You're welcome. ¶ 9:05 AM 0 Comments
Take that, me!
You're welcome. ¶ 9:05 AM 0 Comments
