Pitchers, catchers, die-hards report to spring training

Note: This column appears in the 2/21 issue of The Glendale Star, and the 2/22 issue of the Peoria Times

The Padres’ Trevor Hoffman pulls up in a sleek, black, Mercedes Benz something or other. (Sorry, I am not a car guy…Mercedes I30? Sounds good.) Minutes later, Brian Giles pulls up in a different car I will never be able to afford, followed by hitting coach Wally Joyner. I was standing at the gates of the Padres’ players’ entrance, deriving an inexplicable joy from watching multi-millionaires report to their jobs, feeling fortunate that I was, at the moment, technically at mine. Next to me stood Scott, an autograph seeker from Kansas City who was giving me the rundown on which major leaguers were a hit with the fans because of their accessibility. He especially liked Padres’ ace Jake Peavy, as did the other four baseball fanatics standing with us. One of the guys, a regular at this spot, even knew what Peavy’s car looked like, and from which direction he’d be driving in from. He pointed: “He’ll pull in from over there, and he’ll be driving a black Hummer H2.”

Gotcha.

On this day, pitchers and catchers -- and a few position players, as evidenced by Giles’ arrival -- reported to Padres camp, and at 8:30am on Valentine’s Day morning, I stood there, feeling like an eight-year old kid camping out for tickets to a Hannah Montana concert, hoping for just a glimpse. I’m not sure what other sport inspires this type of dedication. Or insanity. Whatever you want to call it.

The previous day, many of the Seattle Mariners had reported to spring training. I ventured over to their side of the Peoria Sports Complex, happy to see that they were already in full swing, or at least full sprint. On one practice field, Mariner hopefuls ran sprints in the outfield, absorbing the curious gazes of the fans walking by who wondered whether these guys were good enough to approach for an autograph later on. Apparently, they weren’t. At least not yet. Who knows what future stars were passed by without a second thought today.


One day, one of these guys will be good enough to pull a Strahan, and skip camp altogether

On another practice field, a large group of Mariners’ pitchers and pitching prospects -- remember, you can never have enough pitching -- stretched out and began tossing the ball around. I am consistently amazed by the effortless force with which a professional baseball player throws a baseball, and so I stood there in awe. Until, that is, an errant throw almost hit me in the head. Literally. Missed by about a foot, hitting the fence right behind me. I picked it up, tossed it back -- I participated in spring training! -- and glanced over to the judiciously gathered coaching staff, secretly hoping that the offending player would get cut from the squad right on the spot: Bedard, you’re out! Pack your bags. Luckily, that didn’t happen, and hey -- a little rust could be excused on this particular day.


If I were standing one foot to the right instead, this would be the last thing I would remember seeing

As I was walking back to my car, satisfied by the morning’s events, a Mariners’ player (I couldn’t see who) was just finishing off a pleasant conversation with an elderly woman. He shook her hand, thanked her for being there, waved goodbye, and caught up with a teammate who was on his way for some early batting practice. They walked together behind me, their spikes loudly clanging on the concrete sidewalk. The player turned to his teammate and marveled, “Man, that lady is here every year! I mean every year…

Amazing.”

But why wouldn’t she be? It’s pitchers and catchers! This woman just shook hands with a friend, a ballplayer. Down the road, Jake Peavy was asking Scott, “Who should I make this out to?” There’s nothing better anybody could possibly be doing right now.


Alright maggots! If you can dodge a wrench, you can catch a slider!


Geez, I wonder why Clemens would lie like that...


Ya' know, Jack -- that white guy over there in the blue shirt looks pretty good...

One-on-one with: Roger Clemens

Me: Roger, welcome back!

Roger Clemens: Thank you…Where am I again?

Me: New York.

Clemens: Oh yeah. Awesome. You know, I always loved playing in New York, and my family-

Me: Roger, Roger, whoa. Stop it. You don’t need to go through that spiel with me. We all know why you’re back here.

Clemens: I came back for one reason -- to help the Yankees win a World Series title. I’m very committed to-

Me: Holy crap, Roger! Will you stop it already! Is there an off button on your back?

Clemens: System error!

Me: What?

Clemens: What?

Me: I have no idea what’s going here. Let’s cut the crap though, Rog. For serious. You came back to the Yankees for the money, and we all know it. That’s the reality. But a lot of Major League Baseball teams have money. What reasons besides money made you decide to come back to the Yankees?

Clemens: That’s a great question. I don’t know…probably the money.

Me: Okay, now we’re getting somewhere. What influence did Andy Pettitte have on your decision?

Clemens: Andy’s like, my soul mate. And it’s perfect too, cause he has the kind of soul that does whatever I say.

Me: What does your soul do?

Clemens: Hunts deer, mostly.

Me: Anyway, you still didn’t answer the question. How did Pettitte affect your decision?

Clemens: Well, Andy called me up last week and was like, “Hey buddy, why don’t you come join me back in New York,” I was all like, “What? What are you doing in New York?” I didn’t even know he was there. I thought he like, retired or something, ya’ know, since that’s what I did. He likes to do what I do.

Me: Steroids?

Clemens: What?

Me: Nothing. So wait -- you didn’t even know Pettitte was back with the Yankees until last week?

Clemens: I don’t really follow baseball when I’m not playing. I don’t know if you know this, but I got like (starts counting on his fingers)…a bunch of kids, and I’m always going all around to watch ‘em do stuff. People love when I watch my kids do stuff, cause then they know that I wasn’t kidding about wanting to be close to my family. But I was. Obviously.

Me: Is it true that you introduced the band Aerosmith to human growth hormones?

Clemens: That is the most ridiculous question I have ever heard. It doesn't even make any sense. I don't even know Aerosmith.


Aerosmith looks noticeably buffer since their rookie season

Me: Roger, do you plan on being as utterly dominant as you were before and after you originally arrived in New York, or do you plan on pitching for the Yankees like you did when you pitched for the Yankees? Cause that would suck.

Clemens: Hey man, I won two World Series titles and a Cy Young Award here! How’s that for dominant?

Me: Let me play devil’s advocate here. You’ll be the devil, and I’ll be the advocate. “Yo, devil, what’s up? Seriously though devil, I can’t really advocate for you anymore. I mean, yeah, you won two titles here, but that was really you latching onto an already great and successful team just so you could satisfy your resume with a ring. And you never really dominated here like you did with other teams. In Houston, you would get one run of support and shut the other team out. When you were a Yankee, you’d give up a few runs in the first inning, and then get bailed out by a great offense. What’s up with that, devil?”

Clemens: I am not the devil.

Me: Roger, when you agreed to come back to the Yankees on Sunday -- via your usual brand of understated, attention-deflecting gestures -- you immediately inserted yourself into an already dominant starting pitching staff. Are you prepared to go head-to-head with Kei Igawa* for the third spot in the rotation?

Clemens: Who?

Me: Kei Igawa. He’s like the left-handed version of Jeff Karstens, except he’s Asian and wears sunglasses on the mound. That’s kind of his “thing,” so don’t you go trying it!

Clemens: Being Asian? Wait -- Who’s Jeff Carson? I told you, I don’t really follow baseball.

Me: Roger, I heard that when you announced your return to the Yankees on Sunday during the game, you inadvertently caused a post-menopausal Suzyn Waldman to become pregnant with your child. Is that true?

Clemens: I sure hope not. I'm running out of names that begin with "K." All I got left is "Kid." So I'd be like, "Hey Kid, get over here," and then I'd have a bunch of kids running over to me, which would be a problem, cause I don't like kids.

Me: Do you think the Daily News has already printed the headline “Rusty Rocket” in preparation for your first start?

Clemens: I was thinking more along the lines of “Rocket Launch,” or even “Rocket Boost.” I swear, that paper always amazes me, with the way it takes a simple nickname and spins it around to coincide with current events. Hey, I just thought of one: “Rocket Launch!”

Me: That’s a good one. I always had the headline “Rocket Fuel” waiting in line for the day you got caught using steroids. Then you kind of did get caught, but nobody covered it for some reason, so I couldn’t submit my headline. Weird.

Clemens: That’s funny, cause I always had a headline in my back pocket in response to that headline. Ready for it? “Rocket Cleared.” But wait - then there’d be like, a dot, dot, dot, and in smaller print below it, it would say, “for takeoff,” but then “for takeoff” would be crossed-out, and in its place it would say, “of all charges.” Pretty awesome, huh? I almost wish I had gotten caught using steroids, just so I could have used that one.

Me: You sort of did, though.

Clemens: “Rocket EXPLODES!”

Me: Alright, alright! Calm down, calm down…I won’t mention that again. Really, I won’t.

Clemens: Grrrr…

Me: Roger, let’s bring this talk back to baseball. When will you actually start pitching for the Yankees this season?

Clemens: I don’t know…whenever.

Me: Is that more of a “next month” whenever, or a “Carl Pavano” whenever?

Clemens: Probably closer to next month. The sooner I start pitching, the sooner I start making money.

Me: Well then-

Clemens: Wait, wait – can you cross out “making money,” and instead put “being with my family?”

Me: I could…but that wouldn’t make much sense.

Clemens: Why not? Read it back to me.

Me: Ahem…”The sooner I start pitching, the sooner I start being with my family.”

Clemens: Yeah, so? That’s like poetry right there. People love that family crap. They eat it up.

Me: Yeah but…well, for one thing, your family lives in Houston.

Clemens: Wait -- where am I?

Me: New York.

Clemens: Oh. Well shoot, man, I got like twenty-some houses across the country. One of ‘ems gotta be in New York, right? Somebody call the family and get ‘em over here quick. What’s their number? Where’s my Rolodex? Hey Andy -- get over here!


Hey, seriously man, how much you making over here? Cause I got family in Japan...

*Update: Kei Igawa was sent to SINGLE(!)A on Monday, so Clemens can breathe a sigh of relief. In doing so, the Yankees hope that Igawa will only become a "minor" bust. Bu, dum, ching!

RFK, Nats blown away, what else do I have to say?

Our baseball trip this year did not stop in Philadelphia. Since we were staying local, my wife and I decided to kill two birds with one stone and head down to Washington, DC, and catch a Nationals game as well. I had never spent significant time in our nation’s capital, and subconsciously associated the city with only two things: a) the President, and b) murder. Since I don’t delve into politics here, I will not make a joke wondering whether or not those two things are mutually exclusive.

Nevertheless, because of the murder part, we were trying to be careful about where we were going to stay. My original intent, quite foolishly, was to stay as close to RFK Stadium as possible, since, during our four-day stay in DC, we would be going to one game there. I know, it makes no sense, and I’m glad somebody alerted me to that beforehand, because when we did go to RFK, the surrounding area looked considerably less presidential than one would think. We ended up staying in the Dupont Circle section of the city, which I came to learn is the San Francisco of DC, if you know what I mean. And that was fine with me. Also, we stayed at the Hilton Hotel, a.k.a. “the Hinckley Hilton,” which is where Ronald Reagan was shot. This, of course, seemed to reaffirm my original impression of DC, since it included both presidents and murder, even if the murder was only “attempted.”

We had three days to spend in the area before the Nats game, and like any two upstanding American citizens, we decided it would be great to see the sights. To my surprise, one of those sights was going to be a smorgasbord of cherry blossom trees that only bloom once a year, and then are destroyed by an army of bulldozers when they stop being pretty. It was always my lifelong dream to walk amongst the cherry trees, so this trip was going to be better than I thought! Unfortunately, Lucky for me, people came from far and wide to see the cherry blossom trees, and as anyone who has spent significant time in a touristy area knows, people definitely know how to walk, act, and how to control their children in such an environment. Yep…definitely. Also, my likeness is now in approximately 2,500 pictures currently being developed in Asia, because I had the audacity to walk while other people were trying to capture a moment in picture form instead of experiencing it in real life. But I digress. Honestly, the cherry blossom trees were really beautiful, and actually ended up being the best attraction of the week. Plus, I would later learn that inanimate cherry trees can actually hit better than the Nationals, but I’ll get to that later.

I should also mention that the reason we chose this week in particular for this trip is because my wife works in a school as a Speech Pathologist, so her Easter break is the week we go away each year. Probably because I associate vacations with summertime, I always think in the back of my mind that we are the only two people on earth that are on vacation that week. Well, Washington, DC, was a wake-up call, because every single person in the universe who had the week off decided to go to DC - and bring 12 kids with them - which was just fantastic.

We tried to see the sights. Honestly, we did. But everywhere we went was crawling with hoards and hoards of confused people, yelling, screaming, crying, pushing, shoving, eating, walking aimlessly in the middle of traffic…absolute mayhem. Our first stop was the Museum of Natural History. Trying to walk through that place was like trying to get on the subway during rush hour. I learned absolutely nothing. In fact, I think I walked out of there dumber, since the only verbal correspondence I had to relate to what I was seeing were passing conversations about how Billy just pooped himself, and needs to be changed. It was like Disney World in there, but instead of waiting in line to get on the Tea Cups, you waited in line to read a paragraph about the origins of the wooly mammoth, but you couldn’t even do that, because some kid sneezed all over it. And don’t get me wrong – I love kids. I really do. I just don’t like a lot of kids, in any situation, but especially when I’m trying to learn about dinosaurs.


A stegosaurous? I have no idea...

As if that wasn’t bad enough, the National Air & Space Museum was like Woodstock for 7-year-olds. We pretty much walked through the museum in a circle, and then walked right out. And that took about three hours. To boot, all of the cool interactive stuff was crawling with kids, which meant that even if I waited in line to try it out, I would look like a complete moron doing it, a 6’3” tall idiot in a “gravity-sphere” amidst a sea of fourth-graders. Whatever.

The Lincoln Memorial was very emotional, especially the part where a group of kids bounced a rubber ball off the foot of Abraham Lincoln’s perch. I think I shed a tear on that one. And watching kids race through the hallowed grounds of Arlington National Cemetery certainly added to the somber, reflective mood associated with being present in such confines. Seriously though…love those kids.

But enough about the sites. The fact of the matter is that it was great to finally see all of the stuff I had only heard about, no matter the circumstances. DC also has some great restaurants, and their Metro system is second-to-none. Now, you may be saying to yourself, “Wait, this is supposed to be a sports column. Why are you talking about subway systems and dinosaurs?” Well, truth be told, when it comes to the Washington Nationals, there’s just not much to say.

This was our first trip to RFK Stadium, and also our last, since the stadium will be no longer be used for baseball next year, and the Nats will move to the their new home, “Hillary Rodham Clinton Field,” or whatever they decide to call it. The draw of the Nationals among the locals can best be summed up by two factors: a) we were among the 117 fans who showed up for the game, b) they were selling Robinson Cano jerseys outside of the stadium.


The fans pack it in to watch the Nationals practice not hitting...

It was the Nationals versus the Diamondbacks, a potential NLCS preview. For 2023. If the Nationals make it that far. Two of my friends from college met us there – bumping up the attendance 12% - and one of them, my friend Mike, hooked us up with tickets. They were really good seats, which was cool. Bad news? It was freezing. I mean, literally, it was freezing. Like, 25 degrees, maybe. I don’t know how the players Diamondbacks played in such conditions.

Consider this when it comes to the Washington Nationals: The team finished in last place in the NL East in 2006, a full 26 games out of first. Since then, they lost Alfonso Soriano, Jose Vidro, Russ Ortiz, and Hall of Fame manager Frank Robinson, receiving an ol’ “atta boy!” in return. They have a first-year manager in Manny Acta, and their best offensive player – Ryan Zimmerman – is only in his second year in the big leagues (and has zero protection in that lineup). Their best player, arguably, is their closer, Chad Cordero, which in nice, since he should get about three save opportunities this season.

I was content however, because I was going to see two of my fantasy players in this game: Zimmerman, and Diamondbacks’ rookie shortstop Stephen Drew. Drew did not play because of the flu, and Zimmerman went 0-for-4 with two strikeouts, one coming with the bases loaded during the Nationals’ only recognizable attempt at a rally. The Nationals lost to the D’Backs 7-1, and were shut down by a guy named Micah Owings. The highlight of the game came in the fifth inning, when four giant-headed presidential mascots raced to home plate, with Teddy Roosevelt earning the victory. We even met him afterwards in the stands. He was nice.


Zimmerman gets the "strikeout" sign from the dugout

I would end this column with a point, if I had one. Instead, I’ll just reiterate that my wife and I had a great time in DC, despite the mayhem, and that the Washington Nationals have the opportunity to be really, really bad this year. Like, historically bad, which is appropriate, since they play in DC. Apparently, there’s a lot of history there.


Told you he was nice

On the road as the Philadelphia inquirer

My wife and I continued our quest to go to a new ballpark each year, and two weeks ago, we went to Philadelphia’s new Citizen’s Bank Park for Opening Day. As it turns out, Citizen’s Bank is actually nicer than the Vet, if you can imagine. Instead of being a bland, dark abyss of rat-infested, artificial sludge, the new Phillies’ home is open and inviting, with a noticeably absent detention center, something the infamous Vet could never boast. But this trip in particular wasn’t as much about the stadium (although, let it be known that this park is on par with Camden Yards as one of the most beautiful on the East Coast) as it was about attending a Philadelphia Phillies’ game with a true Philadelphia sports fan - my ol’ college roommate, Brandon.

If our paths never crossed at school, I might feel the same way about Philadelphia sports fans as most people from this area do, which is to say, I would utterly despise them, condemn their incessant booing directed at the likes of injured players and Santa Claus, scoff at their infamous impatience, and label them as the worst sports fans in America. That is, after all, their reputation. But besides getting an inside perspective on their sports consciousness by living with one of their own for several years, I never really hated Philly sports fans that much in the first place. Before any other local sports team, I’m a Yankees’ fan, so I never really developed a hatred of Philadelphia sports. Sure, I love to see the Giants beat the Eagles, but I don’t hate the Eagles as much as I do the Cowboys. And my disdain of the Cowboys isn’t even in the same ballpark as my loathing of the Red Sox. So, I’ve always been able to approach the Philly sports scene with an open mind.

An interesting case study in his own right, Brandon both defies and encompasses the perception of the Philadelphia sports fan. On one hand, he’s logical, knowledgeable, and has a respect for other teams and their fan bases. On the other hand, as we were sitting in our seats watching batting practice, with the Eagles’ home, Lincoln Financial Field, just across the street, Brandon explained to me that during an Eagles/Giants’ game this past season, he, literally, urinated on the Giants’ fan in front of him. According to Brandon, the guy deserved it. Funny too, because knowing Giants’ fans, I believe him. “He was wearing a big leather jacket, dude...He didn’t even feel it.” And now that I think about it, Brandon probably does very little to shed the Philly sports’ fan infamous rep. But he didn’t pee on anyone during this game, which was nice.

And hey, I’m certainly not judging an entire city based on my friendship with one Philadelphia sports fan. I’m not even judging anything, really. I just always find it interesting to gain perspective on other American cities’ sports cultures. Brandon doesn’t represent all of Philly, but in a lot of ways, his points of view echo what I’ve already understood to be common knowledge throughout the city of brotherly love, which may be the most contradictory city slogan ever as it relates to sports.

Like a healthy chunk of Phillies’ fans, Brandon can’t stand Pat Burrell. Can’t stand him. I’m pretty sure he was more excited to boo Pat Burrell as he was being introduced for his first at-bat of the season than he was to watch the actual game. (Unfortunately, he forgot, and was getting a beer when Burrell was first introduced. Brandon has ADD. Then, he booed the fact that he wasn’t there to boo.) In Philly, Pat Burrell gets as much negative attention as A-Rod in New York, except he’s considerably less talented. Like me, an objective observer, Brandon doesn’t understand what Charlie Manuel is doing managing this team. “He sucks. We used to call him Elmer Fudd because he looks and talks like him. Then, after he openly admitted that he did not know what a double switch was, he became Elmer Befuddled.” And while he acknowledges that this season is the most anticipated Phillies’ season in recent memory, his excitement is tempered by the subtle reminder that these are, in fact, the Phillies.


The glass shields the lower decks from splashing pee-pee

A great, passionate sports town, Philadelphia has been without a championship since 1983, when the Sixers captured the NBA title. Before that, the Phillies won it all in 1980. It’s been almost a quarter-century since the city of Philadelphia has experienced a title, a fact that’s made all the more frustrating when you consider that the city is never bereft of good, competitive sports teams. For 24 years, nobody has come through when it mattered - not Barkley, not Iverson, not Roenick, not McNabb, and sure as heck not Mitch Williams. The fans’ frustration has festered for years, leaving them with little hope to believe that anything will ever change, which may serve to explain the perceived negativity the city blankets itself in. But unlike Boston pre-2004 (which, lest we forget, experienced a basketball dynasty in the ‘80's), the city and its fans aren’t defined by this drought. They’re not losers, and they’ll kick your ass if that’s what you think. Or, at the very least, they’ll pee on you. To boot, I’m not even sure that success would alleviate the city’s harsh personality. On our way into the stadium, my wife asked Brandon to take a picture of her and I in front of the statue of Mike Schmidt, who Brandon called a “jerkoff.”

That Schmidt-led 1980 team aside, the Phillies epitomize the city’s frustration like no other local team. They are such colossal underachievers that it borders on comical. (The underachieving part is how Burrell earned his scorn.) They will never exceed expectations, and the fans have countered by not expecting much. That said however, with last season’s trade of Bobby Abreu (quoth Brandon: “He’s so soft. Never had a big hit here. You can have him.”), the emergence of NL MVP Ryan Howard, Jimmy Rollins, and Cole Hamels, and the second-half surge that almost - almost - vaulted the team into the playoffs, expectations have (gulp) inevitably resurfaced. Which brought us to Opening Day.


Even America likes the Phillies' chances this year

Brandon and I both agreed that it was in the Phillies best interest to get off to a good start this season. Their penchant for making a second-half run only to fall short simply was not going to fly this season, not with the Mets looking as good as they do, and not with the talent that this Phillies team boasts. So after Atlanta’s Brian McCann put the Braves on top 2-0 with a fourth-inning home run off of Brett Myers, it wasn’t looking as if the Phils had the same mind set as we did. To make matters worse, two Atlanta Braves’ fans, with jerseys and all, celebrated the home run a few rows behind us, which infuriated Brandon to no end. “Are you kidding me?” Probably more so than anywhere I know, you just can’t go into Philly and openly root for the other team without repercussions. When Jimmy Rollins cut the lead to one with a solo shot in the fifth, Brandon stood up and sought out the Braves’ fans behind us. He clapped in their direction, told them to go back to Atlanta, and warned them that he’d be on them all game, and he wasn’t the only one in our section dishing it out. When hits by Wes Helms and Philly favorite Aaron Rowand put the Phils up 3-2 in the sixth, Brandon turned around again to talk some smack, but the two Braves fans were gone, which was probably a good thing. Friggin’ Braves’ fans…ugh.


Rollins hits a home run...Charlie Manuel immediately benches him

So here were the Phillies, up 3-2 with two outs in the eighth inning, with a pretty good closer, former Yankee Tom Gordon, waiting in the bullpen to seal the deal on what was a gorgeous day, and what should have been a positive start to the season for Philly. Then Edgar Renteria hit a game tying, solo home run off of Myers to tie the game at three. A “here we go again” sigh echoed throughout the stadium, as everyone around us questioned why Manuel hadn’t relieved Myers, whose surrendering to Renteria was his 106th, and final, pitch. Matt Smith was brought in to finish the inning, one batter too late. Elmer Befuddled.

The game went into extra innings, with no Phillie able to come through in the clutch. In the tenth inning, with a runner on, Renteria was up again, and in an attempt to move the runner over, he squared to bunt, but failed to execute the bunt twice. Now with two strikes, Renteria was left no choice but to swing, and when he did, he hit a go-ahead, two-run home run that would eventually give the Braves a 5-3 victory. Since that opening game loss, the Phillies have won just three ballgames, and sit at 3-9, good for last place in the NL East.

We left the park amidst the groans and curses of angry Phillies fans, but we were on our way back to McFadden’s bar, so all was not lost. As we were walking throughout the stadium, the four of us noticed an exit door that was guarded by an elderly man, who was at least 70-years old. Brandon tried to go through, but the old guy stopped him and asked him to show his ticket. “We’re trying to leave, buddy.” But the guy blocked the door and told us again that we couldn’t go in. Possibly out of frustration by yet another inauspicious start to yet another Phillies season, or possibly just because, Brandon, with a full head of steam and smoke coming out of his ears, stepped back, looked straight at the old man, performed what I would describe as a double chop-down groin thrust, and did what any true Philadelphia sports fan who was denied access to an exit would do. He called the old man a douche bag. Only the way it came out, as he simultaneously and disrespectfully thrust his crotch in the old man’s direction, was, “You’re a DOOOSH-bag!”

And on that note, we left Citizen’s Bank Park, and eventually, the City of Brotherly Love, a little more confused by the city moniker, and a little more comforted by the fact that we don’t root for the Philadelphia Phillies.


Navy parachuters flew down with the game ball...they were booed.


Inscription: Here stands Mike Schmidt: MVP, World Series Champion, Hall of Famer, Ambassador to the Game of Baseball, jerkoff.*

*Not my opinion, just what it says.**

**Not what it says.

One-on-one with “Best Commissioner Ever,” Bud Selig

The 2007 Major League Baseball season official starts this Sunday, and I’m positively giddy! Here to curtail my excitement is none other than MLB Commissioner, and former Bugle Boy Jeans model, Bud Selig. Mr. Selig has agreed to sit down with us under the conditions that a) I specify that none of the following is remotely true, and b) I do not use the words “human,” “growth,” and “hormone” consecutively. So, there. Done and done. Now let’s get on with The Show. (Get it? The Show? Whatever…)

Me: Mr. Selig, welcome!

Bud Selig: Thanks for having me.

Me: Ya’ know, Bud, I gotta tell you, you’ve always reminded me of one of the Three Stooges, except much older, and ganglier. Not the fat one, but one of the other ones. Did anyone else ever tell you that?

Selig: No, but that’s a nice way to start an interview.

Me: I think it has a lot to do with your bowl haircut. I’m just saying.

Selig: …

Me: Bud, let’s start with the bad news. During your Reign of Terror as commissioner, you oversaw the strike and subsequent cancellation of the World Series in 1994, the oddity of the 2002 All-Star Game tie - which you eventually made even worse by awarding the winner home field advantage in the World Series – the proposed contraction of both the Twins and Expos, Albert Belle, and, of course, the ongoing steroid controversy, which, at this rate, should get resolved around…never. Please explain yourself.

Selig: Well, for one thing, a lot of those issues were out of my control. For example, the work stoppage of ’94 had a lot to do with the Player’s Association refusing to come to the table to work out an agreement. And I can’t really be held responsible for Albert Belle. Plus, you’re neglecting to mention the positives of my tenure, such as the Wild Card, which has been one of the most influential implementations in baseball history.

Me: I must say, I’ve never seen anyone literally pat himself on the back during an interview. You have long arms.

Selig: I do, yes.

Me: But Bud, isn’t your Wild Card “idea” cancelled out by the fact that 240-lb, acne-bursting steroid abusers have helped their respective teams earn Wild Card berths? I call it a wash.

Selig: You’re also forgetting how my negotiating skills helped avert another work stoppage back in 2002.

Me: Listen, you don’t get bonus points for avoiding a strike. You just get negative points for allowing one to happen, which you already have, by the way. So you can’t use that on your resume. Besides, that entire season was marred by the mere possibility of another strike. I could never rest easy that summer, and I blame you.

Selig: Okay, okay. What about Interleague play?

Me: Never heard of it.

Selig: It’s when American League teams play National League teams for a few weeks during the course of the season. Crazy, right? Well, it’s been a huge success!

Me: Oh yeeeaaaaahhhh. I was wondering how the Royals and Pirates turned into such a heated rivalry.

Selig: And what about the World Baseball Classic?

Me: Hmmm, I think you’re using the word “classic” a little loosely there. But I’ll give you that one. Rebuttal: Steroids.

Selig: No comment.

Me: Bud, let’s turn this conversation towards more recent events in which you’ve massively screwed up. You’re in the process of giving DirecTV exclusive rights to MLB games, which means that local cable providers will no longer be able to offer the MLB package to its customers. So now, if you’re a fan of say, the Dodgers, and you did something stupid like move to New York because of something equally stupid – like a job or something – you can’t watch your favorite team unless you install a DirecTV dish in your place of residence, if that is, your place of residence allows such a thing. Or, OR, let’s say you’re one of the rare baseball fans who plays fantasy baseball, and you want to watch some of your guys play on occasion. Well, you can’t do that now either without DirecTV. My brother-in-law has DirecTV, by the way, and the feed goes out when a leaf falls on the dish outside, which is awesome. Who gave you this idea? Satan?

Selig: This idea came to me in a dream, and when I met with DirecTV executives on the matter, they thought it was fabulous!

Me: Did you consult anyone else on the dream, like for example, one of the eight zillion baseball fans on planet earth?

Selig: I didn’t really think their input was necessary.

Me: Of course not. Bud, if all goes well – and by well I mean “horribly wrong” – Barry Bonds will eclipse Hank Aaron’s all time home run record this season. A lot of people – and by a lot of people I mean “no one” – are wondering if you’ll be in attendance for this grand affair. So, will you?

Selig: I’m not sure yet. It depends. I might have to do something that day, depending on what day it is. It’s hard to say. I do a lot of stuff.

Me: Eloquently spoken. But Bud, don’t you think your absence for this inevitable event could be construed as you refusing to acknowledge the culture of steroid-induced records that you yourself created with your blatant indifference?

Selig: What? I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening.

Me: Whatever. Besides Bonds, this upcoming season should witness some other milestones as well. Alex Rodriguez should hit his 500th home run, unless he does something completely out-of-character like clamp up, and Ken Griffey Jr. may hit his 600th home run, unless he does something completely out-of-character like get injured. Manny Ramirez should hit his 500th as well, which may be news to him, and Tom Glavine and Randy Johnson each have a shot to win their 300th game, which is just about the most exciting thing I could ever imagine. Will you be in attendance for any of these events, since the possibility of steroids appears to be a non-issue?

Selig: I will attend all of these events. Unless two of them happen on the same day, because I take a six hour nap daily. That is how I get my ideas, because the best dreams come when you are napping.

Me: Totally. Bud, your Wikipedia page mentions that you used to own several used car dealerships, making your transition to Commissioner of Major League Baseball obvious, if not inevitable. If Sammy Sosa were a used car – and he is – how would you sell him to me? Ya’ know, if I were an idiot?

Selig: Well, I’d probably be like, “And right here we have the Sammy Sosa, one of the most famous and well known cars around. He’s got a lot of miles on him, but he’s still one of the best cars out there. Plus, he’s gone down considerably in price, so it’s a great deal if you’re in no rush to get where you’re going!”

Me: That’s pretty good. But what if I asked you where I’m supposed to get the illegal fuel it takes to operate this Sammy Sosa? Can I get it on online, like Gary Matthews, Jr.?

Selig: I’m not sure what you’re talking about.

Me: I’m not surprised.

Selig: By the way, I was under the impression that there was going to be some “good news” on the horizon. We’ve gone over the bad news already, so now maybe we could talk more about the positive attributes of my tenure as commissioner?

Me: Well, to be honest, I searched everywhere, and I couldn’t find any. I even Googled “Bud + Selig + good + news,” and my computer monitor started smoking. Not sure what that means. But, I guess, if we had to talk about some good news, I’d probably just mention how lucky you are to be commissioner of the one sport that, no matter what happens, we’ll always come back for more. Like, no matter how bad you screw up, and take advantage of our unconditional love for baseball, we’ll always be there, because that’s just who we are. So, you’ve got that going for you, which is nice.

Selig: I’ll take it!

Me: Yeah. Congratulations. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get home in time to watch all the games that aren’t available on my cable package. Awesome.


Did he say "Hemroids?" Makes sense...

John Sterling update: Still not very good

Last summer, I detailed the inadequacies of John Sterling and Suzyn Waldman, the fumbling radio broadcasting team of the New York Yankees. Since last season was their first together, and because I’m a nice guy, I thought I was pretty diplomatic in my assertion. I detailed the positives and negatives of both. In fact, here’s a short recap:

Sterling:
Positives: good voice
Negatives: everything else

Waldman:
Positives: not nearly as exhausting as Sterling
Negatives: bad voice, virtually nonexistent

So, yeah…that was basically it. But now it’s one year later and honestly, I can’t take it anymore. Forget about Waldman – she’s just a necessary evil in the booth/world of John Sterling, as evidenced by his innate ability to simply ignore her, or, to casually yet condescendingly disagree with her. Whatever. My beef here is with Sterling. I mean, how many more seasons do we Yankee fans have to endure with this guy? Seriously? How many?

With that in mind, let’s take a deeper look at the reasons behind my annual summers of discontent when it comes to listening to Yankee games on the radio. And, just for the heck of it, let’s run this picture again:



John Sterling can never let anything just be. If it’s a sunny day, it’s “the most beautiful day you can possibly imagine,” or “a great day to be alive.” If the ballpark is full (and when isn’t it?) it inevitably leads to an incessant monologue about how amazing it is that so many people came to watch the Yankees – I mean, fifty-five thousand people!…On a Wednesday afternoon, no less! It’s just amazing. Simply amazing. And what a beautiful day… Ughhh.

I could even deal with that if it weren’t for the fact that Sterling cannot let the actual game stand on its own. If the Yankees win in the bottom of the ninth – regardless if it’s only an April game against the Devil Rays – Sterling is ready to FedEx a copy of the game tape to the Hall of Fame immediately. WHAT a game! I mean, what a game! The Yankees win it in the bottom of the ninth in one of the greatest games you will see all season long – I guarantee you that! So it’s the Yankees 8, and the Devil Rays 7, in what they’ll probably refer to as “the Greatest Game Ever Played. We’ll be back with the clubhouse report after this…

Not to mention, individual performances (as long as they come from Yankees) are the stuff of legend. Sterling came as close to an on-air orgasm as possible when Melky Cabrera robbed Manny Ramirez of a home run back in early June, immediately referring to it as “the play of the year.” (Hold your horses, John. Did you see Gary Matthews Jr.’s catch? Of course you didn’t – he’s not a Yankee.) Three weeks ago, I was listening to the Yanks play the Indians, and Randy Johnson had not given up a hit going into the fifth inning, which prompted Sterling to declare that THIS start was one of the “three or four best of his career.” Whoa, whoa, WHOA! It’s the fifth inning, John! Calm down. And not only did Johnson go on to give up a hit that inning, he went on to give up three runs. It’s almost as if Sterling had totally neglected the prime of Johnson’s career, when he consistently tossed three-hit, complete-game shutouts. He was so excited to be watching Johnson (finally) pitching well as a Yankee, that he had to beat us over the head with it.

I cannot stress enough how much I despise this aspect of John Sterling’s announcing. We’re intelligent baseball fans. We know when we’re listening to a great game. We know when we’re listening to a moderately good game, and we know the difference. We know when it’s nice outside – we’re not cuddled up next to a radio in a dungeon somewhere. A great day, great performance, or great game can never speak for itself when John Sterling is around, because John Sterling feels compelled to speak for it.

John Sterling cannot see. We discussed last season’s now infamous call of a ball that miraculously went “off the wall, and…into the stands!” Yikes. But just last week, I heard this one (I won’t quote it because I cannot remember it verbatim): He takes a strike…and hits it into…center field, for a base hit. Wait, what? Did he hit it out of the catcher’s glove? How does someone “take a strike” and get a hit on the same pitch? I’m confused. Sometimes I think you can actually hear John Sterling squinting. Also, three weeks ago, Jorge Posada hit a pitch, and this ensued: Jorge CORKS one, to DEEP center field!…It’s BACK, it’s a-WAY back!…Sizemore looks up…he’s at the track…makes the catch. Of course, this led to some rambling about how far the center field wall is at Jacobs Field, which is to say, it wasn’t Sterling’s fault that he messed up that call – it was the ballpark’s fault. Obviously. Which brings me to my next point…

John Sterling loves to say “obviously.” I mean, he really loves to say obviously. A quick sampling of fake quotes: “He doesn’t want to hit him with the pitch, obviously.” “The Yankees need to score runs, obviously.” “Suzyn has no idea what she’s talking about, obviously.” “Farnsworth needs to throw strikes, obviously.” “Joe Torre is wearing pants tonight, obviously.” You would think that, at broadcasting school, there is some kind of rule that states: If you feel compelled to say “obviously” after making a statement, you probably shouldn’t even bother with the statement in the first place. I’ve never been to broadcasting school, but I think that’s pretty obvious. (By the way, after that paragraph, that word has currently lost all meaning.)

John Sterling has definitely unknowingly quoted “Anchorman.” There is no doubt in my mind that Sterling, upon meeting someone who had the audacity to not know him, has said, “I don’t how to put this, but I’m kind of a big deal.” I’d put money on it.

John Sterling schills for the Yankees in a manner that is unprecedented in the realm of radio broadcasting. I don’t think I even need to go into detail about this. We all know - Torre is always right, Derek Jeter is the greatest player ever, other teams’ closers are mud underneath the spikes of Mariano Rivera (in fact, why do other teams even have closers?), Randy Johnson is one start away from “getting it” and is also very attractive, we should all be ashamed of ourselves for criticizing A-Rod, Bubba Crosby would be an all-star on another team, and so on and so forth. I bet he covers his ears whenever somebody mentions “Giambi” and “steroids” in the same sentence. It’s not only that he constantly praises the Yankees – he also has subtle ways of bashing the other team (except the Red Sox, a team he deems worthy of competing against the Yanks…way to go Boston!). I can distinctly remember him poking fun at the waist sizes of Sidney Ponson (while with Baltimore, of course) and Bartolo Colon in the past. If a mediocre pitcher is doing well against the Yanks, Sterling can’t hide his shock. Sometimes, I don’t even think he knows the players on the opposing team. During the Cleveland series, he combined Grady Sizemore and Travis Hafner to form a player whom he described as “Grady Hafner.” (By the way, that is my third or fourth mention of the Cleveland series from a couple of weeks ago. Not Sterling’s finest work. Obviously. Okay, that word is back!)

The main reason I mention this is because, as a Yankee fan, it’s embarrassing. Sterling seems to encompass a nationwide perception of Yankee fans as pompous know-it-alls who care only about the Yankees, and who could care less about the rest of the baseball world. This couldn’t be further from the truth. I realize that Sterling is the radio broadcaster for the Yankees, and that he should lean their way, but his affection for the franchise is shameless, and his announcing is bereft of any objectivity whatsoever. (Sometimes when I’m listening to a game, all I can think about are those “Daaa Bears” SNL skits, and I picture four John Sterlings sitting around a table trying to decide what would happen if Derek Jeter faced Mariano Rivera.)

So yeah, all that is why I can’t stand listening to John Sterling. Plus all the other stuff I mentioned last year.

But on the other hand, he has a good voice. So it almost evens out.

Right, Suzyn?

Suzyn?

Joe Torre on love, life, and how to pick a winner

Well, I landed the big one. After playing imaginary phone tag for the past few months, I was finally able to reach Yankee’s manager Joe Torre, and convince him to sit down for the most exclusive of exclusive interviews. How did I do it? Let’s just say that my in-laws, like Torre, are from Brooklyn, and once that connection was made, any kind of refusal on Joe’s part would have been the equivalent of him wearing Red Sox underwear. People from Brooklyn stick together, whether they like it or not. Plus, I told him this was to benefit charity, which was a lie on my part. But whatever works. Anyway, here it is.

Me: Hi, Mr. Torre! It’s a pleasure to sit down with the most renowned Yankee manager since Stump Merrill. Can I call you ‘Papa Joe?’ That’s what my wife likes to call you whenever she sees you on TV.

Torre: Ummm, sure, I guess so. Why not.

Me: Great! Papa Joe, let me get this out of the way now, so there’s no confusion. This isn’t going to be like one of those “Center Stage” interviews, where I’m lobbing you softballs, and then patting you on the butt after you hit it out of the park, laughing hysterically all the while at whatever you say. I have more credibility than that. Are you cool with this?

Torre: Sure, I think I can handle the hardball questions. But just as a curiosity, where did you get your journalism degree?

Me: HEY! I’ll be asking the questions here! Okay Papa Joe, I’m going to be honest here. You haven’t seemed like yourself lately. You seem perpetually upset, or even agitated. You’ve been snapping at reporters. You’re not the Joe Torre I knew back in college – you’ve changed, man. You’ve always come across as one of the most approachable men in the game of baseball, but when you walked in here today, I was scared to approach you. Be honest with me here – is it A-Rod? C’mon, you can tell me.

Torre: Ya’ know, I don’t feel any different than I’ve felt in years past. But I think that things are getting to me a little more than they used to. Believe me – you can only hear so many questions about the Red Sox, and about your starting pitching, and about George Steinbrenner, before you start to snap. I probably do need to cool off a bit. And no – my change in demeanor has nothing to do with A-Rod.

Me: So, how many more game-ending double-plays will A-Rod have to ground into before he DOES start to affect your mood?

Torre: One more. Then you might actually see me run out of the dugout throwing haymakers.

Me: Now THAT’S what I’m talking about! Seriously though, we all know you looooooove to defend your players. You’d rather use words like “pressing” and “struggling,” instead of the more appropriate, “blowing chunks,” and “sent down to Columbus.” Other managers in the league have taken their players to task through the media. Why have you always refused to do this?

Torre: Because, what good would it do? With this team, and with pretty much any team I’ve had here in New York, it’s never been a question of effort with the guys. But players go in slumps. If Alex is struggling at the end of “big games,” then what good does it do for me to tell some reporter that he should be doing better in those situations? Alex knows that. It would only add more pressure, and that pressure is exactly why Alex is pressing.

Me: Do you know that you used the words “struggling” AND “pressing” in that response? Why don’t you try – just try – to say those last couple of sentences over again, using my advice. I think it might make you feel better.

Torre: All right. I’ll give a try. Ahem…If Alex is blowing chunks at the end of “big games,” then what good does it do for me to tell some reporter that he should be doing better in those situations? Alex knows that. It would only add more pressure, and that pressure is exactly why Alex is sent down to Columbus.

Me: SEE! See what I mean! How good did that feel?

Torre: Actually, I can’t lie - that felt pretty good.

Me: Okay, since you’re on the subject of “not lying,” tell me how much you hate Randy Johnson.

Torre: All right, let’s not go too far here. I certainly don’t hate Randy Johnson. He’s just strug…er,…trying to locate his pitches better.

Me: Wait, you mean his pitches aren’t supposed to go over the center field wall?

Torre: No, not exactly.

Me: He stinks. Papa Joe, here’s an interesting rhetorical question: If Carl Pavano and Kevin Brown pitched against each other, who would get injured first?

Torre: Wow…that’s a tough one. I don’t think I can answer that.

Me: Do you give up? Ha! It’s a trick question. They can’t pitch against each other, cause they’re both on the DL.

Torre: Wait, you said that was a rhetorical question, not a trick one.

Me: Whatever. Same thing. Speaking of injuries, the Yankees have had a lot of them this year. Please rank, in order, the reasons for this: a) age, b) steroids, c) most of these guys are million-dollar pansies.

Torre: Listen, I can’t rank the reasons behind these injuries. They’re part of the game, and they happen to every team. It just so happens that, this year, it seems like every other day somebody’s going down. But we still have to go out there and win. And the young guys, like Melky Cabrera, Robinson Cano, and Andy Phillips have helped us immensely. That said, a, c, and b.

Me: Interesting. Because of those injuries, your team has suddenly gone from "overpaid bunch of underachieving jerks who everyone hates" to "rag-tag group of overachievers who have taken the country by storm, and who have restored a national love affair with the game of baseball." Would you say that the current Yankees are similar to the movie "Rudy?"

Torre: Well, not really. I mean, the young guys have helped us out. A lot. But we still have a bunch of all-stars playing everyday, like Jeter, A-Rod, and Giambi. Plus, "Rudy" kind of sucked.

Me: Wow...didn't expect that. Okay, Papa Joe – you are famous for being completely stoic in the face of adversity. Yankee Stadium could be burning down around you, and there you’d be, calm as all heck, telling stupid Kelly Stinnett where the nearest exit is. But you’re also a notorious dugout nose-picker. Please explain.

Torre: I don’t know what it is, but it seems like every time the camera pans to me in the dugout, I’m digging for gold. Especially during the playoffs. All I can say is, baseball is a long, sometimes monotonous game, and oftentimes you mistake the dugout for your living room. Maybe I’m too calm out there.

Me: Yeah, that’s nasty. But also funny. Here’s one for ya’. Can you pinpoint the exact moment when your love affair with Tanyon Sturtze ended? Personally, I thought that was a love that would never die.

Torre: Very funny. And yes, I can. It was the ninth inning of a 14-3 loss at Boston on May 9th. That’s when I’d had enough.

Me: Was it a tough breakup?

Torre: Not really. I think we both knew it wouldn’t last.

Me: Is it awkward now when Tanyon walks by your office and sees you with Scott Proctor?

Torre: Okay, that’s enough.

Me: I have to ask you this Papa Joe, because it’s something I’ve always wondered. Does John Sterling turn into a giggling schoolgirl whenever he sees you? Do you roll your eyes when you see him prancing around the field during batting practice while he’s wearing glasses and an ascot? Do you hate having conversations with him, because you know that whatever you say will turn into one of those on-air, “So I was talking to Joe the other day…” stories? Be honest.

Torre: Ummm, no comment.

Me: Hey - I thought we were playing hardball here.

Torre: Well then, I guess you just struck me out.

Me: Sweet. Listen, I had so much more to ask you about, but we’re running out of time. Please give “Jorgie,” “Jete,” “Mo,” and the rest of the guys my best. Tell them I said they have to come over for pancakes. They’ll know what I’m talking about.

Torre: Sure thing.

Me: I’d shake your hand, but I don’t know where that finger’s been.

Torre: Understandable. But thanks for having me anyway. By the way, what charity does this benefit again?

Me: Oh, ummm…the children’s one. Ya’ know, the one for all the kids, who have like, problems or something. I’ll send you the pamphlet, if I can find it.

Torre: Sounds good. Do you know my address though?

Me: You’re from Brooklyn, right? One of my in-laws will find you.


Note: This was not a real interview. If you thought it was, consider yourself “Punk’d.” Or something similar.

WBC shunned by MLB; fear of DL to blame

Looking around, no one seems to be that excited about the upcoming World Baseball Classic, which isn’t that surprising, considering very few of the players themselves seem interested in participating, as evidenced by their refusal to participate. Apparently, nobody wants to get hurt. And I’m not talking about feelings getting hurt, as in “I just couldn’t cope with losing to the Dominican Republic when WE invented this sport.” I’m talking about groins.

Which begs the question: Are there bigger party-poopers in the world than baseball players?

I think not.

Now granted, while I believe the idea of a World Baseball Classic is a great one, the planning behind this inaugural event makes little sense. For starters, why is this Classic being held one month before the regular season, thus ruining spring training, and providing us with a tournament full of rusty athletes who are trying to moderately represent their country while at the same time, trying not pull a hammy? Wouldn’t it have made more sense to host this event in November? Or December? Or January? Why not fill up a non-baseball month with baseball, at a decreased risk of having the event adversely affect the actual season? I don’t understand.

Regardless, the concept of a World Baseball Classic is an admirable one, and in my opinion, long overdue considering the blatant influx of foreign talent into Major League Baseball. This is something that all true baseball fans could get really excited about, assuming of course, that the actual baseball players we are so familiar with would, ya’ know…like, play. But alas, each passing day brings news of yet another popular baseball player who refuses to play for country X. Mariano Rivera will not play for Panama because he is “not ready.” Nomar Garciaparra will not play for Mexico because he needs to focus on “switching positions.” Tim Hudson will not play for the U.S. because he is “concerned” about injuries. Eric Gagne has declined to play for Canada because (drumroll please) he is worried about getting injured. And Barry Bonds won’t be playing for the Dominican Republic because he’s “not Dominican.”

Okay, okay, that’s a lie, although Bonds really isn’t participating. But it’s evident that many of the stars of MLB are scared of getting injured. Of course, these are the same babies who refuse to participate in the MLB All-Star Game every year for similar reasons, even though loyal fans have gone out of their way to vote them in.

In short, many baseball players are scared of getting hurt while playing baseball, which would, in turn, hurt their chances of playing baseball. Of course, Rockies’ rookie Clint Barmes injured himself last season carrying venison up a stairway (true story). But whatever. At least he didn’t get hurt playing in an exhibition baseball game, because THAT would have been embarrassing.

To be honest, I can understand. Sometimes I don’t go to work on Monday because I have been resting all weekend, and am fearful that I will hurt myself at work, thus causing me to miss more work. And get this – I don’t even have a guaranteed salary! Also, sometimes I am scared that a comet will hit the earth.

It’s not just the players themselves who are scared of injuring their fragile little bodies – the owners, managers, and general managers are undoubtedly giving each other high-fives every time one of their own opts out of the WBC. Protect that investment from doing anything stupid, like playing baseball for his country.

There are two main factors involved here. First, inflated salaries breed constant concern regarding an athlete’s well being, even though anybody with a brain knows that injuries are part of the game. It is this mentality in sports that leads to scenarios like the Indianapolis Colts resting their players at the end of the regular season (that worked out well), guys like Pedro Martinez asking to go home for the All-Star break instead of to the All-Star game, and big-name NBA players refusing to enter the Slam Dunk Contest, or even an invitation to play for the U.S. Olympic team. Secondly – and I’ll isolate this issue to baseball – there is an overwhelming sense that, because these games “don’t count,” it is a pointless risk to participate in them. In this sense, MLB itself mirrors America, and all of us baseball fans are forced to deal with the frustrating ethno-centrism. Who says what counts here? Just because you aren’t getting paid for something, you can so easily shrug it off? Just because an event doesn’t fall within the context of your employment, you have every right to refuse? The World Baseball Classic is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and so many of the players view it as a mere nuisance, and that is very frustrating for someone who loves and respects the game. After all, Major League Baseball is NOT baseball. It’s just a league.

Let’s face it - the injury excuse is just a cop-out. Many of the stars of MLB feel they’re above participating in an event that celebrates the game that made them famous. But if you believe in the injury concerns, and if you feel compelled to defend the actions of many popular major leaguers, you may ask me – a reputed Yankee fan – how I would feel if Derek Jeter got injured during the WBC, thus jeopardizing his availability for the 2006 Yankees. To this, I would reply that I’ve seen Derek Jeter get injured on Opening Day, and there is nothing to do except lament the fact that it happened, and move on. To this, I would reply that I’d rather see Derek Jeter come through in the ninth inning of a U.S. victory, than NOT see him sitting on his couch. I’d rather see him get injured playing baseball than carrying venison up a staircase.

Once again there is a fun and exciting event that may potentially get ruined by the indifference of popular Major League baseball players. So thanks, Gagne. Thanks, Mo. Thanks, Nomar. Thanks to all you guys who refused to be a part of such a wonderful idea. Maybe I’ll catch you guys at the 2006 All-Star Game.

Then again, maybe not.

Championship dreams now six feet under

I wanted to sit down and write something important about the 2005 New York Yankees. About how, as a fan, it was darn near impossible to fall in love with this team. About how they teased us into thinking they were tough and resilient, but in the end, they were just underachievers. About how they managed to sleepwalk through various parts of the season, and then somehow expected to “turn it on” when it mattered, although ultimately they couldn’t. About how I refused to believe in the death of a dynasty after Game Seven in 2001, but now I’m convinced.

But whatever. Who cares, right? The problems surrounding this team aren’t under the surface somewhere – they’re staring us all in the face. So I refuse to be one of the eight million people with a keyboard who is going to wax poetic about what, exactly, is wrong with a team whose payroll exceeds the next highest team by $100 million. Instead, I’m going to hand out individual epitaphs for every relevant 2005 Yankee. Because in the end, they all played dead.

***Note: In the upcoming issue of The Courier, these comments appear on tombstones, which make them a little bit funnier. I hope. This blogger site, unfortunately, does not a have a feature for "graphically-produced fake tombstones," so I apologize.***

Jason Giambi: To all of you who left me for dead, look at me now!

Robinson Cano: Am I poised, or do I just not care? You decide.

Derek Jeter: It’s harder being clutch when everyone else isn’t.

Alex Rodriguez: Most Valuable Player, Los Angeles Angels.

Hideki Matsui: In Japan, “Godzilla” means “ground out to second base.”

Bernie Williams: See ya!

Gary Sheffield: I was wrong - Derek IS the leader. Talk to him.

Jorge Posada: If it weren’t for April, May, June, July, and August, I would have had a really good year.

Bubba Crosby: New York Yankees’ center fielder. Yep.

Ruben Sierra: Productive off the bench. Except for the “productive” part.

Tino Martinez: We’ll always have April.

Randy Johnson: Yeah, 2005? Sorry about that.

Mike Mussina: Momma always said, “Life is like a box of Mike Mussina. You never know what you’re gonna get.”

Chein Ming Wang: Kevin Brown makes HOW much?!

Shawn Chacon: Ace.

Jaret Wright: There’s no “I” in “Disabled List.” Oh wait – yeah there is.

Aaron Small: Diamond in the rough.

Tanyon Sturtze: Wait – you DON’T want me to give up any runs? My bad.

Tom Gordon: The reason Mo gets a two-inning save when it matters.

Mariano Rivera: Don’t look at ME.

Joe Torre: Alright Donnie, think you can handle this?

2005 New York Yankees: The new Atlanta Braves. Only richer!

Willie Randolph: King of NY

His team is a half game out of the Wild Card chase, and is holding steady in what has proven to be the best division in baseball. After blatantly throwing in the towel on Art Howe during the second half of last season, Willie Randolph’s 2005 Mets are not going down without a fight. In fact, they went to Arizona last week and swept the Diamondbacks. All things considered, it’s been an up and down season for Willie, but he’s been kind enough to sit down with me to discuss the questions that are on everyone’s mind, like “Do you think Brad and Angelina are for real, or what?” Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to ask him that one. Nevertheless, what follows is my exclusive, candid, and soon-to-be Pulitzer Prize-winning interview with the Mets’ manager. Also, this is completely fake, but other than that, it’s totally true.

Me: Hey Willie! First let me say – I’ve always been a big fan of yours. When I was in grade school, I had a folder that was actually a huge version of your 1988 Topps baseball card. I mean – it was just like a baseball card, except that it opened up, and I kept my spelling homework in it. Every time I opened my book bag, I saw your face, and it made me happy. I wonder what I did with that thing.

Willie Randolph: Ummm, wow. That’s great. I didn’t even know they made those things. Ha ha!

Me: Yeah…they did. Willie, let me start by asking the obvious question: What time is it? I left my watch at the house, and I have to get home in time for the Yankee game. No offense.

Willie: What? It’s 11 o’clock in the morning. There are no games for another eight hours.

Me: Okay, cool. Anyway, what has been the biggest transition for you going from the Yankees to the Mets, except for all of the championships, good players, class, tradition…ya’ know – things like that?

Willie: Well, the biggest transition has been the fact that this is MY team. I learned so much under Joe Torre for all those years, and I had a good playing career in the Bronx, but to have this opportunity to actually manage a baseball team has just been great. As far as the city of New York is concerned, people are pretty much the same in Queens as they are in the Bronx – loyal, knowledgeable, brash…just the way I like it. I’m having a great time with the Mets.

Me: I remember your first press conference when the Mets introduced you as their new manager, and Joe Torre was in the audience and he wouldn’t stop bothering you about the sub you had sitting on the podium. That was a little weird, don’t’ you think?

Willie: Are you serious? That was a commercial that Joe and I did for Subway.

Me: Oh. Ummm, I knew that. Actually, is that a Subway sub in front of you right now? Wow – that looks delicious. Is there a lot of meat on it?

Willie: Yeah, there’s a lot of meat!

Me: Okay, geez! You don’t have to yell. I brought my own lunch. Anyway, who has been the biggest surprise of the season for your team?

Willie: That’s a tough question. I mean – David Wright is so young, and has been so good, but I think people expected that from him. And everyone knew that if Cliff Floyd could just stay healthy, he’d put up solid numbers, which he has. Geez…I’d probably have to say Pedro (Martinez). A lot of people going into the season were worried about his stamina, how he’d handle New York after being in Boston for so long, and things like that. But since he’s come over here, he’s been our ace. He’s given this team a swagger and an identity, and helped us win ballgames. He’s been more than we could have hoped for.

Me: Be honest with me here, Willie. When Pedro shoved Don Zimmer to the ground a few years ago, you wanted to punch him in the face, didn’t you? I mean, you HAD to have wanted to, right?

Willie: Listen – that whole incident was a heat-of-the-moment thing, and it’s in the past. I have no ill will or animosity towards Pedro as a result. He’s a Met now, and we’re looking towards the future.

Me: I’ll take that as a “yes.” The other big name the Mets acquired for 2005 was Carlos Beltran, who has been a disappointment. What’s HIS problem?

Willie: Carlos is an elite player in this league, and his struggles have been a result of several things. For starters, there’s always a rough period involved when someone comes to play in New York, and I don’t care whether that’s with the Yankees, Mets or whoever. Also, Carlos started off the season slightly injured, which didn’t help matters. And when he collided with Mike Cameron a few weeks ago…I mean, that was just plain scary. I have all the confidence in the world that Carlos will exceed expectations. He’s already starting to show signs.

Me: Speaking of showing signs, remember that time when you and Joe Torre went out to lunch, and he was giving you signs, and you came back with his sub, but it wasn’t toasted? Did you miss a sign there, cause he was pretty upset!

Willie: That was also a commercial that Joe and I did for Subway. You don’t get out much, do you?

Me: Not really, but I’LL ask the questions here, okay? Have you ever had the opportunity to meet Jared while doing all of these Subway commercials? I heard he’s much taller in person.

Willie: No. Listen – can we get back to baseball here?

Me: Yeah, sure. Uhhh, where the heck are my notes? Okay…here they are. Your bullpen stinks. Talk about that.

Willie: Well, first of all, I wouldn’t say they stink. We’ve had our problems for sure, but a lot of teams in the league have bullpen issues. The thing is, going into the season everyone said our bullpen was going to be our Achilles heel, but they’ve done well enough to keep us in this race. Braden Looper may get himself into trouble sometimes, but more often than not, he gets out of it to close out games. Roberto Hernandez has been a pleasant surprise, and even I have to admit – I’ve probably overused him at various points during the year. And Aaron Heilman has made a smooth transition from starter to bullpen, which has helped us out immensely.

Me: While we’re on the subject of pitching, let me ask you – Pitching coach Rick Peterson is the only coach remaining from the ill-fated “Art Howe Experiment.” How come nobody has addressed his curly, afro-like mullet? I mean, that hairdo went out of style in like, 1973.

Willie: Geez. Why did you have to go there? I can’t speak for everyone, but I try not to pay attention to the hairstyles of other men. I have other things to worry about, like scoring runs. And Rick is one of the best pitching coaches in all of baseball. He could have a rooster under his hat for all I care, as long as he keeps doing what’s he doing.

Me: Fair enough. Listen Willie, I’d really like to thank you for sitting down with me today. Like I said, I’ve been a big fan of yours since I was a kid, and the fact that YOU are the manager of the New York Mets has forced me to hate them just a little less. Kind of. Anyway, I wish you the best of luck. In fact, I hope you guys make the playoffs. But not if the Yankees don’t, because that will be embarrassing.

Willie: Uhhh, thanks…I think.

Me: Hey Willie, before you go, can I just ask one last question?

Willie: Sure Mike, what is it?

Me: Are you going to finish that?

A tale of two cities, and their ballparks

Wrigley Field and Yankee Stadium are similar in that they are both old, legendary venues where baseball is often played.

And that’s about it.

I traveled to Chicago with my wife a couple of weeks ago to catch my first Cubs’ game. I had always wanted to go to Wrigley Field because the park has so many qualities that are unique, not the least of which is the ever-present stench of disappointment. And my wife was happy because she was able to see the landmark that is the famed red “Wrigley Field” sign on the front of the stadium, not due to her innate sense of baseball history, but because it reminded her of “Perfect Strangers.”

Ironically, it’s how perfect strangers are treated that sets Wrigley Field apart from the place I am accustomed to watching a professional baseball game, Yankee Stadium.

Wrigley is known as “The Friendly Confines,” and everyone who works there tries hard to maintain the legitimacy of that moniker. The people at the concession stands actually call you over and encourage you to purchase things like beer, which was a coincidence because I was in the market to purchase some beer anyway. (By the way, a full cup of beer is $5.50 there. $5.50. That may sound like a lot to the average person, who realizes that one can buy six beers at a liquor store for the same price, but it’s a full two dollars less than what one costs at the Stadium.) The workers ask you where you’re from, smile, and demand that you enjoy the game. Yankee Stadium also has concession stand workers, but they don’t call you over. In fact, even when it is your turn after waiting in line for 20 minutes, and you are standing in front of a register, they still may not come over because they are discussing what they did last night by the popcorn machine, at which point they will get mad and roll their eyes when they notice that someone is waiting for service, because you had to yell, “Hey! – Can I get a hot dog over here?” Then they will mumble something about how you owe them $80.

Yankee Stadium also has ushers, whose job it is to look at your ticket, and then point you in a general direction, like up. And those are the good ones. Some of them are 103 years old, and when they’re not yelling at you for being in an area of the stadium that you’re not entitled to be in, they are just standing there, staring blankly into outer space, waiting to get hit by a foul ball. In fact, to be an usher at Yankee Stadium, it is required that you have a) a grammar school degree, b) a metro card, and c) pants.

There are ushers at Wrigley Field as well, but they have many more responsibilities. For starters, they are all extremely friendly, and refuse to allow you to perform the laborious duty of finding your seat on your own. They will walk you there, all the while engaging in pleasant conversation. They are each in charge of specific sections, like a waiter who is responsible for certain tables at a restaurant. Our usher’s name was Betsi, and after she accompanied us to our destination, she cooled off our seats, which were roasting in the hot sun (Wrigley Field is famous for hosting day games), with a wet sponge. She then did us the favor of taking several pictures of us, and seemed surprised that neither of us were used to such treatment at a baseball game.

Overall, this is the inherent difference between the two ballparks with regards to how its patrons are treated: Yankee Stadium gives off the aura that YOU should feel privileged to be there, while at Wrigley Field, you’re always acutely aware of how happy THEY are to have you.

Now, that said, there are other differences between these two venues that give Yankee Stadium a distinct advantage. For one thing, Wrigley Field does not have urinals in the men’s bathrooms. Instead they have troughs, where, on a busy day, you can do your business while rubbing shoulders with, who else – perfect strangers. Now that I’ve used both, I’m pretty sure I prefer the privacy of a Yankee Stadium urinal, even if it is filled with half a pretzel and an empty cigarette box.

More importantly, much has been made of the “aura” of Yankee Stadium, and I’m telling you – it’s the real thing. Even during a Tuesday night game against the Royals in early May, you KNOW you’re in a special place. You can feel it. I didn’t really feel it at Wrigley Field. The fans generally seemed almost indifferent to what was going on (Though keep in mind I wasn’t sitting in the notorious outfield bleachers.) Everyone seemed preoccupied, which was especially odd considering Cubs’ ace Mark Prior was on the mound for seven innings. There was no buzz – no spontaneous chants ever started, and no belligerent fans began yelling obscenities, which is always fun. Even when the Cubs won in the bottom of the ninth inning on a pinch-hit single by Aramis Ramirez, the place didn’t erupt as it would have in the Bronx. Now, this could be a result of years and years of broken hearts from Cubs’ failures, or it could simply be the fact that I personally wasn’t as involved because I wasn’t watching my favorite team. What can I say – I know I’m biased.

Wrigley Field was an amazing experience, and it certainly satisfied my lifelong desire to go there. It is a gorgeous and pristine place to watch a baseball game, just oozing with history. It is distinct amidst the surplus of cookie-cutter stadiums crowding the market these days, and the people who work there specialize in hospitality.

But it’s not quite Yankee Stadium. Sure, the place is old and concrete, and set amidst the backdrop of the less-than-spectacular South Bronx. And yeah – there’s an excellent chance of being told off if you request that somebody cool down your seat with a wet sponge. But that’s kind of the appeal. I mean – it’s home.

And now that I think about it, maybe that’s the only difference that matters.

An open letter to Kevin Brown

Dear Kevin,

When the Yankees traded for you and then signed you two years ago for $800 billion, I was so excited. I hadn’t been that happy since the time I looked down at my feet and saw that my athlete’s foot had gone away, even though it came back the next day.

Anyway, I’ve been a big fan of yours for years, and I’ve followed you throughout your career. All those great times in Texas, when you were leading the Rangers to the Promised Land, except back then the Promised Land was fourth place in the AL West. Not quite the Land of Canaan, but hey – whaddya gonna do? It was probably Juan Gonzalez’s fault. The Orioles then took you on board, followed by the Marlins. Then you made it to the World Series with the Padres, but the Yankees got lucky and swept you guys. That wasn’t your fault either – I mean, could Tony Gwynn have BEEN any fatter? Was he eating the batting donuts by accident? Sheesh.

Anyhoo, I knew even back then that you’d be a perfect fit for the Yankees – what with your surly attitude and ability to never crack a smile (even that time when Phil Nevin was tickling the bottom of your feet in the Padres’ dugout. Man, I thought you were going to KILL him!). You were all business – even after business was over and everybody was sleeping – and I LIKED that about you. After all, there’s no room for joy in baseball, not when the rosin bag has been carelessly placed on the WRONG side of the mound, and somebody on the grounds crew needs to be fired.

Then you went to L.A., and I thought to myself, “Man, that’s a lot of stops for such a great pitcher!” Luckily, every city has a place called the DL, which is where you could usually be found, icing down your strained collateral tendonitis shinbone, or whatever was ailing you at the time. Fortunately for me, you came back in 2003 virtually injury-free, and pitched well enough for the Dodgers to convince the Yankees to scoop you up in the offseason, via a trade for Jeff Weaver. Mr. Weaver had great “stuff” - and by stuff I mean hair - because most of his pitches ended up somewhere in Queens. He obviously couldn’t pitch in New York, and I wasn’t sad to see him go, because we were getting YOU, even though you were already 39 years old, and your back was being held together with duct tape.

I can still remember the press conference when the Yankees acquired you, and you held up your new jersey for everyone to see. Actually, I was surprised that you didn’t injure yourself doing that, because those jerseys can be heavier than they look. Then you turned to Brian Cashman and whispered, “You guys have a DL here, right?” What a kidder you are!

Anyway, I would say that 2004 was a rousing success, except for all of the times you had to pitch. Nevertheless, I admired how you always looked on the bright side of things. For instance, if you gave up a hit, you were like, “No big deal – I’ll get the next guy.” And when THAT guy got a hit, you were like, “No biggie – I’ll get the next guy.” And when THAT guy got a hit, you were like, “That’s okay – I’ll get the next guy.” And when THAT guy got a hit, you were like, “My shoulder hurts.” You were never too hard on yourself, which seemed to rub off on your teammates. Like sandpaper. Even after the game against Baltimore, when you only gave up three runs and came back into the locker room and punched a wall, breaking your hand. To me, it showed remarkable restraint that you didn’t just tie yourself to some nearby railroad tracks and wait for the inevitable, because let’s face it – three runs is a LOT of runs.

Game Seven of the ALCS was also a lot of fun to watch. You were ON that night. On the mound, that is, giving up lots and lots and lots of runs. Oh well – it was just the Red Sox. No big deal.

Which is why I was thrilled when the Yankees didn’t lose faith in you for 2005. Well, I guess it’s hard to just lose faith when you still owe faith $27 million. Nevertheless, you have so many great attributes that are irreplaceable, regardless of your horrendous pitching. Like, the way you talk to the media with that, “If you guys were a wall I’d punch you right NOW!” kind of ferocity. And your distinct delivery, where you look back to centerfield before you release the ball. Someone I know describes it as a “Please God, don’t hit this” delivery, even though they usually do. In fact, I think you’re the only pitcher in the league who looks into the outfield both before AND after he throws every pitch.

As I write this, you just left a game against the Pirates with a mysterious injury brought on by four earned runs. I think it was your back again. Or shoulder. Or ankle. Or finger. Or leg. Or armpit. Or scalp. Or athlete’s foot. Or buttocks. Wait – WAS it your back? I can’t remember. Anyway, I was just writing to remind you that we DO have a DL here, except it’s not actually HERE. It’s in Guam. And once you go, you can never come back.

And one other thing. When you’re packing your suitcase, try not to hurt yourself. And don’t forget the duct tape. All checks will be forwarded.

The Boss, and a case of mistaken identity

I discovered something last week, to my dismay. My cell phone number is only one digit off from Yankees’ General Manager Brian Cashman’s cell phone number, which goes a long way towards explaining why I, your everyday frustrated Yankees’ fan, was on the horn with George Steinbrenner himself at 3:30 am this past Tuesday. Fortunately, I was able to illegally record our dialogue, and I will now release it to the public, because that’s what he gets for waking me up from my dream about winning the Pulitzer Prize at an awards show hosted by Angelina Jolie.

Me: (Groggy) Hello?

George: Brian, wake up! What the hell do you think this is – sleepy time? We’re a .500 baseball team, and you’re acting like that guy who fell asleep for a long time, and then woke up and he was all old and wrinkled.

Me: Rip Van Winkle?

George: What? Winky who? What the heck are you saying? Stop talking gibberish, and explain to me WHY, the $200 million of MY money that YOU spent, has been magically transformed into a giant pile of pinstriped dog doody?!

Me: Wait a second. Hold up. Is this George Steinbrenner?

George: Ohhh, yeahhhh. (Clapping hands.) Bravo, Brian. You’re a regular Carrot Top there with your brand of comedy. WHO THE HECK ELSE WOULD BE CALLING YOU AT 3:30 IN THE MORNING – MEL FREAKIN’ GIBSON?!

Me: Oh, ummm, actually Mr. Steinbrenner, I think you may have dialed –

George: An idiot? Darn right I dialed an idiot! Did you WATCH the game last night, or were you snoozing away again, like your friend Henry Winkler?

Me: Ummm, actually, yeah – I did watch the game last night.

George: So WHAT happened? Why can’t we beat the MILWAUKEE BREWERS, Brian? Why is Mr. Randy Johnson himself pitching like he doesn’t even care? And did you SEE him at the plate last night, Brian? He looks like a giant pencil with an eraser on his head, and he swings like a girl! How much are we paying for this – to embarrass ourselves every night?

Me: Ummm, a lot?

George: DARN RIGHT A LOT! Why is Posada striking out with the bases loaded and no outs? When is Matsui going to get a hit? Is Mariano Rivera still on the TEAM, cause I haven’t seen him in THREE WEEKS?!

Me: I think he is, but I’m not –

George: Ya’ know, we start off the year playing like crap. Then we win 10 straight, 16 out of 18, and I’m thinking to myself, “Ya know George – maybe you DIDN’T waste millions and millions of dollars on a bunch of underachievers who have no idea what it means to play for the New York Yankees. Maybe they just needed a little kick in the rear – a little push on the old caboose.” Then the Red Sox come to town and THEY push us on the caboose all right! You might as well have taken a picture of David Ortiz standing on top of a pile of our pitchers, giving a salute, and sticking a Boston flag in the back of Carl Pavano. Just embarrassing, Brian. Then the ROYALS – the ROYALS, Brian! The last time the Kansas City Royals swept the New York Yankees you were probably in diapers, blowing your mother’s hard-earned money on thousand-dollar pacifiers! Ya’ know Brian, I wish I was still in the shipbuilding industry, so I could build a huge ship, invite you on it, and then throw you overboard.

Me: Ya’ know, Mr. Steinbrenner, I’m NOT –

George: Capable of making an informed decision? Ohhh – you don’t have to tell ME that Brian. Do you know how I look when guys like Javier Vasquez and Jose Contreras are pitching so well for other teams, and we get overpriced prima donnas like Brown and Johnson who come over here and crap the bed? It doesn’t make me look good, Brian. I’ll tell you that. That’s why I felt compelled to issue this conference call, to clear the air, and find out what’s going on here.

Me: Conference call?

George: Yes, conference call, you MORON! You know I never do things without a team of advisors. Say hello to former New York mayor Rudy Giuliani and my good friend, Donald Trump.

Me: Uhhh, hey guys.

Giuliani: Brian, it’s not good for my political career to be seen at games where the team I’m rooting for is losing. Do I have to start going to METS games, Brian? I hope not.

Trump: Brian, judging by your performance so far in 2005, if you were on “The Apprentice,” I’m sorry, but I’d have to say, “You’re fired.”

Me: Alright – that’s enough. I don’t know WHO you think you are waking me up at this hour to scream at me, and belittle me in front of others. This is YOUR team, GEORGIE boy. Our whole roster is made up of the overpriced and aging stars that YOU salivated over at some point, from Giambi, to Sheffield, to Brown, to Mussina, to Johnson. You tell Cashman who you want, and he goes and gets them. THAT’S his job. So don’t come crying to him when things don’t work out as planned. You saw Vasquez and Contreras pitch here, so don’t even try and tell me that THEIR absence is the reason we’re losing now. I know we’re not playing even close to our potential right now, but all we can do is hope that things turn around. This is our team – the manifestation of years and years of coveted free agents signing multi-year contracts. The bad news is we’re playing terrible baseball right now, we’ve depleted our farm system, and all of our underachievers are virtually immovable because of the money they make. The good news is we have a team centered around Derek Jeter and Alex Rodriguez, a pitching staff that can only get better at this point, the best manager in the game, and enough time to turn this thing around. We’ve made our bed, and it’s time to sleep. And speaking of sleep, that’s where I’m going back to right now. And Trump, shut up.

George: Okay, Brian. Points well taken, but I don’t know where you get the cojones to refer to yourself in the third person. Only I can do that, so take note. And we better get this thing turned around soon, cause I’m getting reeeeaaaal antsy over here. And you know what happens when I get antsy, Brian? People end up on the unemployment line - THAT’S what happens. If we don’t win it all this year, you owe me $200 million, so start saving. Do you hear me, Brian?

Me: (Click).