The End of Season Durham Bulls Blues

There's no more baseball in the Triangle now. Not after Monday. Not out Zebulon way, where the Carolina Mudcats were well-meaning but not very good this year. And not in Durham, where the team leader in batting average for the Bulls hid under .260.

16Ks and What Do You Get?

There are a lot of reasons to go to a ballgame. Spending time with friends and/or family. Satisfying a craving for ballpark hot dogs. Watching the actual game. You know, all sorts of things.

On Rooting For Some Of The Bad Guys

There's a lot of talk swirling around the Tampa Bay Rays these days. They lost their GM to the Dodgers. They lost their manager, under weird circumstances, to the Cubs. They traded a former Rookie of the Year for prospects, they're making minor deals left and right, they DFA'ed their starting catcher whose pitch-framing genius never seemed to translate into getting above the Mendoza line at the plate, and they're the subject of persistent "maybe they'll move to Montreal" rumors.

Go Charlie Go

Someone give Charlie Montoyo a major league job already.

Days of Future Passed Balls

"Caught with the help of Mikael Franco"

One of the great things about watching minor league baseball is that it sometimes gives you a glimpse of the future. You get to see rising stars perfect their craft up close and personal. Over the years, going to Durham Bulls and Carolina Mudcats games has offered looks at David Price, Will Myers, Desmond Jennings, Francisco Lindor, Yonder Alonso, BJ Upton and many more.

One of the terrible things about minor league baseball is that it sometimes gives you a glimpse of the future, and the future looks like the Sentinel-infested hellscape of the latest X-Men movie.

Opening Night at the DBAP

"You know, we could stay on this mound and not have to go back to Gwinnett"

Last year, opening night at the Rogers Centre for the Blue Jays. This year, opening night at the refurbished Durham Bulls Athletic Park for the Bulls and Gwinnett Braves. Oddly enough, the number of passed balls was roughly the same, even without R.A. Dickey on the mound; Christian Bethancourt did a passable impression of J.P. Arencibia, which had him chasing baseballs all night.

Things In Sports I Am Thankful For, Part A Gazillion

In no particular order, I am thankful that:

Steve Logan, former East Carolina football coach, has a radio show. Imagine, if you will, a devoted blues fan and wine expert who talks like an extra from Walking Tall while expertly dissecting the previous week's football coaching blunders. It's a gift, I tell you. A gift.

Jose Oquendo is still coaching third base for the Cardinals. I mean, I'd rather he were managing (which is another way of saying Dr. Mrs. The Sportsthodoxy has boycotted Cardinals fandom until they make him manager) but hey, he's still on the field and wearing a Cards uniform, so that's something right with the universe.

Durham Bulls Backup Catchers Strike Again

This guy. No, the one on the right.

Saturday night, it was Stephen Vogt. Tonight, it was Jose Lobaton, another guy who used to be a backup catcher for the Durham Bulls.

And by now, you should know the story. Next-to-last guy off the bench. Not exactly known for his hitting. In there, with two outs, against the closer who'd just had the single best season in the history of closing. (Yes, better than anything Mariano Rivera did. Ever. Look it up.) Hoping against hope to pick up his closer, who'd just choked up a hard-won lead. 

Naturally, he golfs it pretty much dead center, to the point where some butterfingers fan in what looked to be an Elliot Johnson jersey Bucknered the ball into the 10K gallon fish tank next door.

First postseason walk-off hit in Rays history. Fourth straight elimination game they've won. The conquest of the unhittable closer. All the stuff that's so unlikely as to never, ever happen.
Except it happens every year. Welcome to the playoffs.

Your 2013 International League Champions, the Durham Bulls

Bulls in Motion...

You may have noticed a decided tilt towards Durham Bulls-related content on this blog over the summer. The reason for this is simple: I live ten minutes from their ballpark, and I get to games (generally with some combination of my dad and nephew or my friends Mur "Sansaball" Lafferty and Jim Van Verth and their mighty daughter) as often as I can. The park is lovely and the games are a lot of fun to attend, and if the food options largely run to "variations on hot dogs", that's just fine.

A Summer At the Ballparks

Fan Appreciation Day, Durham Bulls Athletic Park. A dad tosses pop flies so his son can learn to make spectacular catches crashing against the fence.

AT&T Park, preseason tour, the view from the Press Box.
And in the distance, the waters of McCovey Cove.

The view from the Giants' dugout, placed along the third base side
because there's more room there. Looking out to dead center,
an awfully long way away.

Outside Great American Ballpark in Cincinnati, just before
Opening Day. A bronze statue seemingly hurls a water tower, daring
another statue to hit it. Bronze Ted Kluszewski waits out of shot, patiently, for his chance
to swing.

Domonic Brown stealing second against the Reds, in a game the
Phillies won with 2 homers in the 9th off Aroldis Chapman.
Erik Kratz and Freddy Galvis, you are a thermodynamic miracle.

Opening night, Rogers Centre, Toronto. R.A. Dickey was betrayed by
his catcher, who let a fistful of knucklers roll by. The Jays lost, setting
the tone for the season. But for one night, the joint was jumping.

The end of the Phillies' ballpark tour; a chance to sit in Charlie Manuel's press conference seat,
deep in the bowels of Citizens' Bank Park.
I tried to announce a trade of Michael Young, but no one believed me

Nephew Jake's first college baseball game - Duke vs. Maryland,
right before the ACC tournament. Note the Jays jersey and Bulls hat.
Also note the foul ball, off the bat of Duke's shorstop. While we admired it, the kid hit a second one to the exact same spot and nearly brained us both.

Dad and Jake, Bulls versus Charlotte Knights. 

Dog days of summer. Rochester's bullpen crew heading in to the dugout after pre-game warmups at the DBAP.

Catching warmup tosses in the visitors' pen, during the last homestand of the season.
The catcher's mitt pops with every pitch.

Seated right behind home plate at a Winston-Salem Dash game.
16 rows back and a million miles away.

Bulls infielder Mike Fontenot takes his son onto the field after
a loss to Charlotte in the next to last home game of the year.
The grounds crew ignores Fontenot, and just works around him.

After the last home game of the season, the Bulls gather on the mound to celebrate.
13 runs, 17 hits, and nary a homer to be seen - and that was just for the Bulls. 

Of Foul Balls and Genny Cream Ale

Wednesday night at the ballpark.

Me, my father, a family friend down from Philadelphia and my ten year old nephew Jake, the budding baseball fanatic. On our last outing together, he asked me to take him to a sporting goods store to look at catching gear. He's always talking about his baseball cards - the new hotness is the Mariano Rivera he just picked up. "Hang on that one for five years," I tell him. "They're going to have to let him in to the Hall of Fame."

The Martyrdom of Saint Wil

I swear, you'd think they were gonna kill him.

That smile says "Send Help!"

For the last couple of months, one of the recurring themes amongst baseball types was the way in which Wil Myers was being kept against his will in the desolate hell-hole called Durham, North Carolina. To hear the way the seamheads put it, Myers was "trapped" in Cackalacky by the heartless and foolish Rays front office. Presumably, he was also being flogged regularly, fed nothing but gruel, and guest-starring on episodes of Beyond Scared Straight. No doubt the poor kid spent his days here digging his way out of the home clubhouse at the DBAP, possibly in the direction of Bull City Burger and Brewery, and covering up the hole with a tattered Rita Hayworth poster.

Double Header

I saw two baseball games yesterday.
At one, there was a pretty nifty double play turned, and some smart, aggressive baserunning. At the other, there were four runs scored on bases-loaded walks, and the rare double TOOTBLAN.

Fan Fest

Hit Bull, Get The Snot Beaten Out Of You By Said Bull

Sometimes, it's good to take a break from the snark.

This afternoon, I swung by the DBAP (Durham Bulls Athletic Park for those of you not privileged to live in the greater RTP area) for the annual Durham Bulls FanFest, which, I suspect, is like fanfests everywhere but had the distinct advantage of being located something less than fifteen minutes from my house.  Admission was free, though if you bought a "ticket" in advance you also got a free hot dog and soda (and possibly a cookie - sources were unclear) from a concession stand inside.

To Be a Fan of a Minor League Team Is To Constantly Say Goodbye

So long, farewell, it's time to bid adieu...

To root for a minor league baseball team is to be constantly saying goodbye.

Observations From Tonight's Bulls-Braves Game

• The Bulls are a terrible baserunning team. There were three separate instances of TOOTBLAN, with the best one being Stephen Vogt just beating a terrible throw to second on a double, then oversliding the bag, then betting tagged out as he tried to scrabble back. If you don't have a lot of offensive thunder - and the Bulls, like most of NC, are in a year-long drought - then throwing away outs in the bases is insanity. Throwing away an inning's worth...
• Julio Teheran's arsenal is impressive, especially on the rare occasion he knows where it's going. Gwinnett catcher Jose Yepez spent a good chunk of the night sprawled out or leaping to his feet to corral errant pitches.
• Every time I looked up, it seemed like Josh Kroeger was coming up to bat.
• Watching a Gwinnett lineup that featured Terry Tiffee and Felix Pie made it feel oddly like the tail end of a fantasy baseball draft set in 2006.
• Braves shortstop Jack Wilson - yes, THAT Jack Wilson - was replaced late in the game by shortstop Josh Wilson. I am imagining a Highlander-esque scenario where Jack, who is actually immortal, fakes his own death and is replaced by his "nephew", another good-fielding, slap-hitting middle infielder whom reporters can safely describe as "scrappy". 
• Tim Beckham's OBP is much higher than one might expect, given the way he was determinedly lunging at things tonight. No strikeouts, but not a lot of solid contact, either.
• The big attraction tonight was rehabbing Ray Evan Langoria sitting in with the band at DH. He was clearly just trying to work the rust off at the plate without reinjuring himself, however. No hits, though there was a popup to shallow center that endangered aircraft on approach to RDU.
• Both starters went six innings, and survived rough early innings to get there.
• Not much to see fielding-wise, apart from your standard 5-3-9-2 putout (E5)
• There is no finer sight in minor league baseball than watching Wool E. Bull get stampeded across the outfield at the DBAP by a horde of shrieking small children who, presumably, have just been told where short ribs and burgers come from.

Irony

Of course, the day after my post, the Bulls go out and win a 1-0 game, nearly getting a no-hitter themselves.

Baseball, like the universe, has a sense of humor.

No-Hitter at the DBAP

So I got to see a no-hitter live and in person today at the Durham Bulls Athletic Park, where the Bulls, long one of the minors' winningest franchises, took on the Indianapolis Indians, AAA scions of the perennially punchless punchlines, the Pittsburgh Pirates.
Needless to say, it was the Bulls that got no-hit, sending them to their 13th consecutive loss. Pirates prospect Sterling Marte bounced a homer off the sports bar behind the left field wall for the only run the Indians needed (they scored 2), and three pitchers zeroed out the hometown nine. The starter, Justin Wilson, got lifted after 107 pitches and a Leslie Anderson line drive off his right kidney, and two relievers closed it out. That was about as close as the Bulls got to a hit, really - there were a couple of close plays at first and a few nice catches, but really, around the third inning was when people realized that today could be special in all the wrong ways.
Friday night, at a game I also attended, the Bulls got thumped, 13-2. Ballyhooed pitching prospect Alex Torres got lit up like John Cerutti, getting pulled in the second. Saturday, another prospect, Chris Archer, threw a 3-hitter and still lost, 2-0. Bad teams lose in lots of different ways. They get clobbered. They get shut out. They fail to support their pitchers. They find ways to lose.
This year, the Bulls have the look of a bad team. This is not necessarily a surprise; they've sent a ton of talent up the ladder to Tampa over the last few years. As a Bulls fan, I've had the pleasure of watching Price, Longoria, Jennings, Upton, Joyce, Hellickson, Moore and many others come through town, and a pipeline like that generally doesn't keep flowing that well forever. And in the past, the Bulls generally peppered their roster with solid AAAA guys, hitters like Chris Richard and Russ Canzler and Dan Johnson, guys who could hammer a minor league fastball and provide a steady foundation the prospects could rally around.
This year, those guys are gone, Canzler to Cleveland and Johnson to Charlotte and Ruggiano to, well, I actually don't know where Justin Ruggiano is these days. The prospects, at least the hitting ones, are gone, too. Brandon Guyer's a solid bat, and Tim Beckham's rebounded from an awful first season after being drafted first overall to be a decent possibility, but there's no one except the pitchers to dream on. And when the pitchers aren't right (and even sometimes when they are), that means the Bulls, more often than not, are going to take it on the chin.
There are a lot of reasons to go to a minor league game. First and foremost, it's fun. The seats are always good, the tickets are cheap, and there's always the thrill of "I saw him when" prospect-hunting. Going and expecting win-at-all-costs, like the majors, however, is a mistake. Minor league teams are there to develop at least as much as they are to win. Sometimes, that means they're loaded. Sometimes that means they're outgunned. The trick is to enjoy what you've got, whatever it is.
And in the meantime, I got to see a no-hitter.

Bush League

So last night, at the Durham Bulls' home opener, something really unpleasant happened - and no, I'm not talking about Tim Beckham's two-strike approach.

The Bulls have a mascot, the punishingly named Wool E. Bull, and he does the mascot thing you'd expect. He goes through the stands, he poses for pictures with kids, and in between innings he runs around on the field doing various things to keep the kiddies entertained. Whoever he is, he's good at it, and God bless him for it - I would NOT want to be the guy in a furry suit trying to do pratfalls in public in a North Carolina summer.

One of the regular Wool E. Bull routines involves racing a little kid from the stands around the bases. The kid always wins, of course, but it's fun and it's no doubt a thrill for the kid, and all that good stuff. Last night, as Wool E. came around third, one of the Gwinnett Braves players came out of the dugout and clotheslined him.

It's obvious the guy in the mascot outfit never saw it. I mean, going even half-tilt inside a giant bull head mask, your peripheral vision's going to be crap. And when this kid stuck his arm out, bam, Wool E. ran right into it and went down, hard.

It didn't look staged. It didn't look funny. The guy in the mascot suit fell down twice on his way off the field. To his credit, he was still playing to the crowd, but still. And the schmuck who hit him? Laughing as he went back to the dugout. From where I was sitting, it looked like a much harder hit than the one Randall Simon put on one of the racing sausages in Milwaukee back in the day.

Look, I can understand the near-insane desire to screw with people in funny costumes. I have vague memories of being the sort of 20-something kid who would find that particular audition for Death to Smoochy to be absolutely hysterical.

But come on. How much of a douchebag do you have to be to try to hurt someone whose job it is to entertain kids? Here's hoping the idiot who did it gets suspended a game or two. Failing that, here's hoping he runs into an angry bull in a dark alley.