Sunday, August 10, 2008

The Secret Brett Favre Diaries, Part IV

August 2nd, 2008

Dear Diary, I am so not answering the phone today. Green Bay kept calling and calling and calling, and every time they wanted the same thing. How many times do I have to tell them, I’m not that kind of quarterback?

But you know what? Roger texted me! Guess who’s getting re-instated? And when I am, I’m going to where my old jersey with the grass stains and the mud and the frozen tundra of Lambeau Field, just to show Green Bay what they would have been missing!

August 3rd, 2008

Green Bay sent me a box of chocolates and a check for $25M. I didn’t open the chocolates, ‘cause I’m saving them for the offensive linemen, but the note on the box said they were happy to have me back, and they’re hoping we can be together again. They even said my locker is waiting for me! I’m going to Green Bay right now!

God, so many text messages from Tampa Bay and the Jets. It’s like they don’t believe that Green Bay and I are back together for real. Losers.

August 4th

Aaron Rodgers is SUCH a BITCH! Oh, sure, he was saying all the right things like how he was looking forward to having me back and how much he respects me, but it was ALL a LIE! He wants my team, that two-timing system quarterback WHORE!

And Mike McCarthy says that I’m overreacting, and that there’s nothing there, and, and, and…I HATE THEM SO MUCH!

August 5th, 2008

Dear Diary, there are times when you just have to realize that it’s not going to work. Green Bay and I sat down and had a long talk about our relationship, and how we’ve grown and we’ve changed and handled salary cap situations, and it was pretty clear by the time we were done talking that our lives were taking us in different directions. But we agreed that we should be mature about this, and should work together to find the best solution for everyone, and that we don’t want this to be one of those breakups where it looks like Joe Namath in a Rams uniform, or anything like that. So I’m going to be mature about this. I’m going to take a deep breath, and listen to what Green Bay has to say, and see what happens next.

I got a fortune cookie once that said “Today is the first day of the rest of your life. I wish I’d gotten that cookie today, cause it is, like, so true right now.

Huh. Another text message from the Jets. You know, they’ve actually kinda got a nice smile.

August 6th, 2008

Ooh! I am SO MAD! That’s so like the Packers, having a conversation with you one minute and then giving a press conference and telling the whole world about it the next. I thought it was just between us that I wasn’t sure I wanted to be their quarterback, but here’s Mikey McBlabbermouth telling EVERYONE just how I felt.

I mean, how can you trust an organization that’s going to do that to you? You share your deepest feelings, and your fears, and your hopes and your dreams, and they call a press conference. I could just die.

That does it. I am not going to practice for them, no sir. I’m flying home right now, and there’s nothing they can do to stop me. And when I get home, I’m going in my room and I’m putting on my music REALLY REALLY LOUD, and I’m not coming out even if they beg me. Which they will, because they’re, like, Green Bay, and that’s what they do.

So there.

PS-Tampa Bay didn't call me today. I am so over them.

August 7th, 2008

Dear Diary,

I think the Jets and I are going to be very happy together. It’s so nice to be with someone who really loves me and wants me and appreciates how special I am. And the best part is, I won’t have to throw out any of my green clothes.

Who’s the luckiest quarterback in the world? Me, diary. Me.

Saturday, August 09, 2008

The Secret Brett Favre Diaries, Part III

July 27th, 2008

I am so bummed. Minnesota called and said they can’t date me because, like, their Uncle Roger said that dating within the division is totally gross and if we got married and had running backs they’d have, like, nine heads or something.

July 28th, 2008

I cannot believe the nerve! Green Bay called, and they told me that they would pay me not to come to training camp! That I should stay home and not go out and be happy.

Do I look like that kind of quarterback to you? Do I, diary? I don’t think so.

I am so applying for reinstatement.

July 29th, 2008

Guess who’s re-in-sta-ted? Guess who’s re-instaaaaa-ted?

July 30th, 2008

So, ummm, I’m not, like reinstated? At least, not yet. ‘Cause Minnesota's Uncle Roger hasn’t read the letter or something, which makes me mad, because I used my best stationery and everything. You know, the one with picture of the pony on the envelope that smells like strawberries? I love strawberries. I wonder if they’ll have them at training camp.

August 1st, 2008

I woke up this morning and there was this weird noise outside. So I looked out my window, and there was Tampa Bay. And Tampa Bay was standing there with a CD player, and it was playing a song that I’d never heard before, but it was really pretty and all about my eyes, which was kind of weird, because you’d think Tampa Bay would want to talk about my arm or something.

Then the police came and chased Tampa Bay away because they were wearing a ratty raincoat and Mrs. Romanowski down the block thought they were a flasher or something.

Thursday, August 07, 2008

The Secret Brett Favre Diaries, Part II

July 2, 2008

Like, omigod, I hope this works. I gave Bus a note to give James Campen to give to Mike McCarthy to give to Ted Thompson to tell him I still totally think Green Bay is cute.

July 3, 2008

Green Bay got the note! Ted gave Mike gave James gave Bus a note to give back to me!

July 4, 2008

They said that Green Bay still thinks about me sometimes, but, like, that Green Bay has to be sure that I’m, like, really committed to making this work.

Whatever. Like they should ever have reason to doubt me. When I say I'm going to do something, I like totally do it.

July 5, 2008

Wow, Green Bay is, like, so persistent. They sent me another note, and some chocolate, and some flowers, and a Miley Cyrus CD with a note that says “WILL U BE R QUARTERBACK 4 SHUR?” Well, yeah, like I think so. I mean, what else am I going to do?

July 8th, 2008

So Green Bay called! And they asked the question. They asked if I was ready to dedicate myself one hundred percent to football.

And you know what I said, diary? You know what I told them?

I finally said “Yes!”

July 9, 2008

OMG, I am SO ANGRY! Green Bay called a press conference and told ALL THEIR FRIENDS that I had, like, tried to get back together with them, but that they had said NO/ That is, like, so unfair!

July 11, 2008

Fine. If they don’t want me, I don’t want them. You know who’s cute? Minnesota, that’s who’s cute. Chicago, that’s who’s cute. I’ll bet both of them would love a quarterback like me. And the best part is that Green Bay, like, totally hates them forever and stuff, so seeing me with one of them would drive Green Bay nuts!

July 12, 2008

Wow. Minnesota is REALLY cute.

July 13, 2008

Dear Diary, Minnesota called. I think I’m in love. They told me they’ve been watching me for years, and they think I’m totally hot at quarterback, and that they think they can make me happy!

I look good in purple, don’t you think? It doesn’t make my butt look big or anything.

July 14, 2008

And there I was at home totally thinking how hunky Minnesota is, and Greta called, and she said, “What’s up, Brett?” and I said, “like, nothing, but I’m really sad, you know” and she said “Why?” and I said “I’m so bummed that I broke up with Green Bay but, you know, I really couldn’t trust Ted Thompson any more,” and Greta said, “Like, why not?” and I said “Well, he asked me if I wanted to be his quarterback and when I said yes he said he’d moved on, and then I started thinking about all the times he didn’t make the personnel moves I asked him to or hire the coaches I wanted him to or put Coke Zero in the vending machines at Lambeau, and, you know, it was just really difficult to trust, you know?” and Greta said “Oh, I, like totally understand” and I said “You do?” and she said, “Oh yeah, like, totally.”

Greta’s my bestest friend ever.

July 16, 2008

Bus is so cool. He told everyone that Green Bay couldn’t have broken up with me because I haven’t even filed for reinstatement yet. I wish I could date someone just like Bus. Only not Bus. Cause that would be like dating my brother, or something.

July 17, 2008

OMG THEY’RE JEALOUS!

Green Bay was SO MAD today! They said they saw me talking to Minnesota and they totally freaked out over it!

They still care!

I should call them. But I can’t.

July 25th, 2008

Dear Diary,

I know Bus said not to call the Packers, but I couldn’t wait any longer. I totally had to tell them that I missed them and that I was coming to camp! And Ted was just so cold! He told me that I couldn’t come to camp, and that he didn’t want me at camp, and that I wasn’t even reinstated!

I told him I could be reinstated if he wanted me to be. For Green Bay, I’d do it. I’d so totally do it.


July 26th, 2008

I heard from ESPN who heard from SI who heard from The Sporting News that Green Bay is, like, totally trying to set me up with someone else. I caught the Jets looking at me, and Tampa Bay, and, like, EWWW!

Totally ewww. I mean, they’re not even really New York.

Wednesday, August 06, 2008

The Secret Brett Favre Diaries, Part I

March 3, 2008

Dear Diary,

I know that Green Bay and I have been together for, like, forever, but I dunno. It just seems like something has gone out of the relationship and all. Oh, I know, Green Bay still worships me, and now that I know that it’s just friends with that…Aaron Rodgers person, I feel better about things between us. But I still want something more. Maybe some time apart would be good for us. Maybe I should just end things. I think that’s a great idea, really. I really shouldn’t be tied down like this.

March 6, 2008

That’s it. I told Green Bay that I’m dumping them. It’s over. It’s not Green Bay, it’s me. I even cried, and so did they, and it was so exciting! Best day ever, even if I am sad to leave Green Bay. Oh, well. We can still be friends.

March 12, 2008

I KNEW IT! Green Bay is already together with that SLUT Aaron Rodgers! They must have been planning it all along!

March 17, 2008

Wow. Green Bay and Aaron Rodgers seem so happy together. They’re planning for the draft and everything.

March 24th, 2008

So, I, like, called, Green Bay, and told them I missed them. Green Bay was like, so excited! They said they’d be right over, and that they missed me, and that they wanted me back, and that they were only with Aaron Rodgers ‘cause Rodgers kinda reminded them of me. I’m so happy!


March 28th, 2008

Green Bay is coming to see me! Me!


March 29th, 2008

OMG. So, like, Green Bay got here, and they wanted, like, a commitment. With, like, a contract, and a ring, and minicamp, and everything. I can’t go through with that. Why do they try to force me into things? I’m a free spirit! Why can’t they just let me be me?


April 14, 2008

Trying to learn cross-stitch. ZOMG, this is really hard!


May 7, 2008

Bored now. Bored, bored bored.

I wonder what Green Bay is doing.

May 18th, 2008

Green Bay sure looks happy. Just wait. They’ll see. They’ll miss me. And when they ask me to come back, I’ll say “No.” I’ll tell them about all the times I suggested personnel moves, and they said no, and laugh at them. And then they’ll be sorry!

June 7th, 2008

They haven’t called. Why haven’t they called?

June 16, 2008

They called!!!! I came home from pottery class, and there was a message on my machine, and OMG it was Green Bay!

I am so, like, totally not calling them back right now, though. I can’t seem like I missed them too much.

Squee!


June 18, 2008

Talked to Green Bay. Green Bay wanted to know if we could maybe get back together for a season. You know, be serious. I told Green Bay I didn’t know.

June 20, 2008

Green Bay said that if I couldn’t be serious, they had to move on with their life. And I was just about to say yes!

I think.


(Part 2 coming tomorrow. All dates ganked from nfl.com)

Snapshots from Saturday Night - Team USA versus Team Canada

For your viewing pleasure.

Apologies for the quality of the camerawork; I'm not very good at this sort of thing.

Tuesday, August 05, 2008

Not That I Have a Dog In This Fight...


...but one of the things that amuses me is when commentators start railing about how baseball needs instant replay to make sure the game doesn't have "that one bad call that costs someone a World Series game and taints it forever."


Well, we've already empirically proven that one false. 'cause, like, '85 signaled the end of interest in baseball as we know it. But we know that it would never happen in football, right? Right?


OK, so let's not ask the Seahawks about that one. After all, it was just the Super Bowl, after all, and everyone knows nobody's cared about football since then. Still, it's got to be exclusively an American phenomenon, right?





Right. Never mind.

Manny Being...Something

You can probably trace it back to Boras.

Recently, Manny Ramirez switched agents to Scott Boras. The math was simple - if the Red Sox (or any team) picked up Manny's option at $20M for next year, Boras got nada. If Manny got a new deal, Boras would get his percentage.

Do the math.

And then read Peter Gammons' pieces over at ESPN discussing how Manny would only accept a trade to a team that wouldn't pick up his options, or how Boras told Theo Epstein that if the Red Sox agreed not to pick up the option Manny would behave for the rest of the year, or how Manny sat out games with a knee that apparently hurt so badly that he couldn't remember which knee it was when the Sox told him to take an MRI.

Do the math.

Gammons claims Manny was talking openly about his upcoming 4 year, $100M payday. While the possibility remains that Boras contacted a team and worked out an under-the-table deal (see: Drew, J.D.), it's more likely that Manny was dreaming, as I can't see any team shelling out $25M/year for a declining bat with no glove, no wheels, and no inclination to show up. Even the Los Angeles fan base will figure out that Manny being Manny isn't the same as Manny being a Dodger soon enough.

As fans, we often ask too much from our athletes when they are on the field; we also simultaneously ask too little of them as human beings. But the one thing that we are justified in asking for is effort. Take the money, play the game, and we'll gladly pay your salaries.

Manny Ramirez broke that compact, and Manny almost certainly doesn't care. But for whatever infinitesmal bit it's worth, I care. So the hell with you, Manny Ramirez. Enjoy Los Angeles. Thanks for 2004. But I won't be shelling out to see you play, the only small power of protest left to me.

But what the hell, I'll try it anyway. After all, it seemed to work for you.

Sunday, August 03, 2008

U! S! A!

Went to Durham Bulls Athletic Park on Saturday night to see Team USA take on Team Canada in the last round of Olympic warmups. I went solo and walkup, which made for a pleasant evening of ballgame viewing; without other folks with me, I was free to wander the park as I wished, and to take in the game from various angles as it progressed.

Team USA won handily, with Trevor Cahill handling the Canadians early on and Nate Schierholz and Matt LaPorta, among others, supplying the thunder. The atmosphere was both enjoyable and collegial. Both teams got cheered, the U! S! A! chants were good-humored, and there was applause for good plays and good hitting on both sides.

Other random notes:

  • Cahill was mostly sitting at 90-91, and occasionally had trouble with his control low. Beyond that, however, he just manhandled the Canadian lineup. They barely even made good contact off of him.
  • Rockies prospect Casey Weathers handled the ninth, and he was absolutely dealing. 96 on the gun, and that loud "smack" in the mitt that echoes off the center-field fence. Warming up, he threw the ball past his bullpen catcher a few times, but once he was in the game, control was not a problem.
  • Mike Koplove, sidearming reliever, is a relatively small guy. Blaine Neal, fastballing reliever, is a very large guy. Watching the two of them head off to serve as "lookout" guys for Weathers and his catcher while the guy was warming up was very "Stan and Ollie".
  • Louis Marson, catching prospect for the Phillies, is a new Official Hero of Sportsthodoxy. Sitting in the bullpen, he ignored a few fans from Philly who were trying to get his attention until one of them shouted "You suck!". (Hey, they ARE from Philly.) He turned to look at them, at which point the guy said, "Sure, now you turn around," and there was some good-natured banter. I yelled back and forth with Marson a little bit, and he was gracious to both fans and his organization-mates, especially Carlos Ruiz. (Lou, if you're reading this, I was the loud guy in the Styx shirt. Then again, those two things do seem to go together.)
  • There was a row of scouts sitting, silently, behind home plate. A few had radar guns, or video cameras. Most spent the game scratching in notebooks and not noticing, say, interested fans peeking over their shoulders.
  • Lots of kids at the game. Lots of kids.
  • The game wrapped up in roughly 2.5 hours, impressive for the amount of scoring that was done. There wasn't a lot of showing off in the batters' box or repetitive throws to first, just fast, clean baseball.
  • LaPorta looked like he was trying to hit six-run homers on every at-bat. When he finally did connect, he bounced a shot off the top of the wall in left-center.
  • Some odd lineup choices for USA manager Davey Johnson. The heart of his order was retreads - guys like Mike Hessman and Terry Tiffee - while big bats like LaPorta batted further down.
  • Interesting to see which teams were on-board with the Olympics and which weren't. Cleveland? Check. The Phillies? Check. Minnesota and the Angels and Colorado, which sent both Weathers and Dexter Fowler? Check. Yankees and Red Sox? Not so much. Which, when you think about it, is sad. They're the Yankees, after all.

Saturday, August 02, 2008

A Memo to Tim Kurkjian and Steve Philips

It is no longer 2004. Manny Ramirez is a an aging, defensively challenged, injury-prone defensive liability whose trends are definitely downward. He takes at-bats off. He takes games off with phantom injuries. He's expensive, and for all the "Manny takes hitting very seriously" stories we got earlier in the summer, he's quite clearly a pain in the ass. When Peter Gammons throws you under the bus, you've been very, very naughty.

Meanwhile, in Jason Bay, the Red Sox get a guy who is younger, cheaper, under their control for another year, and in the same neighborhood as Manny's level of production. Oh, and he knows what that big leather thing on his hand is for when he stands out in the outfield. Is he, at his best, the player Manny was when he was at his best? No, but Manny's never going to be that guy again, not unless it turns out he's from Gallifrey.

So, really, any analysis of this trade that overlooks the fact that Manny is now 36 and injury-prone is kind of missing the point, and ultimately irrelevant. The Red Sox gave up a couple of semi-prospects they were never going to use and some cash, which they've got plenty of, for a better outfield solution that gives the good production at the plate, another year of certainty as to his status, fewer Scott Boras shenanigns, and most likely lower psychiatric bills for the aging travel secretary Manny shoved a few months back.

In other words, it would have been find to rend your garments over the deal if this had been made in, say, 2003. But it wasn't. It was made in 2008, and Manny is a fading, injury prone lump and a distraction, and getting a guy as good as Jason Bay for him says this trade was a winner.

Thursday, July 31, 2008

You Damn Kids Get Offa Coach Fox's Lawn

Panthers QB Jake Delhomme, as quoted in The Sporting News:

"The one thing I don't get is that some of the young kids want to play video games at night. I mean late...The worst part is they're making noise above us and we're trying to get some sleep."
Also, they play that hippity-hop music, and grow their hair long, like goddamn hippies.

Not to go all FJM on you or anything...

...but tonight I heard Andy Gresh say that the best thing that the White Sox can do at the trade deadline is play well.

Brilliant.

I'll bet they never thought of that.

Throw in Doug Gottlieb digging up the old "A-Rod never hits in the post-season" road chestnut to explain why he doesn't like the Mark Teixeira deal, and it was an absolutely stellar day for ESPN non-baseball wonks trying to talk about that weird game with the funny white ball.

*For the record, Gottlieb said that since A-Rod became a Yankee, he put too much pressure on himself in the postseason, and thus performed poorly. Here's Rodriguez's post-season line in New York:

2004 - .320 BA/.414 OBP/.600 SLG/1.014 OPS
2005 - .133 BA/.435 OBP/.200 SLG/ .635 OPS
2006 - .071 BA/ .133 OBP/ .071 SLG/ .204 OPS
2007 - .267 BA/ .353 OPB/ .467 SLG/ .820 OPS

Just eyeballing it, that looks like one great year, two bad ones, and one good one. In other words, statistical noise.

Just for fun, here's Derek Jeter's track record over the same time

2004 - .245 BA/ .339 OBP/ .347 SLG/ .686 OPS
2005 - .333 BA/ .348 OBP/ .619 SLG/.967 OPS
2006 - .500 BA/ .529 OBP/ .938 SLG/ 1.467 OPS
2007 - .176 BA/ .176 OBP/ .176 SLG/ .352 OPS

Hmm. Looks like one great year, one really good one, and two bad ones. In other words...statisical noise that looks pretty similar to what A-Rod put up.

And in 2004 - the year both A-Rod and Cap'n Jetes put up the most post-season ABs, Rodriguez kicked Jeter's butt.

Sunday, July 27, 2008

Yankee Hoodoo

So what is this strange power the Yankees have to brainwash other teams into package dumping trades? A few years ago, it was Abreu + Lidle from the Phillies for a sack of moldy grapefruit, when either of those guys alone was set to fetch more than what the Phils got for both. This year, it's Xavier Nady and Damaso Marte for four prospects of the semi-suspect variety (the bloom is way, way off the Tabata rose, and if Andy Gresh is saying "Russ Ohlendorf is the biggest prospect the Pirates are getting back", you know they're in trouble) when, according to Jayson Stark, the Pirates had been asking for way more for either of those guys separately.

It's magic, I tell you. Darkest magic.

Dodger Blues

So I had a friend who had a bottle of wine. It was a really good bottle of wine, and whenever we talked to him about drinking it, he'd say, no, I'm saving it for a special occasion. So he'd put the special bottle of wine back on the rack, and go out and overpay for a Fetzer chardonnay or something, and drink that, or he wouldn't drink it, but he'd buy it and have it and decide that since he had that and he'd already paid for it, he should open it and leave the bottle of good wine be for the moment.

Mind you, this anecdote is completely fictional, and I'm not sure how to end it: either he dies and never gets to drink the wine, or he finally does open it after years and years and it's turned into paint thinner. The choice there is really up to Frank McCourt - it depends whether he fires Ned Colletti before he breaks down and plays the kids full time, or lets him stick around while the Andy LaRoches of the world rot on the vine. The early returns - signing Pierre, signing Jones, not setting Garciaparra on fire, paying any attention at all to what Jeff Kent says, and now trading for Casey Blake - are not promising.

And the Blake trade may be the straw that breaks the camel's back. Hidden under the guise of "Going For It", Colletti picked up a 35-year old corner guy having a career season and erected yet another roadblock in front of one of his most valuable assets. This is not new; he did the same to James Loney, to Andre Ethier, to Matt Kemp, to Chad Billingsley. All have seen their prospect status, and thus their value to the team, take at least temporary hits as a result.

Even in the eminently winnable NL West, it's time to sell off or sit the overpaid, underachieving vets and play the kids. You get no points for not trading the prospects if you never do anything with the prospects; the whole point is that you maximize their value one way or the other. If you've got a hole at third base and you have a good third base prospect, say, LaRoche, you play him to maximize his volume. If you're not going to play him because you've got an aging, fragile veteran you have an irrational attachment to, then you trade him while other teams still perceive him as having upside. You don't bench him, you don't yo-yo him, you don't make him look bad and thus less appealing to potential trade partners - you find a way to get the maximum for him. So I'd bench or dump the Nomars, the Andruws, the same-old same-olds, and see what the kids can do. You can have Pierre and Jones and Garciaparra and Kent; I'll take Ethier and Kemp and LaRoche and Hu and the over.

Because frankly, the kids are better. The kids are cheaper. The kids are more likely to win.

And if you don't do something with them now, they're not going to be worth anything to you when you need them.

Thursday, July 24, 2008

Another Thought On Favre

A lot of the argument against Brett Favre coming back is that he might somehow "taint his legacy" by doing so.

Bullcrap.

For all that sportswriters love to trot the same tired examples out, our enduring memory of Willie Mays involves Vic Wertz, not a Mets uniform. With Montana it has nothing to do with the Chiefs; with Steve Carlton nobody thinks of him as a Twin. "Legacy" is forged long before an athlete gets to try to "hang on too long", and it is cast and cooled in the minds and memories of fans. No matter how many past-their-prime games these guys play in, it is their primes that we will in fact remember, and cherish, and reminisce over.

The real issue is whether the Packers should hold their season hostage to a guy who, even now, can't say with 100% certainty that he wants to come back and play. And that's a business and professional decision, one that legacy does not and will not enter into.

Ever.

Wednesday, July 23, 2008

Just to Pick On Billy Wagner Again...

...was anyone else surprised to hear that his shoulder injury was a muscle spasm? Normally he only has those from the neck up*.

*Cheap jokes about injuring himself by patting himself on the back will also be accepted.

Be Afraid. Be Very Afraid

Bearing in mind that Joe Blanton was, depending on how you sliced it, the third-to-fifth best pitcher available on the trade market (behind Sabathia and a healthy Harden, in the mix with Bedard and Burnett, probably ahead of an aging Maddux and a Petco mirage Wolf), the trade the Phillies made to get him was a little disturbing from both sides.

From the Phillies' side, it's a "that's all?" deal. While Blanton's stock was high going into the season, he's pitched poorly this year in front of a great defense in a pitchers' park. As a replacement for the self-perforating Adam Eaton, he's an upgrade; as a response to the big pitching acquisitions in the NL Central, he's not cause to break out the schnapps and sauerbraten.

The A's, in return, got three prospects from the Phils, including the #s 2 and 4 guys in the system. (Billy Beane is apparently too smart to take Greg Golson, curse the luck.) Mind you, those guys (Cardenas and Outman) are characterized by Keith Law as a decent second baseman and a LOOGY, at best. That's not a huge haul, and it doesn't say much for the Phillies' system that these guys were near the top of it.

In the end, the trade makes some sense. Blanton will pitch better and longer than Eaton, saving the Phils' bullpen and hopefully not digging them early holes every game he starts. The A's got more prospects for a guy whose value had cratered, and who was easily replaceable with one of the armada of arms Beane had stockpiled in AAA. But at the same time, it's almost cringeworthy that this was all the A's* got for pre-season hot item Blanton, that it was the best the Phils could offer, and that it was an appropriate haul.

*There are a lot of folks questioning why Beane sold 40% of his rotation with his team still theoretically in contention. The answer is, of course, that they're not. Too many black holes in the lineup, too many games to make up on the Angels, and Beane recognized this and moved fast while his trading chits still had maximum value. I know you're not supposed to give up on the year while you're within shouting distance of a playoff spot, but at the same time, there's shouting distance and then there's fading into the distance, and that's what the A's were doing. Beane just recognized it faster than, say, your average Bavasi would.

Sunday, July 20, 2008

Was in New England This WEEIkend...

...and spent some time listening to the legendary WEEI*.

  • Number of callers who couldn't pronounce Jonathan Papelbon's name, even after being repeatedly corrected by the host: 1
  • Number of callers who wanted to throw Jed Lowrie in the Harbor after he hit into a double play against the Angels: 15
  • Number of hosts still upset that Terry Francona didn't play John Olerud more in 2005: 1
  • Number of callers who wanted Terry Francona's head for leaving Josh Beckett in to pitch the 7th inning: 4
  • Number of times Chuck from Saugus said that Manny is a "winnah": 6
  • Number of times Don from the Cape said that Manny is a bum who needs to go: 6
  • Number of callers proposing the Sox trade Kevin Youkilis to Atlanta for Mark Teixeira, regardless of whether this makes any sense for the Braves: 3
  • Number of callers who insisted that Tampa's All-Star catcher Dioner Navarro (traded away in 2004 as the prize of the Randy Johnson deal) was, and I quote, "a guy the Yankees didn't want": 1
  • Number of times other hosts essentially called Glen Ordway an idiot: 9
*All estimates completely made up.

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

It Is Somehow Fitting...

...that were it not for a late-inning meltdown by carpetbagging uber-mouth Billy Wagner, the NL would have won last night. In the unlikely event that the Phillies do make it to the World Series, one gets the feeling they will probably take up a team-wide collection to send a bunch of large men with cricket bats to visit Wagner at Shea.

Second stop, Dan Uggla's house. Brad Lidge, they can take care of on their own.

Tuesday, July 15, 2008

All-Star Gamery

I'm not watching the game tonight - I'm crashing deadline on a novel, and have yet another road trip coming up in two days - but I did watch the pregame festivities whilst cooking and eating dinner. Now, I freely admit to being a sentimental gorp when it comes to baseball, but there were some moments there - Willie McCovey hoisting himself out of his chair to acknowledge the thunderous cheers of the fans, Kevin Youkilis grinning to himself at the mandatory booing he received as he ran out to his position, Manny Ramirez enthusiastically embracing Ryan Braun, the roars from the crowd for Reggie and Whitey Ford and Yogi as he grinned from radar-dish ear to radar-dish ear - that were magic.

And most of all, when the camera just sat there on Willie Mays, watching him drink it all in.

It put such a big goddamned smile on my face, I didn't even mind when Tim McCarver started talking about how the NL's big strength was in batting average, or how he conveniently forgot George Sherrill was an All-Star, or generally was Tim McCarver.

Tonight? Not the point. Let him enjoy the game in his own way.

Me, I got to see Robin Roberts, whom I didn't know was still alive. And Maz. And Ernie Banks telling the National Leaguers to get off their asses and win one, already.

And Willie.

Monday, July 14, 2008

With Apologies to Matt Forbeck...

When I was a kid, there was a commercial for Nestle's Tollhouse Cookies that featured a kid named Timmy (or Tommy, or Toby, or something like that) announcing very loudly that he was leaving home. "I'm leaving," he'd say, and go down a few stairs the knapsack on his back bulging with, well, I don't want to think about what that kid thought was appropriate running-away-from-home material. "I'm going." Walk a few more steps. You get the idea.

Mom, of course, was having none of it. Instead, she just baked delicious chocolate chip cookies, and little Teddy, or whatever his name was, announced that maybe he could stick around for a while before stuffing his piehole with delicious chocolate chip goodness.

He wasn't really running away, you see.

He just wanted to be told that he was loved.

Which brings me to Brett Favre, who recently stirred the collective soul of Cheesehead Nation like it was cheap fondue minus the kirsch by announcing that, no, he wasn't retiring after all, and if the Packers weren't going to let him come back, they should be gentlemen and release him so he could go play somewhere else that wanted him and loved him and would make him tollhouse cookies. Or something like that.

Now, I'm not usually on the ownership side when it comes to the NFL, and with good reason. They have the sweetest of sweetheart labor deals, they treat their workforce like Kleenex, they make obscene profits and yet cry poor to suck up untold millions of government money for publicly funded stadia, and they have the unutterable gall to have inflicted the "personal seat license" on the sports-viewing public. And yet, in this instance, I have to side with the Packers, 'cause as a sports fan, I really don't feel comfortable enabling Brett Favre's codependency issues.

It's not like he hasn't done this before. He's dragged out the old "I may retire, I may not" song and dance for each of the last few offseasons, and let's face it, some of those on-seasons were pretty off. Each time, he waited until the public outcry reached critical mass before going, aww, shucks, I guess I will play again if'n y'all want me to.

Once, it's charming. Twice, it's shtick. Three times, it's calculated theater. And this?

Well, he retired. Made a big deal out of retiring. And then in March, he let the Packers know that he wanted to un-retire. The Packers, by all accounts, bought into it enthusiastically. They told Aaron Rodgers that, once again, they'd rather be just friends. They prepped the announcement. They were ready to fly the top brass down to Mississippi to sign the deal.

And Favre backed out at the last minute. At which point, the Pack sensibly said "screw this noise" and set about constructing a roster suited to the talents of the quarterback they were sure would be there, Aaron Rodgers. They had to; they had no other choice if they wanted to field a competitive team this year. All the while, someone kept up a steady drumbeat of "Brett may want back in" rumors to the media. Someone kept the story alive, even after Favre himself had backed out when they offered him the team on a silver platter.

Which brings us to now. The team has moved on without him. Lambeau Field has not burned down, fallen over and sunk into the swamp in a goth-like stupor over missing Favre's manly presence. Wisconsin has not gone up in flames without him. The cheese industry has not collapsed, the foam cheese hat industry seems to be doing fine, and they're finding other things to protest in Madison.

In other words, no tollhouse cookies. Which, I think, is precisely why Favre let loose with this latest round, the guilt-trip demand to be released so he could find a new team - most likely the Bears or Vikings - to play with, and in the process no doubt incite something of a bidding war, a media frenzy, and, most importantly, a "we love Brett-fest".

To which the Packers, sensibly, said "Hooey." Why on earth would they want to do this? They've already bent over backwards - damaging their relationship with their putative quarterback and delaying their roster construction - to cater to Favre this year. They have absolutely no incentive to release him, potentially playing hob with their salary cap and strengthening a divisional rival. Indeed, as long as he remains a viable NFL quarterback, the best place for him to be is under there control...and at home.

Because no matter if he might be better than Rodgers this year, those curves are going to intersect irrevocably very soon, and the longer they riff on "Brett might come back", the more chance the Packers have of falling into post-Bonds Giantville. Because they don't do Favre any favors by playing this game - sooner or later, the body isn't going to be able to hack it any more, and the retirement will be forcible and real. The sooner #4 gets used to life beyond football, the healthier it's likely to be. And because it is absolutely and utterly unfair to the rest of the team to hold them and their fortunes hostage to whether or not Brett Favre is feeling sufficiently loved.

Favre has gotten a free pass on a lot of behavior that would have gotten him slammed were he anyone and anywhere else. The magic aura of Bringing A Title Back to Titletown makes the excuse for a multitude of sins - undercutting his coaches and GMs, careless ball handling, sandbagging his teammates when he didn't get the high-profile personnel adds he wanted, his gift-wrapping of the sacks record for Michael Strahan. He has undeniably been a great player, one of the greatest ever. But he's not that player any more, and the act has worn thin.

Enjoy retirement, #4. You're still loved. But from now on, it should only be from afar.

Wednesday, July 09, 2008

Playing Soccer in Brasil

I can now honestly say I have left a piece of myself in this country. It's on the floor in the left-hand corner over by the far goal.

Tonight was my last night in Brasil following EIRPG and the followup book signing in Rio. My host, the estimable co-founder of Devir and all-around gent, suggested that I might enjoy playing in his pickup indoor soccer game, a Wednesay night fixture. I said yes.

Now, the last time I played soccer regularly was in middle school. I was in training for the Elkins Park Middle School team after spending a year on the JV, but broke my foot playing tackle football with Larry Garcia and couldn't play that fall. That was it for my soccer career; I'd mostly played fullback because I couldn't outrun a constipated porcupine but had a definite knack for booting the ball downfield on those rare occasions when I made contact.

Best guess is that it must have been fifteen years since the last time I actually played soccer for more than three minutes at a shot. There was some intramural stuff at Wesleyan, and a few pickup games, and...well, that was a lot of scotch and road trips ago. These days I look like Moomintroll on my good days and Barbapappa on my bad ones, and I'm about as ready to take the field as John Kruk.

So what the hell am I doing stepping onto the (indoor) pitch with Brasilians. You know, the most soccer-crazy people on the planet? When I walked down Ipanema beach, I did not see scads of scantily clad bikini babes. I saw dozens of circles of guys all playing hacky sack with soccer balls.

Indoor soccer, incidentally, is a whole different animal. It's five on five, in a room about the size of an immature high school gym. The place we played was the Paulista FC, which sensibly had a snack bar where you could get beer and caipirinhas after the game. There was a balcony overlooking the play space, guarded by a net, where kids were kicking a ball back and worth while we played. Once the ball squirted out of the net and landed on the field, and hilarity ensued.

The game was a family and friends affair. Cousins, brothers in law, you get the idea - these guys have been playing together for ages and love doing it. They were very welcoming to the new guy, even if I'd completely lost my instinct for positioning, and very supportive on those rare occasions when I did something right. General consensus was that for a fat old American who hadn't played in forever, I did all right. For the record, though, my left foot is completely gone. As in my one left-footed shot on goal looked like a Tim Wakefield fastball.

The players ranged from early twenties to sixty or so. People swapped in and out when they felt like it. The game moved fast, but not at breakneck pace - at least, not often. Douglas, my host, turned out to be an astonishingly good keeper, making several Tony Meola-level saves while wearing a shirt that could only be described as "unusual." As the evening wore on, I got a bit of my sense of things back - OK, this guy is going to go curl in front of the net, mark that guy because he's going to head for the corner, try to control the ball without catching it in the face - and some of the instincts woke up. One guy jokingly dedicated a goal to me; I think they were amused when I made a play. Mind you, most of my plays were on defense. I'm much better at crashing into someone and separating them forcibly from the ball than any other aspect of the game, including "running", "kicking", "inbounds" or "falling over clutching my knee in pretend agony in hopes of drawing a yellow card for my opponent".

Afterwards, I got a few questions. Had I played before? Did I like it? (They thought I was lying when I said yes). Would I sign a contract (hastily scribbled on a napkin - they'll be paying me in beer. I signed.) And then farewells and out into the night, even as my calves started reminding me that I'm going to be on airplanes for sixteen hours tomorrow.

But still. I played soccer in Brasil.

Thursday, July 03, 2008

Going Quiet For a Week

I'll be traveling to Sao Paulo to guest at EIRPG XVI this week, which means that the only sport I'm likely to be up on until my return is futbol. With that in mind, things may be post-light for a while.

Quick Thoughts...

Nice to see the Cincinnati Reds are continuing their proud tradition of charming, sociable ownership. Marge Schott's canine-themed insanity and Nazi fetish were one thing, though; Carl Lindner's funding of terrorist paramilitaries in violation of US law is entirely another. Yes, I understand that paying off the local strongman can be perceived as simply the price of doing business, but all things considered, it still doesn't exactly look good.

As loathsome as it is to see carpetbagging Clay Bennett and his deeply unpleasant cohorts write a check to avoid their legal obligations - and let's face it, that's what just happened - I can't help but think that the city probably got the better end of the deal. $45M straight up versus two lame-duck years of a franchise Bennett would have no interest in promoting or maintaining in Seattle; I'll take the check, please. Now the next step is making sure the city doesn't spend it on "stadium improvements" for the "right" to have someone pay the NBA $300M to plunk down a vat-grown Sonics replacement. At which point, of course, they will immediately start lobbying for a new arena.

Hmm. Baron Davis opts out on Monday, agrees to a complicated new deal on Tuesday. Clearly there was no tampering involved. Memo to David Stern: if you want to move your league's image away from the sort of hanky-panky represented by Tim Donaghy, this is not the way to go about it.

So Bill Simmons compared the feeling of having the C's and Red Sox be champions in the same year to a Lionel Richie song? Seriously? Can we stop even pretending this guy is anything other than what he is: a dork? And I say this as a man who actually owns a Lionel Richie album, on vinyl.

Wednesday, July 02, 2008

ZOMG T3H RAYZ0RZ

Or, in other words, everyone's suddenly discovered the Tampa Bay Flatfish.

I'll give full credit to the folks like Jayson Stark who were on to the Rays before the season started, but even so, the sudden attention paid to them is a bit overwhelming. Look, these guys are good. They've been getting good for a while, and it doesn't take the fact that they're magically in first place to anoint them as Suddenly Very Interesting. Frankly, it's a wonder it took them this long to get good - you keep on drafting high, and unless your name is Bidwill or Sterling, your team is going to get better in a hurry - though former GM Chuck LaMar's no-trade clause may have had something to do with that.

Still, it's been coming for a while. Even with the setbacks - Baldelli's mitochondria, Gomes' shoulder, Jackson's wildness, Guzman's growth spurt - they've assembled a stunning collection of young talent that's been doing it for a while now. It's just that they finally added the last few pieces they needed - a back end of the bullpen, a good defense up the middle, a third starter who allowed them to move J.P. Howell to the bullpen - and voila, a good team.

Next up, all the yammering about how since they're so young, they can't hold up under pennant race pressure. Because, you know, Jacoby Ellsbury and Joba Chamberlain just completely folded last year.

*sigh*

Monday, June 30, 2008

On All-Star Selections

I'm afraid I must respectfully disagree with Joe Sheehan, of Baseball Prospectus.

Mr. Sheehan's take on the All-Star game is that the starters at each position should be the established, demonstrated best at their positions, as demonstrated over several years. No flashes in the pan for him, no first-half wonders, no good guys who've kicked it into overdrive, no nuthin'. Just the proven best, even if their performance this year isn't quite up to the level of some other guys who are hitting the bejesus out of the ball this time around.

It's an interesting take, and one with a lot to recommend it. On the other hand, there's something to it that doesn't quite jibe for me. Maybe it's the underlying notion of wait your turn, the spectacle of All Star Game voting as some sort of vast Confucian meritocracy where you can only advance through proper forms and examinations and the timely deaths of those ahead of you.

And that, to me, isn't what the All-Star Game is about. Yes, I want the best at every position, but at the same time I want the game to reflect some of the magic and unpredictability of baseball itself. I want to see the guys having that one magical year get rewarded because they've already rewarded us, as fans, by doing things we never would have expected them to do. I want to see the career year guy have his moment in the sun on the big stage, so he can tell his grandkids that he was there with the A-Rods and Pujolses and, for that one night, he absolutely belonged there.

This, then, is where the game of baseball and the sport of baseball intersect and conflict. The sport dictates the cold-hearted calculation of who'll give your side the best chance to win. The game suggests a blunter edge to Occam's Razor; which players' inclusion will make the game most enjoyable to watch for both on-field and off-field reasons?

For all the immense benefits of sophisticated performance metrics, there remains a cloak of myth and legend that must remain wrapped around the game for it to maintain its appeal. By all means, let's get better player evaluation metrics in place. Let's get to a place where rosters are built more efficiently, where worthy players get a shot based on merit, where we have fewer young arms shredded by ignorance and the insane desire for gumption. But let's not lose sight of the fact that there are times when it's the least likely guys, the Howard Ehmkes and Sandy Amoroses and Marty Bystroms of the world that give the game it's most memorable moments, its deepest and truest magic.

So by all means, let's run the best guys out there for the All-Star Game. But let's save a few spots for the guys having magical years, for those roman candle careers that are just as much a part of the game, for the unlikely faces we're cheering even harder for because familiarity with the Jeff Kents of the world does breed that little bit of, if not contempt, then at least ennui.

So maybe he shouldn't start, but let's save a place for Ryan Ludwick on the bench, and let him get an inning in. Save a spot in the American League pen for George Sherrill, because he's living the dream to the fullest and doing it as well as could be imagined. Maybe twenty years from now, scholars of the game will look at the Ludwick vs Sherrill AB in the archives of the sport and wonder what the hell those guys were doing there, but right now, we understand. We know. And we'll cheer, no matter how it comes out.

Saturday, June 28, 2008

Interesting

In his take on the Ed Wade/Shawn Chacon situation, ken Rosenthal made reference to Wade's supposedly well-known temper.

When Wade was in Philadelphia, he was generally portrayed as a sort of mild-mannered bumbler, and the temper was nowhere in evidence in the local media coverage.

It's just interesting, that's all.

Friday, June 27, 2008

Blucher!

Terry Bradshaw admitted using steroids while playing for the mid-70's Pittsburgh Steelers, a team with more pharmacological issues than a retirement complex in Boca.

And horse steroids are in the news, with Big Brown's owner getting suspended and his trainer vowing to get his horses off drugs.

There's a joke in there somewhere, but I'm not the one to make it.

Thursday, June 26, 2008

Asteroid Power

The NBA draft is losing its appeal, I think in large part because once you get past the top few picks, nobody knows who these guys are. The relentless marketing machine of NCAA basketball has narrowed the spotlight to a very few players, which means that the vast majority are unknown to rooters outside their teams' conferences. Throw in the mandatory Obscure European Player Picks(TM) that spangle the first round - guys we won't be seeing in the league for years while they hone their games in Spain or Croatia or France - and the interest, apart from macabre "how far will he fall" stuff, fades after the big names are gone early.

Or to put it another way, I have no idea who Marreese Speights is. My wife attends NC State, and J.J. Hickson barely registered on my radar. The first I heard of Kosta Kofous was watching OSU dismantle their opponent in the NIT semifinals. And Sergei Ibaka? Nicolas Batum? These are not names that people eagerly speculate about. They don't quicken the pulse of the casual fan, or even the semi-serious one. And so it's a question of where do the big stars go, followed by "how far will this guy I actually heard of" fall. Making it worse is the disconnect between the college and pro games, the near certainty that guys who excelled on the college level are no-hopers in the pros (Paging J.J. Redick, J.J. Redick pick up the white courtesy phone) and there's no reason to watch. The guys who are going somewhere are guys you never heard of; the guys you heard of are mostly staying home. And after the fifth or sixth pick the star power is gone.

Punch Drunk Love

We don't know what exactly set Shawn Chacon off tonight, though his version of the story he gives us a pretty good idea. GM Ed Wade and manager Cecil Cooper wanted to talk to Chacon in private, and he didn't want to. Wade then began yelling, which Chacon didn't take kindly to. Eventually, when Wade wouldn't stop, Chacon went all Kimbo Slice on his boss, eventually throwing him to the floor and jumping on top of him in best Squared Circle fashion.

This will no doubt make for great sports column fodder for days, no doubt heavy on the moralizing. It doesn't take an ethical genius on the level of Spinoza to come down against grabbing your boss by the neck, even if he has in fact asked you into an annoying meeting. Then someone else will do something stupid, most likely either Ozzie Guillen or Manny Ramirez, and we'll forget all about this.

Which, of course, leaves me wondering. What on earth could Ed Wade, described as a bit of a milquetoast in his days in Philly, have said to set Chacon off like that. What drove Chacon, who if memory serves, had no reputation as a hothead or troublemaker, react so wildly. I'm sure we'll have explanations soon enough, but in the meantime the possibilities and speculation are endless

Though if I really had to lay odds, I'd say Wade told Chacon that even if he were an aging middle reliever, there's no way Wade would sign him.

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

One Used Pie, Half Off

If I'm going to sell something on eBay, I don't write in the item description that it's old, ugly, worthless, and painted chartreuse.

If' I'm trying to sell my house, I don't talk about the weird smells in the basement, the fact that a tribe of cannibal squirrels have carved out a generations-old fiefdom in the attic, and the AC gets cranking with a noise like an arthritic dimetrodon.

If I'm trying to sell my car, I don't run it through axle-deep mud before taking display photographs of it. I don't park it in the bad part of town with fifty bucks on the front seat, and I don't leave a bag of fish tacos in the trunk for a week during the summer.

It's bad business.

Why, then, do the Cubs insist on treating their tradeable assets this way? They're a good team, but not a perfect one, and their best hope of patching their few remaining holes is by flipping their tradable assets for something useful. Felix Pie. Matt Murton. Rich Hill. All of these were coveted assets at one point. All three have been buried by the Cubs, devaluing what they might possibly bring back, an approach that makes no sense whatsoever.

It's good for someone else, of course. Someone else might get Pie for pennies on the dollar, and help him harness his prodigious skills. Someone might get Hill on the cheap, and uncover the pitcher who was fifth in the NL in strikeouts last year. And Murton, well, Cleveland could probably use him right about now.

But they won't pay much to get him.

Sunday, June 22, 2008

Notes in a Minaya Key

It has been suggested elsewhere, most notably at ESPN.com by Rob Neyer, that Willie Randolph got his dead fish wrapped in newspaper at 12:15 local time, fairly standard for a post-night-game whacking. This, then, is putative proof that the fact that it hit the East Coast after everyone except infomercial fans had gone to bed is not evidence that the Mets weren't trying to get cute with things.

To quote the late Graham Chapman, that's as may be but it's still a frog.

at best, this argument suggests that the firing was a hastily thought out panic move. Surely an organization in the New York market should be aware of the perception certain to surround a 3:15 AM pink slip. Even if that wasn't the intention, the PR director should have been able to say "Whoah, guys, this is going to look bad. Can we wait until morning?" The fact that they didn't means that either the PR guys weren't consulted or they were overruled on their own turf, which just makes this look even more like management-by-overreactive-spasm.

Look, willie Randolph should never have been allowed to get on that plane with his job intact. If they knew they were going to fire him, they could have shown the grace of doing so before the trip started, saving him the aggravation and embarrassment. If they weren't going to fire him, what the hell could possibly have happened in that first game - a game that the Mets won, remember - to change Omar's decision?

Besides, it was a road trip, it was the West Coast - a great time and place to make a clean break and let the interim guy get a running start. But they bungled that, too, fumbling away any advantage that could have been wrung out of the situation. Ultimately, all the way this was handled did was reinforce the image of Mets-as-bumblers, and make the stone-faced Willie Randolph a sympathetic figure - surely not what was intended.

So, I'll cut Omar slack on the 3:15 thing, but not on the rest of it. Any way you slice it, the way the firing was handled stinks. You just don't handle your people that way, not if you want to continue to attract good people. You don't deliberately bring controversy onto your organization, you don't put yourself in a position where you look worse than you need to, and you don't put the organization on the hook for the ridiculous fees that come with changing transcontinental plane tickets on short notice. The best thing Minaya and the Mets can do now is admit that they bungled it and move on. The second best thing they can do is to get the hell out of Jerry Manuel's way for the rest of the season while avoiding the temptation to trade Fernando Martinez for a quick fix.

Saturday, June 21, 2008

I Am John McLaren of Clan McLaren, And I Am Immortal

Then again, maybe not.

It’s the silly season for managers, the time when GMs of fading teams recall the adage “you don’t have to outrun the wolf if you can throw someone out of the sleigh”. Managerial firings several purposes. If a GM’s feeling the heat, he can throw the manager overboard to distract attention from his performance. If the team is a no-hoper, then the shift in managers might distract fan attention away from the dismal, Willie Bloomquist-flavored product on the field. And if the team is underperforming, swapping out managers might actually jump-start the team by adding a little motivation, or replacing the last guy’s lousy player usage patterns with better ones.

(For all you anti-sabermetrics folks out there “player usage pattern” is a fancy way of saying “who plays and where”. It’s all very mathy, you know.)
There were three casualties this week, a rather high body count for in-season. Willie Randolph went first, and one can’t help but feel that Omar Minaya did it as a panic move to save his own job. Ordinarily, this would be a classic “shake up the underperformers” firing, except for two things: One, Jerry Manuel’s managing style is a lot like Willie’s, and two, there’s not a lot of shaking up that can be done on this team. There was no depth before injuries hit, and now, well, the bench talent is beyond risible. You can’t threaten to sit guys down unless their proposed replacements would be replacement level for the New Orleans Zephyrs. The Mets can’t afford to shake things up by, say, sitting Jose Reyes, not when the alternative is running Damion Easley out there day after day. No, the only reason this move was made was to buy Omar Minaya a little time for his expensive, aging bats and thin rotation to find themselves before the hammer comes down again.

John McLaren, on the other hand, was a no-hoper filing. In theory the Mariners were supposed to be contenders this year, but that’s a non-starter. By now, this team wouldn’t voom if you put four million volts through it, and changing the guy who writes the lineup card isn’t going to do much to change that. A new manager can’t catch the ball for Raul Ibanez, can’t move Jarrod Washburn’s fastballs off Broadway, can’t magically inject 300 points of OPS into Kenji Jojima’s line. Mind you, McLaren didn’t exactly cover himself with glory. The game I attended at Safeco featured Willie the Wonder Bloomquist batting second, and Miguel Cairo at first base – think about that for a minute. Miguel Cairo, light-hitting second baseman, at first base –which is like taking six outs, wrapping them up with a nice frilly bow, and mailing it to the other team with a card asking if they’ll be Howard Lincoln’s valentine. McLaren’s ouster, like that of his boss, was designed to tell the fan base “we’re making changes. Really, we are. Pay no attention to the washed-up catcher behind the curtain.” They’re not going to be good the rest of the way, but hey, at least they’ll be different.

And then there’s John Gibbons. This is a combo platter. I won’t go out there and say that J.P. Ricciardi’s bizarre anti-Adam Dunn rant inspired the firing, but stranger and less suspicious things have happened in Diebold voting machines. Ricciardi certainly needed a story to take the public’s eye off his refusal to consider adding exactly the sort of power bat the Jays desperately need, and replacing Gibbons with franchise hero Gaston certainly did the trick. For another, he can’t trade the players. They’re not that good. There’s nobody on that team who’s got obvious upside, and they’re all playing…all right. A little above average. If Ricciardi were a fantasy baseball manager, he’d be the sort who comes in seventh out of ten every year because he stocks his roster with guys who do a little bit of everything and nothing really well. The fact that they don’t have a particular outstanding skill means that there’s no room for obvious and huge immediate improvement. It also means that none of their players, excuse the Roy Halladay, are particularly appealing on the trade market. They’ve got little to offer, which means they’ll get little back, which means there’s little point to making a trade. So the only thing that can be shaken up is the manager’s seat, which is why John Gibbons is now scrounging cardboard boxes from around the Jays’ clubhouse to put his bobblehead collection in.

The problem with firings like that, however, is that they’re widely recognized as the last act of a desperate GM. There are no more excuses and no more sacrificial lambs. They built these teams, they put their guy in the dugout, and they made the midseason move that some would say matters. If they can’t put together a winning team after doing that, the logic then suggests that they may have been the real problem.

And that’s when John Gibbons calls up J.P. Ricciardi and asks if he needs to borrow any cardboard boxes.

Friday, June 20, 2008

The Great Blog Controversy of Ought-Eight

There are times when it really is better not to seek quite so avidly after The Last Word. Consider, for example, Buzz Bissinger. After his histrionic meltdown on Will Leitch over the evils of blogging, Bissinger had made a series of carefully worded, genuine-seeming retractions that indicated that perhaps he'd figured out that tarring all blogs with the same brush was a bit hasty. He even said nice things about a couple of them. Detente broke out. Bloggers came out of their basements and stared in wide wonder at the sun and the daily newspaper in the driveway. Old-school newspaper reporters dared see what this "googly" thing those damn kids down at the water cooler were talking about might be. Dogs and cats lived together.

Until Mr. Bissinger decided he needed the last word, and hoo boy, was it a doozy. In so many words, he suggested while a few single-topic blogs are all right, the general nature of blogginess is such that, had they known about it, the founding fathers would have never included Freedom of Speech in the Constitution.

Because, let's face it, the fact that they like to use naughty words on Kissing Suzy Kolber is the sort of thing that, if left unchecked, could destroy our society, allow the British to take us back over, and lead to moral turpitude of some degree or other.

With that in mind, I think it's worth looking at what Mr. Bissinger thinks he's saying, and then seeing if those arguments hold water.

For example, he says that while a few single topic blogs are useful and factual, the vast majority are evil, mean, and snarky. Now, I for one was unaware that good writing had to be restricted to a single topic, or that it had to be "useful" to be of quality. I occasionally enjoy writing that is "fun", "amusing", or even "thought-provoking" without necessarily being "informative" all the time. If informative is the only measure of value, then, yes, many blogs fail on that particular score. On the other hand, I don't know anyone besides Buzz Bissinger who reads blogs strictly for the factoid content. I read FJM because it amuses the hell out of me. I read The Anomalist because it provides great idea stimulus for my fiction writing. I read Joe Posnanski's blog because the guy can make words laugh, cry, and sing, often at the same time. I read Rob Neyer's blog over at ESPN.com in the vain hope of someday seeing Sportsthodoxy mentioned there. And so it goes. "Informative" is just one particular wavelength in the blogging spectrum, and setting it up as the only measure of quality is rigging the table, a rhetorical cheapshot. Or, to misquote Eddie Izzard, "If you don't have a flag, then by these rules I just made up, I win."

Furthermore, Bissinger's argument doesn't even hold water when applied to his own particular medium. Let's look at print periodicals, shall we? The last time I checked, not all of them were entirely informative. The National Enquirer, for one. Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine, for another. You get the idea. Other print mags have been known to be full of misinformation, disinformation, wild speculation, political partisanship, unfounded editorializing, and Yu-Gi-Oh cards, none of which is strictly "informative" (unless you're in touch with your inner Duelmaster, of course). The goofiness of an US magazine, however, does not detract one iota from the value of Discover; the fact that Asimov's prints mostly fiction in no way affects the merit of US News and World Report.

Or, to put it another way, just because some blogs suck - and a great many blogs do in fact wallow in innuendo, bad spelling, and uninformed cheapshottery - doesn't mean most or all blogs suck.

Next up is the accusation that blogs are mean-spirited, vicious slimepits where the worst of humanity gathers to fling mud at unsuspecting victims. To that, all a rational human being can say is, "Well, some of them, sure." Some bloggers do enjoy tearing down sports figures, using ad hominems, printing damaging rumors, and generally acting like a thirteen year old with his first copy of Playboy. (Print edition, of course.) Then again, anyone watching the coverage of our election cycle may be able to postulate that a lack of civility from commentators is hardly restricted to the blogging rabble. Bill Plaschke's hatchet job on Paul DePodesta out in Los Angeles - for God's sake, he even resorted to schoolyard namecalling, or have we all forgotten "Google Boy"? - was at least as mean-spirited as anything ever to run on Fire Joe Morgan, while being less funny, worse written, and less coherently composed. If you're going to condemn blogs for this, then the blame needs to get spread equally to other media, or the charge becomes baseless.

Then there's the suggestion that the community that gathers and posts comments on a blog is the blogger's responsibility, and that the commenting rabble's rudeness, crudeness, and lewdness is the blogger's fault. If that's the case, then someone needs to explain to me the level of venom and idiocy found in the comments sections on blogs like Jayson Stark's over at ESPN.com, or Ken Rosenthal's at Fox Sports. Surely Jayson isn't posting pictures of David Wright in a hot tub with a trio of scantily clad hotties. You can't say that Peter Gammons is quoting W.A.S.P. lyrics verbatim on his blog. But both of them, and many others, gather a community of commenters that is poisonously vicious, vituperative, and as profane as anything you'd find on a "basement" blogger's site.

So those three arguments, the big ones, don't hold water. What, then, is Bissinger going on about? I think there are a couple of things going on here. For one, he's completely missing the point of blogs, and holding them up to an absolute standard: blogs vs. New York Times/Boston Globe/Pulitzer Prize Committee. Which, grammar aside, is arrant nonsense. The point of blogging is for folks to put their thoughts and ideas out where people can read them, or not. Their nature is to be compositional, not factual. The fact that some are reliable sources of information is a tribute to the particular bloggers who compose on those sites; their success is theirs alone, and not part of a greater mandate that bloggerdom should be compelled to uphold.

For another, he's bought into the sad stereotype that blogs and bloggers are homogenous, that they're all the creation of socially inept nerds who work in comics stores and live in their parents' basement. This is, again, lousy logic. Judging the whole by the worst examples would get you thrown out of any freshman rhetoric course on the grounds that it's complete hooey. The other is just a tired ad hominem, thrown out there to rile up the yammering classes so that they go after the red flag ("Hey! I live on the third floor, thank you!") and not the dodgy premise Bissinger presents.

As an aside, I find the "nerds in basement" trope to be the worst sort of jock-sniffing. Sportswriters are not jocks, but they're the closest thing to jocks in the writing community, and they're jealous of that fact. They may not be able to play the game, but they get to hang out with and talk to the guys who do, and that confers coolness-by-proximity on them. Declaring that all bloggers wear fake Vulcan earswhen posting is nothing more than schoolyard bullying, and the reflexive "I actually TALK to the athletes" that follows demonstrates how insecure they really are in that role. Better yet, watch that old Warner Brothers cartoon with the bulldog and his yappy sidekick a few times. You'll get the idea.

Hell, my house doesn't even HAVE a basement.

Third, Bissinger posits a false dichotomy between blogs and "real journalism". When Pat Jordan posts on Deadspin and Baseball Analysts, when Paul DePodesta starts a blog, when venerable publications like Premiere go online only, there is no "us versus them" any more. We're all writers, some writing for pay, some simply to express our thoughts on the things that we care about, our words appearing in whatever format we can get them into. And the market will win out in the end. For-pay writers who can't cut it will no doubt find their material unread. Bloggers whose work holds particular appeal will find ways to monetize their efforts. The lines are blurred and disappearing. Bissinger is standing sentry on a dotted line that's already fading.

Yeah, some blogs suck, including quite possibly this one. It doesn't matter. They bring their creators joy, which is what they're all about. Holding them up to any other standard, particularly ones as artificial as those Bissinger postulates, is just plain silly. And meanwhile, the real winners are readers, whose options as to good writing are increasing every day.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

If I'm a Young GM Candidate...

...I move heaven and earth to try to get the Seattle Mariners job.

Yes, the last place, worst-in-the-majors, my-God-they-still-play-baseball here Mariners.

Because all the pieces are there for a turnaround, and with that turnaround the next GM is going to be a hero. (Unless, of course, the next GM is Steve Phillips, in which case the lahars coming down off Mt. Rainier might be seen as a more appealing alternative.)

Consider that the team has money, great gobs of it. Plus, ownership is willing to let other people spend it, an important distinction from spending it themselves. One nets you the 2004 Red Sox, the other gets you the Ed Whitson-era Yankees.

Consider also that the worst of the Bavasi-era contracts, Richie Sexson's subluxation of financial sanity, is about to go *poof* as the team kicks him to the curb. Even if they decide not to, his contract still wraps up at the end of the year. So, too, do the overpriced deals given to Raul "Fire Bad!" Ibanez and Jose Vidro. That's a lot of money coming off the books. In 2009, Batista and Washburn are done. Even if a bunch of that money goes to, say, resigning Erik Bedard, that's still a whole lot of money for the new GM to play with.

Consider also that the Mariners are so bad that whoever comes in next will likely have carte blanche to do anything he needs to. There's no move that could be made that any fan could really muster an argument against, unless it's switching J.J. Putz to handling a server station for garlic fries. That means it's finally safe to jettison Eckstein manque Willie Bloomquist. The team is so terrible with him that there's no longer an argument that can be made for keeping him. Even the shopworn "fan favorite" line can go now - fans' favorites are players who win games. And very, very few people on that roster are helping the Mariners win games.

Then there are the kids. With Bavasi gone and the somewhat eccentric lineup management of John McLaren shortly to follow, the new guy can mandate that they play the kids. And by kids we're talking monster prospects like Jeff Clement and Wladimir Balientin, guys who've gotten their feet went and experienced their growing pains, and who are now looking ready to step up bigtime. Just allowing them on the field regularly will be an improvement on the Ibanez-riffic Ancient Mariners, and they're only going to get better as they play more. The same can't be said of usual substitution faves like Miguel Cairo. This team almost can't help getting better.

Plus, the possibility exists to take over the town again, and fast. Consider the other sports options in Seattle. The Seahawks are poised for a down cycle. The Sonics are either leaving or litigating. UW football is, at best, meh. All of which means that even modest improvement will make the Mariners the toast of the town, and the man who engineered the almost-inevitable revival the toastiest.

Are there downsides? Sure. If there weren't, Bavasi would still have his job and the team wouldn't be in last place. There are still long-term contracts tied to overrated players, ones that will *cough cough Kenji Jojima* continue to haunt the team *cough cough Carlos Silva* for the next few years. The roster is mostly old, slow, and allergic to catching the baseball. Ichiro Suzuki clearly no longer has his heart in playing for this team, and it may not start winning soon enough to re-light his fire. Putz is injured, there's the looming spectre of free agency for Bedard, and the middle infield combo of Lopez and Betancourt seems to be regressing annually. That's a lot to overcome.

But with the advantages the Mariners have - money, the ability to blow the deadwood out the door, kids on the way - they seem like a good bet to overcome it.

And to make their next GM look very, very good.

When New Yorkers Say Nice Things About the Phillies, Run For It.

I love the Phillies. They are, bar none, the most exciting team to watch in the National League this year. When that offense gets going, forget it - they're going to mash, and mash, and mash. They play good defense, they've got cannon arms in right and center, their bullpen has been mostly lights out (excuse Tom Gordon of late), and their starting pitching has been at the very least, consistent. New York sports talk radio hosts are talking about them as a potential World Series team, and mentioning about how they could be about to go run and hide in the weaker-than-expected AL East.

But I can't help thinking they're not quite that good.

They feast on mediocre pitching. At the plate, their approach is Red Sox/Yankees lite. Be patient, wear out the other team's starters, and then beat the living hell out of the soft underbelly of the bullpen. It's a great strategy...if you can maintain it. The problem is, against good pitching, the Phillies can't. They get behind, and they press, and they chase, and they strike out a lot instead. Take another look at last year's playoff loss to the Rockies and you'll see it. And if they get to the playoffs, they're going to see good pitching. Maybe against the Cubs, maybe against the Diamondbacks with Haren and Webb and Johnson. The point is, they'll run up against it, and their weakness at the plate will be exposed. At the same time, their starting pitching is mediocre, and as Joe Sheehan at BP pointed out, their bullpen can't possibly be this good all year long. And their starting pitching just isn't that good. The Manny Ramirezes of the world salivate at the thought of standing in against guys like Kyle Kendrick and Adam Eaton in October, soft-tossers who can be waited out until they're forced to throw their sub-optimal fastballs right down Broadway.

And Broadway is often one swing of the bat from Lansdowne Street.

So I'll enjoy watching the Phillies this year. But I don't think they're going to win it all, more's the pity.

Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Gone, Willie, Gone

3:15 AM is not when you get fired.

3:15 is when the secret police come pounding on the door, the dogs barking to let you know there's no way out. It's when the phone rings and it's always real bad news, the call coming from a hospital or the side of the road. It's when cheating lovers try to sneak in the back door, listening for floorboard creaks as they make their way in dread to the darkened stairs.

It's not when you fire the manager of a baseball team, particularly not a team that just flew out west, just won its game, just went through yet another round of "is the manager going to get fired?" questions. If the Mets thought they could downplay the whole thing by waiting until the team was out of New York and most WFAN listeners were asleep before lowering the boom on Willie Randolph, well, that's the sort of thinking that would have worked in 1974. These days, not so much.

Did Randolph deserve to get fired? Probably. His team wasn't responding to him and the talented players weren't playing up to their potential. But you can't blame Willie for a thin bench, for a roster constructed of aging and injury-prone veterans without adequate replacements waiting for their inevitable breakdowns, for the annual Billy Wagner finger-point-and-melt-down. If he'd gotten more from Jose Reyes, Randolph probably wouldn't be in this position right now. If he hadn't had to try to get more from Endy Chavez, Marlon Anderson, and suchlike, if his roster hadn't been constructed that losing Ryan Church was actually a major blow, then he probably wouldn't be in this position now, either.

All of which means that Omar Minaya has used his last bullet. He's out of cover, and the next body to hit the floor will be his. And if Jerry Manuel doesn't somehow take this mismatched collection of parts and start winning immediately, then the call will go out on the airwaves for his head, too.

Saturday, June 07, 2008

Math, Sporting News Style

If the Bulls select Derrick Rose, it could be the first step in fulfilling the NBA's dream scenario of its three most exciting individual stars - Kobe Bryant, LeBron James, and Dwyane Wade - in its three biggest markets - Los Angeles, New York, and Chicago.
-NBA writer Sam Smith
Except, of course, that Kobe is already in LA, so this scenario would be the second step. Or maybe the third.

I'll leave uncommented the notion that the NBA wants to actively steer certain players to certain markets, which must be heartening to fans in cities that are not LA, Chicago, or New York.

Dodgers Trade for Angel Berroa

That's Rob Neyer over on the left.


I'll just let that one sink in for a moment.

Or, to put it another way, someone actually wanted Angel Berroa. As in, gave up more than a bag of casaba melons and two Bob Stinson-model bats to get him.

Somewhere, Rob Neyer & the Poz & Rany Jazayerli are doing their own little recreation of the "celebratory Ewok village dance" from Return of the Jedi. You know, the original one, before George Lucas re-cut it and added new and exciting CGI completely unrelated to the plot. Jub jub.

Of all the indictments that can potentially be made of the Coletti regime, this may be the one that even Bill Plaschke can't defend, the thing that ten years from now still causes the readership of Dodger Thoughts to go into apoplectic shock. Yes, I know that Berroa won the RoY award, back in the day. So did Ted Sizemore, and I don't think you want him on your team now, either. Actually, at this point Sizemore is probably better at going to his left than Berroa, and he's definitely got more stick.

The worst part, though, is not that the Dodgers acquired Berroa. The worst part is that they actually paid something for him, and on top of that they're paying his full salary. If Coletti can't convince someone to open their wallet, even for beer money, to help get Angel Berroa off their roster, then he's got worse negotiating skills than Neville Chamberlain.

But hey, it's good news for the Diamondbacks.

Friday, June 06, 2008

Deadspin Loses Chief Spinner

So Will Leitch is hanging up the blog, moving out of his parents' basement, and getting a "real" journalism job.

Buzz Bissinger either feels very stupid right now, or is preparing a marriage proposal.

In Other Sports News...

...the convicted steroid dealer who'd named NFL names has been found shot dead in his home, along with his sometime girlfriend. The fact that an anonymous caller suggested the dead man's father call the Plano, TX police would seem to provide some indication that this wasn't, say, a gun-cleaning accident.

Somehow, this makes the gum-flapping over Rafael Palmeiro look very, very silly.

Thursday, June 05, 2008

Smoltz

A shredded shoulder's not easy to come back from when you're 21, let alone 41. I don't think we'll be seeing him scowling down off the mound again.

Tuesday, June 03, 2008

Baseball: Hearts and Minds

There is much squawking about how we're losing a generation of baseball fans because the sport is A) on too late at night B) not attracting African-American athletes and C) not football.

Here, then, is my thought on how baseball can stop that yammering, attract a wider youth demographic, and increase its popularity.

Attract More African-American Players/Northern Players
A broader, more diverse talent base within the US means more fans of those players within the US. While baseball has by far the most ethnically diverse makeup of any of the major sports, the conventional wisdom is that the sport has lost its grip on inner-city African-American kids. Furthermore, kids from northern climes don't get to play year-round like their peers in southern California, Florida, and Texas. So entire regions of the country don't have their own favorite sons to root for, dampening involvement.

The question, then, is how to get these athletes playing baseball. The answer is...

More College Baseball Scholarships
One of the reasons cited for baseball's losing ground to basketball and football in competition for African-American athletes is that there are a whole lot more football and basketball scholarships to hand out, relatively speaking, than baseball ones. Football has 85. Baseball has 13.5 per team, and they're divvied up in fractions and slices amongst the entire team. Simply put, it makes more economic sense for a two-sport athlete to choose college football or basketball.

So, there need to be more scholarships. More scholarships = more athletes on scholarship = more chances to develop kids who haven't been playing in traveling teams since they were six, or who can't afford school on a partial scholarship. The problem there is simple: football and basketball get the big perks because they're the big revenue sports. The trick, then, is to turn baseball into a big revenue sport so that it can support more scholarships. To do that, baseball needs to...

Make the Draft Matter
The NFL really didn't cement its stranglehold on the US until it made the draft An Event. It provided a shot of football in the offseason, got fans talking about their teams throughout a larger chunk of the year, and provided a talking point and a ray of hope for fans of the Arizona Cardinals (and other sad-sack franchises). Not coincidentally, this also amped national interest in the college game, as NFL fans started paying attention to whom their teams might draft.
This was done in part by making picks tradeable, in part by encouraging the development of the Kipergentsia, and in part by hyping the kids.

Hype the kids, and the fans will want to see the kids. If more people want to watch the kids, that's more money that the NCAA can demand for college baseball rights and more paying customers in seats. More money means more scholarships to offer, which means more of the top kids playing college baseball.

It is, I think, no coincidence that this year we've heard more about the MLB amateur draft than ever before. That it got a two-page spread in The Sporting News, and a ton of Keith Law-flavored coverage over at ESPN.com. That people who normally wouldn't know a super-regional from Krypto the Super-dog know who Justin Smoak and Buster Posey are. The men who run baseball are not stupid. They know where this path leads, and they're actively encouraging it. And, as a fan, I say more power to 'em.

Monday, June 02, 2008

Why does it always have to be apocalyptic?

"CAN SID THE KID SAVE HOCKEY?"

Err, no. Even if he were the greatest player ever, he'd still have to play against someone, still need challengers and nemeses and opponents so that the game was worth watching. And by setting up this artificial crisis - hockey's doing quite well since the strike, thank you, with higher TV ratings and attendance - the sensationalist wing of the sports media sets Crosby, and hockey, up for failure if he's not utterly transcendent this first time on the national stage. Oh my God, he didn't score nine goals in the first three minutes, he must be a failure. Oh my God, the Penguins are getting stomped by a better, more experienced team, in much the same way the Rockies got stomped by the Red Sox? Call the riot police, Crosby's career is in ruins and the NHL is in flames.

It's ridiculous, inappropriate, and wrong, and it cannibalizes the very product that sportswriters should be celebrating. Crosby is a transcendent talent; the story ought to be about his showing off his skills in prime time and playing up all the other marketable aspects of this series, not a contrived doomsday scenario. And if they shout "hockey is dead!" enough times with nonsense like this, well, someone might start to believe them...which would then put a whole bunch of sportswriters out of work.

I'm not suggesting that journalists need to be senseless pollyannas. But if they love and respect the sports they're covering, they need to recognize the potential effect of the stories they choose to promulgate, and to think about, just maybe, not making it apocalypse now, every time.