If you told a Cincinnati Red fan after the 2007 season that the team's 2009 fate rested on the right arm of Aaron Harang, the fan would've probably welcomed the news with a sincerely confident smile. Flash forward to Spring Training 2009 and the smile is nowhere to be seen. Harang's 2008 campaign is yet another bit of proof that fortunes in Major League Baseball can change very quickly and just as drastically.
The guy was coming off back-to-back 16 win seasons in which he posted earned run averages around 3.70 and strikeout totals over 215. Last year, the wheels came off the Harang wagon to the tune of a 6-17 record, a 4.79 ERA, and only 153 Ks.
The reality of those numbers was much uglier. So the the news that Aaron Harang holds the key to the Cincinnati Reds' fortunes in the forthcoming year should be granted with some concern.
Then again, Harang had been nothing if not consistent until 2008 and he had seen three straight years of 200+ innings so maybe all he need was an off year to regain his full strength. We'll see.
Here's how the rest of the club should shape up:
Projected starting lineup
Catcher—Ramon Hernandez
First base—Joey Votto
Second base—Brandon Phillips
Third base—Edwin Encarnacion
Shortstop—Jerry Hairston, Jr.
Left field—Chris Dickerson
Center field—Willy Taveras
Right field—Jay Bruce
The National League Central is outside my official jurisdiction so I don't know how the position battles are shaping up, but I do know that Norris Hopper (corner outfield spots), Alex Gonzalez (SS), and Jeff Keppinger (SS) all should get a fair shake at a starting job. But judging from youth and performance, I'd go with the lineup you see above. Hairston's proven to be a bit fragile so Gonzalez and/or Keppinger should see the field regardless.
Oh yeah—Jonny Gomes, Daryle Ward, and Jacque Jones appear to be on the roster at the moment.
Starting rotation
Ace—Edinson Volquez (R)
Second spot—Bronson Arroyo (R)
Third spot—Aaron Harang (R)
Fourth spot—Johnny Cueto (R)
Fifth spot—Ramon Ramirez (R)/Homer Bailey (R)/Micah Owings (R)
You can see why Harang is so important. If he rebounds the only glaring weakness in the rotation is that fifth spot. Ramirez appears to have the inside track on the gig since his recent performance has been the strongest. However, he's got only four starts. Still, both Bailey and Owings had abysmal showings in 2008. Homer's pitching future may still be bright; he's only gonna be 23 in May. Micah, though, might be better off opting for the Rick Ankiel route.
Bullpen
Closer—Francisco Cordero (R)
Set-up—Arthur Rhodes (L)
Set-up—David Weathers (R)
Set-up—Bill Bray (L)
As is the truth for most teams in the National League Central, offense should not be a problem for the Redlegs.
Brandon Phillips is one of the elite second sackers in MLB—his 2008 season resulted in only a .261 average, but he packaged that with 24 doubles, 21 home runs, 80 runs scored, 78 runs batted in, 23 stolen bases, a .312 on-base percentage, and a .754 OPS. And he'll start the season at the age of 27 so there's still room to grow.
Joey Votto is even younger at 25, but he's already shown signs of delivering on some of the hype that his rise through the lower levels generated. His 2008 campaign (his first full year in the Show) saw a .297 average, 32 doubles, 24 bombs, 69 runs scored, 84 RBI, a .368 OBP, and an .874 OPS. Just a repeat of that would be great new for Cinci and Votto's history of progression through experience indicates 2009 should be even better.
Even a guy like Edwin Encarnacion—a guy who people seem to think has plateaued—still has some significant potential for making a leap. The dude is only 26 and already has 3 1/2 years in the pros. His defense may always be a bit rough, but 2008 saw him hit .251 with 29 doubles, 26 HRs, 75 runs, 68 RBI, a .340 OBP, and an .807 OPS. Most clubs would take that from third base.
The real wild card in the batter's box is Jay Bruce. Here is a 22-year-old kid who spent pretty much his entire first year of legal drinking eligibility playing Major League Baseball in 2008. And his final marks were pretty impressive—.254, 17 doubles, 21 taters, 63 runs, 52 RBI, .314 OBP, and .767 OPS. Still, there's allegedly a lot more where in those talent reservoirs.
Bruce was supposed to be a terror on the base paths and we didn't see that too much. But that isn't too surprising considering the youngster probably had enough to think about out there. Regardless, 2009 could be a break-out moment for Bruce or he could enter a sophomore slump.
The former would be fantastic news for the Reds and bad news for the rest of the Senior Circuit. The latter would be just as significant in the other direction for both groups.
The rest of the lineup is fragile and unproven.
Jerry Hairston Jr. threw up a gaudy .326 average and 15 steals when healthy, but only managed 261 at-bats. Jeff Keppinger had stretches of white hot production, but needs to prolong them in order to see regular playing time. Chris Dickerson looks like he might be the real deal, but it's a bit early to proclaim him the bona fide answer after only 102 ABs. Willy Taveras is like a water-strider whenever he can get on base, but that doesn't happen frequently enough considering his lack of other attributes.
Still, if I'm a Red fan, I'm far more concerned about the rotation and arms in the 'pen.
Edinson Volquez was brutal on the opposition last year, but the performance came outta nowhere. There's no guarantee he's the same guy in 2009 (although I think he'll be just fine). Bronson Arroyo probably will never jostle for a Cy Young, but he'll keep a good offense in most games and takes the ball almost every time his turn comes up.
Johnny Cueto showed signs of life at times in 2008 and he's only 23 so Cincinnati will probably—and rightly—be pretty patient with that talented young arm. The fifth spot is a free-for-all, but that's pretty much true for most clubs.
Francisco Cordero is a legit stud at the back end, even if he makes you sweat the last frame out more often than anyone would like. Bill Bray, David Weathers, and Arthur Rhodes could all be great or each could be worse than the previous stiff. Again, true of most middle relievers and set-up men across the Big League landscape.
And that's why it all boils down to Aaron Harang.
If he can recapture the form of a 16-game winner with a mid-3.00 ERA with 200+ whiffs? That would give Cincinnati three genuine top-of-the-rotation arms (Volquez/Harang/Arroyo) with another possibly due to arrive in the very near future (Cueto) and a beast to shut the door (Cordero).
That would give the Reds a sincere chance in the NL Central, even against the Chicago Cubs. It'd probably even insert them into the thick of the Wild Card race.
If Harang continues to decompose right before our very eyes?
That offense is gonna have to be even better than it looks on paper for Cinci to even keep the Cubbies in sight.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
The Chicago Cubs' 2009 Slightly Premature Preview
There is no heavier burden than great potential.—Charlie Brown
Charles Schultz might revise that statement in the face of this year's Chicago Cubs team. The 2009 Cubbies will be laboring under that heavy burden Charlie Brown bemoaned as well as decades and decades...and decades and decades of futility. Having said that, they are still one of three gorillas in the National League.
Along with the defending champion Philadelphia Phillies and the always-good-for-a-laugh-in-September New York Mets, the Cubs figure to be one of the favorites to represent the Senior Circuit in the World Series this year. And that's not without reason.
Chicago had a formidable roster by the time the 2008 postseason rolled around and it got a stronger.
Milton Bradley and Kevin Gregg now call Wrigley Field home, plus the Cubs stand to benefit from another year of maturity on Sean Marshall and better years from Derek Lee and/or Aramis Ramirez. With that preface in mind, take a look at how the club should shape up:
Projected starting lineup
Catcher—Geovany Soto
First base—Derek Lee
Second base—Aaron Miles/Mike Fontenot
Third base—Aramis Ramirez
Shortstop—Ryan Theriot
Left field—Alfanso Soriano
Center field—Reed Johnson
Right field—Milton Bradley/Kosuke Fukudome
Bradley's already dinged up—or so he says, remember that veterans aren't above dogging it a bit in Spring Training. Regardless, Chicago isn't going to get 162 starts from him in right. Like it or not, Fukudome is gonna figure in the mix unless Joey Gathright can somehow jump him. Micah Hoffpauir might actually be the best bet, but his sample size is still a tad small.
Starting rotation
Ace—Carlos Zambrano (R)
Second spot—Ryan Dempster (R)
Third spot—Ted Lilly (L)
Fourth spot—Rich Harden (R)
Fifth spot—Sean Marshall (L)
I know, I know—Harden is the second best arm in this rotation when healthy (arguably the best). The key there is "when healthy." In order to keep him off the shelf and shake up the righty-lefty order, I'd move him down in the rotation so I could skip a couple starts over the course of the year. Plus, can you imagine matching up most team's fourth starter against Harden? Niiiice.
Bullpen
Closer—Carlos Marmol (R)
Set-up—Kevin Gregg (R)
Set-up—Jeff Samardzija (R)
Set-up—Neal Cotts (L)
Set-up—Aaron Heilman (R)
On paper, that club should waltz it's way to at least the National League Championship Series. Of course, you could've probably said the same thing about 2008's version and we all know how that ended. This year, though, the Cubbies have made several improvements.
The order is more formidable and that's saying something because it was pretty potent last year.
I never understood why everyone was so convinced Kosuke Fukudome was gonna be a star, even after his hot start. His role's reduced, having been supplanted by Milton Bradley. Bradley's an offensive stud when he's healthy and figures to produce well from one of the outfield corners.
Derek Lee and Aramis Ramirez both had down years. Their numbers look pretty good—a .291 average, 41 doubles, 20 homeruns, 93 runs scored, 90 runs batted in, a .361 on-base percentage, and an .823 OPS for Lee with a .289 average, 44 doubles, 27 HRs, 97 runs scored, 111 RBI, a. 380 OBP, and an .898 OPS for Ramirez. But the supporting case was better than in recent years so the numbers are misleading. Aramis was whiffing far more than usual and Lee couldn't keep the ball of the ground at times.
Even if both continue a slow decline, they shouldn't be much worse and a rebound from either or both wouldn't be shocking considering Lee's only 33 and Ramirez is three years younger.
Geovany Soto quickly established himself as one of the best offensive backstops in the game last year while posting a .285 average with 35 doubles, 23 bombs, 66 runs scored, 86 RBI, a .364 OBP, and an .868 OPS. Those are great numbers from any position, from catcher? Whoa.
It's true that losing Mark DeRosa and Jim Edmonds might sting a bit. But Aaron Miles is serviceable and I personally like what Mike Fontenot's shown thus far. Over the last couple of years, Fontenot has seen 479 at-bats—about a full year's worth. He's tallied a .290 average with 34 doubles, 12 homers, 78 runs scored, 69 RBI, a .369 OBP, and an .826 OPS.
That'll do in a pinch and he might have room to grow considering he's only 28 and has yet to see full-time duty in the Bigs.
As for Edmonds' alleged replacement, Reed Johnson won't hit for the power that Jimmy did, but he won't strikeout as much and will hit for much better average. Chicago's power production shouldn't be a problem so that looks like a good swap to me.
When it takes this long to get to a player the caliber of Alfonso Soriano, that's saying something about your offense.
Meanwhile, the pitching is just as pretty a picture...on paper.
Carlos Zambrano is a horse with that edge that an ace needs to survive. Ryan Dempster—though not worth the contract he got—is a damn fine number two or three. Rich Harden could be even better than Big Z if he could make 30 starts and Ted Lilly is a nice three or four. While Sean Marshall isn't as consistent as the departed Jason Marquis, he's got a higher upside if he can realize the raw potential in his 26-year-old, 6'7" frame.
In the bullpen, losing Bobby Howry and Kerry Wood will hurt. But adding Kevin Gregg, putting another year of experience on the nasty Carlos Marmol, and getting a full year from a wiser Jeff Samardzija should be a nice little balm for that sore spot. Those are three quality arms and weakest (Gregg) is the wiliest.
It says here the Chicago Cubs are clearly the class of the NL Central. Nobody has the guns or the bats on paper to compete with them in baseball's biggest division. The Cincinnati Reds might be able to run with the Cubbies for while if Aaron Harang can bounce back, Johnny Cueto progresses, and Edinson Volquez doesn't regress. But they'd still need some lucky breaks from their young guys on offense.
Therein lies part of the problem from the lovable losers from the North Side.
Nothing short of the postseason will be considered a success. Even another first round kick to the seat will be received with groans and hostility. And these are the Chicago Cubs we're talking about—a franchise that's not exactly robust in their resolve against adversity according to recent history.
That doesn't bode particularly well.
Neither does relying on the insane fragility of Milton Bradley, Rich Harden, and Alfonso Soriano. Those three guys WILL go down at some point. You can also bet another key player will spend some time on the Disabled List because that's just the nature of the game.
So the path to Major League Baseball's second season isn't as sunny and safe as it might look.
If the Chicago Cubs can deal with the expectations and the constant questions about their historic futility and the injuries that are sure to come, they should be a sight to behold.
If not?
They'll still be worth watching. But for an entirely different reason.
Charles Schultz might revise that statement in the face of this year's Chicago Cubs team. The 2009 Cubbies will be laboring under that heavy burden Charlie Brown bemoaned as well as decades and decades...and decades and decades of futility. Having said that, they are still one of three gorillas in the National League.
Along with the defending champion Philadelphia Phillies and the always-good-for-a-laugh-in-September New York Mets, the Cubs figure to be one of the favorites to represent the Senior Circuit in the World Series this year. And that's not without reason.
Chicago had a formidable roster by the time the 2008 postseason rolled around and it got a stronger.
Milton Bradley and Kevin Gregg now call Wrigley Field home, plus the Cubs stand to benefit from another year of maturity on Sean Marshall and better years from Derek Lee and/or Aramis Ramirez. With that preface in mind, take a look at how the club should shape up:
Projected starting lineup
Catcher—Geovany Soto
First base—Derek Lee
Second base—Aaron Miles/Mike Fontenot
Third base—Aramis Ramirez
Shortstop—Ryan Theriot
Left field—Alfanso Soriano
Center field—Reed Johnson
Right field—Milton Bradley/Kosuke Fukudome
Bradley's already dinged up—or so he says, remember that veterans aren't above dogging it a bit in Spring Training. Regardless, Chicago isn't going to get 162 starts from him in right. Like it or not, Fukudome is gonna figure in the mix unless Joey Gathright can somehow jump him. Micah Hoffpauir might actually be the best bet, but his sample size is still a tad small.
Starting rotation
Ace—Carlos Zambrano (R)
Second spot—Ryan Dempster (R)
Third spot—Ted Lilly (L)
Fourth spot—Rich Harden (R)
Fifth spot—Sean Marshall (L)
I know, I know—Harden is the second best arm in this rotation when healthy (arguably the best). The key there is "when healthy." In order to keep him off the shelf and shake up the righty-lefty order, I'd move him down in the rotation so I could skip a couple starts over the course of the year. Plus, can you imagine matching up most team's fourth starter against Harden? Niiiice.
Bullpen
Closer—Carlos Marmol (R)
Set-up—Kevin Gregg (R)
Set-up—Jeff Samardzija (R)
Set-up—Neal Cotts (L)
Set-up—Aaron Heilman (R)
On paper, that club should waltz it's way to at least the National League Championship Series. Of course, you could've probably said the same thing about 2008's version and we all know how that ended. This year, though, the Cubbies have made several improvements.
The order is more formidable and that's saying something because it was pretty potent last year.
I never understood why everyone was so convinced Kosuke Fukudome was gonna be a star, even after his hot start. His role's reduced, having been supplanted by Milton Bradley. Bradley's an offensive stud when he's healthy and figures to produce well from one of the outfield corners.
Derek Lee and Aramis Ramirez both had down years. Their numbers look pretty good—a .291 average, 41 doubles, 20 homeruns, 93 runs scored, 90 runs batted in, a .361 on-base percentage, and an .823 OPS for Lee with a .289 average, 44 doubles, 27 HRs, 97 runs scored, 111 RBI, a. 380 OBP, and an .898 OPS for Ramirez. But the supporting case was better than in recent years so the numbers are misleading. Aramis was whiffing far more than usual and Lee couldn't keep the ball of the ground at times.
Even if both continue a slow decline, they shouldn't be much worse and a rebound from either or both wouldn't be shocking considering Lee's only 33 and Ramirez is three years younger.
Geovany Soto quickly established himself as one of the best offensive backstops in the game last year while posting a .285 average with 35 doubles, 23 bombs, 66 runs scored, 86 RBI, a .364 OBP, and an .868 OPS. Those are great numbers from any position, from catcher? Whoa.
It's true that losing Mark DeRosa and Jim Edmonds might sting a bit. But Aaron Miles is serviceable and I personally like what Mike Fontenot's shown thus far. Over the last couple of years, Fontenot has seen 479 at-bats—about a full year's worth. He's tallied a .290 average with 34 doubles, 12 homers, 78 runs scored, 69 RBI, a .369 OBP, and an .826 OPS.
That'll do in a pinch and he might have room to grow considering he's only 28 and has yet to see full-time duty in the Bigs.
As for Edmonds' alleged replacement, Reed Johnson won't hit for the power that Jimmy did, but he won't strikeout as much and will hit for much better average. Chicago's power production shouldn't be a problem so that looks like a good swap to me.
When it takes this long to get to a player the caliber of Alfonso Soriano, that's saying something about your offense.
Meanwhile, the pitching is just as pretty a picture...on paper.
Carlos Zambrano is a horse with that edge that an ace needs to survive. Ryan Dempster—though not worth the contract he got—is a damn fine number two or three. Rich Harden could be even better than Big Z if he could make 30 starts and Ted Lilly is a nice three or four. While Sean Marshall isn't as consistent as the departed Jason Marquis, he's got a higher upside if he can realize the raw potential in his 26-year-old, 6'7" frame.
In the bullpen, losing Bobby Howry and Kerry Wood will hurt. But adding Kevin Gregg, putting another year of experience on the nasty Carlos Marmol, and getting a full year from a wiser Jeff Samardzija should be a nice little balm for that sore spot. Those are three quality arms and weakest (Gregg) is the wiliest.
It says here the Chicago Cubs are clearly the class of the NL Central. Nobody has the guns or the bats on paper to compete with them in baseball's biggest division. The Cincinnati Reds might be able to run with the Cubbies for while if Aaron Harang can bounce back, Johnny Cueto progresses, and Edinson Volquez doesn't regress. But they'd still need some lucky breaks from their young guys on offense.
Therein lies part of the problem from the lovable losers from the North Side.
Nothing short of the postseason will be considered a success. Even another first round kick to the seat will be received with groans and hostility. And these are the Chicago Cubs we're talking about—a franchise that's not exactly robust in their resolve against adversity according to recent history.
That doesn't bode particularly well.
Neither does relying on the insane fragility of Milton Bradley, Rich Harden, and Alfonso Soriano. Those three guys WILL go down at some point. You can also bet another key player will spend some time on the Disabled List because that's just the nature of the game.
So the path to Major League Baseball's second season isn't as sunny and safe as it might look.
If the Chicago Cubs can deal with the expectations and the constant questions about their historic futility and the injuries that are sure to come, they should be a sight to behold.
If not?
They'll still be worth watching. But for an entirely different reason.
Friday, February 27, 2009
The Pittsburgh Pirates' 2009 Slightly Premature Preview
Every year, some team completely jumps the entire Major League Baseball world. Last year it was arguably the Tampa Bay Rays or the Milwaukee Brewers. Some people will say the Rays had so much young talent that their magical run to the World Series wasn't such a surprise. That's find and good except show me one person who expected all that young talent to arrive so early and explosively.
I'd wager he or she will be tough to find (and homers don't count if any exist for Tampa).
Even so, the Brew Crew reversed—or at least gave a momentary reprieve—to Lord knows how many years of futility by trading for C.C. Sabathia and riding his left arm to the postseason.
Regardless of who your preferred stunner is, the point is there almost always is one. That's why I've been wanting to write about the Pittsburgh Pirates for a while. Not necessarily because they will play good baseball, but because there is reason to think they may be the team that shocks the baseball world.
Let's keep this in perspective.
For the Pirates, shocking would be a winning season. Obviously, the Buccos are subject to the same immutable rules of the baseball gods so they—like anyone else—could find their lucky stride and breeze deep into the postseason. But if there's a fan out there who sincerely believes that will happen, I'd request he/she be kept in restraints.
No, I'm talking there's reason to think these guys might be pretty good, even keep their collective head above water.
And that's gotta put a smile on the face of most Buc fans—the franchise is under the crushing weight of a 16-YEAR losing streak. As in, Pittsburgh hasn't played .500 ball for an entire season since 1992 (a year that saw the club win 96 games). Plus, they're a small market team in a down economy that labors in a division with one of MLB's big spenders—the Chicago Cubs.
Even with all the right breaks, it's gonna be tough for the Pirates to compete with the leviathan that figures to rule the division from the get-go. Still, check out the roster and there's a lot to like:
Projected starting lineup
Catcher—Ryan Doumit
First base—Adam LaRoche
Second base—Freddy Sanchez
Third base—Andy LaRoche/Eric Hinske
Shortstop—Jack Wilson
Left field—Nyjer Morgan/Eric Hinske
Center field—Nate McLouth
Right field—Brandon Moss/Eric Hinske
Craig Monroe is also floating around Spring Training on a minor league contract, but I think this is pretty much the way the Buccos will hit the field on Opening Day. The only legitimate question is whether Hinske will be starting at one of those three positions or whether he'll be handling each in a back-up capacity.
Starting rotation
Ace—Paul Maholm (L)
Second spot—Ian Snell (R)
Third spot—Zach Duke (L)
Fourth spot—Jeff Karstens (R)
Fifth spot—Tom Gorzelanny (L)
Again, I'm fond of alternating sides to mess with the opposing team. These guys are professional hitters, but hitting is still an ability where failing 70 percent of the time makes you one of the best in the business. Anything that makes it more difficult helps and it's gotta be easier settling into a groove when you see righty-righty-lefty-lefty-lefty. Phil Dumatrait is working his way back from injury and, depending on his progress (slow at the moment), he may figure in the picture—that might not be a good thing.
Bullpen
Closer—Matt Capps (R)
Set-up—John Grabow (L)
Set-up—Tyler Yates (R)
Set-up—Craig Hansen (R)
Alright, that's obviously not a juggernaut. Even if everyone plays above expectation.
I still say there's a lot to like, particularly on offense. Ryan Doumit can flat-out rake and that's a huge plus considering his contributes from the weakest position for offense on the field excluding the pitcher. Name another team that got a .318 average, 34 doubles, 15 homeruns, 69 runs batted in, 71 runs scored, a .357 on-base percentage, and an OPS of .858 in 431 at-bats from the guy donning the Tools of Ignorance.
The only catchers who consistently rate out above Doumit are names like Geovany Soto, Joe Mauer, Brian McCann, and Bengie Molina i.e. the best in the biz.
There's no need to delve too deeply into Nate McLouth other than to say his 2008 line—.276 average, 46 doubles, 26 taters, 94 RBI, 113 runs scored, 23 stolen bases, .356 OBP, and an .853 OPS in 597 ABs—was legit. Nate was probably the first Pirate All-Star in recent memory to earn his way onto the team rather than sneak in through the "Every Team Must Be Represented" side door.
And we were born on the same day (different years) so he's gotta be the real deal.
The rest of the lineup isn't too shabby either. Freddy Sanchez is a career .300 hitter (with no pop whatsoever) who won the batting title in 2006. Jack Wilson isn't gonna set the world afire, but he's a solid contributor from short. Both are slick leathermen up the middle.
Adam LaRoche typically starts slowly, but he's a pretty reliable bet for about a .270 average, 30+ doubles, 25 HRs, and a healthy run at 100 RBI. His brother has heretofore stunk the joint up—that's presumably why the Bucs grabbed Eric Hinske—but he was once a highly touted prospect in the Los Angeles Dodger system.
Ditto Brandon Moss except he was in the Boston Red Sox system.
Nyjer Morgan has only 267 big league ABs, but that's more than enough to form a relevant sample size since it probably takes at most 50 plate appearances (and he's obviously got more than 267 of those) for scouts in the Show to get a book on a guy. In those 267+ appearances, Morgan's registered a .296 average with 16 doubles, 41 runs scored, 16 SBs, and an OBP of .351.
However, that's the good. The bad is the pitching and that's the problem because you only go as far as your hurlers can take you. On the hill, the glimmer of hope is flickering a little less brightly.
Paul Maholm, Ian Snell, Zack Duke, and Tom Gorzelanny have all shown flashes of brilliance in their young careers. Unfortunately for them, the flashes have been more the exception than the general rule. Still, that means they have the talent to do the job on a nightly basis; the trick is actually doing it. With that much obvious ability and a considerable amount of it coming from the south side, I'd be cautiously optimistic if I were a Pittsburgh fan.
Consistency is the last thing to come for pitchers and it often comes unexpectedly.
The bullpen's absolute back end is actually pretty stout if form holds. Matt Capps is a beast and John Grabow filled in serviceably when Capps went down with injury. Tyler Yates wasn't too bad either in a couple save spots and can bring it from the left side (see a common theme here?). The rest of the picture is murky though and you need more than three arms to get through 162 games.
Craig Hansen hasn't exactly been overwhelming to date. And the rest of the guys don't have much of a track record of which to speak.
Here's the real rub though: Sanchez is 31 years old, Yates 31, Hinske 31, Wilson 31, Grabow 30, Adam LaRoche 29, Morgan 28, Doumit 28, Snell 28, McLouth 27, Maholm 27, Duke 26, Karstens 26, Gorzelanny 26, Capps 25, Andy LaRoche 25, and Moss 25.
Almost every significant piece is inside a pretty nice window where performance can leap forward a la Nate McLouth. That kind of youth can work for you as Tampa Bay proved last year (the Rays leap was more surprising because their parts are even younger). The starting pitching is in a particularly nice window with nobody older than Snell's 28 years nor younger than 26.
Obviously, not every pro progresses through his entire career. But there is a lot of talent in that group; the Bucs have a lot of chances for a player to break through and tap his full potential.
As I said from the start, the Cubbies are obviously the class of the National League Central and I'm sure some frequenters of Wrigley would tell you the entire Senior Circuit. But the rest of the division is in shambles to be kind.
Milwaukee is down both Sabathia and Ben Shields. The St. Louis Cardinals pitching is a rather large question mark, such that the loss of Braden Looper could actually be shades of devastating. The Houston Astros have been reduced to relying on another miracle year from Lance Berkman and (GULP) Mike Hampton's physical integrity.
There's a reasonable chance that the Pirates could be duking it out with the Cincinnati Reds for second place in a relatively watered down division—don't get me wrong, it's still a gauntlet of ferocity compared to the NL West.
If that happens, the Pittsburgh Pirates would probably be winning more often than they'd be losing. To any serious fan of baseball for the last 15 years, that'd be every bit as shocking as Tampa Bay in World Series.
Or the key guys could all prove to be destined for mediocrity and the Pirates could flirt with 100 losses yet again. But who wants to see that?
I'd wager he or she will be tough to find (and homers don't count if any exist for Tampa).
Even so, the Brew Crew reversed—or at least gave a momentary reprieve—to Lord knows how many years of futility by trading for C.C. Sabathia and riding his left arm to the postseason.
Regardless of who your preferred stunner is, the point is there almost always is one. That's why I've been wanting to write about the Pittsburgh Pirates for a while. Not necessarily because they will play good baseball, but because there is reason to think they may be the team that shocks the baseball world.
Let's keep this in perspective.
For the Pirates, shocking would be a winning season. Obviously, the Buccos are subject to the same immutable rules of the baseball gods so they—like anyone else—could find their lucky stride and breeze deep into the postseason. But if there's a fan out there who sincerely believes that will happen, I'd request he/she be kept in restraints.
No, I'm talking there's reason to think these guys might be pretty good, even keep their collective head above water.
And that's gotta put a smile on the face of most Buc fans—the franchise is under the crushing weight of a 16-YEAR losing streak. As in, Pittsburgh hasn't played .500 ball for an entire season since 1992 (a year that saw the club win 96 games). Plus, they're a small market team in a down economy that labors in a division with one of MLB's big spenders—the Chicago Cubs.
Even with all the right breaks, it's gonna be tough for the Pirates to compete with the leviathan that figures to rule the division from the get-go. Still, check out the roster and there's a lot to like:
Projected starting lineup
Catcher—Ryan Doumit
First base—Adam LaRoche
Second base—Freddy Sanchez
Third base—Andy LaRoche/Eric Hinske
Shortstop—Jack Wilson
Left field—Nyjer Morgan/Eric Hinske
Center field—Nate McLouth
Right field—Brandon Moss/Eric Hinske
Craig Monroe is also floating around Spring Training on a minor league contract, but I think this is pretty much the way the Buccos will hit the field on Opening Day. The only legitimate question is whether Hinske will be starting at one of those three positions or whether he'll be handling each in a back-up capacity.
Starting rotation
Ace—Paul Maholm (L)
Second spot—Ian Snell (R)
Third spot—Zach Duke (L)
Fourth spot—Jeff Karstens (R)
Fifth spot—Tom Gorzelanny (L)
Again, I'm fond of alternating sides to mess with the opposing team. These guys are professional hitters, but hitting is still an ability where failing 70 percent of the time makes you one of the best in the business. Anything that makes it more difficult helps and it's gotta be easier settling into a groove when you see righty-righty-lefty-lefty-lefty. Phil Dumatrait is working his way back from injury and, depending on his progress (slow at the moment), he may figure in the picture—that might not be a good thing.
Bullpen
Closer—Matt Capps (R)
Set-up—John Grabow (L)
Set-up—Tyler Yates (R)
Set-up—Craig Hansen (R)
Alright, that's obviously not a juggernaut. Even if everyone plays above expectation.
I still say there's a lot to like, particularly on offense. Ryan Doumit can flat-out rake and that's a huge plus considering his contributes from the weakest position for offense on the field excluding the pitcher. Name another team that got a .318 average, 34 doubles, 15 homeruns, 69 runs batted in, 71 runs scored, a .357 on-base percentage, and an OPS of .858 in 431 at-bats from the guy donning the Tools of Ignorance.
The only catchers who consistently rate out above Doumit are names like Geovany Soto, Joe Mauer, Brian McCann, and Bengie Molina i.e. the best in the biz.
There's no need to delve too deeply into Nate McLouth other than to say his 2008 line—.276 average, 46 doubles, 26 taters, 94 RBI, 113 runs scored, 23 stolen bases, .356 OBP, and an .853 OPS in 597 ABs—was legit. Nate was probably the first Pirate All-Star in recent memory to earn his way onto the team rather than sneak in through the "Every Team Must Be Represented" side door.
And we were born on the same day (different years) so he's gotta be the real deal.
The rest of the lineup isn't too shabby either. Freddy Sanchez is a career .300 hitter (with no pop whatsoever) who won the batting title in 2006. Jack Wilson isn't gonna set the world afire, but he's a solid contributor from short. Both are slick leathermen up the middle.
Adam LaRoche typically starts slowly, but he's a pretty reliable bet for about a .270 average, 30+ doubles, 25 HRs, and a healthy run at 100 RBI. His brother has heretofore stunk the joint up—that's presumably why the Bucs grabbed Eric Hinske—but he was once a highly touted prospect in the Los Angeles Dodger system.
Ditto Brandon Moss except he was in the Boston Red Sox system.
Nyjer Morgan has only 267 big league ABs, but that's more than enough to form a relevant sample size since it probably takes at most 50 plate appearances (and he's obviously got more than 267 of those) for scouts in the Show to get a book on a guy. In those 267+ appearances, Morgan's registered a .296 average with 16 doubles, 41 runs scored, 16 SBs, and an OBP of .351.
However, that's the good. The bad is the pitching and that's the problem because you only go as far as your hurlers can take you. On the hill, the glimmer of hope is flickering a little less brightly.
Paul Maholm, Ian Snell, Zack Duke, and Tom Gorzelanny have all shown flashes of brilliance in their young careers. Unfortunately for them, the flashes have been more the exception than the general rule. Still, that means they have the talent to do the job on a nightly basis; the trick is actually doing it. With that much obvious ability and a considerable amount of it coming from the south side, I'd be cautiously optimistic if I were a Pittsburgh fan.
Consistency is the last thing to come for pitchers and it often comes unexpectedly.
The bullpen's absolute back end is actually pretty stout if form holds. Matt Capps is a beast and John Grabow filled in serviceably when Capps went down with injury. Tyler Yates wasn't too bad either in a couple save spots and can bring it from the left side (see a common theme here?). The rest of the picture is murky though and you need more than three arms to get through 162 games.
Craig Hansen hasn't exactly been overwhelming to date. And the rest of the guys don't have much of a track record of which to speak.
Here's the real rub though: Sanchez is 31 years old, Yates 31, Hinske 31, Wilson 31, Grabow 30, Adam LaRoche 29, Morgan 28, Doumit 28, Snell 28, McLouth 27, Maholm 27, Duke 26, Karstens 26, Gorzelanny 26, Capps 25, Andy LaRoche 25, and Moss 25.
Almost every significant piece is inside a pretty nice window where performance can leap forward a la Nate McLouth. That kind of youth can work for you as Tampa Bay proved last year (the Rays leap was more surprising because their parts are even younger). The starting pitching is in a particularly nice window with nobody older than Snell's 28 years nor younger than 26.
Obviously, not every pro progresses through his entire career. But there is a lot of talent in that group; the Bucs have a lot of chances for a player to break through and tap his full potential.
As I said from the start, the Cubbies are obviously the class of the National League Central and I'm sure some frequenters of Wrigley would tell you the entire Senior Circuit. But the rest of the division is in shambles to be kind.
Milwaukee is down both Sabathia and Ben Shields. The St. Louis Cardinals pitching is a rather large question mark, such that the loss of Braden Looper could actually be shades of devastating. The Houston Astros have been reduced to relying on another miracle year from Lance Berkman and (GULP) Mike Hampton's physical integrity.
There's a reasonable chance that the Pirates could be duking it out with the Cincinnati Reds for second place in a relatively watered down division—don't get me wrong, it's still a gauntlet of ferocity compared to the NL West.
If that happens, the Pittsburgh Pirates would probably be winning more often than they'd be losing. To any serious fan of baseball for the last 15 years, that'd be every bit as shocking as Tampa Bay in World Series.
Or the key guys could all prove to be destined for mediocrity and the Pirates could flirt with 100 losses yet again. But who wants to see that?
Saturday, February 21, 2009
The Revelation of Demian Maia and Other Musings from UFC 95
There's no reason to write an article dissecting UFC 95—it was a monument to all that disgusts people about Dana White and the vice-grip his organization holds over mixed martial arts. How in the name of all that's holy does Joe "Big Daddy" Stevenson keep showing up in the main event?
No doubt—Stevenson is tough as nails and bleeds like he's got the skin of a grape.
Of course, he never beats anybody of note either so we don't know anything more about Diego "Nightmare" Sanchez than we knew going in. Great, a unanimous decision over a gatekeeper at a new weight. I guess Diego's not a stiff.
Hadn't he already proved that? Oh well.
There were two far more interesting/important observations to be taken from Saturday's card. Obviously, one is Damien Maia and I'll get to him very shortly. But I'm gonna deal with the other first since it won't take as long.
That is the irritating propensity for MMA fighters to refuse to accept when they have been knocked the f*** out. If you saw that beanpole Stefan Struve get rocked by Junior Dos Santos, you know what I'm talking about.
You understand me even better if you saw Josh Koscheck's behavior after an over-matched Paulo Thiago put the blond blubberer to sleep.
Struve was bad enough. He looked like he was really sincerely trying to convince Dos Santos that the ref stopped the fight too early. In other words, that Junior's win was cheap and undeserved. But I'm sure Struve meant no disrespect.
However, at least there's a chance Stefan was really saying, "yep, you got me—my mouth was open on that one." I hope so because Dos Santos crumpled that tall drink o' water twice before the ref had seen enough. Like I said, there's a chance.
Josh Koscheck? Not so much.
He was stamping around the ring and looked to be refusing to even go near the ref. I'm sure Josh was disappointed because he was dominating that fight up until the knockout. Plus, he did recover quickly after the ref saved his rear. The operative word, of course, being 'saved.'
As Joe Rogan pointed out, Koscheck was in La La Land after that upper-cut and trailing left hook. Josh's hands dropped immediately after the first shot and then he took another substantial blow to his head as he was falling. That dude was O-U-T.
He couldn't even muster a defense as Thiago slowly sauntered towards his prone and defenseless body.
Yet Josh Koscheck kept hammering the ref for the early stoppage and then wouldn't even let the ref touch him, as seems to be customary when raising the hand of the winner.
Forget the crowd—it's groupthink and most of them wouldn't really mind seeing a fighter seriously injured. That was an excellent stoppage (just like Rogan said) and Koscheck acted like a petulant little punk.
Now, I'm sorry I went to bat for him with regards to him having proved himself worthy of a permanent place on the main cards.
Enough though. Them's small potatoes compared to the incomparable Demian Maia.
That guy is a stud and a force to be reckoned with. Not because he beat Chael Sonnen—yet another gatekeeper. But because of the way he did it and what he said afterwards.
The fight itself was a thing to behold. Sonnen knew exactly what Maia was doing, as do all his opponents from this point forward. Even more impressive, it didn't look like Demian was particularly interested in hiding the fact that he had no interest in striking. The Brazilian jiu-jitsu artist wanted the fight on the ground, somehow, anyhow.
And he did it. With relative ease.
After messing around to tenderize Sonnen for a bit, Maia tossed him to the ground and then rolled him right into a triangle. Game, set, match. That might not sound so easy, but beating a world-class fighter (and that's what most UFC fighters are) in 150 seconds, using the very attack that was expected, qualifies.
Then, after the fight, Maia said he wanted a title shot, wanted the belt, and wanted to prove that you could be the best in the world at a combat sport without hurting anyone (in not so many words).
Yep, Demian Maia is now up there in my pantheon of favorite fighters.
I'm sure he already knows Anderson Silva so I'll let the Spider introduce him to Fedor Emelianenko. It's about time the Last Emperor and Silva had some company because the room was getting a little awkward.
I'm not saying Maia is as good or as special as those other two...yet. It's true he has yet to face some seriously brutal competition. In fact, since he has the misfortune of toiling in the same weight class as the Spider, I'll explicitly say that he's not even ready for a shot at the champ (as he desires).
Maia must certainly pay a couple more dues before moving into the top contender's spot. Maybe fight a couple guys who currently have a claim to that spot. Nate Marquardt seems logical since he won on the UFC 95 card as well, but doesn't deserve another shot at Silva (having been dispatched so easily once already).
Or what about "Dangerous" Dan Henderson? Fresh off a less-than-glittering win over Rich "Ace" Franklin, Henderson seems like a good choice, too.
Thales Leitas would be my final suggestion.
Forget about Yushin "Thunder" Okami. Although I'm sure Dana is angling for that story arc since Okami is the last guy to hang an L on Silva. Whatever. It was by DQ for an illegal kick and the guy's lost to Jake Shields and Franklin since then without beating anyone of sincere threat.
Nah, the real "challengers" at the moment are guys like the other three.
After one or two of those, then I think Demian Maia's resume would more accurately reflect his talent and the combination would genuinely demand a foray into the Spider's web.
For me, that fight would be right up there with Brock Lesnar against Fedor (or Frank Mir if he proves the first submission was not merely the product of Lesnar's inexperience).
Regardless of how quidkly his title shot comes, Demian Maia did all he could to save a card that was otherwise conspicuous only for the posturing/whining of its vanquished fighters. I'm not sure that he succeeded.
But I sure appreciated the effort.
No doubt—Stevenson is tough as nails and bleeds like he's got the skin of a grape.
Of course, he never beats anybody of note either so we don't know anything more about Diego "Nightmare" Sanchez than we knew going in. Great, a unanimous decision over a gatekeeper at a new weight. I guess Diego's not a stiff.
Hadn't he already proved that? Oh well.
There were two far more interesting/important observations to be taken from Saturday's card. Obviously, one is Damien Maia and I'll get to him very shortly. But I'm gonna deal with the other first since it won't take as long.
That is the irritating propensity for MMA fighters to refuse to accept when they have been knocked the f*** out. If you saw that beanpole Stefan Struve get rocked by Junior Dos Santos, you know what I'm talking about.
You understand me even better if you saw Josh Koscheck's behavior after an over-matched Paulo Thiago put the blond blubberer to sleep.
Struve was bad enough. He looked like he was really sincerely trying to convince Dos Santos that the ref stopped the fight too early. In other words, that Junior's win was cheap and undeserved. But I'm sure Struve meant no disrespect.
However, at least there's a chance Stefan was really saying, "yep, you got me—my mouth was open on that one." I hope so because Dos Santos crumpled that tall drink o' water twice before the ref had seen enough. Like I said, there's a chance.
Josh Koscheck? Not so much.
He was stamping around the ring and looked to be refusing to even go near the ref. I'm sure Josh was disappointed because he was dominating that fight up until the knockout. Plus, he did recover quickly after the ref saved his rear. The operative word, of course, being 'saved.'
As Joe Rogan pointed out, Koscheck was in La La Land after that upper-cut and trailing left hook. Josh's hands dropped immediately after the first shot and then he took another substantial blow to his head as he was falling. That dude was O-U-T.
He couldn't even muster a defense as Thiago slowly sauntered towards his prone and defenseless body.
Yet Josh Koscheck kept hammering the ref for the early stoppage and then wouldn't even let the ref touch him, as seems to be customary when raising the hand of the winner.
Forget the crowd—it's groupthink and most of them wouldn't really mind seeing a fighter seriously injured. That was an excellent stoppage (just like Rogan said) and Koscheck acted like a petulant little punk.
Now, I'm sorry I went to bat for him with regards to him having proved himself worthy of a permanent place on the main cards.
Enough though. Them's small potatoes compared to the incomparable Demian Maia.
That guy is a stud and a force to be reckoned with. Not because he beat Chael Sonnen—yet another gatekeeper. But because of the way he did it and what he said afterwards.
The fight itself was a thing to behold. Sonnen knew exactly what Maia was doing, as do all his opponents from this point forward. Even more impressive, it didn't look like Demian was particularly interested in hiding the fact that he had no interest in striking. The Brazilian jiu-jitsu artist wanted the fight on the ground, somehow, anyhow.
And he did it. With relative ease.
After messing around to tenderize Sonnen for a bit, Maia tossed him to the ground and then rolled him right into a triangle. Game, set, match. That might not sound so easy, but beating a world-class fighter (and that's what most UFC fighters are) in 150 seconds, using the very attack that was expected, qualifies.
Then, after the fight, Maia said he wanted a title shot, wanted the belt, and wanted to prove that you could be the best in the world at a combat sport without hurting anyone (in not so many words).
Yep, Demian Maia is now up there in my pantheon of favorite fighters.
I'm sure he already knows Anderson Silva so I'll let the Spider introduce him to Fedor Emelianenko. It's about time the Last Emperor and Silva had some company because the room was getting a little awkward.
I'm not saying Maia is as good or as special as those other two...yet. It's true he has yet to face some seriously brutal competition. In fact, since he has the misfortune of toiling in the same weight class as the Spider, I'll explicitly say that he's not even ready for a shot at the champ (as he desires).
Maia must certainly pay a couple more dues before moving into the top contender's spot. Maybe fight a couple guys who currently have a claim to that spot. Nate Marquardt seems logical since he won on the UFC 95 card as well, but doesn't deserve another shot at Silva (having been dispatched so easily once already).
Or what about "Dangerous" Dan Henderson? Fresh off a less-than-glittering win over Rich "Ace" Franklin, Henderson seems like a good choice, too.
Thales Leitas would be my final suggestion.
Forget about Yushin "Thunder" Okami. Although I'm sure Dana is angling for that story arc since Okami is the last guy to hang an L on Silva. Whatever. It was by DQ for an illegal kick and the guy's lost to Jake Shields and Franklin since then without beating anyone of sincere threat.
Nah, the real "challengers" at the moment are guys like the other three.
After one or two of those, then I think Demian Maia's resume would more accurately reflect his talent and the combination would genuinely demand a foray into the Spider's web.
For me, that fight would be right up there with Brock Lesnar against Fedor (or Frank Mir if he proves the first submission was not merely the product of Lesnar's inexperience).
Regardless of how quidkly his title shot comes, Demian Maia did all he could to save a card that was otherwise conspicuous only for the posturing/whining of its vanquished fighters. I'm not sure that he succeeded.
But I sure appreciated the effort.
Friday, February 20, 2009
The Los Angeles Dodgers Slightly Premature 2009 Preview
This might be the last article I write for a while so I figured I'd pick a good subject. Having already written a 2009 preview for my San Francisco Giants, that option was off the table especially since nothing has changed (and I've already written a subsequent Spring Training update). So there was only one obvious choice left.
With all due disrespect to the Boston Red Sox and New York Yankees, those of us who truly bleed Orange and Black turn our loathing eyes to the Los Angeles Dodgers.
And those Bums in brilliant blue have been busy if not active in the winter so there's plenty to discuss.
The most obvious is Manny Ramirez.
I recently wrote that the prospect of an early retirement might not be altogether unpleasant to Man-Ram. Contrary to the interpretation of some, it was just an idea. Like the rest of the baseball world, I think Manny will be in a Dodger uni for 2009. Whether it's for all 162 games or not.
So I'm considering him already signed (again, like most people). With the news that the Bums have signed Orlando Hudson and the inevitability of Manny signing, I figure Los Angeles is done as far as significant roster moves. That means the Dodgers are also a perfect subject for a 2009 preview.
And here we go:
Projected starting lineup
Catcher—Russell Martin
First base—James Loney
Second base—Orlando Hudson
Third base—Casey Blake
Shortstop—Rafael Furcal
Left field—Manny Ramirez
Center field—Matt Kemp
Right field—Andre Ethier
I don't know if LA manager Joe Torre considers any of these spots open for competition, but I think he's crazy if he does. Maybe someone has a ridiculous spring or the Dodgers add an unexpected piece. If not, this is how the field should look.
Starting rotation
Ace—Chad Billingsley (R)
Second spot—Randy Wolf (L)
Third spot—Hiroki Kuroda (R)
Fourth spot—Clayton Kershaw (L)
Fifth spot—Jason Schmidt (R)/Claudio Vargas (R)/Eric Stults (L)/Jeff Weaver (R) i.e. who knows?
I'm a sucker for alternating the rotation according to which side the hurler attacks from, but that's not necessarily the best way to go about it. Still, I think the above also happens to reflect current ability. Kershaw could make the leap this year like Tim Lincecum did for SF in 2008 (not to a Cy Young like the Franchise, but to elite status), but he doesn't warrant a higher spot yet.
That group "competing" for that fifth spot is GRIM. If I were a Bum fan, I'd be hoping Vargas can emerge because the rest are...flawed.
Bullpen
Closer—Jonathan Broxton (R)
Set-up—Hong-Chih Kuo (L)
Set-up—Cory Wade (R)
Set-up—James McDonald (R)
Set-up—Yhency Brazoban (R)
Set-up—Guillermo Mota (R)
Back away from that picture and several things jump off the page.
One is that the Dodgers are the antithesis of the Giants. Whereas San Francisco will try to compete on almost only pitching, Los Angeles will rely almost as heavily on its hitting.
That is a pretty fearsome lineup. For anyone unfamiliar with Loney/Kemp/Ethier (shouldn't be too many after 2008's postseason), those three kids are about to become monsters. Kemp is the most terrifying of the three, but Loney and Ethier both offer advantages in particular areas over Kemp.
Most notably, Matt Kemp acts like a punk and the other two do not.
Add to that trio the presumed services of Manny Ramirez, the guaranteed addition of Hudson, the steady if unspectacular Blake, and the paper-mache Furcal—now that is a rugged batting order from any angle.
Yet the real engine to the machine is Russell Martin.
The backstop might not be the most statistically significant piece in LA, but I'd be one happy camper if Martin suddenly disappeared from the Dodgers employ. Every team has a guy that holds the center when anarchy is loosed on the clubhouse. I'd wager Russell's that guy for LA.
If Martin was the guy absent from camp instead of Manny, I'd be giddy instead of indifferent.
So, yeah, the prospects of navigating that thorny patch of ash/maple would make me nauseous. Plus Los Angeles has Mark Loretta, Juan Pierre, Blake DeWitt, and Brad Ausmus in reserve. Out here in the National League West, that's offense for miles and miles.
The pitching, on the other hand, should induce nausea in a different group. Namely, Dodger fans.
Billingsley is the real deal. He is a legit ace and should be even better with another year under his very necessary belt. Kershaw has that potential and would greatly help the situation if he makes the leap. Wolf? Kuroda? Not so much.
They're not bad. But if you're selling me on either pitcher being anything more than average, I'm not buying.
Even if I'm underselling those two, the gaping hole in the fifth spot more than compensates. Seriously, I know the NL West is weak and getting weaker by the minute (bye Jeff Francis), but how can the plan in late-February be to let that detritus duke it out for a starting gig?
Best of luck with all that.
The bullpen is not in much better shape. I know, I know Broxton's a beast and he's huge and he throws gas and this and that and the other. So what. So is Armando Benitez. Broxton showed chinks in his armor several times last year so we'll see how he likes working without a net.
Joe Beimel is still unsigned so maybe LA brings him back, but he's no closer. If Broxton falters, who's next? Kuo is awesome...in the seventh and eighth. Wade is vicious, but he's coming off his first full year so who knows how reliable he'll prove to be.
Mota? Brazoban? I think we've been there before. Hey, somebody should've told Ned Colletti that Eric Gagne was available for a song until recently. McDonald looked good at times and I've heard nice things about him, but...
Still, remember that macroscopic picture?
Just like San Francisco's, LA's include the opposition in the Senior Circuit's western division.
That means the Colorado Rockies—their 2009 season stock might as well be on Wall Street having lost Matt Holliday, Brian Fuentes, Willy Taveras, and now Francis. That means the San Diego Padres, who are even worse on paper than the Rox.
That means the Arizona Diamondbacks, who have lost two considerable pieces (Hudson and Randy Johnson) to division rivals. That compounds the loss because it helps the immediate competitions. They've also lost Adam Dunn, Brandon Lyon, and still haven't moved on the toxic Juan Cruz contract situation.
Again, just like my San Francisco Giants, the Los Angeles Dodgers have to like their chances.
Should be fun to watch SF try to suffocate its way to the playoffs while LA tries to batter the opposition to death. Especially when the oil-and-water approaches meet as they figure to be the favorites heading into the year.
Even the possibility of Giant-Dodger games that mean something again has me smiling. Almost as much as that fifth spot in the Bum rotation.
With all due disrespect to the Boston Red Sox and New York Yankees, those of us who truly bleed Orange and Black turn our loathing eyes to the Los Angeles Dodgers.
And those Bums in brilliant blue have been busy if not active in the winter so there's plenty to discuss.
The most obvious is Manny Ramirez.
I recently wrote that the prospect of an early retirement might not be altogether unpleasant to Man-Ram. Contrary to the interpretation of some, it was just an idea. Like the rest of the baseball world, I think Manny will be in a Dodger uni for 2009. Whether it's for all 162 games or not.
So I'm considering him already signed (again, like most people). With the news that the Bums have signed Orlando Hudson and the inevitability of Manny signing, I figure Los Angeles is done as far as significant roster moves. That means the Dodgers are also a perfect subject for a 2009 preview.
And here we go:
Projected starting lineup
Catcher—Russell Martin
First base—James Loney
Second base—Orlando Hudson
Third base—Casey Blake
Shortstop—Rafael Furcal
Left field—Manny Ramirez
Center field—Matt Kemp
Right field—Andre Ethier
I don't know if LA manager Joe Torre considers any of these spots open for competition, but I think he's crazy if he does. Maybe someone has a ridiculous spring or the Dodgers add an unexpected piece. If not, this is how the field should look.
Starting rotation
Ace—Chad Billingsley (R)
Second spot—Randy Wolf (L)
Third spot—Hiroki Kuroda (R)
Fourth spot—Clayton Kershaw (L)
Fifth spot—Jason Schmidt (R)/Claudio Vargas (R)/Eric Stults (L)/Jeff Weaver (R) i.e. who knows?
I'm a sucker for alternating the rotation according to which side the hurler attacks from, but that's not necessarily the best way to go about it. Still, I think the above also happens to reflect current ability. Kershaw could make the leap this year like Tim Lincecum did for SF in 2008 (not to a Cy Young like the Franchise, but to elite status), but he doesn't warrant a higher spot yet.
That group "competing" for that fifth spot is GRIM. If I were a Bum fan, I'd be hoping Vargas can emerge because the rest are...flawed.
Bullpen
Closer—Jonathan Broxton (R)
Set-up—Hong-Chih Kuo (L)
Set-up—Cory Wade (R)
Set-up—James McDonald (R)
Set-up—Yhency Brazoban (R)
Set-up—Guillermo Mota (R)
Back away from that picture and several things jump off the page.
One is that the Dodgers are the antithesis of the Giants. Whereas San Francisco will try to compete on almost only pitching, Los Angeles will rely almost as heavily on its hitting.
That is a pretty fearsome lineup. For anyone unfamiliar with Loney/Kemp/Ethier (shouldn't be too many after 2008's postseason), those three kids are about to become monsters. Kemp is the most terrifying of the three, but Loney and Ethier both offer advantages in particular areas over Kemp.
Most notably, Matt Kemp acts like a punk and the other two do not.
Add to that trio the presumed services of Manny Ramirez, the guaranteed addition of Hudson, the steady if unspectacular Blake, and the paper-mache Furcal—now that is a rugged batting order from any angle.
Yet the real engine to the machine is Russell Martin.
The backstop might not be the most statistically significant piece in LA, but I'd be one happy camper if Martin suddenly disappeared from the Dodgers employ. Every team has a guy that holds the center when anarchy is loosed on the clubhouse. I'd wager Russell's that guy for LA.
If Martin was the guy absent from camp instead of Manny, I'd be giddy instead of indifferent.
So, yeah, the prospects of navigating that thorny patch of ash/maple would make me nauseous. Plus Los Angeles has Mark Loretta, Juan Pierre, Blake DeWitt, and Brad Ausmus in reserve. Out here in the National League West, that's offense for miles and miles.
The pitching, on the other hand, should induce nausea in a different group. Namely, Dodger fans.
Billingsley is the real deal. He is a legit ace and should be even better with another year under his very necessary belt. Kershaw has that potential and would greatly help the situation if he makes the leap. Wolf? Kuroda? Not so much.
They're not bad. But if you're selling me on either pitcher being anything more than average, I'm not buying.
Even if I'm underselling those two, the gaping hole in the fifth spot more than compensates. Seriously, I know the NL West is weak and getting weaker by the minute (bye Jeff Francis), but how can the plan in late-February be to let that detritus duke it out for a starting gig?
Best of luck with all that.
The bullpen is not in much better shape. I know, I know Broxton's a beast and he's huge and he throws gas and this and that and the other. So what. So is Armando Benitez. Broxton showed chinks in his armor several times last year so we'll see how he likes working without a net.
Joe Beimel is still unsigned so maybe LA brings him back, but he's no closer. If Broxton falters, who's next? Kuo is awesome...in the seventh and eighth. Wade is vicious, but he's coming off his first full year so who knows how reliable he'll prove to be.
Mota? Brazoban? I think we've been there before. Hey, somebody should've told Ned Colletti that Eric Gagne was available for a song until recently. McDonald looked good at times and I've heard nice things about him, but...
Still, remember that macroscopic picture?
Just like San Francisco's, LA's include the opposition in the Senior Circuit's western division.
That means the Colorado Rockies—their 2009 season stock might as well be on Wall Street having lost Matt Holliday, Brian Fuentes, Willy Taveras, and now Francis. That means the San Diego Padres, who are even worse on paper than the Rox.
That means the Arizona Diamondbacks, who have lost two considerable pieces (Hudson and Randy Johnson) to division rivals. That compounds the loss because it helps the immediate competitions. They've also lost Adam Dunn, Brandon Lyon, and still haven't moved on the toxic Juan Cruz contract situation.
Again, just like my San Francisco Giants, the Los Angeles Dodgers have to like their chances.
Should be fun to watch SF try to suffocate its way to the playoffs while LA tries to batter the opposition to death. Especially when the oil-and-water approaches meet as they figure to be the favorites heading into the year.
Even the possibility of Giant-Dodger games that mean something again has me smiling. Almost as much as that fifth spot in the Bum rotation.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
San Francisco Giants Spring Training—Trimming the Fat
Every spring breaks down pretty much the same way for most teams. Pitchers and catchers report first, the rest of the guys show up several days later, and the team spends a few days knocking off the rust. Routine is established, fundamentals are polished, new wrinkles are introduced, the moving parts are fine-tuned, and then it's Opening Day.
Along the way, we're all told the same thing—player X looks great, player Y spent all off-season working on this, player Z re-dedicated himself, and everyone agrees this is the year it comes together.
The San Francisco Giants have never been excluded from this general trend and 2009 looks to be no different. However, with the bitter disappointments of the last several years (read: entire SF history) fresh in mind, I've grown skeptical.
I don't know who's fooling whom—whether the players fool themselves, whether the agents fool the team, whether the team fools the media, whether the players use the media to fool everyone—I just know that somebody's not playing straight. At least if history is any indication.
So I'm taking a look at the early news filtering out of camp sans the Kool-Aid this year:
1. Jonathan Sanchez has added a changeup to his arsenal.
In all sincerity, this is great news—diabetes-inducing drink or not. It's obviously good news because a good changeup would make Sanchez devastating since he throws the rest of his stuff hard. But it's great news that just an average change would vastly improve the young gun.
As long as he can mask its delivery, just the fact that the velocity would be so different will make it effective enough to use. That will make the chances of improvement from Jonathan Sanchez go up.
Oh, and a changeup is one of the easier pitches to learn plus Sanchez would've known all winter that Noah Lowry would be gunning for that fifth spot in the rotation come spring.
Yeah, this is the genuine article: a reason to hope.
2. Randy Johnson feels great and looks even better.
Yawn. This one smells just a little stale. Maybe it's because the last several years have all featured the same bit of news coming out of the Giants' spring about a newly-acquired, aging veteran. It's always the same song and dance because I'm sure these guys do sincerely feel great.
But it's February—I'm still betting on a good season from the Big Unit, just not because of this little nugget. It does nothing for me.
3. Edgar Renteria learned his lesson in 2008 and showed up in shape.
I'm not sure what to make of this. Partially because it's another tried-and-true line of spring baseball. Every year features a player or two who coming off a sub-par year that most "experts" attributed to extra tonnage. That player shows up in camp and everyone starts heralding an immediate return to form.
Sometimes it happens, other times not.
But there are supplemental markers to support Edgar. He's a former five-time All-Star who has always played better in the National League. He played much better post-break in 2008, after he had clearly played himself into better shape.
I'll go one foot in, one foot out on this development.
4. Noah Lowry's shoulder is throwing up red flags.
This one actually could help the Gents either way. If Noah needs to be shutdown for a bit, then SF can turn to Sanchez from the get-go. If not, then Lowry continues to push Sanchez for the spot and hopefully the competition will bring out a better pitcher in both.
Regardless, injury reports tend to be pretty reliable so no reason to doubt Lowry's status.
5. Brian Wilson is working as hard as ever to build on his 2008 accolades.
This is good news, but only because it means that Wilson isn't a moron. The closer's job has to be one of the most tenuous spots in Major League Baseball. These guys come out of nowhere without warning and disappear into the cornfields just as mysteriously and suddenly.
So if Brian Wilson thought he was just gonna coast on one good year, it woulda been bad. Really, really bad.
That might look like a cynical interpretation to the casual observer. And it might just be that.
In my defense, however, I do think the new addition to Jonathan Sanchez' repertoire is the real deal and one bit of genuinely good news like that this early in the process ain't too shabby. Plus I'm a semi-believer in Edgar Renteria's sleeker physique.
Furthermore, have you seen the San Francisco Giants in the last three years? I think I've earned my cynicism.
Along the way, we're all told the same thing—player X looks great, player Y spent all off-season working on this, player Z re-dedicated himself, and everyone agrees this is the year it comes together.
The San Francisco Giants have never been excluded from this general trend and 2009 looks to be no different. However, with the bitter disappointments of the last several years (read: entire SF history) fresh in mind, I've grown skeptical.
I don't know who's fooling whom—whether the players fool themselves, whether the agents fool the team, whether the team fools the media, whether the players use the media to fool everyone—I just know that somebody's not playing straight. At least if history is any indication.
So I'm taking a look at the early news filtering out of camp sans the Kool-Aid this year:
1. Jonathan Sanchez has added a changeup to his arsenal.
In all sincerity, this is great news—diabetes-inducing drink or not. It's obviously good news because a good changeup would make Sanchez devastating since he throws the rest of his stuff hard. But it's great news that just an average change would vastly improve the young gun.
As long as he can mask its delivery, just the fact that the velocity would be so different will make it effective enough to use. That will make the chances of improvement from Jonathan Sanchez go up.
Oh, and a changeup is one of the easier pitches to learn plus Sanchez would've known all winter that Noah Lowry would be gunning for that fifth spot in the rotation come spring.
Yeah, this is the genuine article: a reason to hope.
2. Randy Johnson feels great and looks even better.
Yawn. This one smells just a little stale. Maybe it's because the last several years have all featured the same bit of news coming out of the Giants' spring about a newly-acquired, aging veteran. It's always the same song and dance because I'm sure these guys do sincerely feel great.
But it's February—I'm still betting on a good season from the Big Unit, just not because of this little nugget. It does nothing for me.
3. Edgar Renteria learned his lesson in 2008 and showed up in shape.
I'm not sure what to make of this. Partially because it's another tried-and-true line of spring baseball. Every year features a player or two who coming off a sub-par year that most "experts" attributed to extra tonnage. That player shows up in camp and everyone starts heralding an immediate return to form.
Sometimes it happens, other times not.
But there are supplemental markers to support Edgar. He's a former five-time All-Star who has always played better in the National League. He played much better post-break in 2008, after he had clearly played himself into better shape.
I'll go one foot in, one foot out on this development.
4. Noah Lowry's shoulder is throwing up red flags.
This one actually could help the Gents either way. If Noah needs to be shutdown for a bit, then SF can turn to Sanchez from the get-go. If not, then Lowry continues to push Sanchez for the spot and hopefully the competition will bring out a better pitcher in both.
Regardless, injury reports tend to be pretty reliable so no reason to doubt Lowry's status.
5. Brian Wilson is working as hard as ever to build on his 2008 accolades.
This is good news, but only because it means that Wilson isn't a moron. The closer's job has to be one of the most tenuous spots in Major League Baseball. These guys come out of nowhere without warning and disappear into the cornfields just as mysteriously and suddenly.
So if Brian Wilson thought he was just gonna coast on one good year, it woulda been bad. Really, really bad.
That might look like a cynical interpretation to the casual observer. And it might just be that.
In my defense, however, I do think the new addition to Jonathan Sanchez' repertoire is the real deal and one bit of genuinely good news like that this early in the process ain't too shabby. Plus I'm a semi-believer in Edgar Renteria's sleeker physique.
Furthermore, have you seen the San Francisco Giants in the last three years? I think I've earned my cynicism.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Frank Thomas vs. Alex Rodriguez: The Big Hurt v. The Big Fraud
Before I get to the heart of this, I've gotta preemptively clear my conscience because Alex Rodriguez shouldn't even be in this position. The fact that he had to hold a press conference to address all the nitty-gritty details of his performance-enhancing drug use is ridiculous. I don't know how anyone in that room can consider himself or herself anything more than a moral fiber or two above the paparazzi who shamelessly hound celebrities.
Don't give me that catharsis, we-need-to-know-to-move-forward horse droppings.
What we need to know to move forward is how prevalent the problem was, how endemic it still is, and whether steps are in place to eliminate PED use since that seems to be the consensus as to the direction Major League Baseball should go.
We do NOT need to know that A-Rod's cousin hooked him up or that he injected however often or where he got it. That information needs to be shared, but the general public doesn't need it.
Want? Oh yeah. But need? Nope.
That's why nobody's clamoring for the same to be shared about Jason Grimsley or David Segui or Neifi Perez or any of the other cups of coffee who juiced.
So it's absolute nonsense that Rodriguez had to deliver his public confession/mea culpa. This is just another instance of the vaunted media—the same people who promised to be vigilant as the voice/ethos of the average fan—getting its fangs into a revenue-driving story and holding on for dear life.
It's much easier to torment a caged animal than go out and hunt another. Why waste all that energy when you've already got one right here?
Unfortunately, Alex Rodriguez volunteered for the gig. Actually, he demanded it, so my sympathy is fleeting. Especially in the face of that equally nonsensical and horribly contrived monologue.
C'mon, does the guy really think the general public is gonna be as compliant as most of the media?
None of us missed that—when the subject of PEDs came up—Alex yanked his cousin under the bus with him and did everything he could to spread the blame around. My cousin introduced me to it, it was his understanding the effects, we decided it was a good idea, he injected me, we did this, we did that, baseball is bigger than me, blah, blah, blah.
My personal favorites are these little gems:
1. "I had been among the players from which people might conclude that I tested positive...there were a number of players on that list who might not have actually tested positive."
2. "My style is not to challenge anything."
Well played sir, well played.
In the face of all that personal deflection, forgive me if the rest of his contrition seems a little false. And all his claims to be clean now? Lo siento pero creo que no (I think not). First, if he'd actually stopped taking PEDs, then he wouldn't have tried to sell it so hard by linking it to some supposedly life-threatening injury. To MLB's highest paid player. That flew under the radar.
Do you remember hearing anything about that? Because I don't.
As for his claims to have passed all of MLB's tests since the new policy was instituted, great. I think we've pretty much proven that means squat. And the blood tests for the World Baseball Classic? Notice A-Rod stupidly said he would take it next week.
If you know when it's coming, that kinda defeats the purpose because human growth hormone flushes pretty quickly as I understand it. You know, since your body produces it naturally.
So, yeah, Alex Rodriguez has further (and unfairly) revealed himself as one of MLB's biggest frauds. Right up there with Bud Selig and Donald Fehr. For the record, I mean fraud because of his off-field antics—I couldn't care less about his PED use nor do I think that makes his numbers fraudulent since most of baseball was doping.
Except Frank Thomas.
You wanna know what a player who is above suspicion looks like? It's the Big Hurt.
Not because he's one of the best players before the Steroid Era dawned in earnest. Not because he fell back to the pack during its peak. Not because he's huge. All those things help, but what sells me on his "innocence" is the following:
"As early as 1995, he advocated steroid testing for major-league players. He was the only active player who volunteered to be interviewed for the Mitchell Report."
In all honesty, that actually doesn't put him above suspicion. But it does mean that, if Frank Thomas was juicing, it was against his will—out of necessity to compete with the rising and enhanced tide.
I remember hearing about how Frank Thomas was a cancer in the Chicago White Sox dugout. About how the Oakland Athletics got him for a song because he was such a malcontent and a duplicitous one at that. About how Kenny Williams was so glad to be rid of the Big Hurt.
I also remember Alex Rodriguez was generally liked and respected by Major League Baseball's insiders. By his teammates and the other players around the Show.
And now I think I'll forget all of it.
Don't give me that catharsis, we-need-to-know-to-move-forward horse droppings.
What we need to know to move forward is how prevalent the problem was, how endemic it still is, and whether steps are in place to eliminate PED use since that seems to be the consensus as to the direction Major League Baseball should go.
We do NOT need to know that A-Rod's cousin hooked him up or that he injected however often or where he got it. That information needs to be shared, but the general public doesn't need it.
Want? Oh yeah. But need? Nope.
That's why nobody's clamoring for the same to be shared about Jason Grimsley or David Segui or Neifi Perez or any of the other cups of coffee who juiced.
So it's absolute nonsense that Rodriguez had to deliver his public confession/mea culpa. This is just another instance of the vaunted media—the same people who promised to be vigilant as the voice/ethos of the average fan—getting its fangs into a revenue-driving story and holding on for dear life.
It's much easier to torment a caged animal than go out and hunt another. Why waste all that energy when you've already got one right here?
Unfortunately, Alex Rodriguez volunteered for the gig. Actually, he demanded it, so my sympathy is fleeting. Especially in the face of that equally nonsensical and horribly contrived monologue.
C'mon, does the guy really think the general public is gonna be as compliant as most of the media?
None of us missed that—when the subject of PEDs came up—Alex yanked his cousin under the bus with him and did everything he could to spread the blame around. My cousin introduced me to it, it was his understanding the effects, we decided it was a good idea, he injected me, we did this, we did that, baseball is bigger than me, blah, blah, blah.
My personal favorites are these little gems:
1. "I had been among the players from which people might conclude that I tested positive...there were a number of players on that list who might not have actually tested positive."
2. "My style is not to challenge anything."
Well played sir, well played.
In the face of all that personal deflection, forgive me if the rest of his contrition seems a little false. And all his claims to be clean now? Lo siento pero creo que no (I think not). First, if he'd actually stopped taking PEDs, then he wouldn't have tried to sell it so hard by linking it to some supposedly life-threatening injury. To MLB's highest paid player. That flew under the radar.
Do you remember hearing anything about that? Because I don't.
As for his claims to have passed all of MLB's tests since the new policy was instituted, great. I think we've pretty much proven that means squat. And the blood tests for the World Baseball Classic? Notice A-Rod stupidly said he would take it next week.
If you know when it's coming, that kinda defeats the purpose because human growth hormone flushes pretty quickly as I understand it. You know, since your body produces it naturally.
So, yeah, Alex Rodriguez has further (and unfairly) revealed himself as one of MLB's biggest frauds. Right up there with Bud Selig and Donald Fehr. For the record, I mean fraud because of his off-field antics—I couldn't care less about his PED use nor do I think that makes his numbers fraudulent since most of baseball was doping.
Except Frank Thomas.
You wanna know what a player who is above suspicion looks like? It's the Big Hurt.
Not because he's one of the best players before the Steroid Era dawned in earnest. Not because he fell back to the pack during its peak. Not because he's huge. All those things help, but what sells me on his "innocence" is the following:
"As early as 1995, he advocated steroid testing for major-league players. He was the only active player who volunteered to be interviewed for the Mitchell Report."
In all honesty, that actually doesn't put him above suspicion. But it does mean that, if Frank Thomas was juicing, it was against his will—out of necessity to compete with the rising and enhanced tide.
I remember hearing about how Frank Thomas was a cancer in the Chicago White Sox dugout. About how the Oakland Athletics got him for a song because he was such a malcontent and a duplicitous one at that. About how Kenny Williams was so glad to be rid of the Big Hurt.
I also remember Alex Rodriguez was generally liked and respected by Major League Baseball's insiders. By his teammates and the other players around the Show.
And now I think I'll forget all of it.
Monday, February 16, 2009
What If Manny Ramirez Doesn't Mind Retiring?
Something occurred to me the other day when I was considering just how monumentally stupid and/or greedy Manny Ramirez and his faithful man servant are. There was a place and time when I actually thought Manny being Manny was just an act to diffuse the considerable pressures that can destroy an athlete's performance. Especially considering he was a star on a the Boston Red Sox.
Not really a low-profile gig.
Back then, I thought Manny was a genius because he had figured a way to take all the scrutiny off his normal play and that of his teammates. No wonder they loved him. Of course, he dogged his way of those same Sawks and my suspicious were confirmed.
Manny was just another spoiled diva who demanded he get his way at all times and part of his way was doing whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. No matter how ridiculous or the consequences.
But look at the totality of his circumstances.
The Los Angeles Dodgers made that initial offer of two years at $20 million per year back in November. That was before the bottom really fell out of the long-term economy. Or at least before everyone caught on, including Major League Baseball. It was still an outrageous rejection considering the man's age (a perilous 37 years old).
But maybe not. I'll get to that.
The second and most recent offer Manny rejected (one year at $25 million) came in February after the economic parasite had gotten its maw into MLB. That move was just too insane to defend. There is simply no way to imagine a sucker willing to pay more than $25 mil per.
Nor one willing to offer a lengthy contract that averages even close to that figure. And that's what Manny continues to demand. If Ramirez doesn't budge, he might find himself out of a job this year. And what if that turns into another year?
I was in the process of thinking Manny Ramirez might be forced into retirement by his own greed and stubbornness, when an astoundingly obvious idea occurred to me: what if he doesn't care?
That little caveat changes everything drastically. We'd have to re-open the genius discussion. Consider:
1. Man-Ram is 37—that's getting up there even at the height of the Steroid Era. I'm not naive enough to believe performance-enhancing drugs are completely gone from baseball. I'm not even sure the level of use has dropped rather than switched from anabolic steroids to human growth hormone. Regardless, it is undeniable the scrutiny has been cranked up a notch so the days of dominating 40-year-olds are over.
Being generous, Ramirez has about three or four really good years left.
2. Speaking of that increased scrutiny, it's only a matter of time before it rolls around to Manny. What if he's a juicer? There's no reason to believe otherwise since the guy has been one of the best hitters of this "tainted" generation and forgive me if I'm skeptical about his work ethic. Whatever anecdotal evidence may exist to the contrary.
3. Ramirez (and most other MLB insiders) would know the true level of PED use in MLB. As such, he would have to know other stars were using and that eventually more names would leak. If he is/was juicing, he'd have to be a little concerned by those implications.
4. Manny's place in the Hall of Fame is as secure as anyone's from this era i.e. either all the greats are going in or none are. So he has no real reason to linger around the game—he's got two World Series rings, a bunch of personal accolades, and presumably a ton of money.
5. No additional achievement will allow Manny to go down as the best ever. Even if he were to hang around and set a bunch of records, he'd merely be a place holder for someone like Albert Pujols, Ryan Howard, Alex Rodriguez, etc.
Furthermore, his antics in Boston preclude even the notion. Too many influential people in baseball have eyes for the Red Sox to allow that to happen.
6. It's tough to argue that a guy who quits on his team the day its blood rival comes to town for a big series is playing for the love of the game.
With all that in mind, reconsider the situation.
If some sucker does bite, like a really desperate Bum front office, swell. Manny's got his big dollar, long-term contract and Scott Boras comes out smelling about as well as a decomposing corpse of humanity can smell.
If not, Manny gets to retire a couple years early. To a beach and (I'm guessing) beautiful women.
Plus, Man-Ram would most likely duck any of the personal scrutiny. There'd be a lot of sexier witches to hunt since an active star is always a juicer (ugh) story than a retired one. That's not a small part of the reason Mark McGwire has been able to dodge the PED bullets for so long.
Manny's place in baseball history—already at its maximum capacity—would be secure. In fact, retiring might be the one thing that could substantially enhance Manny's place in baseball. If a bunch of other guys above him start falling prey to the hypocritical PED smear campaign, that could only help his rep.
From that angle, Manny Ramirez looks pretty freakin' astute.
He would've opted out to take a shot at getting an even fatter contract, which would make sticking around and operating under the increased PED scrutiny worthwhile. There would've been no risk to him because he would be perfectly willing to retire if no bigger contract proved forthcoming.
Considering the restraints seem to have been taken off the witch hunt, maybe Manny would even prefer that option.
In any event, the chances of that eventuality would be reduced by his ability to play chicken without actually playing—his part in the contest would be sincere.
Nothing can change the fact that Manny Ramirez is a punk and a dog for his exit from Boston. But there might just be some method to his madness after all.
Not really a low-profile gig.
Back then, I thought Manny was a genius because he had figured a way to take all the scrutiny off his normal play and that of his teammates. No wonder they loved him. Of course, he dogged his way of those same Sawks and my suspicious were confirmed.
Manny was just another spoiled diva who demanded he get his way at all times and part of his way was doing whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. No matter how ridiculous or the consequences.
But look at the totality of his circumstances.
The Los Angeles Dodgers made that initial offer of two years at $20 million per year back in November. That was before the bottom really fell out of the long-term economy. Or at least before everyone caught on, including Major League Baseball. It was still an outrageous rejection considering the man's age (a perilous 37 years old).
But maybe not. I'll get to that.
The second and most recent offer Manny rejected (one year at $25 million) came in February after the economic parasite had gotten its maw into MLB. That move was just too insane to defend. There is simply no way to imagine a sucker willing to pay more than $25 mil per.
Nor one willing to offer a lengthy contract that averages even close to that figure. And that's what Manny continues to demand. If Ramirez doesn't budge, he might find himself out of a job this year. And what if that turns into another year?
I was in the process of thinking Manny Ramirez might be forced into retirement by his own greed and stubbornness, when an astoundingly obvious idea occurred to me: what if he doesn't care?
That little caveat changes everything drastically. We'd have to re-open the genius discussion. Consider:
1. Man-Ram is 37—that's getting up there even at the height of the Steroid Era. I'm not naive enough to believe performance-enhancing drugs are completely gone from baseball. I'm not even sure the level of use has dropped rather than switched from anabolic steroids to human growth hormone. Regardless, it is undeniable the scrutiny has been cranked up a notch so the days of dominating 40-year-olds are over.
Being generous, Ramirez has about three or four really good years left.
2. Speaking of that increased scrutiny, it's only a matter of time before it rolls around to Manny. What if he's a juicer? There's no reason to believe otherwise since the guy has been one of the best hitters of this "tainted" generation and forgive me if I'm skeptical about his work ethic. Whatever anecdotal evidence may exist to the contrary.
3. Ramirez (and most other MLB insiders) would know the true level of PED use in MLB. As such, he would have to know other stars were using and that eventually more names would leak. If he is/was juicing, he'd have to be a little concerned by those implications.
4. Manny's place in the Hall of Fame is as secure as anyone's from this era i.e. either all the greats are going in or none are. So he has no real reason to linger around the game—he's got two World Series rings, a bunch of personal accolades, and presumably a ton of money.
5. No additional achievement will allow Manny to go down as the best ever. Even if he were to hang around and set a bunch of records, he'd merely be a place holder for someone like Albert Pujols, Ryan Howard, Alex Rodriguez, etc.
Furthermore, his antics in Boston preclude even the notion. Too many influential people in baseball have eyes for the Red Sox to allow that to happen.
6. It's tough to argue that a guy who quits on his team the day its blood rival comes to town for a big series is playing for the love of the game.
With all that in mind, reconsider the situation.
If some sucker does bite, like a really desperate Bum front office, swell. Manny's got his big dollar, long-term contract and Scott Boras comes out smelling about as well as a decomposing corpse of humanity can smell.
If not, Manny gets to retire a couple years early. To a beach and (I'm guessing) beautiful women.
Plus, Man-Ram would most likely duck any of the personal scrutiny. There'd be a lot of sexier witches to hunt since an active star is always a juicer (ugh) story than a retired one. That's not a small part of the reason Mark McGwire has been able to dodge the PED bullets for so long.
Manny's place in baseball history—already at its maximum capacity—would be secure. In fact, retiring might be the one thing that could substantially enhance Manny's place in baseball. If a bunch of other guys above him start falling prey to the hypocritical PED smear campaign, that could only help his rep.
From that angle, Manny Ramirez looks pretty freakin' astute.
He would've opted out to take a shot at getting an even fatter contract, which would make sticking around and operating under the increased PED scrutiny worthwhile. There would've been no risk to him because he would be perfectly willing to retire if no bigger contract proved forthcoming.
Considering the restraints seem to have been taken off the witch hunt, maybe Manny would even prefer that option.
In any event, the chances of that eventuality would be reduced by his ability to play chicken without actually playing—his part in the contest would be sincere.
Nothing can change the fact that Manny Ramirez is a punk and a dog for his exit from Boston. But there might just be some method to his madness after all.
The NBA Goes WWE...Again
Somebody tell the National Basketball Association that sports fans don't want preordained story lines. We don't want to know the fix is in even when it is. That's why there is professional wrestling—so that fans can be guaranteed entertainment by incredible athletes while sacrificing genuine unpredictability. An element that can only be found where Mother Nature and the gods of sport have unfettered reign.
So, if you're gonna sell us a bill of sales, at least spruce it up so it looks like something we'd want. At the very least, try to be a little less transparent when you're ripping us off.
I know, I know—it was only the All-Star game. So what. It was only batting practice when Sammy Sosa's bat exploded into corked shards.
Fraud by another name damages credibility just as sweetly.
And that's what it was when "they" made Shaquille O'Neal and Kobe Bryant co-Most Valuable Players of the NBA All-Star game. Fraud.
Before I get into it, let me say I don't understand why anyone gives an MVP trophy in all-star games to begin with. Talk about an empty award—wonderful, you are the best player from a group that was probably more concerned with resting or goofing off than performing.
Congratulations, put it on your Hall of Fame resume so your homers have something to point to and don't let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya.
An all-star MVP means absolutely bupkus except that player was probably trying harder than the rest in an exhibition game. Want proof? Go look at Peyton Manning's Pro Bowl stats. Proof-positive that all-star game performances and MVP awards don't mean jack.
Until you fix one and the fix was in Sunday.
All week leading up to yesterday's game, pro basketball fans heard ad nauseam about the forthcoming reunion of Kobe, Shaq, and Phil Jackson. Kobe was voted in, Shaq was selected as a reserve, and Phil would coach since the Los Angeles Lakers had the best record in the Western Conference. Nothing shady about that in the least.
All concerned were sincerely deserving participants.
Another little tidbit that probably flew under your radar—these were the three main antagonists who destroyed what could've been the next great NBA dynasty. Needless to say, the general media was atwitter will all the juicy storylines literally falling from the sky.
Shaq versus Kobe II? Was the initial beef sincere or was it marketing hype as Shaq now claims? Would there be a Zen yoga session to cleanse everyone's aura? Namaste.
Then came gameday, the best part of which was Shaq's dancing demonstration. That was a rather large robot, but the Diesel was doing just fine. Scratch that—he was tearing it up. Blew the game away easily.
The exhibition itself was a gently amusing afterthought that doesn't really need dissecting. Kobe put up 27 points, four assists, four rebounds, four steals, and orchestrated the West team. Shaq put up 17 points, five rebounds, three assists, took only nine shots, and played only 11 minutes. Those are impressive lines.
So what am I complaining about?
Take Kobe—his stats are great, but the points are the only thing that really jump off the page. Well, the dude took 23 shots in the All-Star Game. That's more than double the output of every other player who stepped on the hardwood except LeBron James (19), Chris Paul (14), and Dwyane Wade (13).
Quick digression—why is the 'y' before the 'a' in Wade's first name? How is that a homophone for Duane? Or Dwayne? Weird. That's like Favre. I also can't believe I've never noticed it before. Anywhoo..
Back to the game and Kobe. Along with being the biggest chucker on the court, Bryant also logged 29 minutes—most of anyone other than Brandon Roy. I don't have a problem with the attempts or the minutes (the man's rep and resume earn him that much), but both go a long way towards explaining why his are the preeminent numbers.
And then there's the Big Aristotle.
Again, O'Neal's numbers are dominant considering nobody got less run. Of course, he put up 11 points in six minutes during which Rashard Lewis—all 6'10" and 230 pounds of him—was thrown to (defending) the wolves. To be totally accurate, it was only one wolf...that was 7'1" and 325 pounds. I'm guessing several of those rebounds came during that span as well.
So, sure, you can say that both Kobe and Shaq earned the award. And it is only the NBA All-Star Game MVP Trophy. When all is said and done, who really cares?
But that works against the situation as well because why fix an award that doesn't matter? Why create a story with hype, beat the story to death so that everyone knows about it, orchestrate the event such that the arc comes to fruition, and then compound the entire thing by naming co-MVPs? It looks so premeditated.
And it's so unnecessary that—from a certain perspective—it makes the stench of the situation worse.
But, hey, at least no referees were involved...
So, if you're gonna sell us a bill of sales, at least spruce it up so it looks like something we'd want. At the very least, try to be a little less transparent when you're ripping us off.
I know, I know—it was only the All-Star game. So what. It was only batting practice when Sammy Sosa's bat exploded into corked shards.
Fraud by another name damages credibility just as sweetly.
And that's what it was when "they" made Shaquille O'Neal and Kobe Bryant co-Most Valuable Players of the NBA All-Star game. Fraud.
Before I get into it, let me say I don't understand why anyone gives an MVP trophy in all-star games to begin with. Talk about an empty award—wonderful, you are the best player from a group that was probably more concerned with resting or goofing off than performing.
Congratulations, put it on your Hall of Fame resume so your homers have something to point to and don't let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya.
An all-star MVP means absolutely bupkus except that player was probably trying harder than the rest in an exhibition game. Want proof? Go look at Peyton Manning's Pro Bowl stats. Proof-positive that all-star game performances and MVP awards don't mean jack.
Until you fix one and the fix was in Sunday.
All week leading up to yesterday's game, pro basketball fans heard ad nauseam about the forthcoming reunion of Kobe, Shaq, and Phil Jackson. Kobe was voted in, Shaq was selected as a reserve, and Phil would coach since the Los Angeles Lakers had the best record in the Western Conference. Nothing shady about that in the least.
All concerned were sincerely deserving participants.
Another little tidbit that probably flew under your radar—these were the three main antagonists who destroyed what could've been the next great NBA dynasty. Needless to say, the general media was atwitter will all the juicy storylines literally falling from the sky.
Shaq versus Kobe II? Was the initial beef sincere or was it marketing hype as Shaq now claims? Would there be a Zen yoga session to cleanse everyone's aura? Namaste.
Then came gameday, the best part of which was Shaq's dancing demonstration. That was a rather large robot, but the Diesel was doing just fine. Scratch that—he was tearing it up. Blew the game away easily.
The exhibition itself was a gently amusing afterthought that doesn't really need dissecting. Kobe put up 27 points, four assists, four rebounds, four steals, and orchestrated the West team. Shaq put up 17 points, five rebounds, three assists, took only nine shots, and played only 11 minutes. Those are impressive lines.
So what am I complaining about?
Take Kobe—his stats are great, but the points are the only thing that really jump off the page. Well, the dude took 23 shots in the All-Star Game. That's more than double the output of every other player who stepped on the hardwood except LeBron James (19), Chris Paul (14), and Dwyane Wade (13).
Quick digression—why is the 'y' before the 'a' in Wade's first name? How is that a homophone for Duane? Or Dwayne? Weird. That's like Favre. I also can't believe I've never noticed it before. Anywhoo..
Back to the game and Kobe. Along with being the biggest chucker on the court, Bryant also logged 29 minutes—most of anyone other than Brandon Roy. I don't have a problem with the attempts or the minutes (the man's rep and resume earn him that much), but both go a long way towards explaining why his are the preeminent numbers.
And then there's the Big Aristotle.
Again, O'Neal's numbers are dominant considering nobody got less run. Of course, he put up 11 points in six minutes during which Rashard Lewis—all 6'10" and 230 pounds of him—was thrown to (defending) the wolves. To be totally accurate, it was only one wolf...that was 7'1" and 325 pounds. I'm guessing several of those rebounds came during that span as well.
So, sure, you can say that both Kobe and Shaq earned the award. And it is only the NBA All-Star Game MVP Trophy. When all is said and done, who really cares?
But that works against the situation as well because why fix an award that doesn't matter? Why create a story with hype, beat the story to death so that everyone knows about it, orchestrate the event such that the arc comes to fruition, and then compound the entire thing by naming co-MVPs? It looks so premeditated.
And it's so unnecessary that—from a certain perspective—it makes the stench of the situation worse.
But, hey, at least no referees were involved...
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Thabeet Goes On and On—Basketball's Got Somethin' Brewing
In the last couple of weeks, we've seen Kobe Bryant put 62 points on the New York Knickerbockers. In the process, he broke Michael Jordan's single-game scoring record for the sacred building, the famed Double Nickel. Word of mouth spread fast.
Word of cyberspace spread even faster.
Sensing a shot had been fired across his bow, LeBron James waltzed into the arena several nights later and did something even more impressive. King James chalked up the ever-so-rare, disappearing triple-double—52 points, 11 assists, and 10 rebounds.
And then it was nine rebounds. Whatever.
The point is that Kobe and LBJ used one of the most historic buildings in the National Basketball Association as their personal canvases. They did whatever, whenever because they wanted to (and the Knicks are not so good).
Jump ahead to yesterday.
If you haven't been paying attention to college basketball, now's a pretty good time to start. Not only has the calendar hit mid-February, which means March Madness is looming on the horizon, there is a junior varsity version of one-upmanship brewing in the college ranks.
Blake Griffin of the second-ranked Oklahoma Sooners terrorized the Texas Tech Red Raiders to the melody of 40 points, 23 rebounds, two assists, two steals, and a block against five turnovers plus three fouls . On any other day, we would marvel at Griffin's magnificence.
Unfortunately for Blake, Saturday's round of the developing mano-a-mano for the right to be called college basketball's best player went to Hasheem Thabeet.
I promise you, this is not a typo. This was Thabeet's actual line: 25 points, 20 rebounds, nine blocked shots, and an assist against only a single turnover. The most amazing thing is the man-child blocked nine shots while registering one—ONE—foul.
If I'm a Seton Hall Pirate today, I'm thoroughly embarrassed. The dude blocked nine shots and you couldn't even scratch him for a second foul? Ooof.
Of course, if you've seen either Thabeet or Griffin, you can kinda understand how days like yesterday might happen.
Much like Kobe and LeBron in the NBA, catch either college player on the right night against the wrong team and you stand a good chance of seeing something special. Hasheem and Blake both have the propensity to look like men playing against children.
Not necessarily because of their size (although they both have a good bit of an advantage in that department), but more because of their athleticism and maturity (again, not necessarily physical). For whatever reason, both kids seem to have a firm grip on what they can do—a lot—and what they cannot do—not a ton.
A friend of mine once said that a man's got to know his limitations. Thabeet and Griffin apparently have a good idea of theirs—of course, it helps when the list isn't too long.
And, remember, this is college basketball.
We've already seen this happen at the next level. Guys like LeBron, Dwight Howard, Ama're Stoudemire, and even Dirk Nowitzki have proven that a new day is dawning in basketball. A day where the sun may eventually be eclipsed by behemoths who possess all the tools of the little water-striders.
Consider LBJ's handles, vision, and sheer athleticism from a 6'9", 250 pound body. Or Howard's leaping ability, dexterity, and coordination from a 6'11", 265 pound kid. Ditto for Ama're, who goes 6'10" and listed at 249.
And lest we forget Dirk's feathery touch and finesse from a seven-footer.
Even more ridiculous is that, arguably, only Dirk has peaked (he'll be 31 in June). Ama're will only be 27 in November. LBJ will be 25 and Howard will be 24 in December.
In case, you're wondering—Griffin will soon turn 20 and Thabeet hits 22 tomorrow.
So, with the possible exception of Nowitzki, the best days have yet to come for all of these guys barring the unforeseen. Even if we lose a couple to injury or the weight of expectations, we can be sure more of these genetic mutants—I mean that as a compliment—are in the pipeline.
I don't know who's making 'em and I don't know where they're coming from, but the future of basketball is theirs.
Charles Darwin would be proud.
Word of cyberspace spread even faster.
Sensing a shot had been fired across his bow, LeBron James waltzed into the arena several nights later and did something even more impressive. King James chalked up the ever-so-rare, disappearing triple-double—52 points, 11 assists, and 10 rebounds.
And then it was nine rebounds. Whatever.
The point is that Kobe and LBJ used one of the most historic buildings in the National Basketball Association as their personal canvases. They did whatever, whenever because they wanted to (and the Knicks are not so good).
Jump ahead to yesterday.
If you haven't been paying attention to college basketball, now's a pretty good time to start. Not only has the calendar hit mid-February, which means March Madness is looming on the horizon, there is a junior varsity version of one-upmanship brewing in the college ranks.
Blake Griffin of the second-ranked Oklahoma Sooners terrorized the Texas Tech Red Raiders to the melody of 40 points, 23 rebounds, two assists, two steals, and a block against five turnovers plus three fouls . On any other day, we would marvel at Griffin's magnificence.
Unfortunately for Blake, Saturday's round of the developing mano-a-mano for the right to be called college basketball's best player went to Hasheem Thabeet.
I promise you, this is not a typo. This was Thabeet's actual line: 25 points, 20 rebounds, nine blocked shots, and an assist against only a single turnover. The most amazing thing is the man-child blocked nine shots while registering one—ONE—foul.
If I'm a Seton Hall Pirate today, I'm thoroughly embarrassed. The dude blocked nine shots and you couldn't even scratch him for a second foul? Ooof.
Of course, if you've seen either Thabeet or Griffin, you can kinda understand how days like yesterday might happen.
Much like Kobe and LeBron in the NBA, catch either college player on the right night against the wrong team and you stand a good chance of seeing something special. Hasheem and Blake both have the propensity to look like men playing against children.
Not necessarily because of their size (although they both have a good bit of an advantage in that department), but more because of their athleticism and maturity (again, not necessarily physical). For whatever reason, both kids seem to have a firm grip on what they can do—a lot—and what they cannot do—not a ton.
A friend of mine once said that a man's got to know his limitations. Thabeet and Griffin apparently have a good idea of theirs—of course, it helps when the list isn't too long.
And, remember, this is college basketball.
We've already seen this happen at the next level. Guys like LeBron, Dwight Howard, Ama're Stoudemire, and even Dirk Nowitzki have proven that a new day is dawning in basketball. A day where the sun may eventually be eclipsed by behemoths who possess all the tools of the little water-striders.
Consider LBJ's handles, vision, and sheer athleticism from a 6'9", 250 pound body. Or Howard's leaping ability, dexterity, and coordination from a 6'11", 265 pound kid. Ditto for Ama're, who goes 6'10" and listed at 249.
And lest we forget Dirk's feathery touch and finesse from a seven-footer.
Even more ridiculous is that, arguably, only Dirk has peaked (he'll be 31 in June). Ama're will only be 27 in November. LBJ will be 25 and Howard will be 24 in December.
In case, you're wondering—Griffin will soon turn 20 and Thabeet hits 22 tomorrow.
So, with the possible exception of Nowitzki, the best days have yet to come for all of these guys barring the unforeseen. Even if we lose a couple to injury or the weight of expectations, we can be sure more of these genetic mutants—I mean that as a compliment—are in the pipeline.
I don't know who's making 'em and I don't know where they're coming from, but the future of basketball is theirs.
Charles Darwin would be proud.
Barry Lamar Bonds—The Noose Tightens
In the United States of America, you're supposed to be innocent until proven guilty in a court of law. The court of public opinion is obviously much different and follows no such egalitarian credo. If it looks like a chicken and sounds like a chicken, it's a chicken until it's proven to be a duck.
I don't have a huge problem with that so long as we wait until it's reasonable to jump to those social conclusions.
Which brings me to Barry Lamar Bonds.
With regard to Bonds, I'm a fan. I have to be because he carried the San Francisco Giants for over a decade. Today, the public has tattooed juicer all over his massive forehead and I've no problem with that. Nor would I even disagree.
I said I was a fan, not delusional.
But the United States Department of "Justice" is not the masses. Consequently, it should not be allowed to subscribe and apply the public's standard of circumstantially guilty until proven innocent. Yet that is exactly what its District Office in San Francisco is doing.
And it is outrageous.
Consider its latest filing, in which in names the following key witnesses:
1. Kimberly Bell—Barry's former mistress; she'll testify that Barry told her he started juicing prior to 2000.
2. Bobby Estalella—one of Barry's former teammates; he'll testify that Barry told him, on several occasions, the slugger was using performance-enhancing drugs.
3. Steve Hoskins—Bond's former childhood friend; he'll testify that Barry told him of Barry's PED use over the course of several discussions. Hoskins also has a recording of a conversation with Greg Anderson in which the former was trying to get the latter on tape saying Barry was juicing. The childhood buddy was so concerned for his friend that he wanted proof to show Bobby Bonds, Barry's father.
4. Kathy Hoskins—Bond's former personal shopper and sister to Steve; she'll testify that she saw Anderson injecting Bonds. Apparently, she didn't know if the syringe contained PEDs—that doesn't matter too much since Bonds is on record saying only his doctor shot him up with anything. More about her later.
The DOJ has also hinted it may bring in a whole host of ex-ballplayers of varied notoriety, most about the same caliber as Estalella.
Those first three witnesses are ridiculous.
Forget the credibility issues of a jilted lover; a burnout, never-was ex-juicer; and an ex-friend against whom Bonds has filed embezzlement charges. Forget the idea of Barry Lamar Bonds confiding in anyone seems laughable, let alone these three jokers.
I mean, this is a man who is notorious for being aloof, condescending, and inaccessible.
Forget all that because any law student can tell you that all three pieces of testimony, as offered, are textbook examples of hearsay. As such, they are inadmissible.
Hearsay is an out-of-court-statement made by a declarant being offered at trial to prove the truth of the matter asserted. It does NOT matter if the declarant is now in court i.e. that Bonds is sitting at the defendant's table. It wouldn't even matter if the same declarant were testifying to the statement i.e. if witness A said, "I told him/her this," it would be tossed if the original statement were made out of court.
The point is that the party adversely affected by the statement must have a chance to challenge its validity, sincerity, whatever at the time it was made.
So we can chuck Bell, Estalella, and Hoskins. Summarily.
The outrageous part is the government CANNOT pretend it doesn't know those three pieces of "evidence" are bad. Rotten.
An accusation proven by the fact it's trying to get around the hearsay problem with regard to Anderson. There, the government is arguing that Greg was Bonds' agent. The federal rules exempt such statements from hearsay consideration, but I won't get into that.
The technicalities are irrelevant because the very fact the government is trying to make the argument proves it recognizes hearsay. So they must recognize it in the statements made by Bell, Estalella, and Steve Hoskins.
But let me get back to Kathy Hoskins. She's the only new name on that list.
Not surprisingly, she's also offering the only non-hearsay bit of evidence. She saw the injection—nobody told her about it. Hmmm, that's convenient.
This nonsense has been going on for years now and each piece of evidence the government wants to use is fatally flawed by hearsay. Then, all of a sudden, a new piece pops up that doesn't rely on hearsay. It also just happens that it's offered by a woman who is related to another witness/defendant in a collateral suit by Barry Bonds (the defendant in this trial).
???????
Where's she been for the last five years? She saw Barry receiving injections from Greg Anderson and it's taken her this long to come forward? While her brother is getting sued by Bonds? Riiiiiiight.
There are even more problematic tactics that I won't get into—partly because it gets tedious, partly because it requires legal knowledge over my head. Suffice it to say, though, that the repeated incarceration of Greg Anderson (already over 13 months), the collateral tax investigation of Anderson's wife/mother-in-law, and other desperate actions by the prosecution smell fishy.
Not only is it abhorrent behavior by the US Department of "Justice," but it's pathetically transparent. The only reason there hasn't been cacophonous outcry is because Barry Bonds is about as pleasant as a fractured testicle.
That's why ESPN is able to trot out that paradigm of responsible investigative journalism, Mark Fainaru-Wada, to tell everyone that the above evidence is NOT hearsay. He even explains why it's NOT hearsay—and his explanation is priceless.
Oh, it's actual people talking about actual conversations so it's not hearsay. It's only hearsay if they're lying. I see.
Wait...I thought we already dealt with false testimony by calling it perjury. I think there might even be a ballplayer on trial for it.
So it's not just the government.
ESPN and Fainaru-Wada can't even be trouble themselves to get the primary facts right in their haste to add fuel to the fire. They know they don't have to because it's Barry Bonds—nobody likes Barry so nobody will even notice when new rules are made just for him.
And that's unfortunate because popularity is a fleeting thing.
Justice shouldn't be.
I don't have a huge problem with that so long as we wait until it's reasonable to jump to those social conclusions.
Which brings me to Barry Lamar Bonds.
With regard to Bonds, I'm a fan. I have to be because he carried the San Francisco Giants for over a decade. Today, the public has tattooed juicer all over his massive forehead and I've no problem with that. Nor would I even disagree.
I said I was a fan, not delusional.
But the United States Department of "Justice" is not the masses. Consequently, it should not be allowed to subscribe and apply the public's standard of circumstantially guilty until proven innocent. Yet that is exactly what its District Office in San Francisco is doing.
And it is outrageous.
Consider its latest filing, in which in names the following key witnesses:
1. Kimberly Bell—Barry's former mistress; she'll testify that Barry told her he started juicing prior to 2000.
2. Bobby Estalella—one of Barry's former teammates; he'll testify that Barry told him, on several occasions, the slugger was using performance-enhancing drugs.
3. Steve Hoskins—Bond's former childhood friend; he'll testify that Barry told him of Barry's PED use over the course of several discussions. Hoskins also has a recording of a conversation with Greg Anderson in which the former was trying to get the latter on tape saying Barry was juicing. The childhood buddy was so concerned for his friend that he wanted proof to show Bobby Bonds, Barry's father.
4. Kathy Hoskins—Bond's former personal shopper and sister to Steve; she'll testify that she saw Anderson injecting Bonds. Apparently, she didn't know if the syringe contained PEDs—that doesn't matter too much since Bonds is on record saying only his doctor shot him up with anything. More about her later.
The DOJ has also hinted it may bring in a whole host of ex-ballplayers of varied notoriety, most about the same caliber as Estalella.
Those first three witnesses are ridiculous.
Forget the credibility issues of a jilted lover; a burnout, never-was ex-juicer; and an ex-friend against whom Bonds has filed embezzlement charges. Forget the idea of Barry Lamar Bonds confiding in anyone seems laughable, let alone these three jokers.
I mean, this is a man who is notorious for being aloof, condescending, and inaccessible.
Forget all that because any law student can tell you that all three pieces of testimony, as offered, are textbook examples of hearsay. As such, they are inadmissible.
Hearsay is an out-of-court-statement made by a declarant being offered at trial to prove the truth of the matter asserted. It does NOT matter if the declarant is now in court i.e. that Bonds is sitting at the defendant's table. It wouldn't even matter if the same declarant were testifying to the statement i.e. if witness A said, "I told him/her this," it would be tossed if the original statement were made out of court.
The point is that the party adversely affected by the statement must have a chance to challenge its validity, sincerity, whatever at the time it was made.
So we can chuck Bell, Estalella, and Hoskins. Summarily.
The outrageous part is the government CANNOT pretend it doesn't know those three pieces of "evidence" are bad. Rotten.
An accusation proven by the fact it's trying to get around the hearsay problem with regard to Anderson. There, the government is arguing that Greg was Bonds' agent. The federal rules exempt such statements from hearsay consideration, but I won't get into that.
The technicalities are irrelevant because the very fact the government is trying to make the argument proves it recognizes hearsay. So they must recognize it in the statements made by Bell, Estalella, and Steve Hoskins.
But let me get back to Kathy Hoskins. She's the only new name on that list.
Not surprisingly, she's also offering the only non-hearsay bit of evidence. She saw the injection—nobody told her about it. Hmmm, that's convenient.
This nonsense has been going on for years now and each piece of evidence the government wants to use is fatally flawed by hearsay. Then, all of a sudden, a new piece pops up that doesn't rely on hearsay. It also just happens that it's offered by a woman who is related to another witness/defendant in a collateral suit by Barry Bonds (the defendant in this trial).
???????
Where's she been for the last five years? She saw Barry receiving injections from Greg Anderson and it's taken her this long to come forward? While her brother is getting sued by Bonds? Riiiiiiight.
There are even more problematic tactics that I won't get into—partly because it gets tedious, partly because it requires legal knowledge over my head. Suffice it to say, though, that the repeated incarceration of Greg Anderson (already over 13 months), the collateral tax investigation of Anderson's wife/mother-in-law, and other desperate actions by the prosecution smell fishy.
Not only is it abhorrent behavior by the US Department of "Justice," but it's pathetically transparent. The only reason there hasn't been cacophonous outcry is because Barry Bonds is about as pleasant as a fractured testicle.
That's why ESPN is able to trot out that paradigm of responsible investigative journalism, Mark Fainaru-Wada, to tell everyone that the above evidence is NOT hearsay. He even explains why it's NOT hearsay—and his explanation is priceless.
Oh, it's actual people talking about actual conversations so it's not hearsay. It's only hearsay if they're lying. I see.
Wait...I thought we already dealt with false testimony by calling it perjury. I think there might even be a ballplayer on trial for it.
So it's not just the government.
ESPN and Fainaru-Wada can't even be trouble themselves to get the primary facts right in their haste to add fuel to the fire. They know they don't have to because it's Barry Bonds—nobody likes Barry so nobody will even notice when new rules are made just for him.
And that's unfortunate because popularity is a fleeting thing.
Justice shouldn't be.
Friday, February 13, 2009
The San Francisco Giants' 2009 Slightly Premature Preview
The San Francisco Giants are at the very top of the roller coaster. Pitchers and catchers are in the front car looking down that first precipitous drop as they get ready to report in less than 24 hours. The rest of the guys are soon to follow.
A couple significant bodies might hop on at the last minute (rumor has it there's an offer on the Joe Crede's table), but the Orange and Black roster is pretty much set.
A quick look around the Major Leagues shows that the same can be said about the overall picture. Most teams have circled the wagons for the official start of spring baseball. Others are adding the last piece or two—the Los Angeles Angels grabbed Bobby Abreu, the Washington Nationals nabbed Adam Dunn, and that means Manny Ramirez is even more certain to default to the Los Angeles Dodgers.
The pitching situation is no different.
The Milwaukee Brewers just signed Braden Looper and Ben Sheets' elbow surgery promises he'll be down for at least the first half of 2009. An injury history like his suggests his shelf life will be even longer.
That means the juiciest prizes on the open market are now complimentary players like the Orlandos (Hudson and Cabrera), Ken Griffey Jr., Tom Glavine, Garret Anderson, and Moises Alou.
Fine ballplayers, but none is going to shift the balance of power. Not even in the increasingly watered-down National League West.
So it's a perfect time to take stock of the Giants' 2009 outlook:
Projected starting lineup
Catcher—Bengie Molina
First base—Travis Ishikawa
Second base—Emmanuel Burriss
Third base—Pablo Sandoval
Shortstop—Edgar Renteria
Left field—Freddie Lewis
Center field—Aaron Rowand
Right field—Randy Winn
If Crede signs he'd slot in at the hot corner and Sandoval shifts to first. Even if Crede doesn't jump aboard, Richie Aurilia's set to take reps at third if Pablo can't handle the defensive load. Regardless, Sandoval's in the lineup.
There's also a bit of unrest (apparently) at second with Burriss and Kevin Frandsen duking it out for the starting job. I'm putting my money on the fleet feet of Emmanuel to pull through in spring training.
Starting rotation
Ace—Tim Lincecum (R)
Second spot—Randy Johnson (L)
Third spot—Matt Cain (R)
Fourth spot—Barry Zito (L)
Fifth spot—Jonathan Sanchez (L)
Here again, spring training will decide the final order of the rotation. The Franchise and defending NL Cy Young gets the ball on Opening Day, but the other spots are subject to change. I'd go with the above since it alternates either righty/lefty or hard stuff/soft dookie, but I'm not Bruce Bochy.
Noah Lowry (L) also plans to have a say in who gets that fifth spot in the rotation. I like Sanchez' arsenal and health over Noah's experience.
Bullpen
Closer—Brian Wilson (R)
Set-up—Jeremy Affeldt (L)
Set-up—Bobby Howry (R)
Set-up—Jack Taschner (L)
Set-up—Sergio Romo (R)
Set-up—Alex Hinshaw (L)
Nothing much needs to be said here in terms of qualifiers. The firemen are set and primed for a strong year.
Put it all together and the outlook is pretty rosy in the absolute sense.
The offense isn't going to blow anyone's doors off the hinges, even if Crede signs and experiences a rejuvenation. However, it should have a lot of speed and some guys who can handle the bat well enough to generate more runs than last year.
That's not saying much, but at least it's progress.
Same goes for the rotation. It's tough to imagine Lincecum getting better, but he's so young that improvement should be forthcoming. The Big Unit has a lot of miles on his left arm, but he's still an upgrade over the warm body SF trotted out every fifth day in 2008. Zito has been improving at a glacial rate and the Sanchez/Lowry survivor should be more consistent.
And then there's Matt Cain.
To the casual observer, the Kid is a bit of a trainwreck. His numbers are ugly with a capital 'U;' don't believe it—with a little extra run support and the accompanying confidence boost, he could take the Leap. Cain's a stud whose youth makes him susceptible to the big inning, especially when he thinks he's gotta be perfect to keep his team in the game. If that offense can simply muster another two or three runs in Cain's starts, the Giants could be looking at a one-two punch to rival anyone in baseball.
That's the absolute sense. The relative one is even rosier because the NL West—a harmless kitten last year—has gotten even cuter.
The Bums, the Arizona Diamondbacks, and the Colorado Rockies should all see improvement from seriously talented youngsters. However, most of those youngsters figure to do their damage with ash or maple, not with the rosin bag. Additionally, those teams have all lost hugely significant piece.
Arizona's seen Dunn, the Big Unit, and Brandon Lyon walk. Hudson and Juan Cruz seem destined for the door as well. Colorado traded away Matt Holliday and let Brian Fuentes take the walk. I guess they let Willy Taveras run.
Last year's division champ, the Bums, will likely retain the services of Manny—what those will be remain are an increasingly large question mark. Even if he returns the Good Manny, the boys in blue have still seen Derek Lowe, Brad Penny, Takashi Saito, Jeff Kent, Greg Maddux, Jason Johnson, and Scott Proctor hit the road. Nomar Garciaparra and Joe Beimel also have their thumbs out.
That's a ton of talent creating a vacuum that endures. And nothing on the open market is gonna fill it.
As a die-hard San Francisco Giant fan, I like the absolute picture very much. I love the relative one because it's all about making the playoffs. If you can scratch and claw your way into the second season, anything can happen.
An injury here, a hot streak there, and you're wearing a World Series crown. It almost happened for SF in 2002 and it did happen for the 2008 Philadelphia Phillies.
The weakness of the NL West and the progress (on paper) of the Giants make 2009 one of the most promising baseball seasons for the Bay Area in several years. The playoffs are a legitimate possibility and, for the first time since 2004, that's not the Kool-Aid talking.
It'll take a bit of luck, but that's always the case. And the San Francisco Giants are due for a bit of luck.
In less than 24 hours, the ifs start dropping away and the roller coaster officially starts. For the first time in a long time, San Francisco may be able to enjoy the ride.
A couple significant bodies might hop on at the last minute (rumor has it there's an offer on the Joe Crede's table), but the Orange and Black roster is pretty much set.
A quick look around the Major Leagues shows that the same can be said about the overall picture. Most teams have circled the wagons for the official start of spring baseball. Others are adding the last piece or two—the Los Angeles Angels grabbed Bobby Abreu, the Washington Nationals nabbed Adam Dunn, and that means Manny Ramirez is even more certain to default to the Los Angeles Dodgers.
The pitching situation is no different.
The Milwaukee Brewers just signed Braden Looper and Ben Sheets' elbow surgery promises he'll be down for at least the first half of 2009. An injury history like his suggests his shelf life will be even longer.
That means the juiciest prizes on the open market are now complimentary players like the Orlandos (Hudson and Cabrera), Ken Griffey Jr., Tom Glavine, Garret Anderson, and Moises Alou.
Fine ballplayers, but none is going to shift the balance of power. Not even in the increasingly watered-down National League West.
So it's a perfect time to take stock of the Giants' 2009 outlook:
Projected starting lineup
Catcher—Bengie Molina
First base—Travis Ishikawa
Second base—Emmanuel Burriss
Third base—Pablo Sandoval
Shortstop—Edgar Renteria
Left field—Freddie Lewis
Center field—Aaron Rowand
Right field—Randy Winn
If Crede signs he'd slot in at the hot corner and Sandoval shifts to first. Even if Crede doesn't jump aboard, Richie Aurilia's set to take reps at third if Pablo can't handle the defensive load. Regardless, Sandoval's in the lineup.
There's also a bit of unrest (apparently) at second with Burriss and Kevin Frandsen duking it out for the starting job. I'm putting my money on the fleet feet of Emmanuel to pull through in spring training.
Starting rotation
Ace—Tim Lincecum (R)
Second spot—Randy Johnson (L)
Third spot—Matt Cain (R)
Fourth spot—Barry Zito (L)
Fifth spot—Jonathan Sanchez (L)
Here again, spring training will decide the final order of the rotation. The Franchise and defending NL Cy Young gets the ball on Opening Day, but the other spots are subject to change. I'd go with the above since it alternates either righty/lefty or hard stuff/soft dookie, but I'm not Bruce Bochy.
Noah Lowry (L) also plans to have a say in who gets that fifth spot in the rotation. I like Sanchez' arsenal and health over Noah's experience.
Bullpen
Closer—Brian Wilson (R)
Set-up—Jeremy Affeldt (L)
Set-up—Bobby Howry (R)
Set-up—Jack Taschner (L)
Set-up—Sergio Romo (R)
Set-up—Alex Hinshaw (L)
Nothing much needs to be said here in terms of qualifiers. The firemen are set and primed for a strong year.
Put it all together and the outlook is pretty rosy in the absolute sense.
The offense isn't going to blow anyone's doors off the hinges, even if Crede signs and experiences a rejuvenation. However, it should have a lot of speed and some guys who can handle the bat well enough to generate more runs than last year.
That's not saying much, but at least it's progress.
Same goes for the rotation. It's tough to imagine Lincecum getting better, but he's so young that improvement should be forthcoming. The Big Unit has a lot of miles on his left arm, but he's still an upgrade over the warm body SF trotted out every fifth day in 2008. Zito has been improving at a glacial rate and the Sanchez/Lowry survivor should be more consistent.
And then there's Matt Cain.
To the casual observer, the Kid is a bit of a trainwreck. His numbers are ugly with a capital 'U;' don't believe it—with a little extra run support and the accompanying confidence boost, he could take the Leap. Cain's a stud whose youth makes him susceptible to the big inning, especially when he thinks he's gotta be perfect to keep his team in the game. If that offense can simply muster another two or three runs in Cain's starts, the Giants could be looking at a one-two punch to rival anyone in baseball.
That's the absolute sense. The relative one is even rosier because the NL West—a harmless kitten last year—has gotten even cuter.
The Bums, the Arizona Diamondbacks, and the Colorado Rockies should all see improvement from seriously talented youngsters. However, most of those youngsters figure to do their damage with ash or maple, not with the rosin bag. Additionally, those teams have all lost hugely significant piece.
Arizona's seen Dunn, the Big Unit, and Brandon Lyon walk. Hudson and Juan Cruz seem destined for the door as well. Colorado traded away Matt Holliday and let Brian Fuentes take the walk. I guess they let Willy Taveras run.
Last year's division champ, the Bums, will likely retain the services of Manny—what those will be remain are an increasingly large question mark. Even if he returns the Good Manny, the boys in blue have still seen Derek Lowe, Brad Penny, Takashi Saito, Jeff Kent, Greg Maddux, Jason Johnson, and Scott Proctor hit the road. Nomar Garciaparra and Joe Beimel also have their thumbs out.
That's a ton of talent creating a vacuum that endures. And nothing on the open market is gonna fill it.
As a die-hard San Francisco Giant fan, I like the absolute picture very much. I love the relative one because it's all about making the playoffs. If you can scratch and claw your way into the second season, anything can happen.
An injury here, a hot streak there, and you're wearing a World Series crown. It almost happened for SF in 2002 and it did happen for the 2008 Philadelphia Phillies.
The weakness of the NL West and the progress (on paper) of the Giants make 2009 one of the most promising baseball seasons for the Bay Area in several years. The playoffs are a legitimate possibility and, for the first time since 2004, that's not the Kool-Aid talking.
It'll take a bit of luck, but that's always the case. And the San Francisco Giants are due for a bit of luck.
In less than 24 hours, the ifs start dropping away and the roller coaster officially starts. For the first time in a long time, San Francisco may be able to enjoy the ride.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Bud Selig Should Die of Gonorrhea and Rot In Hell...Cookie?
As I look around crater-pocked landscape of the Major League Baseball world, I can't help but wonder what the hell is going on. It's like the revelation that a urine sample from 2003 tested positive for a performance-enhancing drug and that it belonged to Alex Rodriguez was a nuclear bomb that destroyed common sense and accountability.
First, there was apoplectic outrage over the "news" that another one of MLB's brightest stars of the Steroid Era pissed hot.
Then, there is all this posturing from the media about how the aforementioned era has officially and eternally tainted what was once a pure game.
Now, this little gem from Bud Selig:
"What Alex did was wrong and he will have to live with the damage he has done to his name and reputation. While Alex deserves credit for publicly confronting the issue, there is no valid excuse for using such substances, and those who use them have shamed the game."
Three things jump out at me from Selig's words incredibly hypocritical words:
1. The only part that wasn't the pot calling the kettle black was the bit about damage done to name/reputation. Selig has no goodwill associate with either anymore so he really can do no further damage to his own name/reputation.
2. It's pretty arrogant and stupid for the Commissioner of Major League Baseball do call out one of his players for shaming the game via use of PEDs considering he was at the helm during its creation, rise, and explosion.
Bud Selig has been acting commissioner since 1992. The title has officially been his since 1998. In other words, he's had the keys since just after the Bash Brothers opened Pandora's Box and been riding solo since the year that many observers feel marks the beginning of the Steroid Era calendar.
The principal power and duty is to act in and protect the best interest of baseball.
Now, I've heard some people saying that PEDs actually were in MLB's best interest—the Great Homerun Race of 1998 brought fans back, Barry Lamar Bonds kept them around, the offensive explosion helped MLB stay afloat after the National Football League threatened to turtle the Show, etc. Whether or not you're receptive to that argument is irrelevant.
Because this is about Stinky Selig and he said all the juicers have shamed the game of baseball. That assertion is a direct contradiction to the above argument.
So, how can the man criticize his players for shaming baseball when it was his responsibility to protect the best interests of baseball during the gestation, maturation, and spread of the PED problem?
That's rhetorical, more or less, because we already know Bud Selig is a spineless parasite. But it leads me to...
3. Where is the media that promised not to sleep on the job a second time around? HOW can they let this man slide on such a statement? The minute those words slimed from his maw, someone with a press credential should have been hammering him.
Mercilessly.
I'm no fan of A-Rod—I think he's as phony as phony can be off the field. Any man-child who leaves his wife and kids to take up with someone else has some serious explaining to do. When he does it to shack up with an ancient and married mother/pop-star, there is no longer any explanation necessary.
Not to mention every one of his public statements/interactions is about as genuine as his apology for juicing. But Rodriguez' failings are not the point.
The point is that Bud Selig was the man responsible for Major League Baseball during almost the entirety of the intersection between baseball and performance-enhancing drugs. And he's sitting atop his throne handing out blame as if his hands weren't drenched in blood.
That man is as guilty and as sleazy as they come. And he's who the owners have entrusted with protecting the best interests of baseball for the last 15+ years.
You know what?
Now that scorched earth makes a lot more sense.
First, there was apoplectic outrage over the "news" that another one of MLB's brightest stars of the Steroid Era pissed hot.
Then, there is all this posturing from the media about how the aforementioned era has officially and eternally tainted what was once a pure game.
Now, this little gem from Bud Selig:
"What Alex did was wrong and he will have to live with the damage he has done to his name and reputation. While Alex deserves credit for publicly confronting the issue, there is no valid excuse for using such substances, and those who use them have shamed the game."
Three things jump out at me from Selig's words incredibly hypocritical words:
1. The only part that wasn't the pot calling the kettle black was the bit about damage done to name/reputation. Selig has no goodwill associate with either anymore so he really can do no further damage to his own name/reputation.
2. It's pretty arrogant and stupid for the Commissioner of Major League Baseball do call out one of his players for shaming the game via use of PEDs considering he was at the helm during its creation, rise, and explosion.
Bud Selig has been acting commissioner since 1992. The title has officially been his since 1998. In other words, he's had the keys since just after the Bash Brothers opened Pandora's Box and been riding solo since the year that many observers feel marks the beginning of the Steroid Era calendar.
The principal power and duty is to act in and protect the best interest of baseball.
Now, I've heard some people saying that PEDs actually were in MLB's best interest—the Great Homerun Race of 1998 brought fans back, Barry Lamar Bonds kept them around, the offensive explosion helped MLB stay afloat after the National Football League threatened to turtle the Show, etc. Whether or not you're receptive to that argument is irrelevant.
Because this is about Stinky Selig and he said all the juicers have shamed the game of baseball. That assertion is a direct contradiction to the above argument.
So, how can the man criticize his players for shaming baseball when it was his responsibility to protect the best interests of baseball during the gestation, maturation, and spread of the PED problem?
That's rhetorical, more or less, because we already know Bud Selig is a spineless parasite. But it leads me to...
3. Where is the media that promised not to sleep on the job a second time around? HOW can they let this man slide on such a statement? The minute those words slimed from his maw, someone with a press credential should have been hammering him.
Mercilessly.
I'm no fan of A-Rod—I think he's as phony as phony can be off the field. Any man-child who leaves his wife and kids to take up with someone else has some serious explaining to do. When he does it to shack up with an ancient and married mother/pop-star, there is no longer any explanation necessary.
Not to mention every one of his public statements/interactions is about as genuine as his apology for juicing. But Rodriguez' failings are not the point.
The point is that Bud Selig was the man responsible for Major League Baseball during almost the entirety of the intersection between baseball and performance-enhancing drugs. And he's sitting atop his throne handing out blame as if his hands weren't drenched in blood.
That man is as guilty and as sleazy as they come. And he's who the owners have entrusted with protecting the best interests of baseball for the last 15+ years.
You know what?
Now that scorched earth makes a lot more sense.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Elgin Baylor Sues the NBA for Discrimination—Finally! A Definition of Irony We All Can Understand
Sometimes it is better to remain silent and be though a fool than to open one's mouth and remove all doubt.—Abraham Lincoln
Until today, the worst thing I could say about Elgin Baylor was that the Los Angeles Clippers didn't do very well during his tenure as the Vice President and General Manager of Basketball Operations. As of this moment, you can add not too bright to the list.
Because Elgin Baylor is suing the Clip-Show—or more accurately owner Donald Sterling plus another executive— and the National Basketball Association for...employment discrimination!
That's priceless.
Many observers feel Baylor has a secure place in the NBA's history books as one of the worst triggermen to ever control a franchise's personnel.
He presided as a jester in the king's thrown over many a draft-day misadventure—Michael Olowokandi (first overall), Danny Ferry (second overall and he went to Italy rather than play for LA), Darius Miles (third overall), Shaun Livingston (fourth overall), Lorenzen Wright (seventh overall), Bo Kimble (eighth overall), Joe Wolf (13th overall), and Randy Woods (16th overall).
In 1995, the Clippers took Antonio McDyess with the second overall pick. They left Rasheed Wallace, Kevin Garnett, and Michael Finley on the board. Even better, Los Angeles shipped Antonio—by no means a slouch—out the door to the Denver Nuggets in exchange for Rodney Rogers and Brent Barry.
The next year (1996), the Clip-Show grabbed Wright with the seventh overall pick while guys like Kobe Bryant, Peja Stojakovic, Steve Nash, Jermaine O'Neal, and Zydrunas Ilgauskas remained on the big board.
In his final masterpiece, Elgin oversaw the 2004 draft where Los Angeles took Livingston over a roster of talent including Devin Harris, Josh Childress, Luol Deng, Andre Iguodala, Andris Biedrins, Al Jefferson, Josh Smith, J.R. Smith, and Jameer Nelson.
Along the way, Baylor had an uncanny ability to avoid the lottery when genuine saviors were available. And I do mean uncanny because check out the Clippers' record during Elgin's 22-year-long reign of terror:
Year W L
86-87 12 70
87-88 17 65
88-89 21 61
89-90 30 52
90-91 31 51
91-92 45 37
92-93 41 41
93-94 27 55
94-95 17 65
95-96 29 53
96-97 36 46
97-98 17 65
98-99 9 41
99-00 15 67
00-01 31 51
01-02 39 43
02-03 27 55
03-04 28 54
04-05 37 45
05-06 47 35
06-07 40 42
07-08 23 59
There are a lot of lottery chances tucked in that ugliness.
During Elgin Baylor's 22 years, the Los Angeles Clippers amassed a 619-1153 record for staggering winning percentage of .349. The squad made the playoffs four times and won a single opening round series.
In 22 years.
The icing on the cake?
Elgin Baylor was hired for the position of VP/GM of basketball operations in 1986 after amassing an incredible record of 86-135 as head coach of the New Orleans Jazz. He then held the position for 20 years of unparalleled futility.
I repeat, he KEPT his job through repeated instances of conduct after being hired for basically no reason.
The planets aligned in 2006 and the Clippers finally won a playoff series. Baylor received Executive of the Year for his accomplishments (remember, he's suing the NBA as well for employment discrimination).
Then Elgin retires/is fired in October of 2008, waits several months, and files suit. His complaint alleges he was "discriminated against and unceremoniously released from his position with the team on account of his age and his race."
With one foot already in his mouth, Baylor manages to squeeze the other in: the complaint states that he was "grossly underpaid during his tenure with the Clippers, never earning more than $350,000 per year."
Oh, poor, poor Elgin. How my heart is rent with sorrow.
I understand he's saying that, relative to other NBA executives, his pay was under scale. Unfortunately, there are quite a few problems for ol' Elgin:
A. Elgin Baylor probably should have been fired. Many times. He should be grateful for "only" making six figures for as long as he did. It's tough to argue you're undercompensated for incompetence.
B. Elgin Baylor is African American. That obviously doesn't preclude a finding of racial discrimination in a league dominated by African American players, but it's gonna be a tough sell. Donald Sterling is a lot of things and many are not badges of honor; I've never heard him accused of being racist and the charge doesn't pass the smell test considering how long Sterling kept him aboard despite good reason to dump him.
C. Elgin Baylor is 74—that's true. But he was also the longest tenured individual at a similar-type position in the NBA. And did I mention he was bad? Really bad? Again, tough sell.
D. Anyone who has opened a newspaper or turned on a television in the last six weeks knows that it's probably not a wise time to be mashing 'grossly underpaid' and 'earning $350,000 per year' together in the same sentence. All the more so when that sentence concerns compensation for working in an NBA front office.
I'm sure that's a rough job, don't get me wrong. I'm also sure there are thousands of people who'd be willing to do it for a fraction of what Elgin considers "gross" undercompensation.
The really sad thing is that the Clippers would probably be a better team for it today.
Here's a guy who was hired for ostensibly no cause, employed for 22 years in an industry that sees turnover like none other despite gross and endemic incompetence, and rewarded for his "efforts" with more money than most average Americans see in a lifetime.
Then Elgin Baylor turns around and sues the very man and organization that employed him lo those many years. For employment discrimination.
That, ladies and gentlemen, is the definition of irony. Not rain on your wedding day or a stop sign when you're already late—that's just bad luck.
Nope. Irony, thy name is Elgin Baylor.
Until today, the worst thing I could say about Elgin Baylor was that the Los Angeles Clippers didn't do very well during his tenure as the Vice President and General Manager of Basketball Operations. As of this moment, you can add not too bright to the list.
Because Elgin Baylor is suing the Clip-Show—or more accurately owner Donald Sterling plus another executive— and the National Basketball Association for...employment discrimination!
That's priceless.
Many observers feel Baylor has a secure place in the NBA's history books as one of the worst triggermen to ever control a franchise's personnel.
He presided as a jester in the king's thrown over many a draft-day misadventure—Michael Olowokandi (first overall), Danny Ferry (second overall and he went to Italy rather than play for LA), Darius Miles (third overall), Shaun Livingston (fourth overall), Lorenzen Wright (seventh overall), Bo Kimble (eighth overall), Joe Wolf (13th overall), and Randy Woods (16th overall).
In 1995, the Clippers took Antonio McDyess with the second overall pick. They left Rasheed Wallace, Kevin Garnett, and Michael Finley on the board. Even better, Los Angeles shipped Antonio—by no means a slouch—out the door to the Denver Nuggets in exchange for Rodney Rogers and Brent Barry.
The next year (1996), the Clip-Show grabbed Wright with the seventh overall pick while guys like Kobe Bryant, Peja Stojakovic, Steve Nash, Jermaine O'Neal, and Zydrunas Ilgauskas remained on the big board.
In his final masterpiece, Elgin oversaw the 2004 draft where Los Angeles took Livingston over a roster of talent including Devin Harris, Josh Childress, Luol Deng, Andre Iguodala, Andris Biedrins, Al Jefferson, Josh Smith, J.R. Smith, and Jameer Nelson.
Along the way, Baylor had an uncanny ability to avoid the lottery when genuine saviors were available. And I do mean uncanny because check out the Clippers' record during Elgin's 22-year-long reign of terror:
Year W L
86-87 12 70
87-88 17 65
88-89 21 61
89-90 30 52
90-91 31 51
91-92 45 37
92-93 41 41
93-94 27 55
94-95 17 65
95-96 29 53
96-97 36 46
97-98 17 65
98-99 9 41
99-00 15 67
00-01 31 51
01-02 39 43
02-03 27 55
03-04 28 54
04-05 37 45
05-06 47 35
06-07 40 42
07-08 23 59
There are a lot of lottery chances tucked in that ugliness.
During Elgin Baylor's 22 years, the Los Angeles Clippers amassed a 619-1153 record for staggering winning percentage of .349. The squad made the playoffs four times and won a single opening round series.
In 22 years.
The icing on the cake?
Elgin Baylor was hired for the position of VP/GM of basketball operations in 1986 after amassing an incredible record of 86-135 as head coach of the New Orleans Jazz. He then held the position for 20 years of unparalleled futility.
I repeat, he KEPT his job through repeated instances of conduct after being hired for basically no reason.
The planets aligned in 2006 and the Clippers finally won a playoff series. Baylor received Executive of the Year for his accomplishments (remember, he's suing the NBA as well for employment discrimination).
Then Elgin retires/is fired in October of 2008, waits several months, and files suit. His complaint alleges he was "discriminated against and unceremoniously released from his position with the team on account of his age and his race."
With one foot already in his mouth, Baylor manages to squeeze the other in: the complaint states that he was "grossly underpaid during his tenure with the Clippers, never earning more than $350,000 per year."
Oh, poor, poor Elgin. How my heart is rent with sorrow.
I understand he's saying that, relative to other NBA executives, his pay was under scale. Unfortunately, there are quite a few problems for ol' Elgin:
A. Elgin Baylor probably should have been fired. Many times. He should be grateful for "only" making six figures for as long as he did. It's tough to argue you're undercompensated for incompetence.
B. Elgin Baylor is African American. That obviously doesn't preclude a finding of racial discrimination in a league dominated by African American players, but it's gonna be a tough sell. Donald Sterling is a lot of things and many are not badges of honor; I've never heard him accused of being racist and the charge doesn't pass the smell test considering how long Sterling kept him aboard despite good reason to dump him.
C. Elgin Baylor is 74—that's true. But he was also the longest tenured individual at a similar-type position in the NBA. And did I mention he was bad? Really bad? Again, tough sell.
D. Anyone who has opened a newspaper or turned on a television in the last six weeks knows that it's probably not a wise time to be mashing 'grossly underpaid' and 'earning $350,000 per year' together in the same sentence. All the more so when that sentence concerns compensation for working in an NBA front office.
I'm sure that's a rough job, don't get me wrong. I'm also sure there are thousands of people who'd be willing to do it for a fraction of what Elgin considers "gross" undercompensation.
The really sad thing is that the Clippers would probably be a better team for it today.
Here's a guy who was hired for ostensibly no cause, employed for 22 years in an industry that sees turnover like none other despite gross and endemic incompetence, and rewarded for his "efforts" with more money than most average Americans see in a lifetime.
Then Elgin Baylor turns around and sues the very man and organization that employed him lo those many years. For employment discrimination.
That, ladies and gentlemen, is the definition of irony. Not rain on your wedding day or a stop sign when you're already late—that's just bad luck.
Nope. Irony, thy name is Elgin Baylor.
Attention ESPN, FOX, Somebody, Anybody: PLEASE Put the 'New' Back in Sports News
What freakin' year is it?!?!
My calendar says it's the second month of 2009, but I'm skeptical. And I blame the sports media.
Every time I've turned on ESPN (seldom) or FOX Sports (frequently) or visited an online resource in the last couple of weeks, I've been bored to tears by a story that's as stale as a frat house carpet. None—I repeat, NONE—of the "big" stories to hog the headlines recently have revealed new information.
They've certainly confirmed some pretty sensational suspicions so I'm not saying they're totally unworthy of prominence. However, their treatment left prominence in the rearview many miles ago. We're closing in on full-blown hysteria for some of these puppies. Consider:
1. Michael Phelps narc'd out by some spineless, hypocritical college kid for taking bong rips at a college house party.
In November of 2004, after Phelps' first Olympic haul, he was busted as a 19-year-old kid for drunk driving.
Poor judgment? Check. Youthful indiscretion? Check. Mind-altering substance use? Check.
On top of that, drug use in this country is far more prevalent than anyone will admit. The last three Presidents have copped to smoking weed and I believe the last two have either admitted to or been heavily implicated in use of cocaine.
The loudest, most ignorant, and (thus) most respected voice in the neo-conservative universe admitted to an OxyContin addiction. Everyone knows that blimp, Rush Limbaugh, couldn't stop the pop. What gets less publicity is that his pill of choice was essentially synthetic heroin (or so I've heard).
It's no wonder that both the National Review and Wall Street Journal—not exactly bastions of liberal and/or progressive thought—have criticized the United States' anti-marijuana laws in the wake of the Phelps' picture.
When voices that speak in unison with George W. Bush shake down on the side of legalizing something, I think it's probably time to ease of the 40-point font. Forgive me if I don't think a young kid—who spends 95% of his life keeping his body in supreme physical condition—smoking some reefer merits several days of headlines.
Not only was this story tired because of Phelps' earlier arrest, but also because it represents a tired social attitude i.e. the demonization of marijuana use.
Although it does get points for indirectly bringing the latter into sharper focus.
2. Kobe Bryant drops 61 points in Madison Square Garden.
In the winter of 2005-2006, Kobe hung 62 on the Dallas Mavericks through only three quarters and put 81 on the Toronto Raptors in regulation.
I've covered this one already so let's just say we already knew Kobe could score with the best of 'em and we already knew the 2008-2009 New York Knickerbockers play zero defense.
I get it—he broke Michael Jordan's single-game, MSG scoring record. MJ did it against a much better defense and Kobe beat him by six points. That's still not reason for several days of headlines.
Especially because the man has an 81-point game to his credit.
3. Alex Rodriguez' urine tested positive for steroids in 2003.
Barry Lamar Bonds, who was arguably Major League Baseball's best player (a phrase now applicable to A-Rod), has been under investigation since 2003 for perjury after admitting to ignorant use of performance-enhancing drugs.
Then there's the Mitchell Report...and Roger Clemens...and Andy Pettitte...and Jason Giambi...and Jason Grimsley...and you get the point.
Furthermore, the list of sports tainted by PEDs has ballooned well beyond the confines of MLB—cycling with that Landis dude, the National Football League with Shawne Merriman and the Pittsburgh Steelers doctor, mixed martial arts, professional wrestling, etc.
Once again, this confirmed a widely-held suspicion so it deserved to get hit hard. But dammit if we're not entering the third day of big bold type dedicated to the "revelation."
You'd think it was 1998 and somebody walked in on Mark McGwire plunging a syringe into Sammy Sosa's backside.
4. Brett Favre announces that he won't play for the New York Jets in 2009.
I won't even dignify this with an entry other than to say that I guess it had to be reported since the team and year have changed.
Is it really that hard to find new topics to cover? Or how about just a new angle on one of these stale arcs? I don't think that's too much to ask.
Some will say the sports media is just giving the fans what they want, catering to the masses and all that jive.
I don't buy it.
I don't believe that, if FOX didn't have a story about the steroid fall-out or ESPN didn't lead with Favre's latest hobble into the sunset, the fans would seek those stories somewhere else. My faith in humanity forces me to believe the majority of you are like me—looking to those outlets for access and information otherwise unavailable to the average fan.
And if these stories were so monumental in what they disclosed as to warrant the treatment they received, my calendar must be years ahead.
Of course, it could be worse. I could be a finance nut under the impression it's the 1930s.
Thank heavens for small miracles.
My calendar says it's the second month of 2009, but I'm skeptical. And I blame the sports media.
Every time I've turned on ESPN (seldom) or FOX Sports (frequently) or visited an online resource in the last couple of weeks, I've been bored to tears by a story that's as stale as a frat house carpet. None—I repeat, NONE—of the "big" stories to hog the headlines recently have revealed new information.
They've certainly confirmed some pretty sensational suspicions so I'm not saying they're totally unworthy of prominence. However, their treatment left prominence in the rearview many miles ago. We're closing in on full-blown hysteria for some of these puppies. Consider:
1. Michael Phelps narc'd out by some spineless, hypocritical college kid for taking bong rips at a college house party.
In November of 2004, after Phelps' first Olympic haul, he was busted as a 19-year-old kid for drunk driving.
Poor judgment? Check. Youthful indiscretion? Check. Mind-altering substance use? Check.
On top of that, drug use in this country is far more prevalent than anyone will admit. The last three Presidents have copped to smoking weed and I believe the last two have either admitted to or been heavily implicated in use of cocaine.
The loudest, most ignorant, and (thus) most respected voice in the neo-conservative universe admitted to an OxyContin addiction. Everyone knows that blimp, Rush Limbaugh, couldn't stop the pop. What gets less publicity is that his pill of choice was essentially synthetic heroin (or so I've heard).
It's no wonder that both the National Review and Wall Street Journal—not exactly bastions of liberal and/or progressive thought—have criticized the United States' anti-marijuana laws in the wake of the Phelps' picture.
When voices that speak in unison with George W. Bush shake down on the side of legalizing something, I think it's probably time to ease of the 40-point font. Forgive me if I don't think a young kid—who spends 95% of his life keeping his body in supreme physical condition—smoking some reefer merits several days of headlines.
Not only was this story tired because of Phelps' earlier arrest, but also because it represents a tired social attitude i.e. the demonization of marijuana use.
Although it does get points for indirectly bringing the latter into sharper focus.
2. Kobe Bryant drops 61 points in Madison Square Garden.
In the winter of 2005-2006, Kobe hung 62 on the Dallas Mavericks through only three quarters and put 81 on the Toronto Raptors in regulation.
I've covered this one already so let's just say we already knew Kobe could score with the best of 'em and we already knew the 2008-2009 New York Knickerbockers play zero defense.
I get it—he broke Michael Jordan's single-game, MSG scoring record. MJ did it against a much better defense and Kobe beat him by six points. That's still not reason for several days of headlines.
Especially because the man has an 81-point game to his credit.
3. Alex Rodriguez' urine tested positive for steroids in 2003.
Barry Lamar Bonds, who was arguably Major League Baseball's best player (a phrase now applicable to A-Rod), has been under investigation since 2003 for perjury after admitting to ignorant use of performance-enhancing drugs.
Then there's the Mitchell Report...and Roger Clemens...and Andy Pettitte...and Jason Giambi...and Jason Grimsley...and you get the point.
Furthermore, the list of sports tainted by PEDs has ballooned well beyond the confines of MLB—cycling with that Landis dude, the National Football League with Shawne Merriman and the Pittsburgh Steelers doctor, mixed martial arts, professional wrestling, etc.
Once again, this confirmed a widely-held suspicion so it deserved to get hit hard. But dammit if we're not entering the third day of big bold type dedicated to the "revelation."
You'd think it was 1998 and somebody walked in on Mark McGwire plunging a syringe into Sammy Sosa's backside.
4. Brett Favre announces that he won't play for the New York Jets in 2009.
I won't even dignify this with an entry other than to say that I guess it had to be reported since the team and year have changed.
Is it really that hard to find new topics to cover? Or how about just a new angle on one of these stale arcs? I don't think that's too much to ask.
Some will say the sports media is just giving the fans what they want, catering to the masses and all that jive.
I don't buy it.
I don't believe that, if FOX didn't have a story about the steroid fall-out or ESPN didn't lead with Favre's latest hobble into the sunset, the fans would seek those stories somewhere else. My faith in humanity forces me to believe the majority of you are like me—looking to those outlets for access and information otherwise unavailable to the average fan.
And if these stories were so monumental in what they disclosed as to warrant the treatment they received, my calendar must be years ahead.
Of course, it could be worse. I could be a finance nut under the impression it's the 1930s.
Thank heavens for small miracles.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
MLB, Steroids, and False Idols: If PEDs Ruined the Purity of the Game, That Means It Was Once Pure
Today is February 11, 2009. The story about Alex Rodriguez' steroid use and positive test from 2003 broke on February 7th, followed by the interview with Peter Gammons on the 9th. That means we're four full days from the "news" breaking and another two full days from A-Rod's skin-deep mea culpa.
Yet Major League Baseball's problem with performance-enhancing drugs is still all anyone can talk about, although Brett Favre's annual look-at-me-fest has bumped it a bit...temporarily.
Even FOX Sports is guilty—letting Mark Kriegel have his way with the subject.
There are a lot of things to sincerely like about FOX. For one thing, it's helped bring Bleacher Report a larger audience through a partnerships between the two. For another, it doesn't fall prey (as much) to the sensationalistic side of sports that ESPN loves to splash all over its front pages and flagship channels.
Seriously, Terrell Owens and Manny Ramirez run amok over there.
But Kriegel's latest piece on the Steroid Era isn't one of FOX's brightest offerings. In fact, it's almost an out-and-out disgrace because it includes two of the more ignorant and transparent crticisms of the Steroid Era. Criticisms that speak to a deeper bias (I'd guess bitterness, but I've never met the man so who knows).
The first is the idea that PEDs are magic; some secret ingredient that turns every juicer into Brady Anderson.
I'll let Kriegel hang himself with his own words: "I'm talking about answers to questions that link [McGwire's] fate and yours. What wouldn't you do to stay healthy for a full season in the big leagues? What wouldn't you do to set a home run record?"
While I think it's probably impossible to overstate the prevalence of PED use in MLB and other professional sports, I think just the opposite is true of their impact. It's very convenient to say that none of these guys are great athletes, just a normal Joe that got on the magic sauce.
That's exactly what Kriegel's implying—if the juicer's fate is linked to mine, it's because I could've taken PEDs to stay healthy and hit major league pitching. Possibly to the tune of breaking some records.
Clearly, human growth hormone and anabolic steroids improve/inflate numbers. But they do not turn your average chump in the stands into a prospect destined for the Show. That's simply not the way it works.
The chemicals augment natural ability and pretty effectively if modern numbers are any indication. But the talent's gotta be there to begin with (either in the form of biological gifts or abnormal drive).
Furthermore, baseball is a mental game—the wear and tear is not merely physical—so there's more to it than muscles and coordination. There's an entire side of the game (and many would argue it's the more important one) that PEDs don't help nearly as much.
Sure, feeling physically stronger will help with focus, confidence, etc. But a slump will destroy a juicer's mental state the same way it will anyone else.
And nothing—NOTHING—prevents a slump.
Kriegel's second flawed argument is more problematic because it's a greater sin than dismissing the achievements of culpable men. Plus, it's one repeated—either explicitly or implicitly—by every fan who is up in arms over performance-enhancers, arguing that the purity of baseball and its record books have now been tainted.
Again, I'll let Mark's words draw the noose: Kriegel says Mark McGwire symbolized "baseball's transformation from a pastoral sport to a menagerie of muscleheads."
Pastoral, huh?
I'm guessing Josh Gibson and Satchel Paige felt differently. I'm betting No. 42, Mr. Jackie Robinson, and the woman he widowed at the tender age of 53 would beg to differ. How about all the African-American and Latin American ballplayers who never got a shot. The ones who were relegated to toiling in the obscure summer heat of the Negro Leagues, far away from the public spotlight that shined on the Bigs?
When we wail and bemoan the fate of MLB, when we rue the day the Bash Brothers burst on the scene as the moment baseball lost its innocence, what are we saying about the Era of the Gentleman's Agreement?
That baseball was innocent?
For instance, you'll often come across the name Babe Ruth whispered in reverent tones. The Sultan of Swat is a particularly common protagonist foil to Barry Bonds' arch-villain of the Steroid Era.
Babe played his last game in 1935. Jackie played his first game in 1947.
I understand that Babe had no significant role in baseball's segregationist stance while today's juicers have made individual, informed, and voluntary (more or less) decisions to use PEDs. Additionally, today's pros have spread the problem by tacitly endorsing its use and many are spoiled, ungrateful malcontents.
Those certainly are arguments for assigning different moral grades to the players. So maybe the players were more pastoral (except a lot of 'em weren't). But if you think that the Steroid Era is a more damning blight on baseball's history, well...
And if you think the lack of color in MLB prior to Jackie didn't skew performance/numbers, then you haven't been paying very close attention to the racial demographics of most major American sports.
Then there are the societal ramifications of implying a sport—rife with racial animosity and barely 60 years removed from its segregated roots—was "pastoral" until the introduction of performance-enhancers.
Let's say they're unflattering and leave it at that.
Yet, every time another "the sky is falling" PED article comes out, that's exactly what the author is doing. Whether he/she realizes it or not.
So, enough. Yes, performance-enhancers are a problem. Yes, it needs to be addressed. Yes, the Steroid Era is bad for baseball. So was segregation.
But baseball survived the Gentleman's Agreement and it'll survived this, too.
Yet Major League Baseball's problem with performance-enhancing drugs is still all anyone can talk about, although Brett Favre's annual look-at-me-fest has bumped it a bit...temporarily.
Even FOX Sports is guilty—letting Mark Kriegel have his way with the subject.
There are a lot of things to sincerely like about FOX. For one thing, it's helped bring Bleacher Report a larger audience through a partnerships between the two. For another, it doesn't fall prey (as much) to the sensationalistic side of sports that ESPN loves to splash all over its front pages and flagship channels.
Seriously, Terrell Owens and Manny Ramirez run amok over there.
But Kriegel's latest piece on the Steroid Era isn't one of FOX's brightest offerings. In fact, it's almost an out-and-out disgrace because it includes two of the more ignorant and transparent crticisms of the Steroid Era. Criticisms that speak to a deeper bias (I'd guess bitterness, but I've never met the man so who knows).
The first is the idea that PEDs are magic; some secret ingredient that turns every juicer into Brady Anderson.
I'll let Kriegel hang himself with his own words: "I'm talking about answers to questions that link [McGwire's] fate and yours. What wouldn't you do to stay healthy for a full season in the big leagues? What wouldn't you do to set a home run record?"
While I think it's probably impossible to overstate the prevalence of PED use in MLB and other professional sports, I think just the opposite is true of their impact. It's very convenient to say that none of these guys are great athletes, just a normal Joe that got on the magic sauce.
That's exactly what Kriegel's implying—if the juicer's fate is linked to mine, it's because I could've taken PEDs to stay healthy and hit major league pitching. Possibly to the tune of breaking some records.
Clearly, human growth hormone and anabolic steroids improve/inflate numbers. But they do not turn your average chump in the stands into a prospect destined for the Show. That's simply not the way it works.
The chemicals augment natural ability and pretty effectively if modern numbers are any indication. But the talent's gotta be there to begin with (either in the form of biological gifts or abnormal drive).
Furthermore, baseball is a mental game—the wear and tear is not merely physical—so there's more to it than muscles and coordination. There's an entire side of the game (and many would argue it's the more important one) that PEDs don't help nearly as much.
Sure, feeling physically stronger will help with focus, confidence, etc. But a slump will destroy a juicer's mental state the same way it will anyone else.
And nothing—NOTHING—prevents a slump.
Kriegel's second flawed argument is more problematic because it's a greater sin than dismissing the achievements of culpable men. Plus, it's one repeated—either explicitly or implicitly—by every fan who is up in arms over performance-enhancers, arguing that the purity of baseball and its record books have now been tainted.
Again, I'll let Mark's words draw the noose: Kriegel says Mark McGwire symbolized "baseball's transformation from a pastoral sport to a menagerie of muscleheads."
Pastoral, huh?
I'm guessing Josh Gibson and Satchel Paige felt differently. I'm betting No. 42, Mr. Jackie Robinson, and the woman he widowed at the tender age of 53 would beg to differ. How about all the African-American and Latin American ballplayers who never got a shot. The ones who were relegated to toiling in the obscure summer heat of the Negro Leagues, far away from the public spotlight that shined on the Bigs?
When we wail and bemoan the fate of MLB, when we rue the day the Bash Brothers burst on the scene as the moment baseball lost its innocence, what are we saying about the Era of the Gentleman's Agreement?
That baseball was innocent?
For instance, you'll often come across the name Babe Ruth whispered in reverent tones. The Sultan of Swat is a particularly common protagonist foil to Barry Bonds' arch-villain of the Steroid Era.
Babe played his last game in 1935. Jackie played his first game in 1947.
I understand that Babe had no significant role in baseball's segregationist stance while today's juicers have made individual, informed, and voluntary (more or less) decisions to use PEDs. Additionally, today's pros have spread the problem by tacitly endorsing its use and many are spoiled, ungrateful malcontents.
Those certainly are arguments for assigning different moral grades to the players. So maybe the players were more pastoral (except a lot of 'em weren't). But if you think that the Steroid Era is a more damning blight on baseball's history, well...
And if you think the lack of color in MLB prior to Jackie didn't skew performance/numbers, then you haven't been paying very close attention to the racial demographics of most major American sports.
Then there are the societal ramifications of implying a sport—rife with racial animosity and barely 60 years removed from its segregated roots—was "pastoral" until the introduction of performance-enhancers.
Let's say they're unflattering and leave it at that.
Yet, every time another "the sky is falling" PED article comes out, that's exactly what the author is doing. Whether he/she realizes it or not.
So, enough. Yes, performance-enhancers are a problem. Yes, it needs to be addressed. Yes, the Steroid Era is bad for baseball. So was segregation.
But baseball survived the Gentleman's Agreement and it'll survived this, too.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Are the NFL, the NBA, and MLB the First to Fall to Sports Armageddon?
And when he had opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, Come and see. And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.—Revelations 6:7
As I understand it, one interpretation of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse is that they each represent a different blight loosed upon mankind. One for Violence, one for Famine, one for Deceit, and one for Disease. There are other, more sophisticated interpretations—I like that one.
Because it fits easily into the contemporary professional sport landscape.
Chris Jericho and his equally culpable gaggle of fans herald the coming of Violence.
You could argue mortal violence has also been done by the latest "crusade" launched by the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. This time, to logic and common sense.
That's right, folks. That sinister institution known as the American Kennel Club is at it again—putting their charges in canine-bondage, trotting them out on the auction block, and then retiring to their "plantations" to breed a master race of puppies.
On the positive side, at least Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton will have a target for the next several days that makes even them look sympathetic by comparison. And one that should keep them from harassing reasonable people for a while.
Famine already has the National Basketball Association under hoof.
Al Jefferson of the Minnesota Timberwolves joined the growing number of stars that have been lost for the season or a good portion of it. His torn ACL gets him a long stretch in street clothes beside Michael Redd (torn ACL/MCL), Jameer Nelson (torn labrum), Jason Terry (fractured finger), Andrew Bogut (stress fracture in his back), Gerald Wallace (collapsed lung/broken rib), Andrew Bynum (torn MCL), Chris Paul (strained groin multiplied by several factors due to his importance), Andrei Kirilenko (surgically-repaired ankle), Gilbert Arenas (surgically-repaired shoulder), and Elton Brand (shoulder surgery).
Meanwhile, Major League Baseball has Deceit at its throat.
Bud Selig, Scott Boras, Donald Fehr, and Barry Bonds have long been promising its arrival and Alex Rodriguez' "apology" announces that day is here. A-Fraud's really earning his new list of monikers (I like A-Roid, too) because his repentance was an exercise in transparency:
"And although it was the culture back then and Major League Baseball overall was very — I just feel that — you know, I'm just sorry." Translation: "Yeah, I used. But only because everyone else was—it's not my fault."
"Since then I've proved to myself and to everyone that I don't need any of that." Translation: "That test was from the last time I ever used. Trust me, I haven't used steroids since 2003."
"It was such a loosey-goosey era. I'm guilty for a lot of things. I'm guilty for being negligent, naive, not asking all the right questions. And to be quite honest, I don't know exactly what substance I was guilty of using." Translation: "I can't explicitly say that I never knowingly used steroids because that doesn't seem to be going so well for my buddy Barry. So, instead, I'll say everything to that effect except for those exact words."
But the real danger is Disease, which has been insidiously eroding the foundation of sports for years now in the form of conceit and egoism.
If you have any doubt, listen to Ray Lewis.
Here's a man who's been compensated to the tune of millions and millions of dollars by a franchise over the course of his career. For playing football. But Ray-Ray is staring his twilight dead in the eyes and he's not hearing that his increasing age means a decreasing value. See, all those millions in the past aren't enough—he wants his new contract to reflect his past service in addition to compensate him for that in the future.
And Lewis will flirt with anyone who looks his way to make sure he gets his damn Benjamins.
Nor is he hearing the subtle message from hundreds of thousands of regular Americans (and counting) who suddenly find themselves jobless as the economy continues its historic nosedive.
Still not convinced? How about Manny Ramirez' latest pearls?
Forget that the guy remains resolute in his belief that there's a four-year contract out there to his liking. That would means he sincerely believes a club will sign over between $80 and $100 million if his litany of rejections is any indication.
Forget that rather egregious sin because of these words, "Understand me, I have goals. I know that if I play six more years, I could get to my 3,000th hit, and, who knows, maybe my 700th home run."
Yeah, we understand you Manny.
We understand your goals are all about you, your numbers, and your ego. We understand you want at least $80 million so you can dog it for a couple years and still get paid because none of the criticism bothers you.
We understand it and that's why we're hoping our team doesn't sign your malignant caboose.
But perhaps there's even more to understand.
Step back from the situation and take it all in. Violence, famine, deceit, and disease—the Four Horsemen of the Sports Apocalypse—are trampling almost every arena of our beloved sports.
The only question is whether it's too late to turn them back.
As I understand it, one interpretation of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse is that they each represent a different blight loosed upon mankind. One for Violence, one for Famine, one for Deceit, and one for Disease. There are other, more sophisticated interpretations—I like that one.
Because it fits easily into the contemporary professional sport landscape.
Chris Jericho and his equally culpable gaggle of fans herald the coming of Violence.
You could argue mortal violence has also been done by the latest "crusade" launched by the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. This time, to logic and common sense.
That's right, folks. That sinister institution known as the American Kennel Club is at it again—putting their charges in canine-bondage, trotting them out on the auction block, and then retiring to their "plantations" to breed a master race of puppies.
On the positive side, at least Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton will have a target for the next several days that makes even them look sympathetic by comparison. And one that should keep them from harassing reasonable people for a while.
Famine already has the National Basketball Association under hoof.
Al Jefferson of the Minnesota Timberwolves joined the growing number of stars that have been lost for the season or a good portion of it. His torn ACL gets him a long stretch in street clothes beside Michael Redd (torn ACL/MCL), Jameer Nelson (torn labrum), Jason Terry (fractured finger), Andrew Bogut (stress fracture in his back), Gerald Wallace (collapsed lung/broken rib), Andrew Bynum (torn MCL), Chris Paul (strained groin multiplied by several factors due to his importance), Andrei Kirilenko (surgically-repaired ankle), Gilbert Arenas (surgically-repaired shoulder), and Elton Brand (shoulder surgery).
Meanwhile, Major League Baseball has Deceit at its throat.
Bud Selig, Scott Boras, Donald Fehr, and Barry Bonds have long been promising its arrival and Alex Rodriguez' "apology" announces that day is here. A-Fraud's really earning his new list of monikers (I like A-Roid, too) because his repentance was an exercise in transparency:
"And although it was the culture back then and Major League Baseball overall was very — I just feel that — you know, I'm just sorry." Translation: "Yeah, I used. But only because everyone else was—it's not my fault."
"Since then I've proved to myself and to everyone that I don't need any of that." Translation: "That test was from the last time I ever used. Trust me, I haven't used steroids since 2003."
"It was such a loosey-goosey era. I'm guilty for a lot of things. I'm guilty for being negligent, naive, not asking all the right questions. And to be quite honest, I don't know exactly what substance I was guilty of using." Translation: "I can't explicitly say that I never knowingly used steroids because that doesn't seem to be going so well for my buddy Barry. So, instead, I'll say everything to that effect except for those exact words."
But the real danger is Disease, which has been insidiously eroding the foundation of sports for years now in the form of conceit and egoism.
If you have any doubt, listen to Ray Lewis.
Here's a man who's been compensated to the tune of millions and millions of dollars by a franchise over the course of his career. For playing football. But Ray-Ray is staring his twilight dead in the eyes and he's not hearing that his increasing age means a decreasing value. See, all those millions in the past aren't enough—he wants his new contract to reflect his past service in addition to compensate him for that in the future.
And Lewis will flirt with anyone who looks his way to make sure he gets his damn Benjamins.
Nor is he hearing the subtle message from hundreds of thousands of regular Americans (and counting) who suddenly find themselves jobless as the economy continues its historic nosedive.
Still not convinced? How about Manny Ramirez' latest pearls?
Forget that the guy remains resolute in his belief that there's a four-year contract out there to his liking. That would means he sincerely believes a club will sign over between $80 and $100 million if his litany of rejections is any indication.
Forget that rather egregious sin because of these words, "Understand me, I have goals. I know that if I play six more years, I could get to my 3,000th hit, and, who knows, maybe my 700th home run."
Yeah, we understand you Manny.
We understand your goals are all about you, your numbers, and your ego. We understand you want at least $80 million so you can dog it for a couple years and still get paid because none of the criticism bothers you.
We understand it and that's why we're hoping our team doesn't sign your malignant caboose.
But perhaps there's even more to understand.
Step back from the situation and take it all in. Violence, famine, deceit, and disease—the Four Horsemen of the Sports Apocalypse—are trampling almost every arena of our beloved sports.
The only question is whether it's too late to turn them back.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
The NBA Welcomes You to the Land Where Time Stands Still
Imagine you're in that white room with all the televisions at the end of the second Matrix. Imagine that, instead of whatever convoluted nonsense that old dude said in the movie, he drops the following two choices on the table and you must select one:
1. Return to your world through door A to find the National Basketball Association alive and well, but college basketball never existed.
2. Return to your world through door B to find college basketball alive and well, but the NBA never existed.
What would you do?
I can tell you I'd be hoppin' in line for door B and I bet the line would stretch around the block (we're obviously no longer in the Matrix hypothetical).
As far as a general consensus, I'm can't say for sure that there is one—despite my suspicions. And I won't pretend to speak for those of you who would join me in opting for a world where only CBB existed if pressed on the question. However, I'll gladly tell you why my choice wouldn't be a difficult one.
Coincidentally, I even have a perfect example all cued up and ready to go.
The question is easy for me because the NBA just isn't as exciting.
For a variety of reasons—the players don't seem to care as much, the fans don't seem to care as much (with some notable northeastern exceptions), there are too many fouls, there are too many timeouts, there are too many rule tweaks that hamper the flow of a game, the number of games understandably dilutes emotion, etc.
Don't get me wrong, I really do love the NBA.
The sea of NBA fans is locked on all sides by college basketball, college football, the National Football League, and Major League Baseball. Consequently, its size is shrinking and I'd consider myself a member of that diminishing minority. The players are still the best athletes on the planet, they do incredible things with their bodies/the ball, and the level of basketball is simply unrivaled.
If you love basketball, you will not see it played at a higher level anywhere else and that is reason enough for me to love the NBA.
But this is a comparison to college basketball where you can only choose one.
And I'll take the pure, raw excitement of college basketball any day o' the week and twice on Sunday.
For instance, one of the biggest advantages the college game has on the pro version is the final minutes of competition. A close college game finishes in a flurry of emotion and enthusiasm whereas a close pro game finishes in a drudgery of fouls, timeouts, half-court advancements, and a bunch of other nuanced rules that kill the flow of the game when flow is most important.
Take the Boston Celtics' game today against the San Antonio Spurs.
With 1:01 left in the game and Boston winning by three points (93-90), Roger Mason committed a foul and stopped the clock. From there, the game took 17—SEVENTEEN—minutes of real-world time to end in regulation. That's not a mistake; I've gone back and timed it just to make sure my TiVo wasn't on the fritz.
So 61 seconds of game time took 17 minutes of my life (luckily, I've got some spare time). Oh, but it gets better.
That Man Again (Roger Mason) knocked down a three with 20.4 seconds to go in regulation that put the Spurs up by two, 95-93. Those last 20+ ticks on the big hand of the official game clock took 15 minutes.
Seriously, 20.4 seconds equalled 900 seconds in Boston today.
I know that the NBA rules afford the losing team every opportunity to make up a reasonable difference on the scoreboard, even with time dwindling. I understand that they may even create more close games than otherwise since the trailing team can abuse poor free-throw shooters and claw back into it.
At what cost?
Like I said, I won't pretend to speak for anyone else, but the finish in Boston today killed the game for me. That's a shame because it was a great battle up until that point. Furthermore, the finish was pretty good—San Antonio stretched out its lead and the Cs came Hail-Marying back only to ultimately lose.
The problem was that I didn't notice. I was getting too angry about the 15+ minutes of commercials and blather I had to endure just to see the action, which was about 90 percent from the charity stripe anyway.
Nobody on the court even looked to be slightly perspiring at the end. It was ridiculous. Just a bunch of standing around and seeing if Boston could throw in desperation threes.
Wonderful. Scintillating stuff. Well done, David Stern and friends, you've discovered the secret of temporal manipulation and you're proving it on the court.
Even so, I'll take door B and college basketball. Especially if it means I get to fly around through explosions and stuff.
1. Return to your world through door A to find the National Basketball Association alive and well, but college basketball never existed.
2. Return to your world through door B to find college basketball alive and well, but the NBA never existed.
What would you do?
I can tell you I'd be hoppin' in line for door B and I bet the line would stretch around the block (we're obviously no longer in the Matrix hypothetical).
As far as a general consensus, I'm can't say for sure that there is one—despite my suspicions. And I won't pretend to speak for those of you who would join me in opting for a world where only CBB existed if pressed on the question. However, I'll gladly tell you why my choice wouldn't be a difficult one.
Coincidentally, I even have a perfect example all cued up and ready to go.
The question is easy for me because the NBA just isn't as exciting.
For a variety of reasons—the players don't seem to care as much, the fans don't seem to care as much (with some notable northeastern exceptions), there are too many fouls, there are too many timeouts, there are too many rule tweaks that hamper the flow of a game, the number of games understandably dilutes emotion, etc.
Don't get me wrong, I really do love the NBA.
The sea of NBA fans is locked on all sides by college basketball, college football, the National Football League, and Major League Baseball. Consequently, its size is shrinking and I'd consider myself a member of that diminishing minority. The players are still the best athletes on the planet, they do incredible things with their bodies/the ball, and the level of basketball is simply unrivaled.
If you love basketball, you will not see it played at a higher level anywhere else and that is reason enough for me to love the NBA.
But this is a comparison to college basketball where you can only choose one.
And I'll take the pure, raw excitement of college basketball any day o' the week and twice on Sunday.
For instance, one of the biggest advantages the college game has on the pro version is the final minutes of competition. A close college game finishes in a flurry of emotion and enthusiasm whereas a close pro game finishes in a drudgery of fouls, timeouts, half-court advancements, and a bunch of other nuanced rules that kill the flow of the game when flow is most important.
Take the Boston Celtics' game today against the San Antonio Spurs.
With 1:01 left in the game and Boston winning by three points (93-90), Roger Mason committed a foul and stopped the clock. From there, the game took 17—SEVENTEEN—minutes of real-world time to end in regulation. That's not a mistake; I've gone back and timed it just to make sure my TiVo wasn't on the fritz.
So 61 seconds of game time took 17 minutes of my life (luckily, I've got some spare time). Oh, but it gets better.
That Man Again (Roger Mason) knocked down a three with 20.4 seconds to go in regulation that put the Spurs up by two, 95-93. Those last 20+ ticks on the big hand of the official game clock took 15 minutes.
Seriously, 20.4 seconds equalled 900 seconds in Boston today.
I know that the NBA rules afford the losing team every opportunity to make up a reasonable difference on the scoreboard, even with time dwindling. I understand that they may even create more close games than otherwise since the trailing team can abuse poor free-throw shooters and claw back into it.
At what cost?
Like I said, I won't pretend to speak for anyone else, but the finish in Boston today killed the game for me. That's a shame because it was a great battle up until that point. Furthermore, the finish was pretty good—San Antonio stretched out its lead and the Cs came Hail-Marying back only to ultimately lose.
The problem was that I didn't notice. I was getting too angry about the 15+ minutes of commercials and blather I had to endure just to see the action, which was about 90 percent from the charity stripe anyway.
Nobody on the court even looked to be slightly perspiring at the end. It was ridiculous. Just a bunch of standing around and seeing if Boston could throw in desperation threes.
Wonderful. Scintillating stuff. Well done, David Stern and friends, you've discovered the secret of temporal manipulation and you're proving it on the court.
Even so, I'll take door B and college basketball. Especially if it means I get to fly around through explosions and stuff.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Alex Rodriguez Used Steroids...And the Sun Will Rise Tomorrow
Can we please stop with all this sanctimonious indignation over the news that Alex Rodriguez' urine tested hot for steroids in 2003? Woe is me, woe is me. The mighty and pure A-Rod was juicing. So freakin' what?
You can call him A-Fraud if you want.
The truth is he's no more of a fraud today than he was yesterday or the day before or the year before. Nor is he any more of a fraud than most other professional athletes competing in our modern, performance-enhanced world of sports.
If you're still surprised by an athlete—any athlete—being tainted by a doping scandal or a steroid scandal or a human growth hormone scandal, you're just not paying attention. Or you're incredibly naive and optimistic.
Those aren't necessarily criticisms—my mother fits both descriptions and they're two of the things that make her such a lovely person.
However, coming from the likes of Mark Kriegel, such traits ring false and cowardly. Kriegel goes on and on about how A-Fraud has messed with history because, until this moment, he was the untainted heir-apparent to Barry Lamar Bonds' very tainted homerun record.
What a load of bull excrement. What a very full load.
Because that is exactly what the media did during the Great Homerun Race of 1998—turned a willfully blind eye to abuse of performance-enhancers because doing so suited its purpose. Namely, the race sold newspapers and padded the bottom-line so nobody pointed out that something suspicious might be going on.
Then, that venerable institution did it again in 2001, when Barry made his assault on history.
Of course, when Bonds really started taking down the prized pelts of history, that's when the media finally cranked up the grinder and sharpened its spears. Some members told us how sorry they were, how they should've seen the situation for what it was, how they were blinded by this, how they were intoxicate by that, and how it would never happen again.
And, yet, this news comes as a surprise? To whom? Those same people who promised to keep their eyes on the ball?
Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice, shame on you.
And I'm not fooled. Not by Rodriguez nor Kriegel nor anyone else trying to dodge their role in this morass. Nor is anyone else fooled who's been paying attention and reading between the lines.
It's not just the scrubs who've been caught. It's not just the older players or the sluggers or the relief pitchers or baseball players or football players or even athletes. Sylvester Stallone was busted trying to bring crates of HGH into Australia or something.
Weren't 50 Cent and a bunch of other rappers nabbed for purchasing it illegally?
These are all groups of insecure people who make a living off something that fades with age. Guess what? Human growth hormone and other performance-enhancers (allegedly) turn back the hands of time. They let you recapture a little of that fodder for future boring stories.
So what if Rodriguez is young and a physical specimen to begin with, he's also insanely insecure—even by celebrity standards. Additionally, by all accounts, he's a perfectionist from whom a lot is expected.
Sounds like the perfect candidate to me.
Yeah, it's probably got some pretty heinous long-term side-effects. So do a lot of the unhealthy things you and I take into our bodies everyday. Obviously, the maladies befalling steroid users and the like are usually much worse and more certain. Then again, the benefits of successful use are a hell of a lot more substantial than those of a Whopper or shot of Jack Daniels.
Still, the really ridiculous part of the whole episode is that all this faux-outrage and shock comes after the Mitchell Report. After Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens. After Jason Grimsley, Andy Pettitte, minor-leaguers by the busload, and Neifi Perez.
I mean, c'mon. Who are we kidding?
Look, I'm not saying everyone is guilty. What I am saying is that there's no longer a reasonable excuse for our heads to be in the sand. Sure, it'd be nice if there were some clean-but-still-elite players. There probably are some. Maybe even a lot. But that firm presumption is no longer reasonable.
Sad but true.
If the presumption isn't reasonable, than neither is the surprise. Even worse, that surprise is an attempt to separate from yourself from the guilty. It's an attempt to dodge your responsibility in all of this.
In fact, until we're actively and sincerely trying to solve the problem, I'm not even sure it's fair to be upset. After all, it's been clear for many years now that the system is broken. That it actually encourages the use of performance-enhancers rather than discourages it. That a sincere and sweeping effort needs to be made.
And that it has to come from the fans.
Everyone else is making money off the situation—the players, the agents, the executives, the owners, and the media. Great performances get great contracts, sell tickets, and move newspapers (as does a good scandal). Why would they want it changed?
Furthermore, the last 20 years or so have proven that they will NOT change it unless a figurative gun is to their collective head.
Well, until we're ready to point it, we're part of the problem.
Step one is admitting that even your guy is probably on the juice. I don't like it and neither will you. But the important thing is that nobody inside baseball (or any other sport) will like it, either.
The innocent will demand real change to clear the aura of skepticism and the guilty will feel hunted. Agents will find it harder to sell their products, owners/executives will (rightly) fear the tangible manifestation of diminishing goodwill, and the media will lose a scandal to sell.
The fans might even get to a chance to win for a change. Wouldn't that be nice?
You can call him A-Fraud if you want.
The truth is he's no more of a fraud today than he was yesterday or the day before or the year before. Nor is he any more of a fraud than most other professional athletes competing in our modern, performance-enhanced world of sports.
If you're still surprised by an athlete—any athlete—being tainted by a doping scandal or a steroid scandal or a human growth hormone scandal, you're just not paying attention. Or you're incredibly naive and optimistic.
Those aren't necessarily criticisms—my mother fits both descriptions and they're two of the things that make her such a lovely person.
However, coming from the likes of Mark Kriegel, such traits ring false and cowardly. Kriegel goes on and on about how A-Fraud has messed with history because, until this moment, he was the untainted heir-apparent to Barry Lamar Bonds' very tainted homerun record.
What a load of bull excrement. What a very full load.
Because that is exactly what the media did during the Great Homerun Race of 1998—turned a willfully blind eye to abuse of performance-enhancers because doing so suited its purpose. Namely, the race sold newspapers and padded the bottom-line so nobody pointed out that something suspicious might be going on.
Then, that venerable institution did it again in 2001, when Barry made his assault on history.
Of course, when Bonds really started taking down the prized pelts of history, that's when the media finally cranked up the grinder and sharpened its spears. Some members told us how sorry they were, how they should've seen the situation for what it was, how they were blinded by this, how they were intoxicate by that, and how it would never happen again.
And, yet, this news comes as a surprise? To whom? Those same people who promised to keep their eyes on the ball?
Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice, shame on you.
And I'm not fooled. Not by Rodriguez nor Kriegel nor anyone else trying to dodge their role in this morass. Nor is anyone else fooled who's been paying attention and reading between the lines.
It's not just the scrubs who've been caught. It's not just the older players or the sluggers or the relief pitchers or baseball players or football players or even athletes. Sylvester Stallone was busted trying to bring crates of HGH into Australia or something.
Weren't 50 Cent and a bunch of other rappers nabbed for purchasing it illegally?
These are all groups of insecure people who make a living off something that fades with age. Guess what? Human growth hormone and other performance-enhancers (allegedly) turn back the hands of time. They let you recapture a little of that fodder for future boring stories.
So what if Rodriguez is young and a physical specimen to begin with, he's also insanely insecure—even by celebrity standards. Additionally, by all accounts, he's a perfectionist from whom a lot is expected.
Sounds like the perfect candidate to me.
Yeah, it's probably got some pretty heinous long-term side-effects. So do a lot of the unhealthy things you and I take into our bodies everyday. Obviously, the maladies befalling steroid users and the like are usually much worse and more certain. Then again, the benefits of successful use are a hell of a lot more substantial than those of a Whopper or shot of Jack Daniels.
Still, the really ridiculous part of the whole episode is that all this faux-outrage and shock comes after the Mitchell Report. After Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens. After Jason Grimsley, Andy Pettitte, minor-leaguers by the busload, and Neifi Perez.
I mean, c'mon. Who are we kidding?
Look, I'm not saying everyone is guilty. What I am saying is that there's no longer a reasonable excuse for our heads to be in the sand. Sure, it'd be nice if there were some clean-but-still-elite players. There probably are some. Maybe even a lot. But that firm presumption is no longer reasonable.
Sad but true.
If the presumption isn't reasonable, than neither is the surprise. Even worse, that surprise is an attempt to separate from yourself from the guilty. It's an attempt to dodge your responsibility in all of this.
In fact, until we're actively and sincerely trying to solve the problem, I'm not even sure it's fair to be upset. After all, it's been clear for many years now that the system is broken. That it actually encourages the use of performance-enhancers rather than discourages it. That a sincere and sweeping effort needs to be made.
And that it has to come from the fans.
Everyone else is making money off the situation—the players, the agents, the executives, the owners, and the media. Great performances get great contracts, sell tickets, and move newspapers (as does a good scandal). Why would they want it changed?
Furthermore, the last 20 years or so have proven that they will NOT change it unless a figurative gun is to their collective head.
Well, until we're ready to point it, we're part of the problem.
Step one is admitting that even your guy is probably on the juice. I don't like it and neither will you. But the important thing is that nobody inside baseball (or any other sport) will like it, either.
The innocent will demand real change to clear the aura of skepticism and the guilty will feel hunted. Agents will find it harder to sell their products, owners/executives will (rightly) fear the tangible manifestation of diminishing goodwill, and the media will lose a scandal to sell.
The fans might even get to a chance to win for a change. Wouldn't that be nice?
Major League Baseball's 10 Funniest Confrontations of All-Time
For this installment of the collision between comedy and sports, I'm switching back to the standard article format. The slide-show was fun, but I couldn't add the video links (at least I couldn't figure out how to do it) and those are more important than the pictures.
Plus, it was tough finding shots of relatively old stuff that were clear enough to use. Obviously in some cases, I didn't succeed.
So it's back to the tried and true method for a look at the funniest confrontations in Major League Baseball history.
And that's confrontation in the broadest sense of the word.
I'm talkin' one-on-one stand-offs, bench-clearers, tete-a-tetes with the umpires, and any other example of men matching tantrums. The only rule is it had to be funny—not always in the same way or for the same reason.
But you still gotta laugh. Here we go:
No. 10—Batman goes nuts on his latest caper.
You'll notice I usually hand the tenth spot to an entry that is a bit of a stretch for whatever the list may be. That's because there's usually a borderline case from another arena that is simply too perfect to exclude.
Christian Bale's hissy-fit (caution: a ton of profanity) on the set of the newest Terminator is certainly one of these.
So how can I include his apocalyptic showdown with the director of photography on a movie set? On a list that's supposed to be about sports?
In truth, I shouldn't. But...
A. Bale did play Batman—and Bateman, weird—who defends Gotham. New York City is often called Gotham and is synonymous with MLB because of the pin-stripes all over the game's history.
B. Christian was originally tabbed to play George W. Bush in Oliver Stone's biopic, W. Dubya, as we all know, was a co-owner of the Texas Rangers before moving on to do for America what he did for the Rangers.
C. Robin Ventura apparently went by the nickname, "Batman."
Weak, I know. But more than enough of a reason to include such a priceless clip.
No. 9—Two Korean teams' unintentional intentional comedy.
This one defies explanation. The crowd gets a huge kick out of the players' antics, but I don't get see the joke. So why is it on the list?
Because it's hilarious for a different reason.
When I'm laughing, I'm not laughing with the players (who are enjoying themselves way too much). I'm laughing at them. Clearly, this took a lot of coordination and thought. Yet hopping around on one leg while doing battle with a crooked knee?
That's the punchline for all the effort?
There's a pretty good chance this is the product of cultural divide and the Koreans would be just as confounded by our American counterpart. Let me know what that would be.
I'm not even sure it's a real baseball game. Let's just move on.
Note: this was also listed as Japanese, but I think it's Korean. If it's Japanese, I apologize. In my defense, it's listed as both, the clarity isn't great, and I don't happen to speak either language.
No. 8—Tony Batista makes a Japanese pitcher say, "Oops I crapped my pants."
Yet another great clip of a pseudo-confrontation from the Far East. Batista got plunked, took several vicious steps towards the mound, and then harmlessly trotted to first. But the Japanese hurler bit.
Hard.
In the pitcher's defense, he was a good sport about it—laughing the incident off—and you can't blame the guy.
For one thing, Tony Batista looked much older and bigger. For another, the guy on the mound had good reason to be worried.
You'll see what I mean.
No. 7—Kyle Farnsworth proves that Jeremy Affeldt picked the right sport and he did not.
Kyle Farnsworth should be a fantastic relief pitcher. He's enormous, which makes him an intimidating presence on the mound.
He throws serious gas, which makes him an intimidating presence on the mound.
And he's a little crazy. Possibly a lot crazy. Again, intimidating.
The only problem is that, to be an intimidating pitcher, you've got to actually throw strikes on occasion. When you do, those strikes must find the catcher's glove or foul territory. Otherwise, all the other stuff is just a fancy waste.
So Kyle Farnsworth is not a fantastic reliever. I'm not even sure he's a good one. On the other hand, he looks like he'd make one hell of a cage fighter or football player.
The apparent error in career choice is what gets this bad rider on the list.
The video clip doesn't do Farnsworth's tackle on Affeldt justice because it's merely a string of stills and none catches the actual tackle. Trust me, it really was a textbook thing of beauty. Incidentally, that's my Giants' new toy at 40 seconds (with Kyle's paw all up in his mug), again at about 62 seconds (beaten and bloodied), and then again later on.
There's also a pretty good shot of a James Shields' haymaker (he looks like he knows what he's doing) and a moment Derek Lee would probably like erased (he does not look like he knows what he's doing).
No. 6—The reason die-hard San Francisco fans knew it was just a matter of time before the Big Unit put on a Giants' uniform.
Unfortunately, there's one in every group—the problem child. In this case, it's a video clip that can't be found. If this were higher on the list, I'd have spent more time looking instead of settling on the above photo. As it was, I spent a good 15 minutes and that's usually long enough to find something if it exists online.
Unless, of course, you're a moron...don't say I didn't warn you.
I forget who sparked off the brawl; that's not really important. The important part is both benches cleared and Randy's Arizona Diamondback hat got knocked off his mullet in the melee that ensued. As order was being restored, a visibly angry Johnson grabbed a lid and jammed it on his head.
After a couple more seconds passed and calmed him down, he began to tug at the cap because it wasn't sitting right. Finally, he whipped it off and, lo and behold, it was the orange and black of San Francisco.
If you can find it, let me know because this one is even funnier now that Randy Johnson actually is a Giant.
But don't worry, we'll see the Big Unit later on.
No. 5—If only Nolan Ryan were a director of photography in Hollywood.
I doubt the movie Batman would've been so courageous as to upbraid the all-time strikeout king had he been the one "screwing up" Bale's eye-line. Not after seeing what he did to (apparently) MLB's version.
The funniest thing about this is not the ass-whooping Father Time dropped on a very young Robin Ventura. In truth, most of those punches were to the top of the head so they probably weren't doing much. Only that last one really got through to a soft spot.
The funniest thing is that Ventura sure was in a hurry to get out there. I mean, it's Nolan Ryan—the Ryan Express is/was baseball royalty—and Robin ran out there after a pitch that wasn't even very close.
Then proceeded to get punked. Ah, life is good sometimes.
No. 4—You just do NOT get in the Big Unit's way.
Although this would apply to Randy's confrontation with the camera soon after arriving in the Big Apple, that clip wasn't funny. Predictable? Yep, but not funny.
If you're in PETA, well, this one's probably not gonna be too funny either.
I'm not in PETA. I find that clip outrageously funny. Yes, I feel bad for the bird.
And that's significantly worse than the bird ever felt about the incident because that baby was DOI—dead on impact. Man, did it go down a hero though. In a ball of feathers rather than fire, but still pretty cool.
Plus, the freakish nature of the episode has to make you laugh. Seriously, what are the chances that the timing could ever be that perfect? I'd almost guarantee you that Johnson couldn't do it again in 100 tries.
I doubt the bird could've either. Well played sir.
No. 3—Everyone run! It's Rod Allen!
Before there was Godzilla (with Matthew Broderick), there was Rod Allen. Perhaps the entire city of Tokyo didn't tremble at his name and scurry from his approach, but one guy certainly did.
And I think he might still be running. Because I'm certainly still laughing.
However, I can't say that I blame him.
Mr. Allen looked slightly agitated by that beanball and the Japanese general attitude towards fighting in the midst of a baseball game doesn't seem to be the same as the American one. Shoot, why do you think Tony Batista looked so scary?
Rod had size, motivation, and a sincere head of steam.
It's just a good thing that pitcher could run better than he could throw.
No. 2—Phil Wellman introduces himself the umpire crew...and the rest of America.
God bless YouTube and the wonders of modern technology.
If I had to describe this, I'm not sure the article would ever see the light of day because there is simply no way to put it into words. You simply have to see Wellman's meltdown for yourself.
Oh man, there's just no way that will ever be topped by another manager. How could it be? What would a better tantrum look like?
And what was he thinking? The fast-forwarded version takes over a minute. That means the real thing would've given Wellman plenty of time to simmer down. I'd love to have been watching that game from the first pitch because something egregious must have happened.
No way that anger was fabricated.
The guy had time to get on his hands and knees, carefully cover up and tamp down the dish, and then draw a new plate with exaggerated boundaries.
Then he walked to third base, uprooted it, walked to second base, and chucked third into center field. Then came the soldier crawl to the rosin bag and phenomenal grenade toss at the ump.
Do you think that was an act of premeditation on Wellman's part? Or was it a spur of the moment thing?
Whichever it was, the execution was brilliant. Right down to the little puff of white "smoke" when it landed at the ump's feet.
Lastly, give the umps credit. I would've broken character and left my posterior on the field in a fit of laughter.
Again, well played sir.
No. 1—Armando Benitez proves that HE is the craziest man in Major League Baseball.
There's courage, bravado, reckless bravery, stupidity, and then there's Armando Benitez on the mound against the New York Yankees.
Armando was busy inflicting his brand of torture on the Baltimore Orioles at the time and had just finished surrendering a lead to their rivals in the American League East.
With Tino Martinez at the plate, Benitez unleashed a sizzling fastball that found its mark right in the middle of Tino's back. You can tell everyone was expecting it because (a) the previous batter (Bernie Williams) had just launched a three-run tater and (b) the ump jumped out from behind the plate to thumb Armando like he was coiled and waiting for the chance.
Rightly so. But none of that is what makes this the number one stunna.
No, what earns it the top spot is what Armando Benitez does next.
With the entire Yankee dugout already at the top step—some were already out of it—Armando turned, took a look at the Bombers, and gave the universal sign for "come get some."
To the entire team.
Needless to say, the Yanks took him up on his offer. Particularly some reliever and Darryl Strawberry.
Unfortunately, the clip doesn't show Benitez gesturing at NY.
Still, you get a pretty good feel for the moment around the 2:12 mark and the rest of the video is a great "honorable mention" vehicle.
There's Krukow versus Dave Winfield, Mo Vaughn delivering the smackdown to George Bell, the Boston Red Sox minor leaguer who appeared to have some mixed martial arts training (nice sprawl), two of the more irritating pitchers in recent memory (Pedro Martinez and Jeff Weaver) getting dominated, and Chan Ho Park going at it with Tim Belcher.
All worthy candidates, but not worthy enough.
Friday, February 6, 2009
The NBA Pulls Back the Curtain on the Wizard of MSG
Whoops.
Scratch all those articles written about LeBron James triple-double in Madison Square Garden. The powers-that-be in the National Basketball Association have decided that LBJ's final line was actually 52 points, 11 assists, and nine rebounds. The tenth board (technically it was the ninth) really belonged to Ben Wallace.
To which I have a couple responses:
1. Thanks to Eric Adelman, I saw this coming. Eric posted a link to the clip on my profile and, any time the announcer casually says that player A secures the rebound and tips it to player B, it's a pretty good indication that player A deserves credit for the rebound. Good call by the NBA.
2. Whoever's next on the Cleveland Cavaliers' schedule is in a world o' hurt. If Kobe hanging 61 on the New York Knickerbockers prompted King James to wrestle with a trip-dub and light it up to the tune of 52, what is this gonna do?
Especially considering LeBron and the Cavs were already rightfully peeved about Mo Williams being personally snubbed by David Stern.
I think it's a pretty serious injustice (in the sports-sense of the word) that, while the Orlando Magic and Boston Celtics have three All-Stars each, the Cavs have only the One to Whom We Wear Witness. Nothing against Ray Allen, but both he and Williams were deserving so I think it's relatively obvious that Williams should've been given the nod due to Cleveland's overall success.
I think it's also pretty obvious why Stern gave Allen the nod and that stinks, but such is the double-edged sword of capitalism. And it's not like Allen didn't deserve to go so whatever.
Then again, I am not an ardent supporter of the Cavs nor am I one of their players. Try offering such platitudes to someone who fits that description.
Regardless, if I were an NBA player and in the way the next time the James Train rolled through the Big Apple? Or—basketball gods forbid—on the tracks in the next couple evenings?
I'd be finding the closest case of the flu available and gettin' really intimate with its source. Toot sweet.
Because I've written several times that I'm of the firm belief that truly great players can do almost anything they want when he/she gets particularly motivated. With a guy like Kobe Bryant or LeBron James or Michael Jordan or Magic Johnson, there should be a cartoon bubble constantly hanging over his head reading, "Handle with Care." If you get a player like that agitated, you might just see history fall.
And David Stern plus the rest of his henchmen have just placed a rather large burr under King James' saddle.
Hope they have the good stationary ready because I wouldn't be surprised if some poor schmuck ended up in the record books for the wrong reasons in the not-too-distant future. It won't be his fault—who amongst us mortal men could stop LBJ on a mission?
But there he'll be and the NBA front office will owe him an apology.
It's unwise to place yourself in LeBron James' cross-hairs. It's downright criminal to place someone else there.
Scratch all those articles written about LeBron James triple-double in Madison Square Garden. The powers-that-be in the National Basketball Association have decided that LBJ's final line was actually 52 points, 11 assists, and nine rebounds. The tenth board (technically it was the ninth) really belonged to Ben Wallace.
To which I have a couple responses:
1. Thanks to Eric Adelman, I saw this coming. Eric posted a link to the clip on my profile and, any time the announcer casually says that player A secures the rebound and tips it to player B, it's a pretty good indication that player A deserves credit for the rebound. Good call by the NBA.
2. Whoever's next on the Cleveland Cavaliers' schedule is in a world o' hurt. If Kobe hanging 61 on the New York Knickerbockers prompted King James to wrestle with a trip-dub and light it up to the tune of 52, what is this gonna do?
Especially considering LeBron and the Cavs were already rightfully peeved about Mo Williams being personally snubbed by David Stern.
I think it's a pretty serious injustice (in the sports-sense of the word) that, while the Orlando Magic and Boston Celtics have three All-Stars each, the Cavs have only the One to Whom We Wear Witness. Nothing against Ray Allen, but both he and Williams were deserving so I think it's relatively obvious that Williams should've been given the nod due to Cleveland's overall success.
I think it's also pretty obvious why Stern gave Allen the nod and that stinks, but such is the double-edged sword of capitalism. And it's not like Allen didn't deserve to go so whatever.
Then again, I am not an ardent supporter of the Cavs nor am I one of their players. Try offering such platitudes to someone who fits that description.
Regardless, if I were an NBA player and in the way the next time the James Train rolled through the Big Apple? Or—basketball gods forbid—on the tracks in the next couple evenings?
I'd be finding the closest case of the flu available and gettin' really intimate with its source. Toot sweet.
Because I've written several times that I'm of the firm belief that truly great players can do almost anything they want when he/she gets particularly motivated. With a guy like Kobe Bryant or LeBron James or Michael Jordan or Magic Johnson, there should be a cartoon bubble constantly hanging over his head reading, "Handle with Care." If you get a player like that agitated, you might just see history fall.
And David Stern plus the rest of his henchmen have just placed a rather large burr under King James' saddle.
Hope they have the good stationary ready because I wouldn't be surprised if some poor schmuck ended up in the record books for the wrong reasons in the not-too-distant future. It won't be his fault—who amongst us mortal men could stop LBJ on a mission?
But there he'll be and the NBA front office will owe him an apology.
It's unwise to place yourself in LeBron James' cross-hairs. It's downright criminal to place someone else there.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
If Doug Collins and Tim McCarver Were to Shake Hands, Would the Universe Survive?
Do you think television executives watch their own stations? For instance, do you think whoever decides who goes behind the mic for the TNT broadcasts watched the Boston Celtics host the Los Angeles Lakers tonight?
Do you think his/her/their counterpart(s) at Fox watch the World Series?
The reason I ask is this: I don't understand how you can listen to a guy like Doug Collins or Tim McCarver without wanting to dig your own eardrums out of your head. Honestly, I listen to either of and I lost a couple top layers of enamel off my molars.
If it weren't for TiVo in their more irritating moments, I'd probably be dead from an aneurysm or stroke.
McCarver's very human, very abundant flaws are well-beaten horses and rightfully so.
But if the same general opinion is held regarding Collins, I haven't heard it. That's entirely possible because I follow Major League Baseball much more closely than I follow the National Basketball Association. I sincerely hope it's out there and just hasn't reached my eyes/ears.
Because Doug Collins is terrible at his job. He may be a very likable guy and an altogether righteous hombre. That doesn't change the fact that he's on cable television, presumably compensated well for it, and stinks at color commentary.
Just like Terrible Timmie, you can just about close your eyes, hit fast-forward on the magic TiVo, and randomly hit play. Then cover your ears when Doug opens his yapper. As I've been writing this, here are some gems dropped by Collins:
Apparently, Kobe Bryant sits at the beginning of the fourth quarter in most games to rest up his legs for the final push. Not uncommon practice for the team's best player—think Steve Nash with a towel over his knees lying down at the end of the Phoenix Suns bench. So this is a moment that someone with an open mic should probably see coming.
Incidentally, the Cs had a four-point lead (81-77) over the Lakeshow...
About 30 seconds in after Boston has squandered its first possession of the quarter, I give you Doug Collins: "And this is a time when this Laker bench...uhhh...much vaunted Laker bench has gotta step forward. I mean, Eddie House 16 points, the Laker bench eighteeeen [his emphasis], which is the difference in the game."
Oh goodness. Like I said, the man may be a very kind-hearted, gem of a human-being. In the grand scheme of things, being bad at his job will not cost any lives (perhaps mine) and Doug Collins isn't hurting anyone (intentionally).
But what in the name of Merlin's beard does that comment contribute? The bench has to step up with Kobe on the pine? As opposed to what?
Phil Jackson ambling his broken down body out there and schoolin' these young fools? Zen and the art of breaking every bone below your navel in the space of one shot clock?
Furthermore, 81 minus 77 is four. Eighteen minus 16 is two, which is not four. And the Lakers were losing at the time. So what exactly was Doug going for?
My guess is he was trying to indicate that the Laker reserves weren't doing their jobs and were almost being outscored by House almost by himself. OK, that's exactly what he was going for—he just cleared it up after a commercial break during which time I assume he composed himself.
That's an odd way to go about it. Even odder considering the Celtics have Pierce, Kevin Garnett, and Ray Allen.
The Lakers have Kobe and, I guess, Pau Gasol. So the bench has to do a good deal more than counter Boston's bench (of which House is a member). The bench must do that as well as help make up the difference between the starters since there is significant disparity there.
When he's not confounding the audience with such prose, he may as well just be reading from a stat sheet—the Laker's schedule, reciting play-by-play from earlier in the game, or otherwise trying to wrest the title of Captain Obvious away from whomever owns it these days.
Unfortunately, my beef is not simply with Doug Collins' content. It's also his delivery.
He whines almost all of his lines out like he's pleading with the audience to believe him. If he's not doing that, then he's usually describing the action as if he's Sir Isaac Newton revealing the existence of gravity for the first time.
Good lord, you'd think Garnett was actually reaching into the hoop on his shot extension the way Collins was describing it. For Pete's sake, KG has long arms and didn't always use them when he shot. We get it Doug.
In fact, we got it the first thousand times people marveled at what an exceptional mid-range jump shooter the Big Ticket has become.
So I return to my original question: are these executives making informed decisions?
Or do they just look to the professional pedigree?
Because, just like Tim McCarver, Doug Collins gets paired with Marv Albert and Reggie Miller for TNT's flagship broadcasts. Neither Albert nor Miller is perfect, but they both have very obvious strengths. Collins does not.
Yet he pops up to rain all over the biggest NBA parades, just like tonights Boston-Los Angeles revival.
Of course, pedigree is one area where Collins has even McCarver beat. I'm pretty sure his most significant bullet point to anyone from my generation is the one that reads, "the coach who could never with with Michael Jordan."
That's not totally fair since he had the bookend MJs—too young and too old. Unfortunately for Doug Collins, 'unfair' is not a synonym for 'untrue.'
Even more so because, while it may be unfair to call Doug Collins the worst color-commentator this side of Tim McCarver, it isn't untrue.
Do you think his/her/their counterpart(s) at Fox watch the World Series?
The reason I ask is this: I don't understand how you can listen to a guy like Doug Collins or Tim McCarver without wanting to dig your own eardrums out of your head. Honestly, I listen to either of and I lost a couple top layers of enamel off my molars.
If it weren't for TiVo in their more irritating moments, I'd probably be dead from an aneurysm or stroke.
McCarver's very human, very abundant flaws are well-beaten horses and rightfully so.
But if the same general opinion is held regarding Collins, I haven't heard it. That's entirely possible because I follow Major League Baseball much more closely than I follow the National Basketball Association. I sincerely hope it's out there and just hasn't reached my eyes/ears.
Because Doug Collins is terrible at his job. He may be a very likable guy and an altogether righteous hombre. That doesn't change the fact that he's on cable television, presumably compensated well for it, and stinks at color commentary.
Just like Terrible Timmie, you can just about close your eyes, hit fast-forward on the magic TiVo, and randomly hit play. Then cover your ears when Doug opens his yapper. As I've been writing this, here are some gems dropped by Collins:
- Emphasized that turnovers are killing the Celtics—anyone watching the damn game can see that, what does that contribute?
- Points out that Ray Allen is inbounding the ball so watch him because the inbounder is always the most dangerous guy—I love this comment because it immediately keys you to the fact that the speaker either can't communicate his/her knowledge of basketball or has none; everyone says it, everyone's heard it, everyone knows it.
- Says that you forget how strong Paul Pierce is—who does? I certainly don't, at least not when I'm watching him run through rather large NBA players (not illegally).
- As the Boston crowd starts chanting M-V-P with Pierce at the line, Collins says, "he was MVP of the Finals."—shaking my head in total despair.
Apparently, Kobe Bryant sits at the beginning of the fourth quarter in most games to rest up his legs for the final push. Not uncommon practice for the team's best player—think Steve Nash with a towel over his knees lying down at the end of the Phoenix Suns bench. So this is a moment that someone with an open mic should probably see coming.
Incidentally, the Cs had a four-point lead (81-77) over the Lakeshow...
About 30 seconds in after Boston has squandered its first possession of the quarter, I give you Doug Collins: "And this is a time when this Laker bench...uhhh...much vaunted Laker bench has gotta step forward. I mean, Eddie House 16 points, the Laker bench eighteeeen [his emphasis], which is the difference in the game."
Oh goodness. Like I said, the man may be a very kind-hearted, gem of a human-being. In the grand scheme of things, being bad at his job will not cost any lives (perhaps mine) and Doug Collins isn't hurting anyone (intentionally).
But what in the name of Merlin's beard does that comment contribute? The bench has to step up with Kobe on the pine? As opposed to what?
Phil Jackson ambling his broken down body out there and schoolin' these young fools? Zen and the art of breaking every bone below your navel in the space of one shot clock?
Furthermore, 81 minus 77 is four. Eighteen minus 16 is two, which is not four. And the Lakers were losing at the time. So what exactly was Doug going for?
My guess is he was trying to indicate that the Laker reserves weren't doing their jobs and were almost being outscored by House almost by himself. OK, that's exactly what he was going for—he just cleared it up after a commercial break during which time I assume he composed himself.
That's an odd way to go about it. Even odder considering the Celtics have Pierce, Kevin Garnett, and Ray Allen.
The Lakers have Kobe and, I guess, Pau Gasol. So the bench has to do a good deal more than counter Boston's bench (of which House is a member). The bench must do that as well as help make up the difference between the starters since there is significant disparity there.
When he's not confounding the audience with such prose, he may as well just be reading from a stat sheet—the Laker's schedule, reciting play-by-play from earlier in the game, or otherwise trying to wrest the title of Captain Obvious away from whomever owns it these days.
Unfortunately, my beef is not simply with Doug Collins' content. It's also his delivery.
He whines almost all of his lines out like he's pleading with the audience to believe him. If he's not doing that, then he's usually describing the action as if he's Sir Isaac Newton revealing the existence of gravity for the first time.
Good lord, you'd think Garnett was actually reaching into the hoop on his shot extension the way Collins was describing it. For Pete's sake, KG has long arms and didn't always use them when he shot. We get it Doug.
In fact, we got it the first thousand times people marveled at what an exceptional mid-range jump shooter the Big Ticket has become.
So I return to my original question: are these executives making informed decisions?
Or do they just look to the professional pedigree?
Because, just like Tim McCarver, Doug Collins gets paired with Marv Albert and Reggie Miller for TNT's flagship broadcasts. Neither Albert nor Miller is perfect, but they both have very obvious strengths. Collins does not.
Yet he pops up to rain all over the biggest NBA parades, just like tonights Boston-Los Angeles revival.
Of course, pedigree is one area where Collins has even McCarver beat. I'm pretty sure his most significant bullet point to anyone from my generation is the one that reads, "the coach who could never with with Michael Jordan."
That's not totally fair since he had the bookend MJs—too young and too old. Unfortunately for Doug Collins, 'unfair' is not a synonym for 'untrue.'
Even more so because, while it may be unfair to call Doug Collins the worst color-commentator this side of Tim McCarver, it isn't untrue.
Ladies and Gentlemen, Your Darkhorse for the 2009 Major League Baseball Season
The ones you think are beautiful, but no one else does? Those are the best.—Unknown
It's official. Actually, it's been official for a couple days now. There are less than 10 days until pitchers and catchers report. If you don't understand the magic in those words, you might not want to keep reading because this is gonna be about Major League Baseball.
And it's not gonna feature the New York Yankees or the Boston Red Sox or Manny Ramirez. At least not heavily.
It's magic for one simple reason—once there's a hurler on the mound somewhere and the tools of ignorance are donned with the words 'Spring Training' attached, a major hurdle has been cleared. Let the dreams of April 5, 2009 flow freely.
Otherwise known as Opening Day.
In any other year, we'd already be seeing preview articles and prediction pieces by the hundreds. Teams would be set, nuclei would have been assessed, and those of us who follow the Bigs closely would have a clearer understanding of the landscape. It's a tad different this year because there are so many significant free agents still available.
That said, I don't think any of the merchandise going stale on the shelves is a season-changer. Maybe Ben Sheets, but he's apparently going under the knife. For a pitcher with an injury history like that guy's, who knows what that means for his future. Forget about his immediate horizon i.e. the 2009 season.
Adam Dunn is nice, but he strikes out a ton. If he goes to a team that's already stacked, say Boston, it'd be a pretty substantial addition. But what if my San Francisco Giants signed him?
It would make the Orange and Black a lot better, but it wouldn't make the boys World Series material.
Same goes for guys like Bobby Abreu, Garret Anderson, and Orlando Hudson. Even Manny Ramirez to a degree, but that's irrelevant because he and Scott Boras seem to be the only ones who don't realize that he'll be wearing Los Angeles Dodger blue in 2009.
Whether on a baseball field or on the beach somewhere (at least that's what I keep telling myself because the alternative is apparently orange and black, which would really bum me out).
So I'm gonna go ahead and throw my version of a "prediction" on the table. It's not actually a prediction because I think it's the definition of silly to argue, with any degree of certitude, who will make the playoffs, advance, and win MLB's ultimate prize. Frankly, I think it's pretty silly to do it at the All-Star break.
Fun? Yes, but almost meaningless.
Instead, I'm gonna tab a team I expect to make a serious run at a ring. A team that's flown under the radar and yet seems poised for big things. I'll still link it to the World Series because the franchise popping champagne at the end of the year is rarely one that everyone saw coming.
Sometimes it happens that way, like when the Yankees were steam-rolling to title after title in the late 1990s. But that's the exception, not the rule.
Usually, it's a team that nobody was really hyping. A team that seems surprising while they're doing it. Yet, through the clear lens of hindsight, it's a team that makes those of us—who fancy ourselves knowledgeable about the sport—feel stupid for overlooking.
It's normally a squad that had a good year not too long before, a dash of young talent that was due to mature, an established star who was due for a leap to the next level, solid pitching to build from, a steadying veteran presence in the clubhouse, and/or a little roster continuity.
Of course, there's always a healthy bit o' luck and that's why predicting the winner 162 games prematurely is a baaaad idea.
So I'm not saying the Cleveland Indians will win the Fall Classic.
That would be foolishness masquerading as bravado and prescience, especially considering the offseason had by the Bronx Bombers. I am saying that I expect them to make a sincere run at it.
I'd go so far as to pick them to win the American League Central. Of course, that's not so bold all things considered.
Anyway, look at the Tribes' projected starting lineup plus rotation and significant relief (from the 'pen and bench):
Lineup:
Catcher—Kelly Shoppach
First Base—Ryan Garko
Second Base—Mark DeRosa
Third Base—Andy Marte
Shortstop—Jhonny Peralta
Left Field—Ben Francisco
Center Field—Grady Sizemore
Right Field—Shin-Soo Choo
Designated Hitter—Victor Martinez/Travis Hafner
Starting Rotation:
Ace—Cliff Lee
Second—Fausto Carmona
Third—Aaron Laffey
Fourth—Carl Pavano
Fifth—Jeremy Sowers/Anthony Reyes
Bullpen:
Closer—Kerry Wood
Set-up—Rafael Bettencourt
Set-up—Jensen Lewis
Set-up—Rafael Perez
Set-up—Masa Kobayashi
Bench: David Dellucci, Asdrubal Cabrera, and Jamey Carroll
Now recall that the Indians were a couple lucky breaks away from going to the World Series in 2007 only to be vanquished by the eventual champion Boston Red Sox. They suffered some injuries in 2008, got a good view of CC Sabathia's large rear as he was shipped off to the Milwaukee Brewers, and regressed a bit.
But they rallied at the end and managed to finish 81-81. Recent success? Check.
The roster features Laffey (24 years old), who got off to a great start in '08 only to crack under the pressure/stress of a full season in the Show. It features Carmona, who is another youngster (25) who has shown flashes of brilliance while struggling with consistency. The same can be said of Lewis (25), Sowers (~26), Reyes (~27), and Perez (27).
And that's just on the mound.
In the batter's box, you've got Marte (25 and a former blue-chip prospect), Peralta (27 and already a legit 25+ homer/.275+ hitter), and Choo (~27 and hit the cover off the ball at times in '08).
Shoot, Shoppach barely has more than a season's worth of at-bats so you could even lump him in this group despite his advancing (for pro sports) age of 29 years.
Regardless, I'd say that's a dash of young talent with a good chance of maturation.
Then there's the matter of Grady Sizemore and Cliff Lee, both of whom are established stars at this point.
I'll focus on Sizemore since it'd be crass to say Lee could make another leap. I'm not sure what a leap would look like considering he won the American League Cy Young by posting 223+ innings, 170 strikeouts against 34 walks, a 2.54 earned run average, a 1.11 WHIP, and finishing 22-3. That doesn't leave much room for improvement.
I'm guessing that's the best pitching campaign we'll see for a while; maybe Tim Lincecum can beat it. I love the Franchise, but I'm not so sure.
Plus, Grady's a bit younger. Lee's only gonna be 31 in August, but Sizemore will be 27 in the same month. Four years is a substantial difference in professional athletics.
Sizemore's 2008 season wasn't exactly shabby—101 runs scored, 39 doubles, 33 homeruns, 90 runs batted in, 38 steals, a .268 average, a .375 on-base percentage, and a .502 slugging percentage.
On the downside, he struck out a lot (130 times) and his average dipped from his previous seasons (probably can account for the bump in taters). So there's substantially more room for improvement compared to Lee. And Grady is entering his prime.
Established star due for a leap? Check.
The low-key additions of Pavano, Wood, and DeRosa all bode well.
Part of the derailment in '08 can be attributed to Cleveland's bullpen, which was one of the worst in MLB. Kerry Wood greatly rights that ship because he allows Betancourt and Perez to shift back to roles in which they apparently feel more comfortable.
It also allows the Tribe to pump the brakes on the development of young Jensen Lewis, who already showed promise while greatly solidifying the gelatinous 'pen last year.
Pavano pitched much better than anyone expected in his return to the Pinstripes towards the end of '08. I wouldn't pin my hopes on the guy because he has yet to prove he has a spine to speak of, but he showed enough to be cautiously optimistic.
So solid pitching? Check.
DeRosa joins Lee, Sizemore, Wood, and Martinez to reinforce the veteran leadership and add to the well of experience. That includes the postseason.
Last but not least, there hasn't been much roster upheaval since the big man got his walking papers. The additions have been minimalistic, but calculated to contribute most where Cleveland was weakest. And they only strengthen the nucleus that was there last year.
Yep, with a little luck, I see very good things for the Cleveland Indians in 2009. Unfortunately, the baseball gods have made a habit out of kicking me in the junk over the years and I don't know why this year would be any different.
So I may have just doomed the Tribe to another year of one step forward, two steps back.
Oops.
It's official. Actually, it's been official for a couple days now. There are less than 10 days until pitchers and catchers report. If you don't understand the magic in those words, you might not want to keep reading because this is gonna be about Major League Baseball.
And it's not gonna feature the New York Yankees or the Boston Red Sox or Manny Ramirez. At least not heavily.
It's magic for one simple reason—once there's a hurler on the mound somewhere and the tools of ignorance are donned with the words 'Spring Training' attached, a major hurdle has been cleared. Let the dreams of April 5, 2009 flow freely.
Otherwise known as Opening Day.
In any other year, we'd already be seeing preview articles and prediction pieces by the hundreds. Teams would be set, nuclei would have been assessed, and those of us who follow the Bigs closely would have a clearer understanding of the landscape. It's a tad different this year because there are so many significant free agents still available.
That said, I don't think any of the merchandise going stale on the shelves is a season-changer. Maybe Ben Sheets, but he's apparently going under the knife. For a pitcher with an injury history like that guy's, who knows what that means for his future. Forget about his immediate horizon i.e. the 2009 season.
Adam Dunn is nice, but he strikes out a ton. If he goes to a team that's already stacked, say Boston, it'd be a pretty substantial addition. But what if my San Francisco Giants signed him?
It would make the Orange and Black a lot better, but it wouldn't make the boys World Series material.
Same goes for guys like Bobby Abreu, Garret Anderson, and Orlando Hudson. Even Manny Ramirez to a degree, but that's irrelevant because he and Scott Boras seem to be the only ones who don't realize that he'll be wearing Los Angeles Dodger blue in 2009.
Whether on a baseball field or on the beach somewhere (at least that's what I keep telling myself because the alternative is apparently orange and black, which would really bum me out).
So I'm gonna go ahead and throw my version of a "prediction" on the table. It's not actually a prediction because I think it's the definition of silly to argue, with any degree of certitude, who will make the playoffs, advance, and win MLB's ultimate prize. Frankly, I think it's pretty silly to do it at the All-Star break.
Fun? Yes, but almost meaningless.
Instead, I'm gonna tab a team I expect to make a serious run at a ring. A team that's flown under the radar and yet seems poised for big things. I'll still link it to the World Series because the franchise popping champagne at the end of the year is rarely one that everyone saw coming.
Sometimes it happens that way, like when the Yankees were steam-rolling to title after title in the late 1990s. But that's the exception, not the rule.
Usually, it's a team that nobody was really hyping. A team that seems surprising while they're doing it. Yet, through the clear lens of hindsight, it's a team that makes those of us—who fancy ourselves knowledgeable about the sport—feel stupid for overlooking.
It's normally a squad that had a good year not too long before, a dash of young talent that was due to mature, an established star who was due for a leap to the next level, solid pitching to build from, a steadying veteran presence in the clubhouse, and/or a little roster continuity.
Of course, there's always a healthy bit o' luck and that's why predicting the winner 162 games prematurely is a baaaad idea.
So I'm not saying the Cleveland Indians will win the Fall Classic.
That would be foolishness masquerading as bravado and prescience, especially considering the offseason had by the Bronx Bombers. I am saying that I expect them to make a sincere run at it.
I'd go so far as to pick them to win the American League Central. Of course, that's not so bold all things considered.
Anyway, look at the Tribes' projected starting lineup plus rotation and significant relief (from the 'pen and bench):
Lineup:
Catcher—Kelly Shoppach
First Base—Ryan Garko
Second Base—Mark DeRosa
Third Base—Andy Marte
Shortstop—Jhonny Peralta
Left Field—Ben Francisco
Center Field—Grady Sizemore
Right Field—Shin-Soo Choo
Designated Hitter—Victor Martinez/Travis Hafner
Starting Rotation:
Ace—Cliff Lee
Second—Fausto Carmona
Third—Aaron Laffey
Fourth—Carl Pavano
Fifth—Jeremy Sowers/Anthony Reyes
Bullpen:
Closer—Kerry Wood
Set-up—Rafael Bettencourt
Set-up—Jensen Lewis
Set-up—Rafael Perez
Set-up—Masa Kobayashi
Bench: David Dellucci, Asdrubal Cabrera, and Jamey Carroll
Now recall that the Indians were a couple lucky breaks away from going to the World Series in 2007 only to be vanquished by the eventual champion Boston Red Sox. They suffered some injuries in 2008, got a good view of CC Sabathia's large rear as he was shipped off to the Milwaukee Brewers, and regressed a bit.
But they rallied at the end and managed to finish 81-81. Recent success? Check.
The roster features Laffey (24 years old), who got off to a great start in '08 only to crack under the pressure/stress of a full season in the Show. It features Carmona, who is another youngster (25) who has shown flashes of brilliance while struggling with consistency. The same can be said of Lewis (25), Sowers (~26), Reyes (~27), and Perez (27).
And that's just on the mound.
In the batter's box, you've got Marte (25 and a former blue-chip prospect), Peralta (27 and already a legit 25+ homer/.275+ hitter), and Choo (~27 and hit the cover off the ball at times in '08).
Shoot, Shoppach barely has more than a season's worth of at-bats so you could even lump him in this group despite his advancing (for pro sports) age of 29 years.
Regardless, I'd say that's a dash of young talent with a good chance of maturation.
Then there's the matter of Grady Sizemore and Cliff Lee, both of whom are established stars at this point.
I'll focus on Sizemore since it'd be crass to say Lee could make another leap. I'm not sure what a leap would look like considering he won the American League Cy Young by posting 223+ innings, 170 strikeouts against 34 walks, a 2.54 earned run average, a 1.11 WHIP, and finishing 22-3. That doesn't leave much room for improvement.
I'm guessing that's the best pitching campaign we'll see for a while; maybe Tim Lincecum can beat it. I love the Franchise, but I'm not so sure.
Plus, Grady's a bit younger. Lee's only gonna be 31 in August, but Sizemore will be 27 in the same month. Four years is a substantial difference in professional athletics.
Sizemore's 2008 season wasn't exactly shabby—101 runs scored, 39 doubles, 33 homeruns, 90 runs batted in, 38 steals, a .268 average, a .375 on-base percentage, and a .502 slugging percentage.
On the downside, he struck out a lot (130 times) and his average dipped from his previous seasons (probably can account for the bump in taters). So there's substantially more room for improvement compared to Lee. And Grady is entering his prime.
Established star due for a leap? Check.
The low-key additions of Pavano, Wood, and DeRosa all bode well.
Part of the derailment in '08 can be attributed to Cleveland's bullpen, which was one of the worst in MLB. Kerry Wood greatly rights that ship because he allows Betancourt and Perez to shift back to roles in which they apparently feel more comfortable.
It also allows the Tribe to pump the brakes on the development of young Jensen Lewis, who already showed promise while greatly solidifying the gelatinous 'pen last year.
Pavano pitched much better than anyone expected in his return to the Pinstripes towards the end of '08. I wouldn't pin my hopes on the guy because he has yet to prove he has a spine to speak of, but he showed enough to be cautiously optimistic.
So solid pitching? Check.
DeRosa joins Lee, Sizemore, Wood, and Martinez to reinforce the veteran leadership and add to the well of experience. That includes the postseason.
Last but not least, there hasn't been much roster upheaval since the big man got his walking papers. The additions have been minimalistic, but calculated to contribute most where Cleveland was weakest. And they only strengthen the nucleus that was there last year.
Yep, with a little luck, I see very good things for the Cleveland Indians in 2009. Unfortunately, the baseball gods have made a habit out of kicking me in the junk over the years and I don't know why this year would be any different.
So I may have just doomed the Tribe to another year of one step forward, two steps back.
Oops.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Manny Ramirez: Stuck with No Kinda Get Back?
I'm a dog and I dog my broads, guerilla pimpin', drivin' four-door cars.—Too $hort, All My B****es Are Gone
A while ago, I mapped Terrell Owens career to William Butler Yates’ The Second Coming because the parallels were too irresistible. Well, after the latest news about Manny Ramirez and his wonder dog—Scott Boras—summarily rejecting the Los Angeles Dodgers’ offer of $25 million for a single year, the parallels between the dynamic duds and Too $hort’s opus to over-pimpage demand the same treatment.
Except for two problems: (A) $hort Dog’s anthem is far longer than Yates’ darkly enthralling poem; and (B) Most of it is WAY too inappropriate for general consumption.
But I’ll throw in bits where I can because it’s just perfectly apropos, even if x-rated.
That’s because Manny and Boras are painting themselves into a very small, very unsympathetic corner. If they think there’s a contract out there worth more than $25 mil per year for ANY length of time, you can add incredibly stupid to their list of accolades.
Of course, delusionally arrogant’s already on there and that could explain it.
Regardless, step back from the situation and take a look.
This is a 36-year-old outfielder who was arguably a defensive liability in his prime. And he wants compensation in excess of what the New York Yankees pay Alex Rodriguez. So he wants more money than arguably the best (non-clutch) player in Major League Baseball. A guy who also happens to be younger and play a premium defensive position.
You’ll see that Manny is a diva demanding well over his bull-market fair value. That’s not a great idea, but heretofore it wasn’t a horrible one since everyone was making money hand over fist.
However, if you read a newspaper or turn on a television, there are subtle little hints that we’re no longer in a bull-market. Things like Microsoft cutting thousands of jobs. Or the country of Iceland declaring itself insolvent. Or our own government writing about a $1.5 trillion welfare check to the financial movers/shakers.
Granted, I’m no economist. But I think that may qualify as a bear market.
Even more troubling for Ramirez is the fact that he quit on the Boston Red Sox. Vince Carter got away with it because he quit on a team that nobody was watching (Toronto Raptors). I’m sure others have done the same. But Manny went another route.
He dogged the baseball equivalent of Angelina Jolie.
Manny went Manny on the starlet that everyone is watching. NOBODY who follows baseball missed even the smallest detail of the schism. We all remember that Boston let him act the fool, paid him tip-top dollar, and was a perennial World Series contender. And we remember that wasn’t enough.
Shoot, even fans like me (I've no love for the Sawks) were disgusted. You think there are a bunch of owners lining up to take that risk? In this economy?
Well now I got a rep and they say I'm wrong.
This is a guy who proved he’ll quit on anyone—from baseball royalty to the paupers in the cellar—if he’s even the slightest bit unhappy. No matter if he’s playing in a baseball cathedral. No matter if it’s a blood bounty game against a hated rival. No matter what.
BorAss can spin all the bull excrement he wants about how Manny puts fannies in seats and is a once in a lifetime hitter. Great. None of that matters if Ramirez doesn’t get exactly what he wants.
He'll just take his considerable toys and go home.
And neither man can argue the matter because the episode is so fresh in everyone’s memory. The gruesome details are still gruesome—it’s simply too early for time to have taken the edge off.
So now Manny may be stuck. He keeps dismissing the one team that seems truly interested in him, but what happens if the Bums spend that money on someone else? Rather, several someones, since $25 million could buy you Ramirez or three other top-tier players.
As a San Francisco Giant die-hard, I’d much rather see LA bring back Manny than spend that money on some trio of Randy Wolf, Ben Sheets, Orlando Hudson, Orlando Cabrera, Adam Dunn, and Bobby Abreu. I’m no baseball genius, but I gotta believe the Dodgers are at least intrigued by the potential of adding three new shiny parts instead of one.
Additionally, Ned Colletti and friends have to be getting a little disenchanted with the childish petulance coming from the Manny/BorAss camp.
If Los Angeles goes in another direction, it will be (in large part) because Ramirez dogged a second team in the span of less than six months. A second high-profile team. A second team in contention. A second team that loved him and put up with his antics (c’mon, you know Dodger fans woulda given him leash). A second team that was willing to pay him everything but the kitchen sink.
"They all got tramped, used and abused till they all just vamped. And left a n**** stuck with no kinda get back...they know what the f*** they gon' get, took for they cash and a mouth full of..."
Like I said, Too $hort’s not quite as eloquent as Yates. But eloquence isn’t everything.
Because he’s nailed Manny’s predicament.
ManRam and BorAss have tramped and abused his last two suitors—two very conspicuous and generous suitors at that. If Los Angeles really does vamp to more secure options, Manny’s stuck with “no kinda get back.”
Think my Giants are gonna take on a potential malcontent for $20 mil after the off-season they’ve already had? With Barry Lamar Bonds’ scorched earth just now starting to re-bloom?
What about the Washington Nationals? How long do you (or they) think Manny would stay happy toiling for a economy-class franchise? In last place.
And therein lies his problem as well as our divine retribution.
Everyone knows what they’re gonna get and, especially in this economy, no one wants to waste money on a guy who’s a threat to take a seat whenever the mood strikes.
Not owners, not general managers, not teammates, and certainly not fans.
So enjoy your meal, Manny. In contrast to your ridiculous salaries, you earned this one.
A while ago, I mapped Terrell Owens career to William Butler Yates’ The Second Coming because the parallels were too irresistible. Well, after the latest news about Manny Ramirez and his wonder dog—Scott Boras—summarily rejecting the Los Angeles Dodgers’ offer of $25 million for a single year, the parallels between the dynamic duds and Too $hort’s opus to over-pimpage demand the same treatment.
Except for two problems: (A) $hort Dog’s anthem is far longer than Yates’ darkly enthralling poem; and (B) Most of it is WAY too inappropriate for general consumption.
But I’ll throw in bits where I can because it’s just perfectly apropos, even if x-rated.
That’s because Manny and Boras are painting themselves into a very small, very unsympathetic corner. If they think there’s a contract out there worth more than $25 mil per year for ANY length of time, you can add incredibly stupid to their list of accolades.
Of course, delusionally arrogant’s already on there and that could explain it.
Regardless, step back from the situation and take a look.
This is a 36-year-old outfielder who was arguably a defensive liability in his prime. And he wants compensation in excess of what the New York Yankees pay Alex Rodriguez. So he wants more money than arguably the best (non-clutch) player in Major League Baseball. A guy who also happens to be younger and play a premium defensive position.
You’ll see that Manny is a diva demanding well over his bull-market fair value. That’s not a great idea, but heretofore it wasn’t a horrible one since everyone was making money hand over fist.
However, if you read a newspaper or turn on a television, there are subtle little hints that we’re no longer in a bull-market. Things like Microsoft cutting thousands of jobs. Or the country of Iceland declaring itself insolvent. Or our own government writing about a $1.5 trillion welfare check to the financial movers/shakers.
Granted, I’m no economist. But I think that may qualify as a bear market.
Even more troubling for Ramirez is the fact that he quit on the Boston Red Sox. Vince Carter got away with it because he quit on a team that nobody was watching (Toronto Raptors). I’m sure others have done the same. But Manny went another route.
He dogged the baseball equivalent of Angelina Jolie.
Manny went Manny on the starlet that everyone is watching. NOBODY who follows baseball missed even the smallest detail of the schism. We all remember that Boston let him act the fool, paid him tip-top dollar, and was a perennial World Series contender. And we remember that wasn’t enough.
Shoot, even fans like me (I've no love for the Sawks) were disgusted. You think there are a bunch of owners lining up to take that risk? In this economy?
Well now I got a rep and they say I'm wrong.
This is a guy who proved he’ll quit on anyone—from baseball royalty to the paupers in the cellar—if he’s even the slightest bit unhappy. No matter if he’s playing in a baseball cathedral. No matter if it’s a blood bounty game against a hated rival. No matter what.
BorAss can spin all the bull excrement he wants about how Manny puts fannies in seats and is a once in a lifetime hitter. Great. None of that matters if Ramirez doesn’t get exactly what he wants.
He'll just take his considerable toys and go home.
And neither man can argue the matter because the episode is so fresh in everyone’s memory. The gruesome details are still gruesome—it’s simply too early for time to have taken the edge off.
So now Manny may be stuck. He keeps dismissing the one team that seems truly interested in him, but what happens if the Bums spend that money on someone else? Rather, several someones, since $25 million could buy you Ramirez or three other top-tier players.
As a San Francisco Giant die-hard, I’d much rather see LA bring back Manny than spend that money on some trio of Randy Wolf, Ben Sheets, Orlando Hudson, Orlando Cabrera, Adam Dunn, and Bobby Abreu. I’m no baseball genius, but I gotta believe the Dodgers are at least intrigued by the potential of adding three new shiny parts instead of one.
Additionally, Ned Colletti and friends have to be getting a little disenchanted with the childish petulance coming from the Manny/BorAss camp.
If Los Angeles goes in another direction, it will be (in large part) because Ramirez dogged a second team in the span of less than six months. A second high-profile team. A second team in contention. A second team that loved him and put up with his antics (c’mon, you know Dodger fans woulda given him leash). A second team that was willing to pay him everything but the kitchen sink.
"They all got tramped, used and abused till they all just vamped. And left a n**** stuck with no kinda get back...they know what the f*** they gon' get, took for they cash and a mouth full of..."
Like I said, Too $hort’s not quite as eloquent as Yates. But eloquence isn’t everything.
Because he’s nailed Manny’s predicament.
ManRam and BorAss have tramped and abused his last two suitors—two very conspicuous and generous suitors at that. If Los Angeles really does vamp to more secure options, Manny’s stuck with “no kinda get back.”
Think my Giants are gonna take on a potential malcontent for $20 mil after the off-season they’ve already had? With Barry Lamar Bonds’ scorched earth just now starting to re-bloom?
What about the Washington Nationals? How long do you (or they) think Manny would stay happy toiling for a economy-class franchise? In last place.
And therein lies his problem as well as our divine retribution.
Everyone knows what they’re gonna get and, especially in this economy, no one wants to waste money on a guy who’s a threat to take a seat whenever the mood strikes.
Not owners, not general managers, not teammates, and certainly not fans.
So enjoy your meal, Manny. In contrast to your ridiculous salaries, you earned this one.
Donald Fehr You're Dumb
Sometimes, you have to wonder whether certain people in sports have enough oxygen flow to their brains. These people litter the Major League Baseball landscape. Guys like Bud Selig, Ozzie Guillen, Alex Rodriguez, and Jose Conseco jump to mind as examples of temporary and/or permanent idiocy. Manny Ramirez and Scott Boras also easily make the list.
I’d like to give another member his due credit: Donald Fehr, come on down!
If you didn’t catch the latest and exceptional bit from the head of the MLB Player’s Union, check it out. He’s essentially implying that MLB owners are colluding to hold player contracts down. Sure, he’s careful to say that’s NOT what he’s saying. Uh huh.
Trust me, for an attorney, that might as well be a formal charge.
That’s right—economic empires are crumbling, bedrock companies are seeking the government with their hands out, and the global credit system is taking on water like it’s the Titanic and Wall Street was the iceberg. Yet, Donald Fehr says the million dollar contracts his charges are signing aren’t enough.
Not only are they not enough—they’re proof that the owners are keeping the prices down.
Yep, Ol’ Donnie’s saying that, economy be damned, my guys are special!
These guys are ballplayers after all. They’re above such trivialities as shaken world financial systems and consumer terror. They can’t be troubled by your credit problems or your father’s lost job or your mother’s magic disappearing life savings. They want their millions and they want them NOW.
Oh, and Manny Ramirez wants them for years to come too.
It took Ramirez and BorAss all of 12 hours to reject the Los Angeles Dodgers’ offer of $25 million to play baseball for a single year. Yep, sounds like collusion to me. How could they insult the man with such a ridiculous offer?
But Manny’s a superstar you say? And a diva at that so he’s an outlier?
Ty Wigginton just signed a contract worth $6 million. I don’t care what he was paid last year, I don’t care what the fair market says his value should have been, and I really don’t care if the owners worked together to “limit” Wigginton to such a pittance.
The man will receive SIX MILLION DOLLARS to play baseball. In a recession that is threatening hardships reminiscent of the Great Depression.
This is a glorified role player who signed a multi-million dollar contract while regular people are getting laid off right and left. While regular companies are expecting staggering losses and the average American can’t open the paper without risking a panic attack.
Foreclosures are still an everyday occurrence. Some retirement savings and 401Ks barely exist. Caterpillar and Microsoft have announced layoffs. And I could continue this list for hours.
Call me crazy, but I don’t give a damn if all those free agents out there think they’re worth more than teams are offering. I don’t care if Babe Ruth himself descended from the heavens and said Ramirez was worth $30 million per year for the next four.
That’s just not the point.
The point is that they should be happy to be so well compensated for playing a game in the best of times. In these times? They should have freakin’ ear-to-ear smile plastered all over their mugs 24-7. It should look like they slept with a coat-hanger in their mouths.
Instead, their mouthpiece is pissing and moaning, hinting at this and that, I can practically see the drool sliming from his fat jowls.
I don’t really blame the players who stubbornly sit at home, waiting for some team to offer what they think their fair market value is. I don’t blame their arrogance because, to some extent, it’s the nature of the beast. Baseball is a psychological game, first and foremost. You need unwavering confidence to succeed and, sometimes, that means keeping the faith where there is reason for none.
So it’s not surprising that a full stable of players refuses to accept what the new FMV is.
What is ludicrous is that a man paid to advocate on behalf of his players would look at the situation and whisper ‘collusion’ in a crowded free agent market.
Because that ain’t advocating.
That’s turning thousands of everyday Americans against your clients. That’s making every regular Dick/Jane who has lost his/her job or operating buffer or nest egg sit up and take notice of how greedy your boys are. And how out of touch with reality they seem to be.
That’s pretty much the opposite of advocacy.
I’d like to give another member his due credit: Donald Fehr, come on down!
If you didn’t catch the latest and exceptional bit from the head of the MLB Player’s Union, check it out. He’s essentially implying that MLB owners are colluding to hold player contracts down. Sure, he’s careful to say that’s NOT what he’s saying. Uh huh.
Trust me, for an attorney, that might as well be a formal charge.
That’s right—economic empires are crumbling, bedrock companies are seeking the government with their hands out, and the global credit system is taking on water like it’s the Titanic and Wall Street was the iceberg. Yet, Donald Fehr says the million dollar contracts his charges are signing aren’t enough.
Not only are they not enough—they’re proof that the owners are keeping the prices down.
Yep, Ol’ Donnie’s saying that, economy be damned, my guys are special!
These guys are ballplayers after all. They’re above such trivialities as shaken world financial systems and consumer terror. They can’t be troubled by your credit problems or your father’s lost job or your mother’s magic disappearing life savings. They want their millions and they want them NOW.
Oh, and Manny Ramirez wants them for years to come too.
It took Ramirez and BorAss all of 12 hours to reject the Los Angeles Dodgers’ offer of $25 million to play baseball for a single year. Yep, sounds like collusion to me. How could they insult the man with such a ridiculous offer?
But Manny’s a superstar you say? And a diva at that so he’s an outlier?
Ty Wigginton just signed a contract worth $6 million. I don’t care what he was paid last year, I don’t care what the fair market says his value should have been, and I really don’t care if the owners worked together to “limit” Wigginton to such a pittance.
The man will receive SIX MILLION DOLLARS to play baseball. In a recession that is threatening hardships reminiscent of the Great Depression.
This is a glorified role player who signed a multi-million dollar contract while regular people are getting laid off right and left. While regular companies are expecting staggering losses and the average American can’t open the paper without risking a panic attack.
Foreclosures are still an everyday occurrence. Some retirement savings and 401Ks barely exist. Caterpillar and Microsoft have announced layoffs. And I could continue this list for hours.
Call me crazy, but I don’t give a damn if all those free agents out there think they’re worth more than teams are offering. I don’t care if Babe Ruth himself descended from the heavens and said Ramirez was worth $30 million per year for the next four.
That’s just not the point.
The point is that they should be happy to be so well compensated for playing a game in the best of times. In these times? They should have freakin’ ear-to-ear smile plastered all over their mugs 24-7. It should look like they slept with a coat-hanger in their mouths.
Instead, their mouthpiece is pissing and moaning, hinting at this and that, I can practically see the drool sliming from his fat jowls.
I don’t really blame the players who stubbornly sit at home, waiting for some team to offer what they think their fair market value is. I don’t blame their arrogance because, to some extent, it’s the nature of the beast. Baseball is a psychological game, first and foremost. You need unwavering confidence to succeed and, sometimes, that means keeping the faith where there is reason for none.
So it’s not surprising that a full stable of players refuses to accept what the new FMV is.
What is ludicrous is that a man paid to advocate on behalf of his players would look at the situation and whisper ‘collusion’ in a crowded free agent market.
Because that ain’t advocating.
That’s turning thousands of everyday Americans against your clients. That’s making every regular Dick/Jane who has lost his/her job or operating buffer or nest egg sit up and take notice of how greedy your boys are. And how out of touch with reality they seem to be.
That’s pretty much the opposite of advocacy.
Kobe Bryant Score 61 Against the NY Knicks: What's Everyone So Excited About?
Let me break the news because it’s huge and hot of the presses—Kobe Bryant scored 61 points last night. He set a new Madison Square Garden record by dropping a Roger Maris on the New York Knickerbockers. Loose the doves and let the angels sing for the basketball messiah is upon us!
**crickets chirping**
I don’t get it. I’ve seen a flurry of articles heralding the Next Coming just because Kobe went off. Just because he did it in Madison Square Garden. This is a guy who’s scored 81 points before. He’s dropped another 60+ in three quarters.
What’s the big deal about Kobe scoring 61 on the Knicks in a full game? I understand it was in MSG, so what? Does the building play defense? Is the crowd allowed to throw projectiles at opposing players? To block shots at the hoop?
Aren’t the Knicks terrible? Aren’t they selling off assets for spare/broken/expiring parts in preparation for the Great Free Agent Sales Event of 2010?
Isn’t their coach (Mike D’Antoni) notorious for a system that runs and guns without body armor, cover, or even pants? Don’t they try to score you into submission with defensive abandon? Am I missing something?
D’Antoni’s Phoenix Suns never played any defense and they had much better players than this version of the Knicks. Furthermore, Bryant could probably score 61 any night of the week, even against good defensive squads. He may very well drop 70 on the Boston Celtics if he’s feeling his oats—now THAT would be something to get excited about.
Ooooh, he grabbed yet another one of Michael Jordan’s records (single-game scoring total in MSG).
Again, so what?
First, Jordan was playing a far superior Knick team that was known for its defense—hardly Big Apples to Big Apples. Second, and more importantly, someone will grab that record away from Kobe and it won’t make that cager any better than Bryant just as this game doesn’t mean Kobe’s any closer to His Airness. Records are made to be broken and stats are pretty, but often lack substance—neither is why the great players compete.
I don’t think the Lakers earned an extra win on the evening.
Do you honestly believe LeBron James couldn’t put up 61 against the Knicks? What about Carmelo Anthony? Dwayne Wade? Any of the other uber-scorers?
Who’s gonna stop them? David Lee? Ronaldo Balkman (is he even still on the team)? Nate Robinson? The best defender I can think of is Cuttino Mobley and that’s taking into consideration the fact that he’s not playing. Even more significant is the fact that one player can’t stop those guys (nor Kobe) and that means the team must defend.
Except we established that D’Antoni’s teams don’t D up; he doesn’t even expect them to apparently.
Let me tap the breaks a little because it sounds like I’m dismissing him—Kobe Bryant is amazing.
I don’t particularly like the guy especially because he dominates for a team hailing from Los Angeles and I’m a Northern Cali guy. BUT he is slowly winning me over—I can never resist truly great players, flaws and all.
And Kobe is certainly a great player, one of the all-time best and getting better.
I actually expected the Lakers to grab the National Basketball Association Championship this year due largely to Bryant. Having seen LeBron make another leap and then Andrew Bynum go down yet again (didn’t know they made guys that big out of wicker), I’m no longer so sure.
That doesn’t change my stance on Kobe Bryant, though.
I still think he’ll put up a year the likes of which we’ve never seen. For instance, I think lots of guys could drop 61 in Madison Square Garden if that was the goal. I don’t think for a second that a lot of guys could do it in the same, efficiently-effortless way.
That is part of what makes Kobe special.
And special he definitely is.
So special, in fact, that there is no reason to get so excited about scoring 61 points against a bad team that plays no defense.
Even one from New York.
**crickets chirping**
I don’t get it. I’ve seen a flurry of articles heralding the Next Coming just because Kobe went off. Just because he did it in Madison Square Garden. This is a guy who’s scored 81 points before. He’s dropped another 60+ in three quarters.
What’s the big deal about Kobe scoring 61 on the Knicks in a full game? I understand it was in MSG, so what? Does the building play defense? Is the crowd allowed to throw projectiles at opposing players? To block shots at the hoop?
Aren’t the Knicks terrible? Aren’t they selling off assets for spare/broken/expiring parts in preparation for the Great Free Agent Sales Event of 2010?
Isn’t their coach (Mike D’Antoni) notorious for a system that runs and guns without body armor, cover, or even pants? Don’t they try to score you into submission with defensive abandon? Am I missing something?
D’Antoni’s Phoenix Suns never played any defense and they had much better players than this version of the Knicks. Furthermore, Bryant could probably score 61 any night of the week, even against good defensive squads. He may very well drop 70 on the Boston Celtics if he’s feeling his oats—now THAT would be something to get excited about.
Ooooh, he grabbed yet another one of Michael Jordan’s records (single-game scoring total in MSG).
Again, so what?
First, Jordan was playing a far superior Knick team that was known for its defense—hardly Big Apples to Big Apples. Second, and more importantly, someone will grab that record away from Kobe and it won’t make that cager any better than Bryant just as this game doesn’t mean Kobe’s any closer to His Airness. Records are made to be broken and stats are pretty, but often lack substance—neither is why the great players compete.
I don’t think the Lakers earned an extra win on the evening.
Do you honestly believe LeBron James couldn’t put up 61 against the Knicks? What about Carmelo Anthony? Dwayne Wade? Any of the other uber-scorers?
Who’s gonna stop them? David Lee? Ronaldo Balkman (is he even still on the team)? Nate Robinson? The best defender I can think of is Cuttino Mobley and that’s taking into consideration the fact that he’s not playing. Even more significant is the fact that one player can’t stop those guys (nor Kobe) and that means the team must defend.
Except we established that D’Antoni’s teams don’t D up; he doesn’t even expect them to apparently.
Let me tap the breaks a little because it sounds like I’m dismissing him—Kobe Bryant is amazing.
I don’t particularly like the guy especially because he dominates for a team hailing from Los Angeles and I’m a Northern Cali guy. BUT he is slowly winning me over—I can never resist truly great players, flaws and all.
And Kobe is certainly a great player, one of the all-time best and getting better.
I actually expected the Lakers to grab the National Basketball Association Championship this year due largely to Bryant. Having seen LeBron make another leap and then Andrew Bynum go down yet again (didn’t know they made guys that big out of wicker), I’m no longer so sure.
That doesn’t change my stance on Kobe Bryant, though.
I still think he’ll put up a year the likes of which we’ve never seen. For instance, I think lots of guys could drop 61 in Madison Square Garden if that was the goal. I don’t think for a second that a lot of guys could do it in the same, efficiently-effortless way.
That is part of what makes Kobe special.
And special he definitely is.
So special, in fact, that there is no reason to get so excited about scoring 61 points against a bad team that plays no defense.
Even one from New York.
LeBron James Walks on Water in Madison Square Garden
A couple nights ago, Kobe Bryant hung 61 points on the New York Knickerbockers in Madison Square Garden. In the process, he carried the Los Angeles Lakers to a victory; oh and Pau Gasol carried their luggage. Kobe also broke Michael Jordan's all-time scoring record—the famed Double-Nickel Game less than a week removed from his first retirement.
Quick digression—maybe we can blame Brett Favre's case of retirementitis on MJ? Nah...
Afterwards, the heavens opened and praise for Kobe poured forth. I didn't understand it at the time and I'm still a little skeptical as to why there was such a huge fuss. The feat was spectacular to be sure, but we knew Kobe Bryant was a spectacular basketball player before the game.
Dropping 62 in three quarters against the Dallas Mavericks the year they went—and subsequently coughed up—the National Basketball Association Finals told us that. Remember, their defense was much improved and lauded that year.
Putting 81 on anyone screamed it loud and clear.
This was less impressive than either of those feats because the Knicks play zero defense and, in my opinion, are worse than their record indicates. I'd argue they're bad, but that's open for discussion.
In the linked article and subsequent comments, I argued that any great player could put up 61 points on a given night if necessary to win or it was his desire. Maybe not against the good defensive fives in the NBA, but certainly against the lesser ones.
Fast-forward to tonight.
LeBron James just posted the following line on that hallowed hardwood of Madison Square Garden: 52 points, 11 assists, 10 rebounds, and two blocks with only three turnovers plus a foul in the Cleveland Cavaliers' 107-102 victory.
And you know what the most surprising thing about that line is?
King James didn't even register a single steal. Seriously, he's in the fifth-leading thief in the NBA and he bagel'd the category. That's weird.
The second most surprising thing is that the Cavs only won by five in a game that LBJ clearly dominated against a vastly inferior opponent.
OK, obviously I'm kidding.
A triple double is something to sit up and take notice of regardless of whether the guy has 10 points or 25. When he has 52? And his team wins? Holy Moses.
On top of that, LeBron has only been 24 years old for about a month. Kobe's been in the league for 13 years. That means he's been in the NBA longer than James has been able to get into a PG-13 rated movie without a chaperon.
Kobe's been hoopin' at the pro level for over half King James' life.
So, not only is he six years younger than Kobe Bryant, those six years amount to double LBJ's NBA-experience. Even if James had merely matched Kobe, it would have been more impressive because of the youth and relative inexperience.
But a triple double with 52 points is way more impressive than what Kobe did.
You can think that James directly orchestrated at least 74 of Cleveland's 107 points while also contributing more rebounds and blocks. Or you can just revel in the majesty of the simpler line: 52, 11, and 10.
It's got a nice, poetic lilt to it.
The Kobe Homers will say that Kobe doesn't get assists because Kobe doesn't have anyone to pass the Kobe to. Sorry, ball.
That may be true. But LeBron James scored 52 points and dropped 11 dimes. Threw in 10 rebounds to boot. Furthermore, can we stop doubting this kid? You think he'd keep mindlessly passing to teammates if they weren't making shots? No, he'd stop passing and put up even more points.
And who says the player on the passing end has nothing to do with whether the guys on the receiving end make it? I'm not saying that's always the case, but you can only get lucky (or unlucky) so many times before it becomes a knack.
Just in case your mind hasn't boggled yet, I'll add one more flourish to King James' handiwork: it was the second game of a back-to-back and third in four days.
In the NBA's version of a double-header, LeBron James posted 85 points, 17 boards, and 15 helpers as his team won both nights.
Since our sports world is relative, there should be even more heraldic lines penned about bearing Witness. I mean, if Kobe's game announced his greatness, what the hell does this one say about Bron-Bron?
Except I wasn't totally kidding way back near the top.
The same logic holds true for LeBron James as it does for Kobe Bryant. There's less of a sample size by comparison, but there are still six years worth of NBA data. And if you've been paying attention to basketball even casually, you've been hearing about him for roughly the last decade.
This stuff shouldn't be that surprising anymore because, in all that time, has LeBron James failed to deliver? If you've expected him have landed a title this early in his career sans substantial help, you're man-crush on James is even worse than mine.
And mine's pretty damned undignified.
So I'll say it again—the New York Knicks are not very good. Add a little dash of one-upmanship because of what Kobe Bryant did and voila.
Special players have that ability. Yes, in a way, it's sad because you start to expect it and that diminishes your reaction to what they've done. That's okay; novelty wears off of everything. It doesn't diminish what they've done.
Kobe Bryant has proven, once again, that his talent is transcendent and cannot be contained by mere professional teams. Only a good one has a chance and, sometimes, not even then.
LeBron James did the same by answering Kobe's supernatural performance with one of his own.
In their latest game of one-upmanship, King James reigns supreme.
Let's just hope that's what it was. And not an audition.
Quick digression—maybe we can blame Brett Favre's case of retirementitis on MJ? Nah...
Afterwards, the heavens opened and praise for Kobe poured forth. I didn't understand it at the time and I'm still a little skeptical as to why there was such a huge fuss. The feat was spectacular to be sure, but we knew Kobe Bryant was a spectacular basketball player before the game.
Dropping 62 in three quarters against the Dallas Mavericks the year they went—and subsequently coughed up—the National Basketball Association Finals told us that. Remember, their defense was much improved and lauded that year.
Putting 81 on anyone screamed it loud and clear.
This was less impressive than either of those feats because the Knicks play zero defense and, in my opinion, are worse than their record indicates. I'd argue they're bad, but that's open for discussion.
In the linked article and subsequent comments, I argued that any great player could put up 61 points on a given night if necessary to win or it was his desire. Maybe not against the good defensive fives in the NBA, but certainly against the lesser ones.
Fast-forward to tonight.
LeBron James just posted the following line on that hallowed hardwood of Madison Square Garden: 52 points, 11 assists, 10 rebounds, and two blocks with only three turnovers plus a foul in the Cleveland Cavaliers' 107-102 victory.
And you know what the most surprising thing about that line is?
King James didn't even register a single steal. Seriously, he's in the fifth-leading thief in the NBA and he bagel'd the category. That's weird.
The second most surprising thing is that the Cavs only won by five in a game that LBJ clearly dominated against a vastly inferior opponent.
OK, obviously I'm kidding.
A triple double is something to sit up and take notice of regardless of whether the guy has 10 points or 25. When he has 52? And his team wins? Holy Moses.
On top of that, LeBron has only been 24 years old for about a month. Kobe's been in the league for 13 years. That means he's been in the NBA longer than James has been able to get into a PG-13 rated movie without a chaperon.
Kobe's been hoopin' at the pro level for over half King James' life.
So, not only is he six years younger than Kobe Bryant, those six years amount to double LBJ's NBA-experience. Even if James had merely matched Kobe, it would have been more impressive because of the youth and relative inexperience.
But a triple double with 52 points is way more impressive than what Kobe did.
You can think that James directly orchestrated at least 74 of Cleveland's 107 points while also contributing more rebounds and blocks. Or you can just revel in the majesty of the simpler line: 52, 11, and 10.
It's got a nice, poetic lilt to it.
The Kobe Homers will say that Kobe doesn't get assists because Kobe doesn't have anyone to pass the Kobe to. Sorry, ball.
That may be true. But LeBron James scored 52 points and dropped 11 dimes. Threw in 10 rebounds to boot. Furthermore, can we stop doubting this kid? You think he'd keep mindlessly passing to teammates if they weren't making shots? No, he'd stop passing and put up even more points.
And who says the player on the passing end has nothing to do with whether the guys on the receiving end make it? I'm not saying that's always the case, but you can only get lucky (or unlucky) so many times before it becomes a knack.
Just in case your mind hasn't boggled yet, I'll add one more flourish to King James' handiwork: it was the second game of a back-to-back and third in four days.
In the NBA's version of a double-header, LeBron James posted 85 points, 17 boards, and 15 helpers as his team won both nights.
Since our sports world is relative, there should be even more heraldic lines penned about bearing Witness. I mean, if Kobe's game announced his greatness, what the hell does this one say about Bron-Bron?
Except I wasn't totally kidding way back near the top.
The same logic holds true for LeBron James as it does for Kobe Bryant. There's less of a sample size by comparison, but there are still six years worth of NBA data. And if you've been paying attention to basketball even casually, you've been hearing about him for roughly the last decade.
This stuff shouldn't be that surprising anymore because, in all that time, has LeBron James failed to deliver? If you've expected him have landed a title this early in his career sans substantial help, you're man-crush on James is even worse than mine.
And mine's pretty damned undignified.
So I'll say it again—the New York Knicks are not very good. Add a little dash of one-upmanship because of what Kobe Bryant did and voila.
Special players have that ability. Yes, in a way, it's sad because you start to expect it and that diminishes your reaction to what they've done. That's okay; novelty wears off of everything. It doesn't diminish what they've done.
Kobe Bryant has proven, once again, that his talent is transcendent and cannot be contained by mere professional teams. Only a good one has a chance and, sometimes, not even then.
LeBron James did the same by answering Kobe's supernatural performance with one of his own.
In their latest game of one-upmanship, King James reigns supreme.
Let's just hope that's what it was. And not an audition.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Forget Arizona, the Golden State Warriors Have a Legitimate Officiating Gripe
Damn. I was on the brink of simultaneously getting really excited about the Golden State Warriors and really worried about saying their season was over a couple days ago. Monta Ellis had just thrown in a circus finish, Stephen Jackson had just drained one of those pure shots that barely moves the net, and the Warriors were up by four on the mighty, mighty San Antonio Spurs.
And they were at home. That's Oakland home-cookin' is gooood, so the boys were sitting pretty.
Even the two free-throws by Manu Manu Ginobili and subsequent miss by Jacks didn't really bother me. After all, there were only 17 seconds left and Golden State was shockingly playing solid defense. So I was still thinking that miraculous finish that would be necessary to propel them into the playoffs might not be as unlikely as I thought.
I'm of the opinion that you cannot underestimate the significance of beating an elite team in a close game. Especially when that team has the championship pedigree of the Spurs. And the Warriors still had that two-point lead.
Did I mention they were at home?
Because that's when all hell broke loose. Manu Manu drove desperately to the hoop with less than 10 seconds left. Deploying the latest in a series of unfortunate National Basketball Association trends, Ginobili flop-flung himself into Ronny Turiaf's legs and drew a "foul."
Of course he made the two charity tosses because Ginobili is one of the most clutch players in the game of basketball (NBA or otherwise). If you're a Warrior fan, the tied game degenerated from there.
Jacks whiled away too much time at the top of the key, couldn't finish off his drive, and then no bail-out came from the refs as the horn sounded. Make no mistake—any foul called on that shot would've been a make-up because there just wasn't an infraction to be seen.
Bruce Bowen blanketed Jackson (as Bowen's prone to do) and Stephen didn't leave himself enough time to ad lib. Plain, simple, and fatal.
San Antonio took over in overtime, stretched out to a lead, and cruised to victory in a totally deflated Oracle Arena. To add literal injury to insult, Monta went down in the extra period with an apparent sprained ankle. Obviously, that's exponentially worse if it's the same ankle he hurt moped'ing.
But it's bad either way because he relies on explosion. If it's the other ankle, that means he'll be working on two bum wheels when he comes back. Not good for Golden State. Not good for us fans. And really not good for poor Monta Ellis.
I love the kid. Let's hope for many, many reasons that he bounces back no worse for wear.
But let me rewind and go back to that pathetic foul called on Turiaf that sent Manu Manu to the line for the tying buckets.
I'm not one to blame losses on officiating and this game is no different. Jackson blew a pretty good chance to win the game by inexplicably dribbling away precious seconds, the Warriors waved the white flag in OT, and Corey Maggette missed two free-throws a couple possessions earlier that could've padded the lead. None of that happened so Golden State has to look in the mirror for the ultimate blame.
That said, that call was one of the most horrendously disgusting examples of excruciatingly bad refereeing that I have even had the misfortune of witnessing. If you think the refs were bad in the Super Bowl, stay FAR away from the NBA because there are some real stinkers in stripes roaming the hardwood.
Seriously, every single thing that could've been bad about this call was that and more.
First, there was barely any contact. Second, all the contact was initiated by the offensive player. Third, Turiaf was moving in the same plane as Ginobili so any contact shouldn't have mattered. Fourth, Ginobili had almost zero chance to finish the shot regardless of what the defense was doing because he wasn't shooting—he was flop-fishing for a trip to the charity stripe. Fifth (and this was the most blatant), the ref who called it was totally blocked from the play by Tim Duncan and Maggette.
The zebra had no business blowing that whistle. Especially considering there was another ref along the baseline with a much better shot of the play. Incidentally, that ref never even flinched at the play—he was having none of Manu Manu's theatrics.
Too bad the guy who couldn't see anything anyway was such a sucker.
Like I said, Golden State had plenty of chances to show some resilience and win that game so you can't hang it on the official. He was garbage and the Warriors still had control of the game.
But, for a league fresh off a refereeing scandal the likes of which I'd never seen, calls like that really make you wonder whether the problem was actually ripped out by the roots.
Or was it just pruned a bit?
And they were at home. That's Oakland home-cookin' is gooood, so the boys were sitting pretty.
Even the two free-throws by Manu Manu Ginobili and subsequent miss by Jacks didn't really bother me. After all, there were only 17 seconds left and Golden State was shockingly playing solid defense. So I was still thinking that miraculous finish that would be necessary to propel them into the playoffs might not be as unlikely as I thought.
I'm of the opinion that you cannot underestimate the significance of beating an elite team in a close game. Especially when that team has the championship pedigree of the Spurs. And the Warriors still had that two-point lead.
Did I mention they were at home?
Because that's when all hell broke loose. Manu Manu drove desperately to the hoop with less than 10 seconds left. Deploying the latest in a series of unfortunate National Basketball Association trends, Ginobili flop-flung himself into Ronny Turiaf's legs and drew a "foul."
Of course he made the two charity tosses because Ginobili is one of the most clutch players in the game of basketball (NBA or otherwise). If you're a Warrior fan, the tied game degenerated from there.
Jacks whiled away too much time at the top of the key, couldn't finish off his drive, and then no bail-out came from the refs as the horn sounded. Make no mistake—any foul called on that shot would've been a make-up because there just wasn't an infraction to be seen.
Bruce Bowen blanketed Jackson (as Bowen's prone to do) and Stephen didn't leave himself enough time to ad lib. Plain, simple, and fatal.
San Antonio took over in overtime, stretched out to a lead, and cruised to victory in a totally deflated Oracle Arena. To add literal injury to insult, Monta went down in the extra period with an apparent sprained ankle. Obviously, that's exponentially worse if it's the same ankle he hurt moped'ing.
But it's bad either way because he relies on explosion. If it's the other ankle, that means he'll be working on two bum wheels when he comes back. Not good for Golden State. Not good for us fans. And really not good for poor Monta Ellis.
I love the kid. Let's hope for many, many reasons that he bounces back no worse for wear.
But let me rewind and go back to that pathetic foul called on Turiaf that sent Manu Manu to the line for the tying buckets.
I'm not one to blame losses on officiating and this game is no different. Jackson blew a pretty good chance to win the game by inexplicably dribbling away precious seconds, the Warriors waved the white flag in OT, and Corey Maggette missed two free-throws a couple possessions earlier that could've padded the lead. None of that happened so Golden State has to look in the mirror for the ultimate blame.
That said, that call was one of the most horrendously disgusting examples of excruciatingly bad refereeing that I have even had the misfortune of witnessing. If you think the refs were bad in the Super Bowl, stay FAR away from the NBA because there are some real stinkers in stripes roaming the hardwood.
Seriously, every single thing that could've been bad about this call was that and more.
First, there was barely any contact. Second, all the contact was initiated by the offensive player. Third, Turiaf was moving in the same plane as Ginobili so any contact shouldn't have mattered. Fourth, Ginobili had almost zero chance to finish the shot regardless of what the defense was doing because he wasn't shooting—he was flop-fishing for a trip to the charity stripe. Fifth (and this was the most blatant), the ref who called it was totally blocked from the play by Tim Duncan and Maggette.
The zebra had no business blowing that whistle. Especially considering there was another ref along the baseline with a much better shot of the play. Incidentally, that ref never even flinched at the play—he was having none of Manu Manu's theatrics.
Too bad the guy who couldn't see anything anyway was such a sucker.
Like I said, Golden State had plenty of chances to show some resilience and win that game so you can't hang it on the official. He was garbage and the Warriors still had control of the game.
But, for a league fresh off a refereeing scandal the likes of which I'd never seen, calls like that really make you wonder whether the problem was actually ripped out by the roots.
Or was it just pruned a bit?
Kurt Warner for Super Bowl MVP? Not According to the Man of La Mancha
One of my favorite words is quixotic. It's not something that accurately applies to me, but sometimes I wish it did. It embodies a kind of noble determination and sad valor that I can respect. The irony is also appealing since I always thought Don Quixote was more a buffoon than anything else.
Plus, it looks cool and sounds even cooler.
So I don't mind admitting that, on occasion, I tilt at one windmill in particular: the importance of winning over any other achievement in sports.
I've done it several other times, but restricted my argument to Major League Baseball (once here and another time here). In my opinion, baseball is the most vulnerable major team sport to an attack in favor of personal stats/achievements as the appropriate measure of a player's greatness. Since it's a team game assembled from individual performances, I can see dismissing whether or not his teams were winners. I just strongly disagree.
And that goes double for the National Basketball Association; several more orders of magnitude for the National Football League.
In fact, the main reason I'm particularly brutal on Tony Romo, Peyton Manning, and Brett Favre is because I think all three personify the other side of the debate. I've got nothing against them personally except that Tony plays for Dallas and Bert beat up on my Niners back when Steve Young was at the helm—did I say nothing? Well even so, far more significant is the fact that each quarterback (to date) has put up gorgeous numbers and, by virtue of the statistical bling, has become incredibly overrated.
If I'm perfectly honest, I don't sincerely expect to change anyone's mind on the question since it goes to the fundamental filter through which an individual sees athletics (possibly life). That's not usually something people let a random blogger change. But I'm not gonna stop tryin'. Again. Right now.
See, I keep reading articles and arguments in favor of Kurt Warner as the "real" Super Bowl Most Valuable Player. Now, I've really come around on Warner and will readily admit that, when it looked like the Arizona Cardinals might win late, I came as close as I think I'll ever come to adopting an organized religion. And that's saying something because I'm no great fan of such institutions—I've got absolutely no problem with most of the individuals inside them though.
Still, even if I were to concede that Kurt Warner was the best player on the field last night, his team LOST. How in the hell could he be the MVP of a football game that his team lost?
Let me a try a quick and clumsy analogy:
Let's say we could reduce the value of winning and losing down to dollars and cents. Not as in the value of a fight purse or a bowl game or a World Series winner's share versus that of the loser. I'm talking the intangible value of winning and what it means to competitors. It's something that's impossible to actually do, but it's a hypothetical so we can pretend.
Say winning in the NFL is "worth" $1000. Then, say winning is 10 times as valuable as losing to the combatant. I'd say the multiple's closer to infinity for any true athlete (or at least any I'd want on my team as a coach or teammate); certainly in the thousands, but we'll error on the side of caution. That makes losing "worth" $100.
Plug Kurt Warner and last night's Super Bowl into that hypo.
Say Warner was 100 percent responsible for the Cardinal's close-but-no-cigar performance. That makes him "worth" $100. Now let's say Santonio Holmes' performance was only a quarter of the reason for the Pittsburgh Steelers' victory.
That makes him "worth" $250 in the hypo.
Obviously, that is clumsy and very vulnerable to technicalities, etc. But I'm trying to illustrate a point—the MVP is given from the perspective of value to the team. Since the goal is to win, any player who played a more crucial role in that win is going to be considered more valuable than another. Even if that player outperformed him in the individual sense while toiling for the losing side.
Is that fair? Absolutely because the award is not called the Best Player Award or Most Outstanding Individual Achievement Award. It is the MVP and it's about winning.
In a team sport, the team is always the most valuable component to that ultimate goal. Yet the award exists and must go to an individual. Since winning is what it's all about, the team that wins naturally has more "value" to go around.
And that's proven out by the fact that, in the history of the Super Bowl, only one player from a losing team has won the game's MVP award. That was in 1971, roughly 40 years ago. Plus it went to a Dallas Cowboy, which obviously means it was a conspiracy (just kidding Robert/James).
So forget the fact that Warner's interception may have cost Arizona the game. Forget the fumble (I can't put that on him anyway). Forget every single, little thing that Kurt Warner did wrong. He still couldn't win MVP unless the Steelers had NOBODY distinguish himself.
And Pittsburgh had two worthy candidates—Holmes and Ben Roethlisberger.
I would've gone with Big Ben because he had to make perfect throws and keep the drives alive with his mobility before Santonio could even get those balls. But Holmes still had to catch them—sort of a chicken-and-egg deal so I can't gripe too much.
Regardless Kurt Warner was not the MVP. And he'd tell you that himself. In fact, I bet he'd've rejected the award. He'll get over that pick, but he'll see it in his dreams sporadically until the day he dies. You think he feels right today? No way.
The only way it could've been worse is if the interception had been later in the game or Larry Fitzgerald had blown out a knee while trying to tackle that thug and given Anquan Boldin a concussion in the process.
MAN, the Arizona Cardinals were about to take the lead going into halftime of the Super Bowl. This after 30 minutes of being thoroughly dominated and as the recipient of the second half kick-off. At the VERY least, the Cardinals would've been tied. Ooooooof.
Kurt Warner is clearly a warrior (that statement is so obvious is looks ludicrous in print). He's suffered worse and he'll bounce back. He doesn't need pity or consolation prizes. Especially ones he doesn't deserve.
But enough hollow words, my dear Sancho. We are men of action; we must charge!
Plus, it looks cool and sounds even cooler.
So I don't mind admitting that, on occasion, I tilt at one windmill in particular: the importance of winning over any other achievement in sports.
I've done it several other times, but restricted my argument to Major League Baseball (once here and another time here). In my opinion, baseball is the most vulnerable major team sport to an attack in favor of personal stats/achievements as the appropriate measure of a player's greatness. Since it's a team game assembled from individual performances, I can see dismissing whether or not his teams were winners. I just strongly disagree.
And that goes double for the National Basketball Association; several more orders of magnitude for the National Football League.
In fact, the main reason I'm particularly brutal on Tony Romo, Peyton Manning, and Brett Favre is because I think all three personify the other side of the debate. I've got nothing against them personally except that Tony plays for Dallas and Bert beat up on my Niners back when Steve Young was at the helm—did I say nothing? Well even so, far more significant is the fact that each quarterback (to date) has put up gorgeous numbers and, by virtue of the statistical bling, has become incredibly overrated.
If I'm perfectly honest, I don't sincerely expect to change anyone's mind on the question since it goes to the fundamental filter through which an individual sees athletics (possibly life). That's not usually something people let a random blogger change. But I'm not gonna stop tryin'. Again. Right now.
See, I keep reading articles and arguments in favor of Kurt Warner as the "real" Super Bowl Most Valuable Player. Now, I've really come around on Warner and will readily admit that, when it looked like the Arizona Cardinals might win late, I came as close as I think I'll ever come to adopting an organized religion. And that's saying something because I'm no great fan of such institutions—I've got absolutely no problem with most of the individuals inside them though.
Still, even if I were to concede that Kurt Warner was the best player on the field last night, his team LOST. How in the hell could he be the MVP of a football game that his team lost?
Let me a try a quick and clumsy analogy:
Let's say we could reduce the value of winning and losing down to dollars and cents. Not as in the value of a fight purse or a bowl game or a World Series winner's share versus that of the loser. I'm talking the intangible value of winning and what it means to competitors. It's something that's impossible to actually do, but it's a hypothetical so we can pretend.
Say winning in the NFL is "worth" $1000. Then, say winning is 10 times as valuable as losing to the combatant. I'd say the multiple's closer to infinity for any true athlete (or at least any I'd want on my team as a coach or teammate); certainly in the thousands, but we'll error on the side of caution. That makes losing "worth" $100.
Plug Kurt Warner and last night's Super Bowl into that hypo.
Say Warner was 100 percent responsible for the Cardinal's close-but-no-cigar performance. That makes him "worth" $100. Now let's say Santonio Holmes' performance was only a quarter of the reason for the Pittsburgh Steelers' victory.
That makes him "worth" $250 in the hypo.
Obviously, that is clumsy and very vulnerable to technicalities, etc. But I'm trying to illustrate a point—the MVP is given from the perspective of value to the team. Since the goal is to win, any player who played a more crucial role in that win is going to be considered more valuable than another. Even if that player outperformed him in the individual sense while toiling for the losing side.
Is that fair? Absolutely because the award is not called the Best Player Award or Most Outstanding Individual Achievement Award. It is the MVP and it's about winning.
In a team sport, the team is always the most valuable component to that ultimate goal. Yet the award exists and must go to an individual. Since winning is what it's all about, the team that wins naturally has more "value" to go around.
And that's proven out by the fact that, in the history of the Super Bowl, only one player from a losing team has won the game's MVP award. That was in 1971, roughly 40 years ago. Plus it went to a Dallas Cowboy, which obviously means it was a conspiracy (just kidding Robert/James).
So forget the fact that Warner's interception may have cost Arizona the game. Forget the fumble (I can't put that on him anyway). Forget every single, little thing that Kurt Warner did wrong. He still couldn't win MVP unless the Steelers had NOBODY distinguish himself.
And Pittsburgh had two worthy candidates—Holmes and Ben Roethlisberger.
I would've gone with Big Ben because he had to make perfect throws and keep the drives alive with his mobility before Santonio could even get those balls. But Holmes still had to catch them—sort of a chicken-and-egg deal so I can't gripe too much.
Regardless Kurt Warner was not the MVP. And he'd tell you that himself. In fact, I bet he'd've rejected the award. He'll get over that pick, but he'll see it in his dreams sporadically until the day he dies. You think he feels right today? No way.
The only way it could've been worse is if the interception had been later in the game or Larry Fitzgerald had blown out a knee while trying to tackle that thug and given Anquan Boldin a concussion in the process.
MAN, the Arizona Cardinals were about to take the lead going into halftime of the Super Bowl. This after 30 minutes of being thoroughly dominated and as the recipient of the second half kick-off. At the VERY least, the Cardinals would've been tied. Ooooooof.
Kurt Warner is clearly a warrior (that statement is so obvious is looks ludicrous in print). He's suffered worse and he'll bounce back. He doesn't need pity or consolation prizes. Especially ones he doesn't deserve.
But enough hollow words, my dear Sancho. We are men of action; we must charge!
Michael Phelps—NOW He's a Real American Hero
Every now and then, when your life gets complicated and the weasels start closing in, the only real cure is to load up on heinous chemicals and then drive like a bastard.—Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Michael Phelps, meet one of the good doctors, Hunter S. Thompson. Although, judging from that photo with the binger in your hands, you've already met.
I actually wasn't a huge Michael Phelps fan, until now. It's not that I disliked him. How could you dislike someone who has won 14 Gold Medals for the Stars and Bars? Furthermore, Phelps seems like a perfectly likable guy and is obviously an incredible athlete.
I'm just not a avid follower of the Olympics so I was closer to ambivalent than I was to being a fan. Like I said, until now.
Because I have a sneaking suspicion that a picture of everyone's favorite golden boy holding a bong as comfortably as if it were a fork is gonna set off a touch of hysteria (check—anything that can register even a blip on Super Bowl Sunday that isn't relevant to the game qualifies), several soccer kicks to a downed opponent, and then some honest dialogue when the sponsorship fallout doesn't materialize.
Oh, some will walk. Some will most certainly walk. And that's totally reasonable. Certain companies just can't be associated with illegality, drugs, marijuana, substance-abuse, etc.
But if you think this kid is gonna being going door to Madison-Avenue-door begging for alms, you're probably no stranger to the sticky green yourself.
When that happens (or doesn't), a bunch of people will realize the implications—that the advertisers are telling us the American public no longer really cares about weed. That a growing number (possibly majority at this point) lump it in with alcohol and shrug it off just as easily.
And they should.
As you may have guessed, I am no stranger myself. Did I just hear a gasp?
I've spent over 90 percent of my adult life in Northern California (anyone heard of Humboldt?). I went to high school in Marin County and college at Leland Stanford Junior University. Yeah, I've smoke several times and I've inhaled.
Sue me.
I was also an honors student in high school, was homecoming king, played six years of varsity baseball/basketball as a starter, was recruited by several Division-1 baseball programs, was recruited by several D-III (back then, I don't know what the equivalent is now) basketball programs, graduated from Stanford with a 3.3 GPA in industrial engineering, walked out of college into a job in the 2001 tech industry, and just graduated from the University of California at Hastings College of the Law.
Then failed the California Bar the first time around. Eh, nobody's perfect.
Let me drop another "bomb" on you. While I was at Stanford, I was a fraternity president. That means I was legally responsible for the actions of ~45 19-22 year-old men-boys. During my year-long rule, I had about 10 guys who hit the booze hard and often. I probably had an equal number of guys who walked around in a purple haze.
The Purple Hazers were boring as hell at times, but they caused no grief. The 10 boozers?
Dear GOD.
Fights, harassment issues with the opposite gender, property damage, and that's off the top of my head. And some, cough, personal recollection. More significantly, my house was no different than any of the social houses on campus—the Greek system wasn't huge in Palo Alto at the time.
Again, I want to emphasize that this was at, arguably, one of the finest institutions in the country. I don't say that to brag (much); I say it to emphasize this wasn't Party U. and it wasn't isolated. There were a lot of very smart, very accomplished people who did some very crazy drugs and used weed as a chaser.
Think of them as intellectual Michael Phelps's (is that how you pluralize Michael Phelps?).
For instance, while on campus during my sophomore year, I ran into a kid with whom I had partied a little in our freshman dorm. He was an insanely smart dude—I'm talking he had entire books of theoretical physics memorized, like Good Will Hunting. Anyway, he could switch it off and be fun when he wanted, but I hadn't seen him in a while so I asked him where he'd been. He'd switched majors to double in Electrical Engineering and Symbolic Systems—this hybrid between computer programming, linguistics, and complex mathematics where the ultimate goal (as I understand it) is to develop artificial intelligence.
I playfully asked when he found time to have fun and his reply? "I've discovered I don't need to have fun." Well, that blew my mind on several levels, but the upshot is that I saw him smoking bud on several occasions the previous year.
So I'm never surprised when so-and-so is "caught" inhaling. Would I be shocked if I saw Phelps knocking back shooters? Nope. So why would I be shocked to learn he smokes a little dope? I wouldn't be surprised to learn he's a pot-head.
After all, if the National Basketball Association and National Football League have taught us anything, it's that there is nothing mutually exclusive about weed and a supremely conditioned athletic body. And it's obviously not a performance-enhancer.
Judging from the stoners I've known, there is a real danger to your brain and motivation/effort.
But athletes like Phelps and Josh Howard and Ricky Williams don't need their brains in the true sense of the word need—obviously it's always a bad idea to impair your intelligence. And I'd imagine some people can resist a drug's deleterious effects more rigidly than others just like some can push their bodies past extremes that others cannot.
Would it be so surprising to find both in the same body?
And that's the worst-case scenario—that Phelps habitually smokes. We're not there yet; there's no reason to believe he's a stoner just like there's no reason to believe anyone photographed with a beer is an alcoholic. So who cares?
Look, is marijuana bad for you? Of course and so is alcohol. Does marijuana impair your judgment? Of course and so does alcohol. Is it addictive? Of course and so is alcohol.
I'm not trying to be flippant about a potentially dangerous substance. I'm trying to point out that this is another perfect example of our hypocrisy. I mean, Michael Phelps has a DUI from when he was 19—NINETEEN—and that didn't seem to be a huge deal. Why should this?
Shoot, an adolescent drunk driver is a hell of a lot more dangerous than some stoned, 23-year-old swimmer at a house party. Both to himself and to others (some co-eds might feel differently, but I was never a co-ed).
Nor am I trying to defend Phelps completely. But, if you're gonna crucify him, do it for stupidity. How can you think you'll get away with such a stunt especially now that everyone's damn phone is a camera?
That's the thing though—he's an athlete, not a politician or a world leader. We don't love athletes because they're brilliant or because they exercise excellent judgment. We love them because their bodies can do things ours cannot.
So I say again, who cares? Michael Phelps isn't perfect and he isn't the smartest guy in the world. Yawn. Water is wet and babies cry.
I'm betting I'm not alone in this sentiment and the rest of America is about to start getting that message. Courtesy of Michael Phelps. So now I'm a fan.
I've never book-ended an article with quotes—let alone by the same author from the same book. But Hunter S. Thompson knew far more than anyone has ever known or will ever know about demons, drugs, transcendent talent, and how society receives them when they surface in an individual. Why bother trying to beat the master at his own game:
In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught.
Michael Phelps, meet one of the good doctors, Hunter S. Thompson. Although, judging from that photo with the binger in your hands, you've already met.
I actually wasn't a huge Michael Phelps fan, until now. It's not that I disliked him. How could you dislike someone who has won 14 Gold Medals for the Stars and Bars? Furthermore, Phelps seems like a perfectly likable guy and is obviously an incredible athlete.
I'm just not a avid follower of the Olympics so I was closer to ambivalent than I was to being a fan. Like I said, until now.
Because I have a sneaking suspicion that a picture of everyone's favorite golden boy holding a bong as comfortably as if it were a fork is gonna set off a touch of hysteria (check—anything that can register even a blip on Super Bowl Sunday that isn't relevant to the game qualifies), several soccer kicks to a downed opponent, and then some honest dialogue when the sponsorship fallout doesn't materialize.
Oh, some will walk. Some will most certainly walk. And that's totally reasonable. Certain companies just can't be associated with illegality, drugs, marijuana, substance-abuse, etc.
But if you think this kid is gonna being going door to Madison-Avenue-door begging for alms, you're probably no stranger to the sticky green yourself.
When that happens (or doesn't), a bunch of people will realize the implications—that the advertisers are telling us the American public no longer really cares about weed. That a growing number (possibly majority at this point) lump it in with alcohol and shrug it off just as easily.
And they should.
As you may have guessed, I am no stranger myself. Did I just hear a gasp?
I've spent over 90 percent of my adult life in Northern California (anyone heard of Humboldt?). I went to high school in Marin County and college at Leland Stanford Junior University. Yeah, I've smoke several times and I've inhaled.
Sue me.
I was also an honors student in high school, was homecoming king, played six years of varsity baseball/basketball as a starter, was recruited by several Division-1 baseball programs, was recruited by several D-III (back then, I don't know what the equivalent is now) basketball programs, graduated from Stanford with a 3.3 GPA in industrial engineering, walked out of college into a job in the 2001 tech industry, and just graduated from the University of California at Hastings College of the Law.
Then failed the California Bar the first time around. Eh, nobody's perfect.
Let me drop another "bomb" on you. While I was at Stanford, I was a fraternity president. That means I was legally responsible for the actions of ~45 19-22 year-old men-boys. During my year-long rule, I had about 10 guys who hit the booze hard and often. I probably had an equal number of guys who walked around in a purple haze.
The Purple Hazers were boring as hell at times, but they caused no grief. The 10 boozers?
Dear GOD.
Fights, harassment issues with the opposite gender, property damage, and that's off the top of my head. And some, cough, personal recollection. More significantly, my house was no different than any of the social houses on campus—the Greek system wasn't huge in Palo Alto at the time.
Again, I want to emphasize that this was at, arguably, one of the finest institutions in the country. I don't say that to brag (much); I say it to emphasize this wasn't Party U. and it wasn't isolated. There were a lot of very smart, very accomplished people who did some very crazy drugs and used weed as a chaser.
Think of them as intellectual Michael Phelps's (is that how you pluralize Michael Phelps?).
For instance, while on campus during my sophomore year, I ran into a kid with whom I had partied a little in our freshman dorm. He was an insanely smart dude—I'm talking he had entire books of theoretical physics memorized, like Good Will Hunting. Anyway, he could switch it off and be fun when he wanted, but I hadn't seen him in a while so I asked him where he'd been. He'd switched majors to double in Electrical Engineering and Symbolic Systems—this hybrid between computer programming, linguistics, and complex mathematics where the ultimate goal (as I understand it) is to develop artificial intelligence.
I playfully asked when he found time to have fun and his reply? "I've discovered I don't need to have fun." Well, that blew my mind on several levels, but the upshot is that I saw him smoking bud on several occasions the previous year.
So I'm never surprised when so-and-so is "caught" inhaling. Would I be shocked if I saw Phelps knocking back shooters? Nope. So why would I be shocked to learn he smokes a little dope? I wouldn't be surprised to learn he's a pot-head.
After all, if the National Basketball Association and National Football League have taught us anything, it's that there is nothing mutually exclusive about weed and a supremely conditioned athletic body. And it's obviously not a performance-enhancer.
Judging from the stoners I've known, there is a real danger to your brain and motivation/effort.
But athletes like Phelps and Josh Howard and Ricky Williams don't need their brains in the true sense of the word need—obviously it's always a bad idea to impair your intelligence. And I'd imagine some people can resist a drug's deleterious effects more rigidly than others just like some can push their bodies past extremes that others cannot.
Would it be so surprising to find both in the same body?
And that's the worst-case scenario—that Phelps habitually smokes. We're not there yet; there's no reason to believe he's a stoner just like there's no reason to believe anyone photographed with a beer is an alcoholic. So who cares?
Look, is marijuana bad for you? Of course and so is alcohol. Does marijuana impair your judgment? Of course and so does alcohol. Is it addictive? Of course and so is alcohol.
I'm not trying to be flippant about a potentially dangerous substance. I'm trying to point out that this is another perfect example of our hypocrisy. I mean, Michael Phelps has a DUI from when he was 19—NINETEEN—and that didn't seem to be a huge deal. Why should this?
Shoot, an adolescent drunk driver is a hell of a lot more dangerous than some stoned, 23-year-old swimmer at a house party. Both to himself and to others (some co-eds might feel differently, but I was never a co-ed).
Nor am I trying to defend Phelps completely. But, if you're gonna crucify him, do it for stupidity. How can you think you'll get away with such a stunt especially now that everyone's damn phone is a camera?
That's the thing though—he's an athlete, not a politician or a world leader. We don't love athletes because they're brilliant or because they exercise excellent judgment. We love them because their bodies can do things ours cannot.
So I say again, who cares? Michael Phelps isn't perfect and he isn't the smartest guy in the world. Yawn. Water is wet and babies cry.
I'm betting I'm not alone in this sentiment and the rest of America is about to start getting that message. Courtesy of Michael Phelps. So now I'm a fan.
I've never book-ended an article with quotes—let alone by the same author from the same book. But Hunter S. Thompson knew far more than anyone has ever known or will ever know about demons, drugs, transcendent talent, and how society receives them when they surface in an individual. Why bother trying to beat the master at his own game:
In a closed society where everybody's guilty, the only crime is getting caught.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Barry Lamar Bonds—Being Fitted for a Cross
Ladies and gentlemen, the witch-hunt is on! The federal government is picking up where Major League Baseball left off. Actually, Bud Selig and (paid-off) friends haven't stopped, but they're no longer significant since Barry Lamar Bonds is facing federal charges. The starting gun was lost in all the pre-Super Bowl, National Football League mania, but it's been fired.
Don't say I didn't warn you.
Since I already did it in that article, I won't re-indulge myself in the injustice of holding Bonds responsible for a generation of athletes' "sins." I'll just repeat that abuse of performance-enhancers is a widespread issue in professional athletics. Too endemic to pin on one man, no matter the size of his head (figuratively/literally) or accomplishments.
Or how much of a donkey he was been (and apparently continues to be).
For those haters out there who would argue that the firing squad lining up in front of Barry is preparing for a righteous kill, listen up.
There is nothing righteous about instituting a federal tax invasion against the mother-in-law and wife of Greg Anderson in an effort to get him to roll on Barry Bonds. In fact, it's a pretty damn unconstitutional abuse of process and malicious prosecution if you ask me—not that anyone would or has. Remember, attempts to force Anderson via direct pressure (aka a year in prison) were ineffective and then this little gem pops up.
Yeah, that's pure coincidence.
Don't get me wrong—the time in prison for Anderson was perfectly fair. He was given a chance to explain himself and the court decided he was obstructing justice. Done and done.
This latest maneuver, though, is totally fatuous and ridiculously inefficient to boot.
The economy is crumbling, stalwart companies are dumping jobs like radioactive waste, the Nation is in two wars, and part of the Justice Department has a pro baseball player bent over a barrel. Not only that, it's bending the Sacred Document to do it.
And this has been going on since 2003.
How much money do you think has been wasted? How many man/woman hours? How much brain power and other intangible resources that could have been better spent towards the considerable and real problems facing our Country?
The whole thing is just awesome.
Then, there's the actual perjury charge against Barry.
Again, this one started off totally fair—I don't believe for a second that Bonds would put anything in or on his body without knowing exactly what it was. Nor would he let anyone else. No, you can definitely add perjury to his list of personal accolades. You just will never be able to add a perjury conviction to them.
The bigger issue is that the prosecutors have to know it.
Understand, perjury is almost impossible to convict unless you've got some sort of recording of the individual making a statement like "hey, I perjured myself" or "I knew exactly what I was putting in my body" or something equally incriminating. You need such because you have to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that the man lied.
That means proving he knew he was using performance-enhancers, not that he was on performance-enhancers.
So you have to prove Barry's subjective state of mind beyond a reasonable doubt. That's pretty freakin' difficult in any sense of the phrase. It's even more brutal doing so when used in the legal sense.
You've gotta prove that NO reasonable person could doubt that Bonds lied. But the legal reasonable person can't have any preconceived notions about Barry until they're proven in court—he/she can't consider what a dick Bonds is or any of the other skeletons in his closet since most aren't relevant. The reasonable person would be able to look at whether Bonds has a deceitful character or a reputation for being fastidious about what goes into his body if such can be shown.
But look at the evidence:
A statement by a jilted lover, leaked grand jury testimony (that's pretty egregious by itself), positive urine tests, testimony by Bobby Estalella and the Brothers Giambi that they had juice schedules prepared for them by Anderson as well as the juice itself, and other circumstantial tripe like BALCO documents with his first name and last initial on it.
That's all really conclusive for proving that Barry Lamar Bonds was on steroids or human growth hormone or whatever. It also makes him look really bad in the court of public opinion.
Unfortunately, it just won't float a conviction in federal court for the serious felony of perjury (at least it shouldn't as I understand things). None of the above shows Barry has a history of lying or making sure he knows exactly what's going into his body. All it shows is that an ex-girlfriend may or may not be exacting revenge and that his trainer gave steroids to other people as well as Barry.
Again, the issue is whether Bonds knew anything.
Our courts don't like to hand out serious punishment when there is a shred of legal doubt and none of that really proves anything legally about Barry's knowledge of the situation. That's the key—it's ultimately a legal decision controlled by the courts. Even if the jury decides the factual issue against Bonds this time around, I promise you Bonds' legal team already has the appeal typed up.
Maybe the prosecution has an ace up its sleeve except it doesn't. The prison time and tax investigation prove that the ace is Greg Anderson. If the prosecution had anything else, we'd have seen it in the last five (going on six) years.
No, the ace is Anderson and the ace is not talking.
And the longer he stays silent, the louder the witch-hunt becomes. People are already beginning to notice and that's good news for Barry Lamar Bonds.
Because everyone love a martyr, even if it's Barry.
Don't say I didn't warn you.
Since I already did it in that article, I won't re-indulge myself in the injustice of holding Bonds responsible for a generation of athletes' "sins." I'll just repeat that abuse of performance-enhancers is a widespread issue in professional athletics. Too endemic to pin on one man, no matter the size of his head (figuratively/literally) or accomplishments.
Or how much of a donkey he was been (and apparently continues to be).
For those haters out there who would argue that the firing squad lining up in front of Barry is preparing for a righteous kill, listen up.
There is nothing righteous about instituting a federal tax invasion against the mother-in-law and wife of Greg Anderson in an effort to get him to roll on Barry Bonds. In fact, it's a pretty damn unconstitutional abuse of process and malicious prosecution if you ask me—not that anyone would or has. Remember, attempts to force Anderson via direct pressure (aka a year in prison) were ineffective and then this little gem pops up.
Yeah, that's pure coincidence.
Don't get me wrong—the time in prison for Anderson was perfectly fair. He was given a chance to explain himself and the court decided he was obstructing justice. Done and done.
This latest maneuver, though, is totally fatuous and ridiculously inefficient to boot.
The economy is crumbling, stalwart companies are dumping jobs like radioactive waste, the Nation is in two wars, and part of the Justice Department has a pro baseball player bent over a barrel. Not only that, it's bending the Sacred Document to do it.
And this has been going on since 2003.
How much money do you think has been wasted? How many man/woman hours? How much brain power and other intangible resources that could have been better spent towards the considerable and real problems facing our Country?
The whole thing is just awesome.
Then, there's the actual perjury charge against Barry.
Again, this one started off totally fair—I don't believe for a second that Bonds would put anything in or on his body without knowing exactly what it was. Nor would he let anyone else. No, you can definitely add perjury to his list of personal accolades. You just will never be able to add a perjury conviction to them.
The bigger issue is that the prosecutors have to know it.
Understand, perjury is almost impossible to convict unless you've got some sort of recording of the individual making a statement like "hey, I perjured myself" or "I knew exactly what I was putting in my body" or something equally incriminating. You need such because you have to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that the man lied.
That means proving he knew he was using performance-enhancers, not that he was on performance-enhancers.
So you have to prove Barry's subjective state of mind beyond a reasonable doubt. That's pretty freakin' difficult in any sense of the phrase. It's even more brutal doing so when used in the legal sense.
You've gotta prove that NO reasonable person could doubt that Bonds lied. But the legal reasonable person can't have any preconceived notions about Barry until they're proven in court—he/she can't consider what a dick Bonds is or any of the other skeletons in his closet since most aren't relevant. The reasonable person would be able to look at whether Bonds has a deceitful character or a reputation for being fastidious about what goes into his body if such can be shown.
But look at the evidence:
A statement by a jilted lover, leaked grand jury testimony (that's pretty egregious by itself), positive urine tests, testimony by Bobby Estalella and the Brothers Giambi that they had juice schedules prepared for them by Anderson as well as the juice itself, and other circumstantial tripe like BALCO documents with his first name and last initial on it.
That's all really conclusive for proving that Barry Lamar Bonds was on steroids or human growth hormone or whatever. It also makes him look really bad in the court of public opinion.
Unfortunately, it just won't float a conviction in federal court for the serious felony of perjury (at least it shouldn't as I understand things). None of the above shows Barry has a history of lying or making sure he knows exactly what's going into his body. All it shows is that an ex-girlfriend may or may not be exacting revenge and that his trainer gave steroids to other people as well as Barry.
Again, the issue is whether Bonds knew anything.
Our courts don't like to hand out serious punishment when there is a shred of legal doubt and none of that really proves anything legally about Barry's knowledge of the situation. That's the key—it's ultimately a legal decision controlled by the courts. Even if the jury decides the factual issue against Bonds this time around, I promise you Bonds' legal team already has the appeal typed up.
Maybe the prosecution has an ace up its sleeve except it doesn't. The prison time and tax investigation prove that the ace is Greg Anderson. If the prosecution had anything else, we'd have seen it in the last five (going on six) years.
No, the ace is Anderson and the ace is not talking.
And the longer he stays silent, the louder the witch-hunt becomes. People are already beginning to notice and that's good news for Barry Lamar Bonds.
Because everyone love a martyr, even if it's Barry.
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