Everything is fake. Baseball, Wall Street, and the U.S. Government lead the way.
Fences in, bats corked, balls juiced, and still HGH "enhanced", MLB is one step ahead of Roller Derby and just a step behind the latest video game which it aspires to be. The Yankees are a sham, and that is a shame. A-Rod is the most overpriced choke artist in the history of the world, Joe Girardi should demote himself to Triple A and stick to working with prospects and rookies, and Hank Steinbrenner should end his misery and throw himself off the EL because he doesn't have a clue.
The Fed prints fake money (fiat currency) the way Bud Selig's (also a fake) office has historically issued press releases concerning the sanctity of The Game. Too much. And now Wall Streets 'Game' is coming to an end. Too little.
Fast forward one year: The ol' U.S.of A., now totally a nation of 'commrades' thanks to the socialist fiscal stupidities of Clinton, Bush, and either Obama or McCain, is one step away from Third World-ism. The ballparks are empty because a 2008 overpriced ticket is now the price of a month's worth of groceries which are now the price of a monthly mortgage payment which is now the price of an annual property tax bill which is now the price of a new Lexus which is now the price of a new home which has finally returned to its true value which nobody can now afford. Too late.
Just as certain as A-Rod's 27 mil per annum choking the life out of the Yankees' ridiculous payroll and the Material Guy choking in the clutch again and again and again, you can bet your last bottom dollar that runaway inflation and economic recession (stagflation) is on its way. Fake money.
What to do? Buy and hoard physical gold and silver and get a piece of land that you can grow your own veggies on. Arm yourself responsibly because 'desperation' will be upon us. Then ask yourself, "What am I doing watching fake billionaires play sports and other better looking fake billionaires pretend to be someone they aren't (Hollywood)?
Take a good look in the mirror America...except for your faith in a Higher Power and the person staring back at you, all else is just a bit of fluff.
When is the Madison Avenue-brainwashed Yankee community going to finally start getting honest with themselves? Mariano Rivera is not, I repeat, NOT the greatest closer of all time. Oh sure, he is the greatest walk in from the bullpen in the ninth at the start of theinning having a 2 or 3 run lead against Kansas City and then geeting the bottom of theirorder out 1-2-3. Can't argue with those stats. But just think of all the big games he's blown, almost too many to mention for the time I feel like dedicating to this recycled rant of mine.
The fact is that the guy is "arguably" (Michael Kay) NOT the greatest closer of all time. He can't do it for more than 3 outs, he can't protect a lead when inheriting the previous pitcher's runners, he can't hold a tie score (last night), and he can't hold a lead when there isn't a "SAVE" in it for him.
20/20 hindsight says the Yanks needed to put Jobba in the closer slot along time ago (would have saved his arm) and just save No Mo' Rivera for Kansas City. It's time for the true, baseball-intelligent Yankee fans to get intellectually honest with themselves and stop buying into Michael Kay's melodramatic proclamations about the "Greatest" Rivera. Here's a news flash for ya M.K. - 1996 to 2000 was over 8 years ago. Here's another - Mariano blew the following big games:
1997 Game 5 ALCS vs. Cleveland; 2001 Game 7 WS vs. Arizona; 2004 Game 4&5 ALCS vs. Red Sox, Game 4, three outs away from 4 game sweep and then we don't like to talk about the rest, and then after that I lost count. Not a big game closer, never was, and certainly now, at his advanced age, never will be. Just one Mo' example of people getting caught up into the phoney-baloney New York City hype.
...Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall...
President's, Superstars, and Kings confuse power, privilege, and riches with the ongoing thought that they are more intelligent than you and me. Having been "annointed" by the People, the Press, and/or their Bloodline, they wear their crown of arrogance as if it were their birthright. Irrationally distorted by their pulsating Pride and limitless Ego, they insult our intelligence when their's is, at best, borderline. Enter The Rajah, The King of K's, The Royal Rocket, Roger Clemens.
Broad shouldered, thick skinned, and red necked with pecs puffed out, eyeballs protruding, and ready to rumble, he proceeded into the Congressional Hearing Room searching for the red carpet... but it was not there. Only the paparazzi-like press made him feel at home as they clicked away at their cameras and keyboards while their camcorders whirred. The King of the Mound was all set and ready to become The King of the Hill. But not so fast.
Crew-cutted, at first he seemed to be all ears. He listened for the trumpets and then for the drum roll but they too were not there. A soft haunting voice echoed from the distance: "Pride goeth before the fall." However, the King of K's could only hear the accelerated thumping of his own over anxious heart.
Sitting alert before the mike and ready for battle, he was soon to discover a different tone that emanated from most each questioner. It was a tone and content foreign and unfamiliar; especially when compared to the common, inane, rhetorical questions of the accustomed Victor's post game press conferences. With challenges to his integrity fired inside to handcuff him, hurled high and tight under his chin, and a few times rocketed directly at his head, The King of K's got a taste of his own intimidating medicine.
When it was his turn to speak, The Rajah repeatedly licked his nervous lips in search of spit. But like The Truth, it was also not there.
Even a sadder sight than this confused and dethroned royalty were the closeups of the emboldened and frothing government emisarries who pontificated and postured judgementally and self righteously. They were the self-appointed new stars of The Roger Clemens Traveling Ego Show. Their performance was anything but "Congressional," being more aptly suited for a delirious afternoon participating in the court room of Judge Judy. Their inquiry was anything but "non-partisan," split more egregiously along party lines than the Bill Clinton Impeachment Proceedings of a decade ago, that time when the Toronto Bluejays "Dr." McNamee first instructed his future employer to drop his drawers and get ready to receive his baptismal dose of the Synthetic Fountain of Youth.
Increduously almost to a man, the Republicans lined up with the King (who also is a favorite of a fellow Texan going by the name of George H. Bush), and the Democrats ran interference for McNamee the criminal. It's what Democrats do.
The King, with more holes in his story than the Pittsburgh infield, relied on one of the sporting world's most honored and time-proven strategies: the best defense is a good offense. And when that ill-advised game plan failed to impress, he played the victim. To listen to King Rajah, you would think he invented Baseball, wove the first American Flag (sorry Betsy), and was the only person in history to be raised by their well intentioned mother.
Gag. Belch. Barf. Puke.
And for this extremely bad impression of All-American Jack Armstrong toting his 7 Cy Young Awards (4 of them phony), The King of K's should get a free pass? We think not.
There does remain the possibility that Rajah the Rocket now believes his own lie. After all, like so many Presidents, Superstars, and Kings, he already believes his own press clippings. And like throwing a four seamer "up and in" followed by a nasty splitter "down and away," he's told the World (even under oath)so many times now that he's completely innocent of these pharmaceutical sins that his verbal delivery has now become almost a muscle memory - precise, unchanging, and automatic. Just slightly convincing. But not really, not really.
But still, The King of K's declares to the World: "Of course these allegations are not true...I, the Monarch of the Mound, the Rajah of the Rubber, the Ace of The Sox, The Blue Jays, The Yankees, and the Astros, I, The All-Almighty King Clemens, I, The Grand High Exalted Mystic Ruler of All Baseball Pitching-dom, I am honest to the core, I am forthright by birthright (I was raised by the only good woman in the history of the World), and I am totally, unequivocally incapable of telling a lie! " The Great I Am. "Oh... I forgot one thing...and I love Apple Pie too!"
The Waxman gavel came crashing down. After 4 plus hours of watching a "grown" man perpetuate the insulting of our intelligence, the curtain of the Congressional freak show finally, thankfully lowered. The stage emptied and the latest installment of The Roger Clemens Traveling Ego Show was officially over. The Czar of Zillions has now become nothing more than a Big Zero.
...and all the King's horses and all the King's men couldn't put Humpty together again...
I haven't posted anything in quite a while. Life can do that to a blogger. Death can too - of friends and family and GI's and children and pets and all of that depressing #### can get a man down. It happened to me. Nothing seems worthwhile, not even the blog. In fact, writing about multi-millionaire union members (incredibly, that's what baseball players are) and the child's game they are paid those mega bucks to play, seems a little stupid like, say, talking to yourself in the mirror. So who's listening?
So it's the therapy of trying to put some sense to the nonsensical, some logic to the illogical, and some soul to the superficial that propels me at this very second to hunt and peck the keyboard with my two middle fingers. Do you think there's a little symbolism there?
In case anyone in the black hole of the baseball Blogosphere is interested, here's a few random items which have been on my mind lately.
(1) How does Joe Torre continue to get a pass from the once serious scrutiny of the New York baseball writers? He knows as much about preserving team chemistry as Bud Selig knows about preserving the integrity of the game. Latest example: Yanks have recently (before being rocked in Colorado) jelled as a team with Miguel Cairo playing stellar defense at first, hitting sac flies, laying down sac bunts, stealing bases, etc., etc. You know - baseball. So what does Torre and the Cash-man do? They bring up the feeble hitting (in majors...once whiffed 5 consecutive times in one game, the Platinum Sombrero) Andy Phillips and then start him over the contact-hitting Cairo. Hey Joe, if it ain't broke, don't fix it. The man has got to go, hopefully by the All-Star break. Let Donnie Baseball take the reigns for the rest of the season.
(2) Speaking of the Yankees and also the YES network, how does the recently departed Clete (short for Cletus) Boyer not get a Yankee-ography? The man played one of the greatest hot corners in MLB history. In the day, he was known, aptly, as The Magnet and was overshadowed by Brooks Robinson(The VaccuumCleaner) mainly because of the Oriole's superior bat. But lest we forget that Boyer played half his games in the unfriendly (to righties) Yankee Stadium with the real Death Valley of 402' to straight away left, 457' to leftcenter, 461' to center and 407' to right center. Like Elston Howard, Joe D., and The Mick batting from the right side (among others), Clete hit countless 420 foot outs, balls that would have easily cleared Wrigley Field's left field bleachers and crashed into the street below. Something for the Sammy Sosa and Ernie Banks fans to think about. If you doubt Boyer's superb defensive ability, go get yourself a copy of the 1961 World Series film and see for yourself the incredible diving plays he made and then throwing runners out from his knees. There was none finer at coming in on the bunt, scooping the ball up into the bare hand and throwing across his body on the run to nab the batter by a half a step. Boyer was so skilled defensively, that he was often used at shortstop when Tony Kubek was injured. The man was instrumental in the Yankees' pennants of 1960 thru 1964. Gil McDougald and Hank Bauer are others who don't get their due and deserve Yankee-ographies. Their consistent play and World Series' clutch performances are legendary among those of us old enough to remember. Certainly, the producers of YES could do a real tribute to Clete instead of the stupid show with the diehard weirdo Yankee fans participating in the ridiculous antics of the season long road trip. Certainly.
(3) Sosa on # 600. A joke, a farce, and another black mark on MLB. Bud Selig should be instantly retired to that great used car salesmen's lot in the sky. An utter mockery to the likes of Hank Aaron, Babe Ruth, Willie Mays, Frank Robinson, Ted Williams, Mickey Mantle,Jimmy Foxx, etc. But not, of course, Barry Bonds, his brother in sin. Someone ought to check Bud's head for cork.
(4) It is time for Tim McCarver to pack up his millions, his pathetic attempts at being witty, his whiny voice, and his hatred of the American League and especially the Yankees, and ,as Thurman Munson would tell complaining teammates, "RETIRE!" Maybe Joe Buck too.
(5) John Miller on this past Sunday Night's Yankees-Mets game referred to Derek Jeter's slick fielding of a slow roller to short as "Reyes-like!" Who comes in on a slow groundball better than Jeter?! Hey John, listen up: that would be like saying an A-Rod home run was David Wright-like. ####.
(6) If Yanks come back to make it to the post season, based upon YTD, Jorge Posada has to be their MVP. Don't challenge me on this. Just look to history and consider MVP's Berra,Campanella, Elston Howard, Bench, etc. and the role of this position.
(7) George Steinbrenner and the Yankee organization should publicly apologize to every baseball fan for the scheduled razing of Yankee Stadium, the Grand Cathedral of Baseball. If he was the King of England, would he raze the old and then build The New WestminsterAbbey? The Stadium is hallowed ground. Steinbrenner destroyed its beauty by his 1973 rennovation which eliminated the Big Ballpark's signature decorative facade/frieze and in succeeding years moved the fences in 3 times, at least. Yeah, yeah, I've heard all the great things about The Boss and how he restored the winning tradition to the CBS owned failing venture. And it is no great secret that he has an entreprenurial gift and developed the Yankees into the most profitable professional sports franchise. I get it. But does the guy have to destroy the one common link of generation to generation of pinstripe fan - The Stadium? This would not happen in Boston with Fenway or in Chicago with Wrigley. They understand what they are selling. George does not. Yankee fans, you have a season and a half to say goodbye to an old friend you will never see again. And just think of this: The Boston Celtics have won absolutely nothing since moving from Boston Garden. Nothing.
(8) Tomorrow afternoon's theme song is the Mighty Mouse tune: Here he comes to save theday, The Rocket-Man is on his way...prediction: Clemens gets Rocked in Colorado. With a pro rata 28 mil in the Rocket's pocket, the price of a beer and a dog at The Stadium must be hitting double figures by now.
That's it for tonight. As you can tell, I'm not very good with CHANGE unless, of course, change is logical and for the common good and not the elitist few. But I will not change my mind on one thing Yankee fans - that for the good of the team, the Godfather of the Bronx by way of Brooklyn, your Slow Joe Torre...must definitely go. (see old post of mine entitled, "Torre can't win the close ones.")
p.s. Q: Does anyone know what two different numbers Clete Boyer wore?
Q: What do Mark McGwire, Barry Bonds, and Rosie O'Donnell have in common?
A: All 3 have used artificial means to enhance their manhood.
McGwire - Should consider himself lucky to have even been on the HOF ballot. Easy prediction: As more and more info on MLB steroid and human growth hormone use leaks to the media, his once inflated popularity will completely fizzel out. And eventually he will be forgotten. People generally like to remember positive stuff. I do hope he makes peace with himself and also his son.
Bonds - Oh Barry, Barry, Barry, Barry...you really do need some help. What's next... speedballs? Tell ya what. Come clean with the whole deal, accept your punishment whatever it will be, donate half your money to charity, maybe more, get into treatment, spill your guts, rebuild your life on moral grounds, and then it will not matter (to anyone else but most importantly to you) whether you break Hank's record or whether you even get into the Hall. You'll have the greatest prize of all...a true you. And the world will have an honest Barry because The TRUTH sets you free. Easy prediction: Never happen.
Rosie - we liked you at the hot corner in A League of Their Own. It's been down hill ever since. You talk too much. 99% of the time, you sound stupider than A-Rod. That's not good. However we did like the comb over impression. What amazes us is that you actually have a large fan base. I bet they would vote for McGwire and also defend Barry. By the way, how's that gun control program of yours coming along these days? Still own that pistol, do ya?
Speaking of gunfire, did anyone else catch the line about A-Rod from the cabbie toward the end of the new flick, A Night at the Museum? Would love to know who was responsible for getting in that shot on A-Fraud. The man of mega-millions just gets no respect. It's a beautiful ding!
Now there's a word that will never be used to describe a closeup of Randy Johnson. Finally, he has departed. The Big Unit was, essentially, castrated by American League - New York City baseball. Now The Big Eunuch returns to the weaker hitting National League and the protection afforded by the pitcher batting. Easy Prediction: Johnson blows away Senior Circuit hitters again.
Sincere prayers for Bobby Murcer. A true Yankee, a class guy. We can still recall his rookie season playing shortstop.
Johnny Damon, CF – A good season past. Dispelled Samson theory – hair/beard loss had no effect on Bronx performance. Prediction: short porch in right will up his dinger total to around 30 in ’07. Also, a little too happy during Detroit catastrophe. Says all the right things.
Derek Jeter, SS – Unquestionably his greatest all-around season. What didn’t he do? And out of the number 2 hole! The Yankee Captain was dissed by many of the New York andSteinbrenner hatingbaseball writers when they awarded the MVP to Justin Morneau. (see my post, “Just In…Jeter Out”) But Baseball Digest (published in Evanston, Illinois) got it right when they named ‘Jeets’ as their Major League Player of the Year. Jeter is a clinic on how to play short (make the jump throw from deep in the hole, come in on a slow roller, go back for an over the shoulder catch on a short fly, etc.), run the bases (intelligently and gazelle-like), bunt, and hit to the right side. With bursts of power and clutch performances, enjoy watching this future Hall of Famer now because he is very special and the spectacle won’t last forever.
Bobby Abreu, RF – Nice finish with Yanks for ’06. Jury is still out regarding season long performance. A little too happy and complacent during the Tiger blowout. Maybe Phillies had it right? We shall see…
Hideki Matsui, LF/DH– Once again demonstrated that he is a true professional with both humble post-injury attitude and timely hitting in last month of competition. Should have been DH’d by Torre in post season to let the new, young, competitive Melky Cabrera continue to produce as he had in the regular season. Look for a decrease in games starting in left field in ’07.
Jorge Posada, C – like Yogi Berra, Elston Howard, and Thurman Munson before him, the true backbone of the team. Clutch. When he’s in the lineup, I would never bat him lower than 6th. Did a better job at the cleanup spot than A-Rod which is not that surprising. A great all-around catcher: handling pitchers, throwing out runners, etc. Thank you Tony Pena. Posada is a true Yankee.
Robinson Cano,2B – Almost won the batting title which he should do this year as long as he stays healthy. Jeter will hit .320 and Mauer, who knows the second time around the league? Let’s hope that Robby can shake off the stigma of Torre batting him in the 9th spot during the playoffs – now wasn’t that a brilliant idea to bolster a young player’s confidence?
Jason Giambi, 1B/DH – needs to play everyday at first base despite limited range. Can scoop balls out of the dirt with the best of them. Hits better when playing in the field. Too much emphasis on defensive liability. Is he any less capable than Moose Skowron, Harmon Killebrew, Boog Powell, Pete Rose, etc., etc., etc.? Power hitting streaks raise questions about continued steroid use.
Alex Rodriquez, 3B – Lived up to his recent fan nicknames of K-Rod, A-Clod, E-Rod, and A-Fraud and we know there are more. Add A-Roid if the 100 names are ever divulged. A-Rod is the person who hasn’t got a clue that the romance is over and keeps making the phone calls and ringing the door bell…but nobody answers. His Big Apple love affair is history. Yankee fans only got the worm. When he finally rides off into the sunset, hopefully back to Texas or Seattle, the Yanks should retire his number to the rag pile so that #13 is never seen again. The ultimate Choke Artist…and for 25 mil per annum!
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Melky Cabrera, LF, etc. – outstanding rookie performance including going deep into the pitch count, slashing the outside pitch the other way, covering Death Valley as well as anyone since Ricky Henderson, maybe better, can steal a base, and is a serious threat to throw out a runner taking the extra base. A powerful arm. Can play all 3 outfield positions. Yanks out of their mind if they use this guy as trade bait for pitching woes.
Gary Sheffield, Gone - but not (or never to be) forgotten. We will miss the savage swing and cannon shots to left, foul balls included (did he once take someone’s head off?) but the Bombers will not miss the anger and the Reggie-like attitude in the clubhouse. Reunited with Leland and Dombrowski, he might very well avenge his pinstripe exit by late season damage against lackluster Yank pitching.
HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL BASEBALL BLOGGERS, PAST & PRESENT
What?!!! What?!!! Justin Morneau?!! They must be kidding. Have the majority of the so-called ‘baseball writers’ completely lost their minds? Or should we be asking, were they of sound mind to begin with? The only explanation for this highway robbery of the MVP is that the non-Jeter voters are morons, idiots, imbeciles, maybe even lunatics. Choose one. Most likely they all apply. Oh, and one more…envious. Envious of all that he has and all that he is which, in baseball terms, is just about the most completely skilled and clutch performing shortstop of our time. Shame on you who did not vote for this man in this, his greatest year. Can you read? Do you own a TV? Do you live in a cave?
So let me get this straight. Derek Jeter misses winning the batting title by a bloop and a dribbler. This, despite batting from the right side 2 feet farther from first base than it will ever be for Mauer or Cano. This, despite having about a billion more plate appearances for the season than Mauer or Cano. And this despite batting in the #2 hole where his mission was so often only to move Johnny Damon another 90 feet to third…by a bunt or a slicing groundball to the right side Oh, and one more ‘despite.’ Jeter played half his games under the microscope and inside the pressure cooker called Yankee Stadium/New York City.
And Morneau? A simple equation will do: good hitter + artificial surface + high school outfield dimensions = very good offensive season. Give him the Central Division Co-Slugger of the Year Award with Jerome Dye. End of story. We wish.
To continue. I now ask any and all esoteric baseball statistics geeks and nerds to rally ‘round and supply the necessary computation to prove my point. I would try to do it but, I must admit, I am not up to the task.
Here it is. First, add up the obvious - Jeter’s runs scored and rbi’s. Then dissect the season’s box scores and come up with his run/game saving fielding plays, the times he kept a 2 out rally going which eventually scored a run, the times he successfully gave up his at bat to move a runner over, his go-ahead hits, his game tying hits, his game winning hits and his timely stolen bases (now, exactly how many times was he caught stealing this year?). Are you with me so far? Good. Then take into account how he almost single handedly carried the team for the first half of the year with Matsui and Sheffield the newest members of the broken wrist club, and how as Yankee Captain, he often played hurt, bruised, and injured. How he set the example for the likes of Andy Phillips, Melky Cabrera, Nick Green and Sal Fasano (not exactly 200 million dollar payroll names) who so often came through in a regular season which tied the inferior National League Mets for the best record in baseball. Now throw into the mix, the over-all sub-par Yankee pitching, playing short next to anyone of 4 or 5 different second sackers, and being subjected daily to the doom and gloom of the “Poor Me” A-Rod Traveling Choke ArtistShow.
Got all that? There might be even more. If you think of anything else such as ‘Jeets’ being the poster boy for all the Yankee-hating fans, media, and opposing 95 mph hurling chin-musicians, then throw those into the mix too.
Now, when all this is compiled and Jeter’s stellar blue collar performance is put up against Morneau’s politically correct spring, summer, and fall in the Make Believe World of Minneapolis & St. Paul, take a quick trip up to The Mistake in theLand of Lakes, that ballpark wannabe, and tear apart a piece of the right field ‘wall.’ Then take a few steps back and a deep breath in and use the trash bag liner for what it was intended – a receptacle for the secret ballots of the non-Jeter for MVP voting baseball ‘writers.’ You know, garbage.
Tigers - Cards, 2006. 38 years ago we first watched them in a 7 act baseball drama as the Motown Nine came back from a 3-1 deficit and surprised the Redbirds as well as most of the sporting world. Images: Tiger centerfielder Mickey Stanley playing shortstop...31 game winner Denny McClain looking more like the lifetime loser he became...and Mickey Lolich!...Big Bad Bob Gibson dominating...golden glove Curt Flood misplaying the long drive to center...who hit that, was it the Gray Fox Jim Northrup?...Tiger Stadium...and Mickey Lolich!...and Mickey Lolich again!
And now we have Leyland vs. La Russo. Tonight the Tigers were waiting to win...beating up on the Yankees and then the A's and finishing the execution with the Ordonez walk off home run can be intoxicating, so much that it can put you right to sleep. Verlander put his faith in his press clippings instead of putting his fastball in the ear of Scott Rowland and Albert Pujols. When the fumbling Inge uncorked his wild throw toward Pudge at the plate, he looked more like the playwright and less like Aurelio Rodriquez or George Kell. As soon as he let it go he said to himself, "COME BACK LITTLE SHEBA" and when he impersonated a roadblock for Rowland running toward home, he thought, "this ain't no PICNIC." If he doesn't get his act together, he'll be standing at the BUS STOP with a one way ticket to THE DARK AT THE TOP OF THE STAIRS. If you don't know who I'm speaking of , well, then I guess I'm older than I care to admit.
But being a Yankee fan and also a Met fan hater (although I did feel bad for Willie Randolph), now I can only hear the soulful voice of B.B. King wailing away in the background of my subconscious that, for this baseball season, "The Thrill Is Gone."
But not all is lost. There is some amusement. The Cards doubleplay combo looks a little like a circus act - at 5'7'', Little Eckstein is this age's Freddy Patek or Phil Rizzuto. How can you not root for him - he is Everyman. And The Bulging Belly-iard traded in his signature dread locks/braids for his new Annette Funicello look and has also easily surpassed Maglio Ordonez, Eric Byrnes, and Manny Ramirez for most ridiculous 'do of the season. With a little more volume he might take first prize in the Oscar Gamble look a like contest. But the man can play. How beautiful was that push bunt past the pitcher for the game tying, safety squeeze against the Mets in Game 7?
And what happened to our National Anthem? Bob Seeger at his one man band keyboard straining through "America the Beautiful? No wonder the Tigers never got started; they were still waiting to hear the Star Spangled Banner. Where's Aretha when you need her?
And please, Fox Sports, spare us the closeups. Instead of a full view of the field where a fan might actually see a play develop (fielders backing up, hitting the cutoff man, etc.), we are mistreated to dental exams, nose hairs, pimples, blemishes, and other assorted skin growths,chewing tobacco rolling around the palate, resting on the lips, falling out of the mouth, and dribbling down the chin, the saliva soaked shells of sunflower seeds expectorated in mass profusion, and spitting and spitting and more spitting. MLB players are, no doubt, the world's greatest spitters, bar none. There's an idea for a blog, "Greatest Spitting Techniques/Moments of Major league Baseball."
Well it's time to retire...from this and also to bed. When I say my prayers tonight, I can assure you that I will not be thanking The Almighty for an opposite field home run. I will save that for Albert Pujols as he looks and points up to the heavens as he crosses home plate. Here's a news flash for you Albert: God's got a few more important things on His agenda than the World Series and your professional athletic performance.
It is late. Maybe too late for this 2006 version of the Joe Torre Traveling Home Run Derby Show. With Jim Leyland as the opposition's grand puppeteer, Kenny Rogers as its impersonation of the great Whitey Ford of post season's past, and the rest of the Tiger cubs roaring like they're full grown and believing they're in charge of the American League jungle, Murderer's Row (and Cano) seem to have taken the final bullet themselves.
I am tired...but not as tired as the same, lame Joe Torre post game jibberish which is interpreted as gospel by the intimidated press conference media. But perhaps, that is not totally fair to Torre. For some reason it seems that no one is allowed to ask the Godfather of the Bronx a tough but thoughtful question.
Such as: Why Joe, in the few days before the playoffs, did you abandon the quicker, more balanced, more run-manufacturing lineup of Melky Cabrera batting 9th and Robbie Cano batting 6th that had produced by season's end, the best record in baseball?
Probable answer: "blahblahblahblahblah..."
Real answer: "George likes to get his money's worth."
Or: Within the last 2 games when it was obvious that the Tiger pitching was overpowering, why Joe didn't you move a runner over into scoring position with a sacrifice bunt?
Probable answer: "Blahblahblahblahblah..."
Real answer: "Those billionaire home run guys would get mad at me. i just hate an argument."
And: You seem to have trouble winning the close games. Who do you think cracks under pressure more, you or A-Rod?
Probale answer: Blahblahblahblahblah....blah"
Real answer: "Stop picking on us. Just because I'm the highest paid manager in baseball and Alex is the highest paid player, is no reason to take that tone of voice. it hurts our feelings."
And finally: "Joe, since the 2000 Championship Team, you lost the 2001 Series in the bottom of the ninth - game 7, have been outmanaged by Mike Scosia twice in the ALDS ('02 & '05), by Jack McKeon in the '03 World Series, and did the greatest choke job in the history of Major League Baseball by losing to the Red Sox in the '04 ALCS after being up 3 games to none and only one out away from a sweep. If you are eliminated from this year's ALDS, courtesy of Jim Leyland and Co., do you think George Steinbrenner will renew your contract?
Probable answer: "Blah."
Real answer: "Only if George keeps taking his medication."
NOTE: for further clarification, please look to Gamescribe's blog entitled, "Melky or Matsui: Team Chemistry Begins to Vaporize"
It has been said that there are no coincidences. If this be true, then Melky Cabrera's recent slump may correlate to the impending return of Hideki Matsui: daily DH-ing, looming on the sidelines, waiting in anticipation for the day that Manager Torre returns him to his former home in left field. That day is now here.
We have nothing against Matsui, not even the sudden A-Rod type slump he experienced in last year's ALDS. In Godzilla's case, the sub-par batting was a one time mysterious anomaly. A-Rod, well, that's another sadly mis-spent Yankee payroll story. I guess last year's choke-job wasn't his fault just like his declaration that it's not his fault he's "so intelligent and so good looking." BARF!
Matsui, though, is a magnificent, professional hittter with, perhaps, the best bat control of any Yankee, Robinson Cano included. He is a fierce competitor. Case in point: the serious fracture to his left wrist in the diving catch attempt of last May. He hustles to all balls, runs out every grounder, and with his quick release of an average arm, makes plays at second base and home plate closer than they ought to be. To date, he has been a clutch performer.
In Hideki's absence and in a situation compounded by the freak wrist fracture to Gary Sheffield, emerged in an emergency one Mighty Melky (Cabrera) to save the day. The youngster was called up to the Big Apple after hitting the stuffing out of the ball (about a .385 clip) down on the Ohio farm. A centerfielder playing his first game in right, Melky misplayed a wind-blown fly ball into a damaging extra base hit. We thought it to be more of the same from the previous season's fielding charade in Fenway when he was up for a mid-summer's cup of coffee. But this year Melky must have switched to decaf because, very quickly, the jitters dissipated and when the steam cleared, Melky was out there in left, patrolling it like he'd been there for a career. He has made all the plays - the Sandy Amoros (who?) grabs by the tight corner near the pole, the Ricky Henderson leap and snatches over the high wall, and the Roy White foot races coralling in balls out in the valley.
And could he throw. At last count, he was in double figures for outfield assists. With the recently acquired Bobby Abreu in right and Melky in left, the Yanks now have two of the stronger and most feared arms in the league. An important point to consider with Johnny Damon and Bernie Williams competing for lollipop toss of the year in center.
But can he run? Quicker than Cano and almost as fleet as Jeets. How about the hitting? From both sides, occasional power, goes deep in the count, fouls off a lot of balls - makes the pitcher work, strokes the pitch to the opposite field, and so far hits Major League pitching at a .280 clip, about the same this year as 'A-Rod the intelligent and beautiful one.' Melky, however, has driven in runs when they counted.
Besides being able to bunt and move a runner over, there is something else Melky Cabrera has brought to Manager Torre's 'home run happy' lineup this summer. Call it youthful enthusiasm, the positive energy of pure innocence, the joyous passion of playing ball. Melky Cabrera belongs on any field with Derek Jeter and Johnny Damon and Robby Cano. They have it too and are all happy to play small-ball when needed. If you like, call it chemistry. But chemistry, not bizarrely gigantic payrolls and/or bizarrely gigantic egos will finally win the whole, damn, big sha-####.
We understand that the still recovering, presently DH-ing Matsui will start in left field tomorrow night.
But why?
Let's just say that George likes to get his money's worth.
Re: the potential American League MVP: So we have now all read the quotes from David Ortiz and Derek Jeter. Their words read like they play the game. Jeter, the official Yankee Captain - gracious, controlled, team oriented and focused on the October mission. Big Papi, the unofficial leader of the deflated Red Sox Nation - swinging from the hips, reactive, individualized, obviously disappointed, and angry. For unless the recently returned from the DL, Jason Varitek has something magical in his official Red Sox Captain's arsenal of psyche and performance, Big Papi will remain Big Unhappy as he watches this post season from his living room.
Even a novice knows that the Sox are done. Even a novice knows that the physical and psychological impact of the Yanks' August 5-game Boston Massacre sweep, complete with Jeter-led comebacks, was too much for even that trio of Yankee killers, Schilling, Ramirez, and Ortiz, to overcome. Even a novice knows that the Red Sox, hyped as America's answer to Steinbrenner's Evil Empire, have for this 2006 baseball season been executed. Unequivocally. The work of the pinstriped guillotine was quick, precise, and complete. Big Papi is not happy.
Since last year's controversial selection of the unclutch A-Rod as MVP, DH Ortiz has bit his tongue and endeared the baseball world with an ear to ear grin, a positive message, and an array of game winning bombs of Ruthian legend. A fact: at crunch time, no one has been more lethal at the plate. Another fact: the DH 'position' (?) has, to date, never been awarded Most Valuable Player. Common sense: the DH plays 'hal####ame.'
Jeter plays a game and a half. Jeter will beat you a hundred ways - with his glove, on the base paths, with a bunt, a steal, a groundball to the right side, and with his inside-out swing slicing timely hits (this year at a .340-plus clip), driving in or scoring key go-ahead, tying, and winning runs. He is on base well over 40 per cent of the time. But this argument is not about statistics. The numbers do not tell the whole story. Jeter's story is lost within the fine print of the box score. His value cannot be found within the reams of over-analyzed, nerd-generated, baseball geek-created stats. His worth is, simply, that he is a winner. You might think of him as the Bill Russell of baseball, just doing whatever it takes.
Jeter gives the extra effort - takes the extra base, makes the acrobatic jump throw from deep short, creates the shovel pass near home plate, sacrifices his body with the head first dive into the stands. He sets the tempo, generates the winning energy; he is the catalyst, and often, is the victorious finisher. He has been in the league over ten years and he still runs out every groundball. He is the model which managers mold young players from. Derek Jeter never gives up. If his team loses that day, it is only because he ran out of innings. He has always been, the most valuable Yankee.
So why has Big Papi become so Big Sloppy with his mouth so recently? Could it be that he has read the handwriting on the monsterous green wall? Could it be that with the death of this season, he sees "his" award slipping away, like a flimsy hot dog wrapper blowing out into left field with the autumn breeze? We think it is simply a case of Big Papi bleeding the Red Sox blues.
David Ortiz has stated that the guy who hits 40 home runs and drives in a hundred should get the MVP. According to his parameters, Hank Aaron should have had about 20 MVP's. And what about the man named Manny who bats behind him and protects his at bats? Without digging up the record books for the complete list of non-sluggers having garnered the honor, has Big Pap-Off His Mouth ever heard of Ichiro Suzuki, Sparky Lyle, Sandy Koufax, or Phil Rizzuto? Just a few past MVP's that immediately come to mind.
I have a couple of suggestions for millionaire Ortiz.
(1) Pick up the hot dog wrapper, crumble it into a ball, and toss it deep into the trash can. In the end, awards mean nothing. And who knows, Yankee-hating sportswriters may still give it to you.
(2) Stop counting homeruns, etc. They're just numbers and many are just long fly balls over short fences. By the way David , have you been using that ridiculously ostentatious, diamond studded, gold necklace you wear on the field as an abacus? You might make better use of it as a rosary so that you can pray for some humility.
(3) And read up a little on baseball history so you can get a little perspective before you stick that spiked shoe in your mouth again. We like it better when you smile.
(4) Start a campaign for your own award. Call it "The DH Power-Clutch Award." Maybe General Motors or Ford could do some commercials with you.
(5) Get some gratitude. If there was no Designated Hitter, you'd be breaking Mr. #### Stuart's records for Red Sox first basemen's fielding futility and possibly even helping some of the old Beantown rooters forget for a moment one, Mr. Bill Buckner.
(6) Big Papi - just enjoy being the best half-game player around.
First, let me clarify that I have been and remain a fan of the New York Yankees. It is true that unlike my youthful days, I no longer 'bleed' Pinstripes but, despite the plethora of Yankee Brass's mismanaged decisions the past few years, somehow remain a devotee to Bronx Bomber baseball.
Some personal historical perspective - At 10 years of age, grouped with my equally Yankee-nut brother and my baseball-loving grandparents, I bolted upright from my seat (along with 23,000 other hopeful souls) as Roger Maris' 61st homerun sailed into the lower right field grandstand of what had now become The House That Rajah Re-built. Amazingly, I was but a second baseman's toss away from the mass of crashing bodies, tangled torsos, flailing arms, and hungry hands that desperately reached and stretched for the Reach baseball that had a guaranteed worth of $5,000 dollars, courtesy of a Texas millionaire who desired the privilege of presenting the ball to the unassuming though stressed out Maris.
From the pile of bruised and battered carnage (I think I recall someone in the melee swinging a stick or a club), arose one Sal Durante, a young street-type guy from Brooklyn who, if you stretched it quite a bit, was not so unlike a flag-hoisting U.S. Marine at Iwo Jima who had just defied all the odds. With the ball clasped firmly in his raised arm and now smiling from ear to ear, the Stadium cops descended upon him quickly to provide an escort to safer places like the Yankee press room while the relieved Maris touched down on home plate. For Roger, it was over. He had defied the odds and survived the worse of the never-ending media assault. For Durante, well, $5,000 bucks could buy you an awful lot of fun and/or happiness in the war-free America of 1961.
At 18 in the summer of '69, I stood with 60,000 other respectful patrons to celebrate and honor the other and more illustrious half of the M&M Boys. It was Mickey Mantle Day and it was a half season past his retirement. Grandparents older and watching the festivities on TV, older brother away at a summer job, younger brother away at summer camp, friends too busy doing grown up things, acquaintenances too busy doing the Woodstock thang, I stood alone in a box seat behind homeplate and vigorously applauded along with the Stadium-filled brotherhood of like minded souls...one last time for Mickey. They retired his number that day and we cheered him for 18 years of splendid and sometimes supernatural play. And that The Mick did it all - the pivoting, the pushing off, the exploding into an unheard of 3.1 seconds 'home to first' sprint, the stealing of bases at crucial moments, the drag bunts past the pitcher when a guaranteed baserunner was needed more than the chance of a home run, the long fleet footraces against the flight of a would be triple or inside the parker...out...out...out into the deep expansiveness of centerfield by the monuments or in the 'death valley' of left-center, and, of course, the foundation for that mighty swing from either side of the plate - that he did it all, all of it with legs and knees better suited for a wheelchair basketball game defied the odds and all logic too.
At 28 in '79, married and the father of two little ones, I did not stand to honor the fallen Yankee Captain, Thurman Munson. Instead, I sat...still...on my sofa...and wept, chilled to the bones...here today - gone tomorrow. What would my Yankees, the World Champion Yankees, do without their catcher, their clutch hitter, their blood and guts? What would we do without Thurm, the man who sacrificed the self for the greater good? And what would his little kids do without their father? Like their Dad, they would do their best. They would survive in this sometimes unfair and cruel world. They would defy the odds and make something of their lives. As circumstance and misfortune will sometimes do, my little ones, now three-strong, would follow a similar path.
Which leads us to the present, the age of egotistical-zillionaire-prima donnas who, via the evil skills of Madison Avenue, masquerade to the ill-informed as "heroes." They are not. And neither were Maris nor Mantle nor Munson. These Yankees-Past were highly skilled, fiercely competitive, and champions in their chosen field of endeavor. They were hard core and of another age but they were not heroes.
Heroes, true heroes, sacrifice their's to save another's life. Heroes died in the World Wars, Korea, 'Nam, the Twin Towers, and now in the Middle East. Heroes died for Freedom, our many freedoms including the freedom to earn the right to compete at a championship level, to be awarded trophies, win ribbons, attain celebrity, receive privilege, and garner riches, mucho riches. "America is a beautiful country, eh?"
More will die. So show a little respect, Sporting America, and put your adulation for athletic achievement in perspective. Our sons and daughters are fighting the fight, many becoming severely disabled for life, while many others have died for the cause.
In about 2 weeks, a young woman of 24, a Registered Nurse and a First Lieutenant in the United States Army will deploy to Iraq. She will care for the sick, the injured, the wounded, and the fallen. Heroes. She is my youngest daughter. And she, like all of her fellows, will have a lot more on her mind than worrying about who will win the pennant.
The "Sheff of the Future" has become a mere short order cook of the past. While the Steinbrenners try to buy another pennant a la Bobby Abreu, and quicker than a New York minute, Gary Sheffield's role in Pinstripes has changed. At best, he has become this September-October's designated hitter.
Historically, the embittered and embattled Sheffield has not been one to temper his opinion which has quite often bordered on the subtleties of rage. Histrionics pervade his resume. Gary will tell you that he came to New york to win the all-evasive World Series Ring. He will also tell you that a few years ago he waved goodbye to millions in making this supreme sacrifice. And he will tell you, if you're still around to listen, that based upon his Yankee performance in comparison to his teammates', he is grossly underpaid. All this may be true. In his brief (it can core a) Big Apple tenure, "Sheff" has slashed his way through opponents' best pitching to put up very respectable, if not impressive numbers. He has risen to the occasion with many game winning hits and outfield plays. In short, he gave the Yankees what they paid for. With respect to this season's debilitating wrist injury, that's the way the ball sometimes bounces. And all of this is within the realm of the mercenary madness of today's game.
Sheffield's contract is up at the end of this season. He has never made many friends in the clubhouse. He is 38ish. He is coming back from a serious wrist injury and he is, most likely, from a purely medical perspective, coming back too soon. Ah yes, the lure of theevasive Ring. With the incredible torque of the wrist action on his legendary slashing-crashing swing, what we could easily witness this autumn is Gary's final fall.
One thing is certain in the World According to George: the Yankees will do anything possible, (and many things improbable) in order to buy a pennant. They will mortgage away their future (minor league personnel), make their ridiculously high payroll even more ridiculously high with their "Mercenary of the Month," in this case Abreu, and declare in their greedy defense, that they do it all because they owe it to the New York Yankee fans.
"Hello Mr. Abreu...
"Uh, ...what's your name over there...Sheff-something? Yeah, you with the arms of anvil steel, the sledgehammer swing, and the scowl of a raging furnace. Yeah, uh...see ya around and uh... don't let that clubhouse door hit you in the ####....huminahuminahumina..."
