Writer’s note: One Sixty-Two is a season-long series of blog posts connecting baseball’s major-league players to life’s universal themes. Just as there are 162 games in a season, so there will be 162 posts in this series. Let’s play some ball.
Day One Hundred Forty-Five: Francisco Cordero, Cincinnati Reds
There are days when the stress feels like it will swallow me whole. I go for a run, or duck out to the gym, and try to breathe deep and let it all subside. But September 2010 is not an easy time for us in some ways. Like so many American families right now, we have seen better days in the way of finances. And it’s hard sometimes to know just when it will get better.
You feel a bit like one of those white-knuckle closers, who are forever filling the bases with runners before somehow wiggling out of it. Francisco Cordero of the Cincinnati Reds has 35 saves in 43 chances, but he also walks nearly as many batters as he strikes out, and he puts an average of 1½ men on base per inning. Rarely does a Cordero outing run smoothly. Reds fans can feel the stress almost as soon as the big right-hander begins pitching.
So in these Cordero-like days at Hynes Central, I’ve got to figure out just how much anxiety I want myself to feel on a day-to-day basis. I can worry all day long if I want – there is no law against that. But it doesn’t seem like a smart idea. And I can’t imagine how it would help me, my wife, or my girls.
So, as always, I search for perspective. This weekend, I found it in a place I never knew I’d be. It took a winding highway, a dirt road, a trail and dozens of steep steps to find it. But my, was it worth the trip.
Tannery Falls is located in a part of the Berkshires called Savoy Mountain State Forest. It’s not a place that you’ll find in most New England guidebooks. But my wife found it nonetheless. In an overnight trip that we took to this area over the weekend, we decided to check it out.
After winding our way along the Mohawk Trail that also goes by the name of Route 2, we turned onto an unmarked road outside Florida, Mass. From there, we drove up into the mountains for several miles before turning onto a dirt road. After nearly a mile of gentle driving over the many rocks on this road, we found a parking lot. The trail started from the lot, and as we followed the blue arrows we found ourselves walking alongside a brook. Soon enough, though, the trail took us down many steps. When we reached the bottom, we looked up and saw before us a pristine waterfall in the midst of the Massachusetts woods.
From 80 feet above us, the water of Tannery Falls cascaded down some 35 feet into a tiny pool, then rolled down the rest of the way via a rocky chute. The white water bobbed and weaved all the way into the shallow pool that lay before us. While only one other family was at the falls when we arrived, numerous others had been there before, and they’d left their mark by taking flat stones off the ground and making small sculptures around the edge of the pool with these rocks. Amy added one as well, and we stood together and watched the water drop down to our feet. The tiny pieces of rock art served as a human thank-you gift of sorts to the falls themselves.
This wasn’t the largest waterfall in the world, nor was it the largest one I’d ever seen. But as Amy and I looked at it, took pictures of it, and listened to it, we weren’t feeling any emotion that you could confuse with stress. This was about as beautiful as life gets – a husband and wife, walking hand in hand through the woods far away from the challenges and triumphs of life, taking some time to enjoy nature at its best.
Tannery Falls. That’s my new catch-phrase. Whenever the stress seems like it’s cascading down on me with the force of a Francisco Cordero wild pitch, I will say those words and think of that glorious display of falling water. Because if this world can contain something that beautiful, and if I can savor its majesty in the same spot where Native Americans watched it 300 years ago, then I think I also can endure a few bumps in the road of life. There is no stress worth worrying about when I can choose instead to breathe deep and visualize the white water and the gifts of stone, all while feeling the warm pulse of my wife’s hand in mine.
Showing posts with label Cincinnati Reds. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cincinnati Reds. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
Cy Three (One Sixty-Two: Day 130)
Writer’s note: One Sixty-Two is a season-long series of blog posts connecting baseball’s major-league players to life’s universal themes. Just as there are 162 games in a season, so there will be 162 posts in this series. Let’s play some ball.
Day One Hundred Thirty: Adam Wainwright, Chris Carpenter & Jaime Garcia, St. Louis Cardinals
Every summer, our local library holds contests for kids each week in different parts of the building. There’s the “Find Buddy the Worm” contest, in which children have to find the laminated cut-out of a cartoon worm somewhere in the children’s section. There’s the “Fun Facts” contest, in which kids are asked a science question, often one about animals. There’s also the “Guess How Much Candy” math question, in which the youngsters try and determine how many Tootsie Rolls or lollipops are inside a clear jar. For all of these contests, the kids write down their answers, place their paper into a large jar, and hope that their correct answer will be the one randomly chosen that week.
So this morning, the phone rings, and it’s the library. Chelsea, I’m told, has won the “Find Buddy” contest, and her prize is waiting at the front desk. I tell her this, and her eyes light up. Her immediate instinct is to go and tell her sister … who is not so happy.
“What about me?” Katie asks. Oh, dear. Here we go.
The phone rings again. It’s the library once more. Katie has won the “Fun Facts” contest this week. Her prize is waiting, too.
Crisis averted. Cheers of joy in the house. It must be my day.
You can’t win everything. It’s just not possible. Even Michael Jordan finished more NBA seasons without a championship than with one. We learn, early on, to enjoy the journey and the many triumphs along the way in life, rather than expecting a prize for everything we do. Somehow, though, that hasn’t stopped me from announcing all the chores I do each day; my wife has explained that no medal is forthcoming, nor will it ever be. But that’s a different blog post for a different day.
The girls pulled off the rare sibling sweep of summer library prizes this week. But that kind of stuff doesn’t usually happen. Over on the baseball field, a trio of pitchers by the names of Adam Wainwright, Chris Carpenter and Jaime Garcia would all love to win the National League’s Cy Young Award this season. And all have put together years quite worthy of this honor. In fact, it is staggering to see just how much these three starting pitchers have carried the St. Louis Cardinals this year. Going into tonight’s action, the Cardinals were 69-59 on the year, good enough to keep them in second place and five games behind the Cincinnati Reds in the National League Central.
But without Wainwright, Carpenter and Garcia, the Cardinals’ season would be long gone. Out of the 69 team wins, the three aces have combined to win 43 of those games. Out of the 59 losses, they’ve claimed only 19 of them. All three men have earned-run averages below 3.00, with Wainwright and Garcia actually both below 2.40. In the way of strikeouts, the three pitchers have combined to punch out 440 batters, versus only 160 combined walks.
To put all of this in perspective, no other Cardinals starter has more than four wins on the year. The next-highest win total on the team comes from closer Ryan Franklin, who has won six games. The Cardinals have baseball’s best player at first base in Albert Pujols. But this season, Pujols has not been the only one handling the heavy lifting.
If any of these three men is to win the Cy Young Award, it will likely be Wainwright, who has more wins (17) and strikeouts (178) than the other two. But Wainwright could easily fall short of the honor himself, to premier pitchers such as Ubaldo Jimenez of the Rockies, Roy Halladay of the Phillies or Tim Hudson of the Braves. For now, though, one thing is very clear: The Cardinals are still in the pennant race because of the pitching of three incredibly capable men. These guys don’t need their library to call and tell them they’re winners: They’ve got a dugout full of teammates telling them that every day.
Day One Hundred Thirty: Adam Wainwright, Chris Carpenter & Jaime Garcia, St. Louis Cardinals
Every summer, our local library holds contests for kids each week in different parts of the building. There’s the “Find Buddy the Worm” contest, in which children have to find the laminated cut-out of a cartoon worm somewhere in the children’s section. There’s the “Fun Facts” contest, in which kids are asked a science question, often one about animals. There’s also the “Guess How Much Candy” math question, in which the youngsters try and determine how many Tootsie Rolls or lollipops are inside a clear jar. For all of these contests, the kids write down their answers, place their paper into a large jar, and hope that their correct answer will be the one randomly chosen that week.
So this morning, the phone rings, and it’s the library. Chelsea, I’m told, has won the “Find Buddy” contest, and her prize is waiting at the front desk. I tell her this, and her eyes light up. Her immediate instinct is to go and tell her sister … who is not so happy.
“What about me?” Katie asks. Oh, dear. Here we go.
The phone rings again. It’s the library once more. Katie has won the “Fun Facts” contest this week. Her prize is waiting, too.
Crisis averted. Cheers of joy in the house. It must be my day.
You can’t win everything. It’s just not possible. Even Michael Jordan finished more NBA seasons without a championship than with one. We learn, early on, to enjoy the journey and the many triumphs along the way in life, rather than expecting a prize for everything we do. Somehow, though, that hasn’t stopped me from announcing all the chores I do each day; my wife has explained that no medal is forthcoming, nor will it ever be. But that’s a different blog post for a different day.
The girls pulled off the rare sibling sweep of summer library prizes this week. But that kind of stuff doesn’t usually happen. Over on the baseball field, a trio of pitchers by the names of Adam Wainwright, Chris Carpenter and Jaime Garcia would all love to win the National League’s Cy Young Award this season. And all have put together years quite worthy of this honor. In fact, it is staggering to see just how much these three starting pitchers have carried the St. Louis Cardinals this year. Going into tonight’s action, the Cardinals were 69-59 on the year, good enough to keep them in second place and five games behind the Cincinnati Reds in the National League Central.
But without Wainwright, Carpenter and Garcia, the Cardinals’ season would be long gone. Out of the 69 team wins, the three aces have combined to win 43 of those games. Out of the 59 losses, they’ve claimed only 19 of them. All three men have earned-run averages below 3.00, with Wainwright and Garcia actually both below 2.40. In the way of strikeouts, the three pitchers have combined to punch out 440 batters, versus only 160 combined walks.
To put all of this in perspective, no other Cardinals starter has more than four wins on the year. The next-highest win total on the team comes from closer Ryan Franklin, who has won six games. The Cardinals have baseball’s best player at first base in Albert Pujols. But this season, Pujols has not been the only one handling the heavy lifting.
If any of these three men is to win the Cy Young Award, it will likely be Wainwright, who has more wins (17) and strikeouts (178) than the other two. But Wainwright could easily fall short of the honor himself, to premier pitchers such as Ubaldo Jimenez of the Rockies, Roy Halladay of the Phillies or Tim Hudson of the Braves. For now, though, one thing is very clear: The Cardinals are still in the pennant race because of the pitching of three incredibly capable men. These guys don’t need their library to call and tell them they’re winners: They’ve got a dugout full of teammates telling them that every day.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
A Misplaced Moniker (One Sixty-Two: Day 126)
Writer’s note: One Sixty-Two is a season-long series of blog posts connecting baseball’s major-league players to life’s universal themes. Just as there are 162 games in a season, so there will be 162 posts in this series. Let’s play some ball.
Day One Hundred Twenty-Six: Homer Bailey, Cincinnati Reds
I have written in the past about the temptations of fantasy baseball, and the ways in which I’ve fought the urge to spend hours on make-believe lineups of baseball players. I find it fun spending a few minutes each day on a diversion such as this, and to let my mind escape for a bit. But fantasy baseball only benefits me when I give it a little drawer in my life, rather than a walk-in closet.
This week, I probably leaned a little more toward the closet metaphor than the drawer. Maybe it was all that rain, or maybe it was just my desire to elude two young girls who really need to go back to school. Whatever it was, I spent more time tinkering with this virtual lineup than I have at any point this year. And when I tinker, I tend to overthink the whole thing, and make player moves that don’t really make sense. Then I get frustrated.
Now if you’re looking for a new pitcher for your fantasy baseball team, one universal rule should be that you never select a pitcher whose name is Homer. It just doesn’t compute that you’d get help from a pitcher whose name bespeaks the very thing you least want him to produce while on the mound. So really, who would pick up a guy with that name?
I would, for one. It’s been six years since the Cincinnati Reds selected David “Homer” Bailey with the seventh pick of the amateur draft. In his four years as a big-leaguer, Bailey has shown flashes of brilliance followed by significant struggles. He’s walked a lot of batters, given up loads of runs, and won just 15 games against 15 losses. These are not the results the Reds were hoping for when they drafted the young man out of high school.
But in August 2010, Homer Bailey is still only 24 years old. And in his first two starts since returning from the disabled list this month, Bailey gave up just one run over 13 innings. He won twice and helped the Reds maintain their lead in the National League Central division. So, with the offensively inconsistent San Francisco Giants playing the Reds yesterday, I went ahead and added Bailey to my team.
At some point in the afternoon, I looked at my computer and noticed that ol’ Homer was winning 11-3. Sounds like a good pick, I thought, then went on with my day. When I checked my e-mail during the evening, I stole a glance at the baseball scores. The fact that the Reds still won didn’t mean anything to me. The final score of 12-11 did.
About the only thing Homer Bailey didn’t give up yesterday was a home run. But there were plenty of hits and walks, enough to let the Giants back into the game. After Bailey left with an 11-5 lead, his teammates promptly gave up six more runs and left him unable to earn a win. It was back to the drawing board for Homer. His odyssey toward greatness continues, very much unfinished.
As for me, I dropped Bailey from my fantasy baseball team as soon as I saw the score. I didn’t pick up anyone else to replace him, because I realized that I’d been spending too much time thinking about teams that don’t really exist. So I sat down to write, and read my book, and talked with my parents.
Homer Bailey has a lot of talent, and I hope he can navigate his way to stardom someday. But the next time I find myself overthinking the fantasy baseball stuff, I’m going to pick a pitcher with a nickname like Big Train or Rocket. Something that denotes speed, efficiency and dominance. I’ll leave Homer to the hitters. And the epic journeys.
Day One Hundred Twenty-Six: Homer Bailey, Cincinnati Reds
I have written in the past about the temptations of fantasy baseball, and the ways in which I’ve fought the urge to spend hours on make-believe lineups of baseball players. I find it fun spending a few minutes each day on a diversion such as this, and to let my mind escape for a bit. But fantasy baseball only benefits me when I give it a little drawer in my life, rather than a walk-in closet.
This week, I probably leaned a little more toward the closet metaphor than the drawer. Maybe it was all that rain, or maybe it was just my desire to elude two young girls who really need to go back to school. Whatever it was, I spent more time tinkering with this virtual lineup than I have at any point this year. And when I tinker, I tend to overthink the whole thing, and make player moves that don’t really make sense. Then I get frustrated.
Now if you’re looking for a new pitcher for your fantasy baseball team, one universal rule should be that you never select a pitcher whose name is Homer. It just doesn’t compute that you’d get help from a pitcher whose name bespeaks the very thing you least want him to produce while on the mound. So really, who would pick up a guy with that name?
I would, for one. It’s been six years since the Cincinnati Reds selected David “Homer” Bailey with the seventh pick of the amateur draft. In his four years as a big-leaguer, Bailey has shown flashes of brilliance followed by significant struggles. He’s walked a lot of batters, given up loads of runs, and won just 15 games against 15 losses. These are not the results the Reds were hoping for when they drafted the young man out of high school.
But in August 2010, Homer Bailey is still only 24 years old. And in his first two starts since returning from the disabled list this month, Bailey gave up just one run over 13 innings. He won twice and helped the Reds maintain their lead in the National League Central division. So, with the offensively inconsistent San Francisco Giants playing the Reds yesterday, I went ahead and added Bailey to my team.
At some point in the afternoon, I looked at my computer and noticed that ol’ Homer was winning 11-3. Sounds like a good pick, I thought, then went on with my day. When I checked my e-mail during the evening, I stole a glance at the baseball scores. The fact that the Reds still won didn’t mean anything to me. The final score of 12-11 did.
About the only thing Homer Bailey didn’t give up yesterday was a home run. But there were plenty of hits and walks, enough to let the Giants back into the game. After Bailey left with an 11-5 lead, his teammates promptly gave up six more runs and left him unable to earn a win. It was back to the drawing board for Homer. His odyssey toward greatness continues, very much unfinished.
As for me, I dropped Bailey from my fantasy baseball team as soon as I saw the score. I didn’t pick up anyone else to replace him, because I realized that I’d been spending too much time thinking about teams that don’t really exist. So I sat down to write, and read my book, and talked with my parents.
Homer Bailey has a lot of talent, and I hope he can navigate his way to stardom someday. But the next time I find myself overthinking the fantasy baseball stuff, I’m going to pick a pitcher with a nickname like Big Train or Rocket. Something that denotes speed, efficiency and dominance. I’ll leave Homer to the hitters. And the epic journeys.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Here I Come to Save the Day (One Sixty-Two: Day 125)
Writer’s note: One Sixty-Two is a season-long series of blog posts connecting baseball’s major-league players to life’s universal themes. Just as there are 162 games in a season, so there will be 162 posts in this series. Let’s play some ball.
Day One Hundred Twenty-Five: Ryan Franklin, St. Louis Cardinals
There is a small rack of batteries at the front of an aisle in a Staples store on Route 22 in Springfield, N.J. It’s nothing you’d notice while on your way to make copies or buy a three-ring binder. But on a drizzly summer evening, this little rack held a saving grace for a man wearing gym clothes and holding a driver’s manual in his hand.
I kept clicking the car alarm sensor, and it just would not beep. I opened the plastic sensor case, took out the tiny battery, and placed it back in the case. Still no beep. Searching for another way to disarm the alarm, I unlocked the car door and grabbed the driver’s manual out of the glove compartment. Ten minutes later, with the alarm blaring throughout the Bally Fitness parking lot, I gave up that idea. I soon set out on foot through a few neighboring lots alongside hectic Route 22.
As I reached Staples, a red-shirted employee directed me to that rack of batteries. It was here that I found the one-inch-long alkaline battery I needed. A few minutes later, I had disarmed my car and could drive it home. Two dollars, 17 cents and a less-than-scenic walk – that was all it took to save the day.
A few years ago, there was a generally mediocre pitcher toiling in the Cincinnati Reds’ bullpen. His name was Ryan Franklin, and his career numbers were the kind you’d easily flip past while looking through a baseball magazine. In the 2004-05 seasons, for instance, Franklin’s combined record with the Seattle Mariners was 12-31. But as the St. Louis Cardinals prepared for the 2007 season, they needed some help in their bullpen. So they spent a few dollars on Franklin, and signed him up in the hope that he could turn things around.
After almost four seasons in St. Louis, Ryan Franklin has given the Cardinals far more than a little battery power. He has risen up the ranks to team closer, and has saved 76 games for the team over the past three years. Last season, Franklin earned a spot on the National League’s All-Star team. This year, he’s striking out five times as many batters as he’s walking.
A closer’s most important job is to preserve a win in the final inning. When he does this, he’s credited with saving the game. When Franklin takes the mound in search of a save, he – like the rest of his teammates – dresses in red. Same as the guys at Staples. And like a battery you never knew you’d need, Ryan Franklin has hopped off the shelf, shut down the alarms, and made the ride home a lot smoother for the fans in St. Louis.
Day One Hundred Twenty-Five: Ryan Franklin, St. Louis Cardinals
There is a small rack of batteries at the front of an aisle in a Staples store on Route 22 in Springfield, N.J. It’s nothing you’d notice while on your way to make copies or buy a three-ring binder. But on a drizzly summer evening, this little rack held a saving grace for a man wearing gym clothes and holding a driver’s manual in his hand.
I kept clicking the car alarm sensor, and it just would not beep. I opened the plastic sensor case, took out the tiny battery, and placed it back in the case. Still no beep. Searching for another way to disarm the alarm, I unlocked the car door and grabbed the driver’s manual out of the glove compartment. Ten minutes later, with the alarm blaring throughout the Bally Fitness parking lot, I gave up that idea. I soon set out on foot through a few neighboring lots alongside hectic Route 22.
As I reached Staples, a red-shirted employee directed me to that rack of batteries. It was here that I found the one-inch-long alkaline battery I needed. A few minutes later, I had disarmed my car and could drive it home. Two dollars, 17 cents and a less-than-scenic walk – that was all it took to save the day.
A few years ago, there was a generally mediocre pitcher toiling in the Cincinnati Reds’ bullpen. His name was Ryan Franklin, and his career numbers were the kind you’d easily flip past while looking through a baseball magazine. In the 2004-05 seasons, for instance, Franklin’s combined record with the Seattle Mariners was 12-31. But as the St. Louis Cardinals prepared for the 2007 season, they needed some help in their bullpen. So they spent a few dollars on Franklin, and signed him up in the hope that he could turn things around.
After almost four seasons in St. Louis, Ryan Franklin has given the Cardinals far more than a little battery power. He has risen up the ranks to team closer, and has saved 76 games for the team over the past three years. Last season, Franklin earned a spot on the National League’s All-Star team. This year, he’s striking out five times as many batters as he’s walking.
A closer’s most important job is to preserve a win in the final inning. When he does this, he’s credited with saving the game. When Franklin takes the mound in search of a save, he – like the rest of his teammates – dresses in red. Same as the guys at Staples. And like a battery you never knew you’d need, Ryan Franklin has hopped off the shelf, shut down the alarms, and made the ride home a lot smoother for the fans in St. Louis.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
No Doggin' It (One Sixty-Two: Day 117)
Writer’s note: One Sixty-Two is a season-long series of blog posts connecting baseball’s major-league players to life’s universal themes. Just as there are 162 games in a season, so there will be 162 posts in this series. Let’s play some ball.
Day One Hundred Seventeen: Carlos Gonzalez, Colorado Rockies
I paid my fine today. Five dollars to the library, for a lost magazine.
Only it wasn’t lost. This copy of The Writer was, in fact, eaten – partially, at least. A bite-size chunk of pages 1-10 was taken out of the periodical by an 8-month-old dog who happens to live in our house. Whenever Daisy finds herself full of energy yet devoid of others’ attention, she looks around for some mischief to munch on. Typically, she searches for tissues or pieces of paper. At my parents’ house, this habit hit a new high (or low) when she devoured my mom’s $200 mouthpiece. When you catch her in the act, Daisy lowers her head and ducks beneath the nearest piece of furniture. She may not have complete self-control yet, but she does have an idea of what guilt feels like.
These are the dog days of summer. And while some of us have actual dogs searching for ways to spice up these days, even those without a frisky canine share an understanding of what this time of year means. The Romans created this title in reference to the proximity of Sirius, also known as the Dog Star, to the sun during these warm summer days. They figured this shift in the constellation was the reason for all the hot weather and unpredictable behavior July and August would bring. In today’s world, we tend to connect this seasonal nickname with metaphors: It is in August, for instance, when we’re most likely to “dog it,” and move about at a slower, more lethargic pace. In a particularly warm summer such as this one, this is often true.
In baseball, the dog days bring with them summer’s fiercest grind. As the season begins its final 45 games, players find themselves handling yet another 90-degree day, another nine-inning game, and another nine-pitch at-bat. It can be difficult to keep the focus and momentum going. Yet, when you’re trying to stay in a pennant race, that focus is essential.
Carlos Gonzalez has had a long season as the Colorado Rockies’ versatile starting outfielder. His team is struggling to remain in the National League West divisional hunt, but Gonzalez is fighting against the drain of mid-August. Instead of slumping through the dog days, Gonzalez has taken his own bite out of the magazine, grabbing fans’ attention with an MVP-caliber season. So far, Gonzalez has belted 25 home runs, driven in nearly 80 runs, stolen almost 20 and hit for an average above .320. He leads the National League in hits, and is second in total bases. Gonzalez, along with fellow National Leaguers Joey Votto of the Reds and Albert Pujols of the Cardinals, is making a serious run at winning the first Triple Crown in 43 years (that’s leading the league in homers, RBI and batting average).
Three years ago, as the dog days turned toward September, the Rockies put together an astounding string of victories that led them all the way to the World Series. It’s not too late for that to happen again in 2010. But if history is to repeat itself, Carlos Gonzalez may have to lead the way. If he does, he’ll clearly be Denver’s top dog, and its biggest star. That’s Sirius stuff. Enough to push a player through the grind.
Day One Hundred Seventeen: Carlos Gonzalez, Colorado Rockies
I paid my fine today. Five dollars to the library, for a lost magazine.
Only it wasn’t lost. This copy of The Writer was, in fact, eaten – partially, at least. A bite-size chunk of pages 1-10 was taken out of the periodical by an 8-month-old dog who happens to live in our house. Whenever Daisy finds herself full of energy yet devoid of others’ attention, she looks around for some mischief to munch on. Typically, she searches for tissues or pieces of paper. At my parents’ house, this habit hit a new high (or low) when she devoured my mom’s $200 mouthpiece. When you catch her in the act, Daisy lowers her head and ducks beneath the nearest piece of furniture. She may not have complete self-control yet, but she does have an idea of what guilt feels like.
These are the dog days of summer. And while some of us have actual dogs searching for ways to spice up these days, even those without a frisky canine share an understanding of what this time of year means. The Romans created this title in reference to the proximity of Sirius, also known as the Dog Star, to the sun during these warm summer days. They figured this shift in the constellation was the reason for all the hot weather and unpredictable behavior July and August would bring. In today’s world, we tend to connect this seasonal nickname with metaphors: It is in August, for instance, when we’re most likely to “dog it,” and move about at a slower, more lethargic pace. In a particularly warm summer such as this one, this is often true.
In baseball, the dog days bring with them summer’s fiercest grind. As the season begins its final 45 games, players find themselves handling yet another 90-degree day, another nine-inning game, and another nine-pitch at-bat. It can be difficult to keep the focus and momentum going. Yet, when you’re trying to stay in a pennant race, that focus is essential.
Carlos Gonzalez has had a long season as the Colorado Rockies’ versatile starting outfielder. His team is struggling to remain in the National League West divisional hunt, but Gonzalez is fighting against the drain of mid-August. Instead of slumping through the dog days, Gonzalez has taken his own bite out of the magazine, grabbing fans’ attention with an MVP-caliber season. So far, Gonzalez has belted 25 home runs, driven in nearly 80 runs, stolen almost 20 and hit for an average above .320. He leads the National League in hits, and is second in total bases. Gonzalez, along with fellow National Leaguers Joey Votto of the Reds and Albert Pujols of the Cardinals, is making a serious run at winning the first Triple Crown in 43 years (that’s leading the league in homers, RBI and batting average).
Three years ago, as the dog days turned toward September, the Rockies put together an astounding string of victories that led them all the way to the World Series. It’s not too late for that to happen again in 2010. But if history is to repeat itself, Carlos Gonzalez may have to lead the way. If he does, he’ll clearly be Denver’s top dog, and its biggest star. That’s Sirius stuff. Enough to push a player through the grind.
Friday, August 13, 2010
The Rock (One Sixty-Two: Day 113)
Writer’s note: One Sixty-Two is a season-long series of blog posts connecting baseball’s major-league players to life’s universal themes. Just as there are 162 games in a season, so there will be 162 posts in this series. Let’s play some ball.
Day One Hundred Thirteen: Orlando Cabrera, Cincinnati Reds
The rock rises about eight feet above the water, and it’s anchored to the bottom of the pond some five feet below the surface. It’s a nice-looking boulder, and it serves as a magnet to those tooling about Tispaquin Pond in Middleborough, Mass.
Those in kayaks paddle to the rock. The sailboats sweep around it. The kids in their inner tubes kick their way over to it. And the swimmers, who start at their own docks dotted around the edge of the pond, swim to the rock.
It is the destination, the goal. Your job, as you paddle or bear off or push through another breaststroke, is to find your way there. You look at the round, grey rock, visualize the act of reaching it, then watch as you inch closer with each movement. When you finally touch the smooth stone, you stop and look around. A gull flies off the top of the rock just to be safe, and you catch your breath as you feel the rocks beneath your feet or let your hand skim the surface in this shallow but glorious body of water. Then you turn around and begin to steel yourself for the trip back.
Swimming to a boulder in a pond just north of Cape Cod may not sound like much, but it feels like an awesome accomplishment once you’ve gotten there. We set goals for ourselves all the time, and the clearer we can see them in front of us, the more likely we are to reach them.
In baseball, making it to the postseason is the primary goal of any self-respecting ballplayer. But what does it really take to get there, and how do you maintain the momentum needed to reach the playoffs over a marathon season of 162 games? The Cincinnati Reds are trying to figure that out. This year’s Reds have been in the pennant race all season, and are still just a game out of first place in the National League Central despite a difficult week. Some of the Cincinnati players are young and very talented, but they have no idea what it’s like to compete in a pennant race, as the Reds haven’t been to the postseason since 1995.
So before and during this season, Reds management has acquired a number of veterans who have played baseball in October, and who know what it takes to reach that rock. Catcher Ramon Hernandez made it to the playoffs in five of his first seven years as a big-leaguer. Third baseman Scott Rolen and outfielder Jim Edmonds both won two pennants and one world championship in St. Louis. Utility player Miguel Cairo, pitcher Bronson Arroyo and reliever Arthur Rhodes are all veterans of the playoff scene.
And then there is starting shortstop Orlando Cabrera, who has the unique experience of playing in the postseason for four different teams over the previous six seasons. If he does it again with the Reds in 2010, Cabrera will make it five different teams in seven years. Ever since the Montreal Expos traded Cabrera to the Red Sox in July of 2004 and the shortstop helped lead Boston to a championship that fall, he has been showing players how to make it to the rock year in and year out. Last year, it was in Minnesota. The year before that, Chicago.
This year, as the Cincinnati faithful hope upon hope that this might just be the year, the young players will get a bit nervous at times, and perhaps a bit cocky at others. That’s why you need a guy like Orlando Cabrera to remind those players how to keep their eyes squarely on that rock. Every step of the way.
You can’t let up, at least until you’ve made it there and back to your own deck. Then you can lie down on the wooden planks, soak up the sun, and let out a smile. Then you can say that you’ve gotten the job done.
Day One Hundred Thirteen: Orlando Cabrera, Cincinnati Reds
The rock rises about eight feet above the water, and it’s anchored to the bottom of the pond some five feet below the surface. It’s a nice-looking boulder, and it serves as a magnet to those tooling about Tispaquin Pond in Middleborough, Mass.
Those in kayaks paddle to the rock. The sailboats sweep around it. The kids in their inner tubes kick their way over to it. And the swimmers, who start at their own docks dotted around the edge of the pond, swim to the rock.
It is the destination, the goal. Your job, as you paddle or bear off or push through another breaststroke, is to find your way there. You look at the round, grey rock, visualize the act of reaching it, then watch as you inch closer with each movement. When you finally touch the smooth stone, you stop and look around. A gull flies off the top of the rock just to be safe, and you catch your breath as you feel the rocks beneath your feet or let your hand skim the surface in this shallow but glorious body of water. Then you turn around and begin to steel yourself for the trip back.
Swimming to a boulder in a pond just north of Cape Cod may not sound like much, but it feels like an awesome accomplishment once you’ve gotten there. We set goals for ourselves all the time, and the clearer we can see them in front of us, the more likely we are to reach them.
In baseball, making it to the postseason is the primary goal of any self-respecting ballplayer. But what does it really take to get there, and how do you maintain the momentum needed to reach the playoffs over a marathon season of 162 games? The Cincinnati Reds are trying to figure that out. This year’s Reds have been in the pennant race all season, and are still just a game out of first place in the National League Central despite a difficult week. Some of the Cincinnati players are young and very talented, but they have no idea what it’s like to compete in a pennant race, as the Reds haven’t been to the postseason since 1995.
So before and during this season, Reds management has acquired a number of veterans who have played baseball in October, and who know what it takes to reach that rock. Catcher Ramon Hernandez made it to the playoffs in five of his first seven years as a big-leaguer. Third baseman Scott Rolen and outfielder Jim Edmonds both won two pennants and one world championship in St. Louis. Utility player Miguel Cairo, pitcher Bronson Arroyo and reliever Arthur Rhodes are all veterans of the playoff scene.
And then there is starting shortstop Orlando Cabrera, who has the unique experience of playing in the postseason for four different teams over the previous six seasons. If he does it again with the Reds in 2010, Cabrera will make it five different teams in seven years. Ever since the Montreal Expos traded Cabrera to the Red Sox in July of 2004 and the shortstop helped lead Boston to a championship that fall, he has been showing players how to make it to the rock year in and year out. Last year, it was in Minnesota. The year before that, Chicago.
This year, as the Cincinnati faithful hope upon hope that this might just be the year, the young players will get a bit nervous at times, and perhaps a bit cocky at others. That’s why you need a guy like Orlando Cabrera to remind those players how to keep their eyes squarely on that rock. Every step of the way.
You can’t let up, at least until you’ve made it there and back to your own deck. Then you can lie down on the wooden planks, soak up the sun, and let out a smile. Then you can say that you’ve gotten the job done.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
It Works If You Work It (One Sixty-Two: Day 68)
Writer’s note: One Sixty-Two is a season-long series of blog posts connecting baseball’s major-league players to life’s universal themes. Just as there are 162 games in a season, so there will be 162 posts in this series. Let’s play some ball.
Day Sixty-Eight: Josh Hamilton, Texas Rangers
My father asked me, about a month ago, what was up with Josh Hamilton. The Texas Rangers outfielder was batting during a nationally televised game, and his numbers for the year were rather pedestrian.
“Isn’t he supposed to be this great player?” my dad asked.
Yes, I said, he is. But Hamilton had struggled with injuries over the past year, so I didn’t know if he was still hurt. Of course, my dad knew all about Hamilton’s recovery from substance abuse, and the reckless manner in which he nearly threw away his enormous talent in exchange for drugs and alcohol. My dad also knew about Hamilton’s courageous recovery from those life-threatening addictions. He knew about Hamilton’s big-league debut at age 26 with the Cincinnati Reds, followed a year later by his 32-homer, 130-RBI explosion in 2008 with the Texas Rangers. I also knew about Hamilton’s relapse early in 2009, and the immediate help he sought after falling off the wagon.
So as Hamilton stood at bat early in his fourth season, my dad wanted to know if Hamilton’s one great year was an aberration. Was the former No. 1 draft pick really as good as those numbers revealed? My dad asked this in late May, at a time when Hamilton had fewer than 10 home runs on the year, about 25 runs batted in, and a batting average well below .300. All fine, but nothing special.
And then the calendar turned. June has been a little different for Josh Hamilton. We’ve still got two days left, but already Hamilton has locked up the honors for American League player of the month. His numbers are staggering: nine home runs, 30 RBI, 47 hits, a .470 batting average and a 21-game hitting streak.
And you talk about a most valuable player – in games in which the Rangers win, Hamilton is hitting .404 with 15 home runs. In games in which they lose, he’s hitting .248 with three homers. So far, it’s been more wins than losses for the Rangers, who lead their division by 4½ games. When the All-Star Game is played in a couple of weeks, Hamilton will be there, for a third straight season.
It’s always exciting to see a gifted athlete perform at his highest level. Right now in Arlington, Texas, the Rangers are watching a 29-year-old man play baseball better than anyone who has ever worn the Rangers uniform. This man has been scarred by the demons of his past. Those demons beat him up badly, and left him empty and alone. And then, even after he’d written a book about his inspiring recovery, those demons got him again. But once more, he got back up.
Scarred, yes. Humbled, indeed. But not slain. Josh Hamilton is still standing. Standing and slugging.
So Dad, I think we know the answer to your question now. “Great” may be too mild a term. And “reborn” is probably too strong a term, despite the temptation to overdramatize Hamilton’s comebacks.
In the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous, the men and women who attend AA meetings often close with these words: “Keep coming back; it works if you work it.” In terms of English grammar, this makes no sense. But in terms of recovery and wellness, it makes all the sense in the world.
Keep coming back, Josh. Keep working it. It’s working.
Day Sixty-Eight: Josh Hamilton, Texas Rangers
My father asked me, about a month ago, what was up with Josh Hamilton. The Texas Rangers outfielder was batting during a nationally televised game, and his numbers for the year were rather pedestrian.
“Isn’t he supposed to be this great player?” my dad asked.
Yes, I said, he is. But Hamilton had struggled with injuries over the past year, so I didn’t know if he was still hurt. Of course, my dad knew all about Hamilton’s recovery from substance abuse, and the reckless manner in which he nearly threw away his enormous talent in exchange for drugs and alcohol. My dad also knew about Hamilton’s courageous recovery from those life-threatening addictions. He knew about Hamilton’s big-league debut at age 26 with the Cincinnati Reds, followed a year later by his 32-homer, 130-RBI explosion in 2008 with the Texas Rangers. I also knew about Hamilton’s relapse early in 2009, and the immediate help he sought after falling off the wagon.
So as Hamilton stood at bat early in his fourth season, my dad wanted to know if Hamilton’s one great year was an aberration. Was the former No. 1 draft pick really as good as those numbers revealed? My dad asked this in late May, at a time when Hamilton had fewer than 10 home runs on the year, about 25 runs batted in, and a batting average well below .300. All fine, but nothing special.
And then the calendar turned. June has been a little different for Josh Hamilton. We’ve still got two days left, but already Hamilton has locked up the honors for American League player of the month. His numbers are staggering: nine home runs, 30 RBI, 47 hits, a .470 batting average and a 21-game hitting streak.
And you talk about a most valuable player – in games in which the Rangers win, Hamilton is hitting .404 with 15 home runs. In games in which they lose, he’s hitting .248 with three homers. So far, it’s been more wins than losses for the Rangers, who lead their division by 4½ games. When the All-Star Game is played in a couple of weeks, Hamilton will be there, for a third straight season.
It’s always exciting to see a gifted athlete perform at his highest level. Right now in Arlington, Texas, the Rangers are watching a 29-year-old man play baseball better than anyone who has ever worn the Rangers uniform. This man has been scarred by the demons of his past. Those demons beat him up badly, and left him empty and alone. And then, even after he’d written a book about his inspiring recovery, those demons got him again. But once more, he got back up.
Scarred, yes. Humbled, indeed. But not slain. Josh Hamilton is still standing. Standing and slugging.
So Dad, I think we know the answer to your question now. “Great” may be too mild a term. And “reborn” is probably too strong a term, despite the temptation to overdramatize Hamilton’s comebacks.
In the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous, the men and women who attend AA meetings often close with these words: “Keep coming back; it works if you work it.” In terms of English grammar, this makes no sense. But in terms of recovery and wellness, it makes all the sense in the world.
Keep coming back, Josh. Keep working it. It’s working.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
A Healthy Dose of Cricket (One Sixty-Two: Day 31)
Writer’s note: One Sixty-Two is a season-long series of blog posts connecting baseball’s major-league players to life’s universal themes. Just as there are 162 games in a season, so there will be 162 posts in this series. Let’s play some ball.
Day Thirty-One: Scott Rolen, Cincinnati Reds
We were eating ice cream last night in a playground near our home, and in the ballfield next to the playground more than a dozen men were playing cricket. The men had turned the area between home plate and the pitcher’s mound into the traditional cricket “pitch,” and they had wickets posted at either end. They had the traditional cricket bats and ball, and were well into their game by the time we peered through the chain-link fence.
My girls and their cousins were captivated by the game, as they’d never seen it before. Everything about it was foreign to them – the rules, the equipment, the movements, and the Middle-Eastern language being spoken on the field. Some of the players wore T-shirts and shorts, some wore long-sleeve shirts and pants, while others wore official-looking cricket uniforms. They spread out around the field in their positions as bowlers, wicketkeepers, fielders and batters.
I have learned bits and pieces about cricket over the years, but I still don’t have a full grasp of the rules. Last night, what stood out most to me was how well the fielders could catch that leather ball with their bare hands. I’m used to catching (or dropping) well-hit balls with a big, leather glove. But as these men handled fly balls and grounders with nothing but their hands, I was more than a bit impressed.
It reminded me of Cincinnati Reds third baseman Scott Rolen, who is the best at making barehanded plays in baseball these days. To watch Rolen field a slow roller with his right hand, whip the ball sidearm to first, and nab that runner by a half-step is a thing of beauty. But I imagine even Rolen would have a hard time grabbing some of those hits on the cricket field.
One of my former students conducted a class presentation on cricket a few years ago, and she brought her stepfather, who is from Pakistan, into school to help teach us the game. The students were fascinated, as they found themselves learning sport and culture at the same time. In 2010, America could use a lot more of that. As tensions and words unsaid create walls between individuals from different backgrounds, a little sharing of traditions and pastimes might do us a world of good.
Perhaps if we’re at the playground again and I see a cricket game under way, I’ll introduce myself. While I’m at it, I can introduce my girls as well. A connection between cultures might go well with ice cream. And, just maybe, I might learn how to make one of those bare-handed catches.
Day Thirty-One: Scott Rolen, Cincinnati Reds
We were eating ice cream last night in a playground near our home, and in the ballfield next to the playground more than a dozen men were playing cricket. The men had turned the area between home plate and the pitcher’s mound into the traditional cricket “pitch,” and they had wickets posted at either end. They had the traditional cricket bats and ball, and were well into their game by the time we peered through the chain-link fence.
My girls and their cousins were captivated by the game, as they’d never seen it before. Everything about it was foreign to them – the rules, the equipment, the movements, and the Middle-Eastern language being spoken on the field. Some of the players wore T-shirts and shorts, some wore long-sleeve shirts and pants, while others wore official-looking cricket uniforms. They spread out around the field in their positions as bowlers, wicketkeepers, fielders and batters.
I have learned bits and pieces about cricket over the years, but I still don’t have a full grasp of the rules. Last night, what stood out most to me was how well the fielders could catch that leather ball with their bare hands. I’m used to catching (or dropping) well-hit balls with a big, leather glove. But as these men handled fly balls and grounders with nothing but their hands, I was more than a bit impressed.
It reminded me of Cincinnati Reds third baseman Scott Rolen, who is the best at making barehanded plays in baseball these days. To watch Rolen field a slow roller with his right hand, whip the ball sidearm to first, and nab that runner by a half-step is a thing of beauty. But I imagine even Rolen would have a hard time grabbing some of those hits on the cricket field.
One of my former students conducted a class presentation on cricket a few years ago, and she brought her stepfather, who is from Pakistan, into school to help teach us the game. The students were fascinated, as they found themselves learning sport and culture at the same time. In 2010, America could use a lot more of that. As tensions and words unsaid create walls between individuals from different backgrounds, a little sharing of traditions and pastimes might do us a world of good.
Perhaps if we’re at the playground again and I see a cricket game under way, I’ll introduce myself. While I’m at it, I can introduce my girls as well. A connection between cultures might go well with ice cream. And, just maybe, I might learn how to make one of those bare-handed catches.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
The Big Red Hybrid (One Sixty-Two: Day 23)
Writer’s note: One Sixty-Two is a season-long series of blog posts connecting baseball’s major-league players to life’s universal themes. Just as there are 162 games in a season, so there will be 162 posts in this series. Let’s play some ball.
Day Twenty-Three: Joey Votto, Cincinnati Reds
I’ve been enjoying Joe Posnanski’s The Machine, a deliciously detailed book about the 1975 Cincinnati Reds. Posnanski, who writes for Sports Illustrated, has crafted a vibrant chronicle of one of the great seasons any team has had in baseball history. The Big Red Machine, as the Cincinnati club was called at this time, was a thoroughly dominant club, yet had to win one of the closest World Series of all time in order to claim the championship it craved.
As I read The Machine, I’m inspired to learn of the belief that so many Reds players had in one another, as well as the tremendous confidence that manager Sparky Anderson had in his club. As the team struggled in mid-May, Anderson unloaded on his players before a game in Montreal: “I’m sick and damn tired of hearing that the Big Red Machine is dead,” Posnanski quotes Anderson as saying. “That’s what they’re saying out there. That we’re dead. Well, let me tell you something, we ain’t dead. We’re gonna win this thing. We’re gonna win because this is the best damn team in baseball.”
Star players such as Pete Rose, Joe Morgan, Johnny Bench and Tony Perez responded to Anderson’s leadership in a big way, leading the Reds to 108 wins on the year, including 90 wins in their last 125 games, followed by that classic seven-game World Series win against the Red Sox. The Reds would follow their amazing ’75 season with another championship in 1976.
From 1970-76, the Cincinnati Reds won four pennants, claimed two titles, and made the playoffs five times. Yet in the 34 years since then, the Reds have made the playoffs just three times. Cincinnati has not been a part of the postseason at all in the past 15 years, and has not finished with a winning record since 2000. They don’t use terms like Big Red Machine when speaking of this ballclub anymore.
The Cincinnati Red Stockings were baseball’s first professional team in 1869, and the city of Cincinnati has played an essential role in the history of the game. Part of baseball’s greatness lies in its tradition and history, and it is time that the tradition of winning returns to the city of Cincinnati.
Joey Votto is where it all begins. The 26-year-old first baseman is one current Red who would have done just fine on the Big Red Machine. Votto hits over .300, drives in runs, hits homers over the wall and smacks doubles off the wall. He takes his walks, steals the occasional base, and fields his position. As with so many stars of the post-steroid era, Votto is more of a hybrid than a diesel engine – he quietly, steadily, and efficiently gets the job done.
The Reds are not yet a team full of Joey Vottos. But one can only hope that sooner rather than later, the franchise will find a way to surround Votto with a roster capable of winning it all. It can be done. As Votto himself proves, these modern times don’t require a machine. Just a lot of clean, energy efficiency. Like doubles off the wall.
Day Twenty-Three: Joey Votto, Cincinnati Reds
I’ve been enjoying Joe Posnanski’s The Machine, a deliciously detailed book about the 1975 Cincinnati Reds. Posnanski, who writes for Sports Illustrated, has crafted a vibrant chronicle of one of the great seasons any team has had in baseball history. The Big Red Machine, as the Cincinnati club was called at this time, was a thoroughly dominant club, yet had to win one of the closest World Series of all time in order to claim the championship it craved.
As I read The Machine, I’m inspired to learn of the belief that so many Reds players had in one another, as well as the tremendous confidence that manager Sparky Anderson had in his club. As the team struggled in mid-May, Anderson unloaded on his players before a game in Montreal: “I’m sick and damn tired of hearing that the Big Red Machine is dead,” Posnanski quotes Anderson as saying. “That’s what they’re saying out there. That we’re dead. Well, let me tell you something, we ain’t dead. We’re gonna win this thing. We’re gonna win because this is the best damn team in baseball.”
Star players such as Pete Rose, Joe Morgan, Johnny Bench and Tony Perez responded to Anderson’s leadership in a big way, leading the Reds to 108 wins on the year, including 90 wins in their last 125 games, followed by that classic seven-game World Series win against the Red Sox. The Reds would follow their amazing ’75 season with another championship in 1976.
From 1970-76, the Cincinnati Reds won four pennants, claimed two titles, and made the playoffs five times. Yet in the 34 years since then, the Reds have made the playoffs just three times. Cincinnati has not been a part of the postseason at all in the past 15 years, and has not finished with a winning record since 2000. They don’t use terms like Big Red Machine when speaking of this ballclub anymore.
The Cincinnati Red Stockings were baseball’s first professional team in 1869, and the city of Cincinnati has played an essential role in the history of the game. Part of baseball’s greatness lies in its tradition and history, and it is time that the tradition of winning returns to the city of Cincinnati.
Joey Votto is where it all begins. The 26-year-old first baseman is one current Red who would have done just fine on the Big Red Machine. Votto hits over .300, drives in runs, hits homers over the wall and smacks doubles off the wall. He takes his walks, steals the occasional base, and fields his position. As with so many stars of the post-steroid era, Votto is more of a hybrid than a diesel engine – he quietly, steadily, and efficiently gets the job done.
The Reds are not yet a team full of Joey Vottos. But one can only hope that sooner rather than later, the franchise will find a way to surround Votto with a roster capable of winning it all. It can be done. As Votto himself proves, these modern times don’t require a machine. Just a lot of clean, energy efficiency. Like doubles off the wall.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Let's Play Some Ball
They asked me to write a baseball preview for the school newspaper back in my sophomore year of college. I had earned that job because, in a writers’ poll the year before, I had chosen the Cincinnati Reds to win the 1990 World Series. I was a big Lou Piniella fan, and he had taken over as Reds manager. In October of ‘90, my colleagues at the paper weren’t the only ones surprised that I had gotten this pick right – the entire baseball world watched in amazement as the Reds swept an Oakland A’s team that seemed nearly flawless.
So in 1991, as I penned my baseball preview, I felt it my responsibility to make another surprise pick. I liked the young talent on the Chicago White Sox, so I chose them to defeat the also young and talented Montreal Expos in the World Series.
That didn’t happen.
However … it did start a trend in my April baseball picks – I began falling in love with teams that were filled with young talent. And, inevitably, I was a year or two early in predicting these teams’ postseason success. It wasn’t 1991 that the White Sox made it back to the playoffs, but 1993. It wasn’t ’91 that Montreal made its big move, but 1994, a season that never saw the playoffs due to the absence of a labor agreement.
I gushed over the Milwaukee Brewers in 2005, ’06 and ’07, only to see them make the playoffs in ’08. I liked the Oakland A’s in ’05, but they made the American League Championship Series in 2006. I chose the Cleveland Indians to make the World Series in ’06, yet it was the following year that saw them come within a game of the Fall Classic. I picked the Phillies to make the World Series in ’07, only to see them win it in ’08. I picked the Mets to win it all last year, so that’s good news for the guys in Queens.
And so, as baseball’s regular season begins tonight, I present you with my picks for this year. As you read, I’d suggest you pencil these teams in for 2010.
American League: It seems that the New York Yankees will do whatever is needed to win the American League East this year, even if that means paying Sandy Koufax to find a fountain of youth and return to the mound. I’ll pick the Yanks for the division, with the Tampa Bay Rays and their scintillating young talent edging out the Boston Red Sox for the wild card. In the AL Central, I think the Detroit Tigers are the most professional ballclub in an evenly matched division, with the Indians right behind them and the Kansas City Royals paving the way for a return to postseason play in 2010. In the West, I am concerned about injuries to the Los Angeles Angels’ pitching rotation, but in a weak division I imagine they’ll trade for pitching if they need to do so. It is possible, however, that the Texas Rangers will be a much stronger team than most are predicting they will be. I like the Yankees defeating the Tigers in the Division Series, and the Angels outpitching the Rays. In the ALCS, I see the Yankees exorcising some demons by finally defeating the Angels.
National League: The Mets and Phillies both have tremendous ballclubs this year, and therefore they will both make the playoffs. I see the gritty, confident Phillies edging out New York for the division crown, but with both teams being well aware by mid-September that they’re playoff-bound. In the NL Central, the Chicago Cubs have tremendous pitching coupled with weaknesses in their lineup, but it will be enough to hold off the Brewers or whoever lands in second place. In the NL West, the Los Angeles Dodgers and Arizona Diamondbacks will duel it out in a very tight race, with the Rockies making some noise back in third place. But the Dodgers are just too talented a team, and if pitching is a problem, they’ll make the necessary moves as the season ensues. I like the Dodgers over the Mets in a classic Division Series matchup, and the Cubs edging out the Phillies in another close contest. The Dodgers will be far too much for the Cubs to handle in a seven-game championship series, putting Joe Torre’s group in the Series.
What a matchup: Yankees versus Dodgers; Torre versus the club he managed to four titles. The two historic franchises will meet in the World Series for the first time in 28 years, and they will be so evenly matched that the series can’t help but go seven. The Dodgers’ young players will find intestinal fortitude they never knew they had, and Torre will keep them calm amidst the nerve-wracking intensity of the Fall Classic. Matt Kemp will provide the big blow for Los Angeles in Game Seven, and the City of Angels will place a permanent halo over Torre’s head, as he leads the Dodgers to their first title in 21 years.
So there you have it – one man’s humble predictions in the newness of spring. As the season begins, it is indeed true that every team is tied for first place right now. But if you notice my picks, you’ll see that the Rays and Tigers are the only teams from mid-sized markets that I chose for this year’s playoffs. More than getting my World Series picks right, I’d love to see close races, involving teams with a variety of salary scales. That would be some real baseball.
So in 1991, as I penned my baseball preview, I felt it my responsibility to make another surprise pick. I liked the young talent on the Chicago White Sox, so I chose them to defeat the also young and talented Montreal Expos in the World Series.
That didn’t happen.
However … it did start a trend in my April baseball picks – I began falling in love with teams that were filled with young talent. And, inevitably, I was a year or two early in predicting these teams’ postseason success. It wasn’t 1991 that the White Sox made it back to the playoffs, but 1993. It wasn’t ’91 that Montreal made its big move, but 1994, a season that never saw the playoffs due to the absence of a labor agreement.
I gushed over the Milwaukee Brewers in 2005, ’06 and ’07, only to see them make the playoffs in ’08. I liked the Oakland A’s in ’05, but they made the American League Championship Series in 2006. I chose the Cleveland Indians to make the World Series in ’06, yet it was the following year that saw them come within a game of the Fall Classic. I picked the Phillies to make the World Series in ’07, only to see them win it in ’08. I picked the Mets to win it all last year, so that’s good news for the guys in Queens.
And so, as baseball’s regular season begins tonight, I present you with my picks for this year. As you read, I’d suggest you pencil these teams in for 2010.
American League: It seems that the New York Yankees will do whatever is needed to win the American League East this year, even if that means paying Sandy Koufax to find a fountain of youth and return to the mound. I’ll pick the Yanks for the division, with the Tampa Bay Rays and their scintillating young talent edging out the Boston Red Sox for the wild card. In the AL Central, I think the Detroit Tigers are the most professional ballclub in an evenly matched division, with the Indians right behind them and the Kansas City Royals paving the way for a return to postseason play in 2010. In the West, I am concerned about injuries to the Los Angeles Angels’ pitching rotation, but in a weak division I imagine they’ll trade for pitching if they need to do so. It is possible, however, that the Texas Rangers will be a much stronger team than most are predicting they will be. I like the Yankees defeating the Tigers in the Division Series, and the Angels outpitching the Rays. In the ALCS, I see the Yankees exorcising some demons by finally defeating the Angels.
National League: The Mets and Phillies both have tremendous ballclubs this year, and therefore they will both make the playoffs. I see the gritty, confident Phillies edging out New York for the division crown, but with both teams being well aware by mid-September that they’re playoff-bound. In the NL Central, the Chicago Cubs have tremendous pitching coupled with weaknesses in their lineup, but it will be enough to hold off the Brewers or whoever lands in second place. In the NL West, the Los Angeles Dodgers and Arizona Diamondbacks will duel it out in a very tight race, with the Rockies making some noise back in third place. But the Dodgers are just too talented a team, and if pitching is a problem, they’ll make the necessary moves as the season ensues. I like the Dodgers over the Mets in a classic Division Series matchup, and the Cubs edging out the Phillies in another close contest. The Dodgers will be far too much for the Cubs to handle in a seven-game championship series, putting Joe Torre’s group in the Series.
What a matchup: Yankees versus Dodgers; Torre versus the club he managed to four titles. The two historic franchises will meet in the World Series for the first time in 28 years, and they will be so evenly matched that the series can’t help but go seven. The Dodgers’ young players will find intestinal fortitude they never knew they had, and Torre will keep them calm amidst the nerve-wracking intensity of the Fall Classic. Matt Kemp will provide the big blow for Los Angeles in Game Seven, and the City of Angels will place a permanent halo over Torre’s head, as he leads the Dodgers to their first title in 21 years.
So there you have it – one man’s humble predictions in the newness of spring. As the season begins, it is indeed true that every team is tied for first place right now. But if you notice my picks, you’ll see that the Rays and Tigers are the only teams from mid-sized markets that I chose for this year’s playoffs. More than getting my World Series picks right, I’d love to see close races, involving teams with a variety of salary scales. That would be some real baseball.
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