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 Fifty-Eight: Logan Morrison, Florida Marlins
My mother would call us in for dinner from the back window, and we’d hear her as the sweat dripped down our brows. “Just one more minute!” we’d call from the patio, panting the words. My brother and I were locked in combat, and there was no dish of spaghetti or tacos or London broil that could pull us away from this moment.
We were inevitably tied at 20 in a game of one-on-one basketball, and our rules required the victor to score at least 21 points (one point for each basket made), while winning by at least two. As my mom granted us that one more minute and closed the window, Eric would dribble back to the foul line, give me a head fake and swish a jumper. Game point for him. I’d follow by picking up the pace on defense, putting a hand in his face on the next shot, and grabbing a monster rebound.
I’d dribble back to the foul line quickly, then bulldoze my way to the rim, where he’d get a hand on the ball but I’d hold on and somehow drop a layup into the rim. My ball again: This time I’d miss a short jumper, but hustle for the offensive rebound and bank in a put-back to pull ahead by one.
My ball; game point. Finally, for the first time in months, I was about to beat my brother. The kid was three years younger than me, but he’d been growing like a weed and was developing long, sinewy muscles that could do most anything he asked of them in the sports arena. As he grew into his teens, the kid started defeating me regularly in hoops, in stickball and in tennis. Almost every time we played, I’d hold a late lead, only to watch him snatch victory away from me in the waning moments.
This time, though, it was going to be different.
I dribbled slowly toward the hoop, keeping the ball away from Eric’s lanky arms. I backed him to the rim, setting myself up for a head fake and a short jumper. He leaned in, but I had him where I wanted him. And then, for some reason, my inner desire to become the next Kareem Abdul-Jabbar overtook any semblance of sanity. I leapt, swung my right arm in an arc from below my hip to above my head, and let loose a pretty, yet dreadfully misguided, hook shot.
Eric grabbed the rebound. He took off for the foul line, then returned with a pretty layup. Game tied. Ball back to Eric. He brought the ball behind the 3-point-line, took a quick look at me, and released a perfect jump shot. In our games, shots taken from behind this line counted as two points. As Eric’s ball landed perfectly through the net, my mother called us in again. I was bent over and wheezing now, in need of an inhaler. My brother slapped me five and retrieved the ball. “Good game,” he said.
Yeah, sure. Good game. It was always a good game with my brother. The problem was that it always ended the same way. I was Charlie Brown going all-out to kick the football, and he was Lucy pulling it away from me at the last moment. Just when I thought I finally had him licked, he stepped behind that 3-point-line and finished me off.
This past week, somewhere in the virtual world of ESPN Fantasy Sports, two make-believe baseball teams played a head-to-head matchup in a league semifinal. One of these teams was managed by my brother, and the other by me. My team had far and away the best record in the regular season, while Eric’s had just barely made the playoffs. I had superstars ranging from Alex Rodriguez to Carl Crawford to Roy Halladay on my team. Eric had a few great players, but he also had to scuffle just to fill his roster with some players he could rely on regularly.
But when he found himself matched up against his dear brother, Eric knew his season was about to turn around. And it did, of course. While my superstars struggled just to get base hits last week, Eric turned to unsung players such as Marlins rookie Logan Morrison, whose superb week helped lead Eric’s team swiftly past my group of All-Stars and into the finals.
I have a pretty good history of recovering rather quickly from fantasy-baseball losses. There are, of course, several million more important things in our lives than virtual sports. But at the same time, well, it happened – he beat me again. I was so close to victory, and I could taste it as if it were Mom’s spaghetti steaming on the kitchen table. And then my laptop took a queue from the gathering dusk of a backyard patio on Staten Island, and that kid found a way to hit another final shot.
Charlie Brown, you can pick yourself up now. The game is over. You battled hard, you fought ‘til the end, and your brother still loves you. Dinner’s ready.
Showing posts with label Florida Marlins. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Florida Marlins. Show all posts
Monday, September 27, 2010
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Fear the Bean (One Sixty-Two: Day 133)
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-Three: Leo Nunez, Florida Marlins
I thought I was helping Katie work on her reading skills while also bonding with her a bit. Little did I know that I was sparking extreme fears of ingested toxins.
The book is titled George’s Marvelous Medicine, and it was written in 1981 by Roald Dahl. Katie and I have read several of Dahl’s books together, from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory to Fantastic Mr. Fox to Esio Trot. Katie typically gets a charge out of Dahl’s dark, sly humor, so much that she often wants to read his stories past her bedtime. But something different happened after I read George’s Marvelous Medicine with Katie, and it took awhile to reveal itself. She seemed amused and captivated by young George’s attempts to quiet his super-cranky grandma with a potion made from just about every household fluid he could get his hands on. But in the days that followed our book-reading, Katie began wondering to herself just how many things around her are as toxic as George’s medicine turned out to be. And that’s when this 8-year-old started to panic.
That leads us to a few nights ago, when we had a crisis over ice cream. It was a delicious bowl of Breyers vanilla, with orange sprinkles on top. It was waiting for Katie to eat it, but Katie was crying in the living room. You see, while spooning her sprinkles onto the ice cream, Katie had noticed several black dots in the vanilla. She had started wondering if these dots were toxic objects floating around in her creamy dessert. The tears began to flow, and she said she couldn’t eat it.
As Daddy swept in to try and help, he took a look at the bowl, then at the container. I brought Katie over to the Breyers box and showed her the words in bright orange print on the black container: “Now 33% more real Vanilla Bean!” I showed Katie that these little black dots were actually flavorful vanilla beans, and they weren’t the slightest bit toxic. In fact, there were 33 percent more of them than in year past. Thus, more black dots.
Katie still hesitated, so I told her that if she sat down and ate this ice cream, I’d list all of the toxic things she needed to avoid. She seemed content with that, so we had a deal. As she savored the vanilla bean and orange sprinkles, I gave her a quick list: One, don’t drink any of the cleaners we keep beneath the kitchen sink; two, don’t start eating random mushrooms off the ground in a forest; three, don’t sink your teeth into any raw meat; and four, stay away from bottles of medicine.
Once she realized that she knew all of that stuff already, Katie was relieved. The fear eased out of her face, and she was able to enjoy the rest of her dessert. I felt a bit exhausted, but I was reminded of my own, random childhood fears from years ago: My worries that the bedroom closet would light up in flames while I slept, or the chills I felt throughout my nervous system whenever I heard Blondie’s hard-hitting song “Call Me” when I tried going to sleep with the radio on. They were random fears, and quite funny in retrospect. But growing up is hard stuff, and anxieties sort of come with the territory.
As we grow, the anxieties take on a different shape, but they remain nonetheless. In Miami, the Florida Marlins have a closer named Leo Nunez, who is struggling right now. There have been some blown saves of late, and some games in which Nunez has been rather toxic on the pitching mound. But rather than dread his own demise, Nunez must do what Katie had to do: Take a deep breath, realize it’s going to be OK, and settle down. As we grow up, we realize that just when things seem to be at their worst, there’s often some ice cream with sprinkles just around the corner. With 33 percent more vanilla bean.
Day One Hundred Thirty-Three: Leo Nunez, Florida Marlins
I thought I was helping Katie work on her reading skills while also bonding with her a bit. Little did I know that I was sparking extreme fears of ingested toxins.
The book is titled George’s Marvelous Medicine, and it was written in 1981 by Roald Dahl. Katie and I have read several of Dahl’s books together, from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory to Fantastic Mr. Fox to Esio Trot. Katie typically gets a charge out of Dahl’s dark, sly humor, so much that she often wants to read his stories past her bedtime. But something different happened after I read George’s Marvelous Medicine with Katie, and it took awhile to reveal itself. She seemed amused and captivated by young George’s attempts to quiet his super-cranky grandma with a potion made from just about every household fluid he could get his hands on. But in the days that followed our book-reading, Katie began wondering to herself just how many things around her are as toxic as George’s medicine turned out to be. And that’s when this 8-year-old started to panic.
That leads us to a few nights ago, when we had a crisis over ice cream. It was a delicious bowl of Breyers vanilla, with orange sprinkles on top. It was waiting for Katie to eat it, but Katie was crying in the living room. You see, while spooning her sprinkles onto the ice cream, Katie had noticed several black dots in the vanilla. She had started wondering if these dots were toxic objects floating around in her creamy dessert. The tears began to flow, and she said she couldn’t eat it.
As Daddy swept in to try and help, he took a look at the bowl, then at the container. I brought Katie over to the Breyers box and showed her the words in bright orange print on the black container: “Now 33% more real Vanilla Bean!” I showed Katie that these little black dots were actually flavorful vanilla beans, and they weren’t the slightest bit toxic. In fact, there were 33 percent more of them than in year past. Thus, more black dots.
Katie still hesitated, so I told her that if she sat down and ate this ice cream, I’d list all of the toxic things she needed to avoid. She seemed content with that, so we had a deal. As she savored the vanilla bean and orange sprinkles, I gave her a quick list: One, don’t drink any of the cleaners we keep beneath the kitchen sink; two, don’t start eating random mushrooms off the ground in a forest; three, don’t sink your teeth into any raw meat; and four, stay away from bottles of medicine.
Once she realized that she knew all of that stuff already, Katie was relieved. The fear eased out of her face, and she was able to enjoy the rest of her dessert. I felt a bit exhausted, but I was reminded of my own, random childhood fears from years ago: My worries that the bedroom closet would light up in flames while I slept, or the chills I felt throughout my nervous system whenever I heard Blondie’s hard-hitting song “Call Me” when I tried going to sleep with the radio on. They were random fears, and quite funny in retrospect. But growing up is hard stuff, and anxieties sort of come with the territory.
As we grow, the anxieties take on a different shape, but they remain nonetheless. In Miami, the Florida Marlins have a closer named Leo Nunez, who is struggling right now. There have been some blown saves of late, and some games in which Nunez has been rather toxic on the pitching mound. But rather than dread his own demise, Nunez must do what Katie had to do: Take a deep breath, realize it’s going to be OK, and settle down. As we grow up, we realize that just when things seem to be at their worst, there’s often some ice cream with sprinkles just around the corner. With 33 percent more vanilla bean.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Soda Bottles, Ankle Sprains & Pie (One Sixty-Two: Day 104)
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-Four: Chris Coghlan, Florida Marlins
It was a beautiful beach day, but not for me. Not when you’ve got to accompany your wife to the urgent-care center.
Now I understand your instinct here: How in the world can I complain about losing a few hours in the sun when my wife is in need of medical attention? I get that. What you don’t know, however, is the reason for this visit. It has something to do with a bicycle and some empty 2-liter bottles. And it doesn’t get any better from there.
While escorting our kids to a wonderful session at Cape May’s nature center, Amy made a couple of interesting choices: One, she rode her bicycle while wearing Tevas; and two, she rode with a bag full of empty soda bottles. The nature center had asked parents to bring in the bottles for some sort of project, and Amy dutifully obliged. However, while crossing the street with the plastic bag on her handlebars, a bottle started to slip out. She reached for the bag, lost her balance, and caught her foot in the back wheel.
So that led us to a bloody foot, a hobbling wife, and an urgent-care center. After X-rays, the kind doctor explained that Amy’s bloody ankle was sprained, not broken, and a smiling nurse administered a tetanus shot to cover the cuts from Amy’s metal spokes.
I’m grateful that my wife is fine, of course. But as you might have figured out, I’m a bit annoyed by the reason for the injury. In this way, I’m not unlike Florida Marlins manager Edwin Rodriguez, who lost one of his key players last week in an equally bizarre injury. Left fielder Chris Coghlan, who was last season’s National League Rookie of the Year, was celebrating teammate Wes Helms’s game-winning hit on July 25 by giving Helms a pie to the face. While carrying out this increasingly popular baseball ritual, Coghlan managed to tear the meniscus in his left knee. He’s hoping to play again this year, but surgery will be required even if he can play again this summer.
Coghlan is by no means the first baseball player to sustain a strange injury, as there have been a couple of doozies this year alone. Los Angeles Angels first baseman Kendry Morales was lost for the season after breaking his leg while jumping on home plate after a game-winning home run. San Diego Padres pitcher Mat Latos landed on the disabled list after straining an oblique while sneezing.
Clint Barmes knows all about this kind of thing. As a utility infielder for the Colorado Rockies, Barmes has managed to play a key supporting role in the Rockies’ success over the past several years. But in the spring of 2005, Barmes was putting up numbers that exceed anything he’s done since. Some were wondering if he was the next great hitter to come out of Colorado. And then, one spring day, Barmes fell while carrying a package of deer meat he’d received from a teammate. The result: a broken collarbone. After recovering, Barmes returned to the Rockies, but his breakout season was interrupted forever. While carefully handling meat of all kinds these past five years, Barmes has remained a key contributor in Denver.
So this is a man who knows that pies in the face can lead to knee injuries, and that soda bottles can lead to ankle sprains. And if Barmes knew Amy’s husband, he'd remind the man that despite his occasionally cute way with words, the husband has surely experienced an embarrassing injury of some sort; we all do. And he’d be correct. I should know as well as anyone what these kinds of injuries are all about. There was, after all, the finger spliced open with a pocket knife while trying to scrape bark off a tree. There was the hand cut open while trying to catch a glass I’d knocked off a counter. There was the face full of dirt collected after tripping over first base in an attempt to leg out a single (I was out, of course). We can go on - for a disturbingly long time, I might add.
So Amy, I hope you’ll ride safely next time. Maybe you can even try a helmet when you’re on the bike. But I will do whatever chores you need while you recover. And I’ll stop complaining about the lost sun rays. Because I’ve been there and done that, far more often than you have. We all, at some point, get a pie in the face.
Day One Hundred-Four: Chris Coghlan, Florida Marlins
It was a beautiful beach day, but not for me. Not when you’ve got to accompany your wife to the urgent-care center.
Now I understand your instinct here: How in the world can I complain about losing a few hours in the sun when my wife is in need of medical attention? I get that. What you don’t know, however, is the reason for this visit. It has something to do with a bicycle and some empty 2-liter bottles. And it doesn’t get any better from there.
While escorting our kids to a wonderful session at Cape May’s nature center, Amy made a couple of interesting choices: One, she rode her bicycle while wearing Tevas; and two, she rode with a bag full of empty soda bottles. The nature center had asked parents to bring in the bottles for some sort of project, and Amy dutifully obliged. However, while crossing the street with the plastic bag on her handlebars, a bottle started to slip out. She reached for the bag, lost her balance, and caught her foot in the back wheel.
So that led us to a bloody foot, a hobbling wife, and an urgent-care center. After X-rays, the kind doctor explained that Amy’s bloody ankle was sprained, not broken, and a smiling nurse administered a tetanus shot to cover the cuts from Amy’s metal spokes.
I’m grateful that my wife is fine, of course. But as you might have figured out, I’m a bit annoyed by the reason for the injury. In this way, I’m not unlike Florida Marlins manager Edwin Rodriguez, who lost one of his key players last week in an equally bizarre injury. Left fielder Chris Coghlan, who was last season’s National League Rookie of the Year, was celebrating teammate Wes Helms’s game-winning hit on July 25 by giving Helms a pie to the face. While carrying out this increasingly popular baseball ritual, Coghlan managed to tear the meniscus in his left knee. He’s hoping to play again this year, but surgery will be required even if he can play again this summer.
Coghlan is by no means the first baseball player to sustain a strange injury, as there have been a couple of doozies this year alone. Los Angeles Angels first baseman Kendry Morales was lost for the season after breaking his leg while jumping on home plate after a game-winning home run. San Diego Padres pitcher Mat Latos landed on the disabled list after straining an oblique while sneezing.
Clint Barmes knows all about this kind of thing. As a utility infielder for the Colorado Rockies, Barmes has managed to play a key supporting role in the Rockies’ success over the past several years. But in the spring of 2005, Barmes was putting up numbers that exceed anything he’s done since. Some were wondering if he was the next great hitter to come out of Colorado. And then, one spring day, Barmes fell while carrying a package of deer meat he’d received from a teammate. The result: a broken collarbone. After recovering, Barmes returned to the Rockies, but his breakout season was interrupted forever. While carefully handling meat of all kinds these past five years, Barmes has remained a key contributor in Denver.
So this is a man who knows that pies in the face can lead to knee injuries, and that soda bottles can lead to ankle sprains. And if Barmes knew Amy’s husband, he'd remind the man that despite his occasionally cute way with words, the husband has surely experienced an embarrassing injury of some sort; we all do. And he’d be correct. I should know as well as anyone what these kinds of injuries are all about. There was, after all, the finger spliced open with a pocket knife while trying to scrape bark off a tree. There was the hand cut open while trying to catch a glass I’d knocked off a counter. There was the face full of dirt collected after tripping over first base in an attempt to leg out a single (I was out, of course). We can go on - for a disturbingly long time, I might add.
So Amy, I hope you’ll ride safely next time. Maybe you can even try a helmet when you’re on the bike. But I will do whatever chores you need while you recover. And I’ll stop complaining about the lost sun rays. Because I’ve been there and done that, far more often than you have. We all, at some point, get a pie in the face.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Rapid Force (One Sixty-Two: Day 103)
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-Three: Kevin Gregg, Toronto Blue Jays
“Daddy, I have a new favorite word,” Katie said yesterday.
“What’s that, Sweetie?” I asked my 8-year-old.
“Rapid force,” she said. I write it as two words, but perhaps Katie envisioned this as one really cool word: Rapid-force, with an artful hyphen, or even the more direct Rapidforce.
Caught by surprise, I asked where she’d gotten this phrase. She shrugged. My wife said that Katie had started using the word earlier in the day to describe the waves that had tossed her body and hair around the beach. She had loved the bodysurfing and boogie-boarding, and she seems to be developing a healthy respect for the ocean. This, of course, means playing with the rapid force without straying too far from the shore.
So it was a powerful day, one that left an 8-year-old content yet exhausted by day’s end. As Katie settled off to sleep, the Toronto Blue Jays’ Kevin Gregg was delivering his own brand of rapid force to the New York Yankees. There are 30 men appointed to the job of “closer” on Opening Day of each big-league season, and at least one-third of those men lose their jobs at some point over the 162-game slate. Kevin Gregg has taken over the closer’s job in the midst of a season twice – once in 2007, with the Florida Marlins, and again this year with the Blue Jays. For a man who was used solely as a middle reliever in his first four seasons with the Los Angeles Angels, Gregg’s 108 saves over the past four years is quite impressive.
Gregg stands on the pitcher’s mound wearing tight-fitting sports goggles, which make his demeanor all the more menacing atop 10 inches of dirt. His pitches aren’t the fastest in baseball, but they have traveled quickly enough to land him 481 strikeouts in just over 500 innings of career work. Last night, Gregg notched his 24th save of the season despite allowing one run.
Inside Yankee Stadium, the New York fans tried to will their team past Gregg with waves of vocal support. But the power of those pinstripe-clad swingers was not equal to the rapid force of the man in goggles. The Yankees had washed ashore, and Gregg made sure they stayed there.
Day One Hundred-Three: Kevin Gregg, Toronto Blue Jays
“Daddy, I have a new favorite word,” Katie said yesterday.
“What’s that, Sweetie?” I asked my 8-year-old.
“Rapid force,” she said. I write it as two words, but perhaps Katie envisioned this as one really cool word: Rapid-force, with an artful hyphen, or even the more direct Rapidforce.
Caught by surprise, I asked where she’d gotten this phrase. She shrugged. My wife said that Katie had started using the word earlier in the day to describe the waves that had tossed her body and hair around the beach. She had loved the bodysurfing and boogie-boarding, and she seems to be developing a healthy respect for the ocean. This, of course, means playing with the rapid force without straying too far from the shore.
So it was a powerful day, one that left an 8-year-old content yet exhausted by day’s end. As Katie settled off to sleep, the Toronto Blue Jays’ Kevin Gregg was delivering his own brand of rapid force to the New York Yankees. There are 30 men appointed to the job of “closer” on Opening Day of each big-league season, and at least one-third of those men lose their jobs at some point over the 162-game slate. Kevin Gregg has taken over the closer’s job in the midst of a season twice – once in 2007, with the Florida Marlins, and again this year with the Blue Jays. For a man who was used solely as a middle reliever in his first four seasons with the Los Angeles Angels, Gregg’s 108 saves over the past four years is quite impressive.
Gregg stands on the pitcher’s mound wearing tight-fitting sports goggles, which make his demeanor all the more menacing atop 10 inches of dirt. His pitches aren’t the fastest in baseball, but they have traveled quickly enough to land him 481 strikeouts in just over 500 innings of career work. Last night, Gregg notched his 24th save of the season despite allowing one run.
Inside Yankee Stadium, the New York fans tried to will their team past Gregg with waves of vocal support. But the power of those pinstripe-clad swingers was not equal to the rapid force of the man in goggles. The Yankees had washed ashore, and Gregg made sure they stayed there.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
A Change in Command (One Sixty-Two: Day 63)
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-Three: Gaby Sanchez, Florida Marlins
The man in charge had changed on Wednesday. But Gaby Sanchez didn’t miss a beat.
When the Florida Marlins decided to fire manager Fredi Gonzalez on Wednesday morning, it left the team’s players with a significant challenge – to continue playing their very best without the man who had led them all year. Obviously, the Marlins’ front office believes the team will be even better under interim manager Edwin Rodriguez and whoever the permanent replacement is. But however it turns out, it’s clear that the Marlins have been thrust into a period of transition. The question, of course, is just how smoothly that transition will go.
Last night, just hours after Gonzalez had been fired, the Marlins faced the Baltimore Orioles. Sanchez, who has been excellent in his first full season as a big-league first baseman, led his team to a 7-5 win with a home run and three hits. For the moment, at least, the transition seemed smooth. Tonight, Sanchez produced three more hits. But the Orioles had 17 hits of their own, which led to a 11-5 Baltimore win. Tonight, the Marlins most definitely missed a beat.
When the man in charge is dismissed, we pay close attention. In a much more important arena on Wednesday, the president of the United States replaced the commanding general in charge of the longest war in American history. President Obama placed Gen. David Petraeus in charge of the war in Afghanistan, removing Gen. Stanley McChrystal after McChrystal and his staff made disparaging remarks about the White House staff in a magazine interview.
There are millions of Americans following this war, and thousands of Americans fighting in this war. Those soldiers who patrol the mountains and streets of Afghanistan want to know that their leadership is strong. According to published stories of a news conference today, the president was as clear as he could be regarding the transition’s impact.
“We will not miss a beat because of the change in command in the Afghan theater,” Obama said.
The troops in Afghanistan want to believe this. The proof, of course, is in actions rather than in words. The same applies to those ballplayers in Florida. They’re looking to their manager and front office to see if the plans are sound. They know there’s a new man in the dugout, and they may not be happy about it. But these things happen in life; it’s the overall direction, mission, and confidence that you study closely. The Marlins’ owner, Jeffrey Loria, says he wants to win, and I’m sure he means it. But his entire team payroll is equal to the left side of the New York Yankees’ infield. Is that really enough? The president says our mission in Afghanistan is sound. But if there is significant infighting about the war within his own administration, can that administration really lead a viable war effort?
It’s hard to avoid missing a beat sometimes, even when you have a steady commander. Gaby Sanchez is trying to do his part; he inched his average above .300 tonight. He’s not even supposed to be the next great Marlins first baseman. But he’s executing wonderfully. Someone has reached him, and tapped into Sanchez’s resolve.
That took leadership, and so far it’s producing results. It’s the job of the true leaders in this world to bring out our best, and to make us better than we ever thought we could be. When we feel that personal growth, and we see ourselves working together as a team, we know the men in charge are doing something right.
Day Sixty-Three: Gaby Sanchez, Florida Marlins
The man in charge had changed on Wednesday. But Gaby Sanchez didn’t miss a beat.
When the Florida Marlins decided to fire manager Fredi Gonzalez on Wednesday morning, it left the team’s players with a significant challenge – to continue playing their very best without the man who had led them all year. Obviously, the Marlins’ front office believes the team will be even better under interim manager Edwin Rodriguez and whoever the permanent replacement is. But however it turns out, it’s clear that the Marlins have been thrust into a period of transition. The question, of course, is just how smoothly that transition will go.
Last night, just hours after Gonzalez had been fired, the Marlins faced the Baltimore Orioles. Sanchez, who has been excellent in his first full season as a big-league first baseman, led his team to a 7-5 win with a home run and three hits. For the moment, at least, the transition seemed smooth. Tonight, Sanchez produced three more hits. But the Orioles had 17 hits of their own, which led to a 11-5 Baltimore win. Tonight, the Marlins most definitely missed a beat.
When the man in charge is dismissed, we pay close attention. In a much more important arena on Wednesday, the president of the United States replaced the commanding general in charge of the longest war in American history. President Obama placed Gen. David Petraeus in charge of the war in Afghanistan, removing Gen. Stanley McChrystal after McChrystal and his staff made disparaging remarks about the White House staff in a magazine interview.
There are millions of Americans following this war, and thousands of Americans fighting in this war. Those soldiers who patrol the mountains and streets of Afghanistan want to know that their leadership is strong. According to published stories of a news conference today, the president was as clear as he could be regarding the transition’s impact.
“We will not miss a beat because of the change in command in the Afghan theater,” Obama said.
The troops in Afghanistan want to believe this. The proof, of course, is in actions rather than in words. The same applies to those ballplayers in Florida. They’re looking to their manager and front office to see if the plans are sound. They know there’s a new man in the dugout, and they may not be happy about it. But these things happen in life; it’s the overall direction, mission, and confidence that you study closely. The Marlins’ owner, Jeffrey Loria, says he wants to win, and I’m sure he means it. But his entire team payroll is equal to the left side of the New York Yankees’ infield. Is that really enough? The president says our mission in Afghanistan is sound. But if there is significant infighting about the war within his own administration, can that administration really lead a viable war effort?
It’s hard to avoid missing a beat sometimes, even when you have a steady commander. Gaby Sanchez is trying to do his part; he inched his average above .300 tonight. He’s not even supposed to be the next great Marlins first baseman. But he’s executing wonderfully. Someone has reached him, and tapped into Sanchez’s resolve.
That took leadership, and so far it’s producing results. It’s the job of the true leaders in this world to bring out our best, and to make us better than we ever thought we could be. When we feel that personal growth, and we see ourselves working together as a team, we know the men in charge are doing something right.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Perfection (One Sixty-Two: Day 37)
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-Seven: Roy Halladay, Philadelphia Phillies
In a typical day of teaching, there are so many things that go well. Take one day this past week, for instance. My ninth-period freshmen were electric in their enthusiasm over Othello. One of my seventh-period seniors delivered a 30-minute presentation on sign-language, teaching her classmates more than they’d ever learned about the topic. An eighth-period basic skills student was reading a book I’d leant him and proclaimed it one of the best things he’d ever read. During second period, a sophomore was crafting a thorough outline for a literary essay.
It was a good day. But not perfect. My fifth-period freshmen were struggling to focus, and I could have helped them find more energy for their schoolwork. As the bell rang, I sat and thought of some steps I might have taken to help them write more. Being a perfectionist, I found it difficult to think about the things that had gone well that day; instead, I found myself focusing on the flaws.
It’s rare that a day at work is perfect; I learned long ago that there are bumps to nearly every day. Some of us are better than others at accepting those passing clouds, and focusing instead on the sunshine. But we still strive for ways to make tomorrow even better, and to bring ourselves ever closer to that elusive perfect day.
And then, on those very rare occasions, absolutely everything falls into place. The students are all on their game. A kid who’s been struggling finally gets it. The student who’s been holding back on participating slowly inches her hand into the air. A colleague stops in to collaborate on a lesson plan. The principal pops in and says thanks for all your work.
Tonight in Miami, the Phillies’ Roy Halladay had one of those days. Halladay faced 27 Florida Marlins batters, and he retired all 27. Everything fell into place, and the Phillies’ ace claimed the 20th perfect game in baseball history. He struck out 11 batters, and thoroughly dominated the Marlins’ lineup.
Halladay is a tremendous pitcher, and he’ll probably find himself delivering a Hall of Fame speech someday. But the odds are slim that he’ll ever have a day quite like this one. There are no flaws for him to look back on tonight. For once, the man’s day at work was truly perfect.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Pitchers & Pension Plans (One Sixty-Two: Day 28)
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-Eight: Livan Hernandez, Washington Nationals
We had a pair of financial advisors over the house tonight, to begin talking about how we might manage our money when we actually have some. During the course of our conversation, the advisors asked, as they do all their clients, when Amy and I would like to retire.
We had to laugh at that. Retirement couldn’t seem more distant or impossible than it does at this point. But we understood the reason for the question, as these gentlemen were there to help us start thinking ahead, rather than just in the moment. All we could do was take a guess about a preferred retirement age, based on what we might like in an ideal world. I would imagine that’s all they were asking.
Retirement doesn’t come at an early age for public-school teachers to begin with, and in 21st-century America it might come quite a bit later than it did for previous generations. We’ll have to wait and see. As for baseball players, well, their career arc is quite different than that of teachers. A successful pro career can leave many players set for life by their late 30s, and ready to either retire or begin a second career with no real need for additional income. As for those who do not make many millions, they too will be forced to leave the game at a young age, only to find themselves entering another area of baseball (coaching, front office, scouting) or a different career altogether.
I would have guessed, a couple years back, that Livan Hernandez would be retired by now. Maybe not in 1997, when as a 22-year-old rookie he led the Florida Marlins to their first world championship. And definitely not in 2000, when at 25 he led the San Francisco Giants to the playoffs with 17 wins. Not in 2003, either, when a 28-year-old Hernandez managed to win 15 games for a Montreal Expos team that scored fewer runs than it allowed. Hernandez’s reputation was that of a pitcher who could throw a ton of innings, and who could usually keep his team in the game for as long as he was out there.
But during each of the last two years, Hernandez seemed to lose his steam quite steadily. Pitching for four different teams from 2008-09, Hernandez gave up just under six runs per nine innings, and he lost more games than he won. His weight seemed to be an issue, and he just couldn’t seem to keep runners off base. It seemed as though teams were signing Hernandez based on reputation, hoping he’d recapture some of that past glory instead of coughing up a few runs in the first.
There are a lot of players in their mid-to-upper-30s who’ve been forced into retirement recently because of a terrible economy and a movement toward youth in baseball. But because he shows up to pitch every five days and never seems to get tired, Livan Hernandez found a job again this spring. And as a starter for the Washington Nationals, Hernandez has quietly strung together as good a month and a half as almost any pitcher in baseball so far this year. With a 1.62 earned-run average, he is keeping his team in every game he pitches. He’s not striking guys out anymore, but he’s also not giving up a lot of hits. And, to top it off, the typically awful Nationals are winning some games, including four of the ones Hernandez has started.
So at age 35, with tens of millions in earnings, Livan Hernandez is not yet a retiree. No need for him to dip into that pension plan yet. Just get him on the mound, and don’t worry about pitch counts. The man’s in the bonus, and he’s pitching like a kid again. Living in the moment.
Day Twenty-Eight: Livan Hernandez, Washington Nationals
We had a pair of financial advisors over the house tonight, to begin talking about how we might manage our money when we actually have some. During the course of our conversation, the advisors asked, as they do all their clients, when Amy and I would like to retire.
We had to laugh at that. Retirement couldn’t seem more distant or impossible than it does at this point. But we understood the reason for the question, as these gentlemen were there to help us start thinking ahead, rather than just in the moment. All we could do was take a guess about a preferred retirement age, based on what we might like in an ideal world. I would imagine that’s all they were asking.
Retirement doesn’t come at an early age for public-school teachers to begin with, and in 21st-century America it might come quite a bit later than it did for previous generations. We’ll have to wait and see. As for baseball players, well, their career arc is quite different than that of teachers. A successful pro career can leave many players set for life by their late 30s, and ready to either retire or begin a second career with no real need for additional income. As for those who do not make many millions, they too will be forced to leave the game at a young age, only to find themselves entering another area of baseball (coaching, front office, scouting) or a different career altogether.
I would have guessed, a couple years back, that Livan Hernandez would be retired by now. Maybe not in 1997, when as a 22-year-old rookie he led the Florida Marlins to their first world championship. And definitely not in 2000, when at 25 he led the San Francisco Giants to the playoffs with 17 wins. Not in 2003, either, when a 28-year-old Hernandez managed to win 15 games for a Montreal Expos team that scored fewer runs than it allowed. Hernandez’s reputation was that of a pitcher who could throw a ton of innings, and who could usually keep his team in the game for as long as he was out there.
But during each of the last two years, Hernandez seemed to lose his steam quite steadily. Pitching for four different teams from 2008-09, Hernandez gave up just under six runs per nine innings, and he lost more games than he won. His weight seemed to be an issue, and he just couldn’t seem to keep runners off base. It seemed as though teams were signing Hernandez based on reputation, hoping he’d recapture some of that past glory instead of coughing up a few runs in the first.
There are a lot of players in their mid-to-upper-30s who’ve been forced into retirement recently because of a terrible economy and a movement toward youth in baseball. But because he shows up to pitch every five days and never seems to get tired, Livan Hernandez found a job again this spring. And as a starter for the Washington Nationals, Hernandez has quietly strung together as good a month and a half as almost any pitcher in baseball so far this year. With a 1.62 earned-run average, he is keeping his team in every game he pitches. He’s not striking guys out anymore, but he’s also not giving up a lot of hits. And, to top it off, the typically awful Nationals are winning some games, including four of the ones Hernandez has started.
So at age 35, with tens of millions in earnings, Livan Hernandez is not yet a retiree. No need for him to dip into that pension plan yet. Just get him on the mound, and don’t worry about pitch counts. The man’s in the bonus, and he’s pitching like a kid again. Living in the moment.
Monday, May 3, 2010
A Wish for the Fish (One Sixty-Two: Day 11)
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 Eleven: Hanley Ramirez, Florida Marlins
Hanley Ramirez doesn’t fish for a living; he plays baseball, and he does so quite well. But every day, Ramirez walks onto the field with the likeness of a marlin stitched onto his cap and left shoulder. His team’s nickname celebrates the rich marine life of southern Florida. As one of his sport’s elite players, Ramirez carries that nickname and logo with him to All-Star games as well. More than 110 miles south of Ramirez’s home stadium in Miami, artists from Ernest Hemingway to Jimmy Buffett to Tennessee Williams have reveled in the culture, beauty and fishing of Key West, where sport fishermen here and throughout the Florida Keys head out each day to try and catch and release a marlin.
There are times when a crisis strikes our world, country or region with such force that everything else appears secondary in comparison. The massive oil spill now spreading throughout the Gulf of Mexico is quickly becoming one such crisis. As oil continues to gush through the ocean floor southeast of New Orleans and spread eastward, the future of critical American wetlands hangs in the balance. How far will the oil travel, and how much destruction will it cause? From Louisiana to Mississippi to Alabama to Florida, there is tremendous trepidation. And yes, they are bracing for the worst in the Keys, too.
Most of us aren’t capable of taking any direct action to help this situation. Of course, we can continue to educate ourselves as much as possible on energy use, and encourage our elected officials to push for the kind of energy policy we believe is best for the country. In the meantime, we can look at Hanley Ramirez’s cap and hope that the gorgeous animal his team celebrates – the one that fought Santiago so valiantly in Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea and glides through our waters so freely – can survive this man-made catastrophe and live to swim in a home that is clear, fresh and safe.
Day Eleven: Hanley Ramirez, Florida Marlins
Hanley Ramirez doesn’t fish for a living; he plays baseball, and he does so quite well. But every day, Ramirez walks onto the field with the likeness of a marlin stitched onto his cap and left shoulder. His team’s nickname celebrates the rich marine life of southern Florida. As one of his sport’s elite players, Ramirez carries that nickname and logo with him to All-Star games as well. More than 110 miles south of Ramirez’s home stadium in Miami, artists from Ernest Hemingway to Jimmy Buffett to Tennessee Williams have reveled in the culture, beauty and fishing of Key West, where sport fishermen here and throughout the Florida Keys head out each day to try and catch and release a marlin.
There are times when a crisis strikes our world, country or region with such force that everything else appears secondary in comparison. The massive oil spill now spreading throughout the Gulf of Mexico is quickly becoming one such crisis. As oil continues to gush through the ocean floor southeast of New Orleans and spread eastward, the future of critical American wetlands hangs in the balance. How far will the oil travel, and how much destruction will it cause? From Louisiana to Mississippi to Alabama to Florida, there is tremendous trepidation. And yes, they are bracing for the worst in the Keys, too.
Most of us aren’t capable of taking any direct action to help this situation. Of course, we can continue to educate ourselves as much as possible on energy use, and encourage our elected officials to push for the kind of energy policy we believe is best for the country. In the meantime, we can look at Hanley Ramirez’s cap and hope that the gorgeous animal his team celebrates – the one that fought Santiago so valiantly in Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea and glides through our waters so freely – can survive this man-made catastrophe and live to swim in a home that is clear, fresh and safe.
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