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-Two: James McDonald, Pittsburgh Pirates
When we brought our dog home five months ago, we named her Daisy. A more fitting name would have been Elmer Fudd.
Throughout this summer – both at our own house and at my parents’ home – there has been an abundance of rabbits in the backyard. Daisy, like most dogs, is fascinated by any animal smaller than her. But as a golden retriever, she is trained to carry dead birds to her owners. Today, during a walk, she lifted up a dead bird with her mouth and turned to me. “No!” I said sharply, and she dropped the bird gently to the ground.
But as for rabbits, well, I honestly think Daisy is either secretly afraid of them or rather sympathetic toward them. I say this because her percentage of “wabbit” kills is in line with that of Mr. Fudd.
When she sees the rabbit, her eyes open wide and her muscles grow taut. She takes a quick first step toward the bunny, appears to have a shot at the animal and then – for reasons she cannot explain to me – Daisy hesitates. Her stutter-step gives the rabbit just enough time to dart through a hole in the fence and into safety. Daisy arrives a second too late, every time, and spends the next 15 minutes staring intently through the fence at the one that got away.
“You’ll get ‘em next time, Daisy,” we say to her. She’s the Brooklyn Dodgers of rabbit-hunters: Always falling short, only to hope that she’ll be a step faster the next time.
Of course, the Dodgers did have 1955. There was a year when the hope was rewarded with a championship. Daisy may have her day, too. For the rabbits’ sake, I certainly hope not. I was never one to root for Elmer Fudd over Bugs Bunny.
The Pittsburgh Pirates have felt like a bunch of Elmer Fudds and Brooklyn Dodgers over the past two decades, with the main difference being that Fudd and the Dodgers actually came close to attaining success. As I wrote in a blog post last fall (http://thepitchbaseballlife.blogspot.com/2009/09/beauty-and-bucs.html), and as Sports Illustrated’s L. Jon Wertheim wrote a few weeks ago, there is a huge disparity between the majestic beauty of the Pirates’ home stadium and the gross ugliness of the baseball that has been played in that park. The Pirates’ struggles predate the 2001 opening of PNC Park by nearly a decade, as they now hold the longest losing streak in the history of major North American team sports. A game in this stadium, with its backdrop of rivers, bridges and skylines, is worth every penny. Unfortunately, this year’s Pirates will become the 18th straight Pittsburgh team to finish with a sub-.500 record.
As usual, the Pirates traded away veterans at this year’s trading deadline. But unlike years past, when Pittsburgh was criticized for accepting mediocre prospects for their veteran players, the Pirates picked up a couple of talented youngsters when they dealt their closer, Octavio Dotel, to the Los Angeles Dodgers. One of those prospects, pitcher James McDonald, will start for the Pirates this week. Pittsburgh also managed to send a few veterans past their prime to the Arizona Diamondbacks in exchange for a very serviceable catcher, Chris Snyder.
Add this to the small group of superb young players on the Pirates’ team – Andrew McCutchen, Pedro Alvarez, Neil Walker – and there is at least something there. The Pirates are not going to start winning division titles next year. But the team claims it is working hard to spend its money wisely, trying to build a contender despite its small-market status. If this is true, then there might just be a year in this next decade when the people of Pittsburgh finally get to follow a pennant race. With the rabbit in sight, the boys in black and gold will try to do what my dog cannot – make a full sprint toward their goal, with no acceptance of failure this time. It’s got to happen someday. Next year can’t last forever.
Showing posts with label Pedro Alvarez. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pedro Alvarez. Show all posts
Monday, August 2, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
The Wheels Come Off (One Sixty-Two: Day 91)
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 Ninety-One: Pedro Alvarez, Pittsburgh Pirates
She started on a grass field, where the falls would be softer. Once she’d gained some confidence there, it was on to a tennis court. After a few laps around the court, she was ready for the parking lot. And when the asphalt seemed easy, all she could do was smile.
Chelsea, at age 5, has taken off the training wheels. She’s a two-wheelin’ girl now, and there’s no going back. When she hops on her pink and white bicycle, she looks comfortable and relaxed enough to take a ride along a boardwalk or through a park. It’s definitely a “big girl” accomplishment, and she will tell anyone who’ll listen about her latest triumph.
Moments such as these are incredibly exciting, yet also a bit sad for Mom and Dad. We encourage our girls’ growth and independence and celebrate their triumphant steps forward. But then, in our private moments together, Amy and I remember with fondness and longing the moments when our girls were littler, and depended on us more to carry them through each step of life. It all goes by so fast, and we know there will come a day when it will seem as though they went from two-wheelers to car keys in no time.
For now, though, Chelsea is thinking only of strapping on her purple helmet and taking to the sidewalk or tennis courts. “Daddy, you need to watch out,” she says, “because I make sharp turns.” OK, Chelsea, I’ll be on my toes. Her older sister, meanwhile, can see that our attention is on Daughter No. 2. Therefore, she begins cutting Chelsea off with her bike, and performing tricks that she really can’t do that well on her bike. Before long, she’s crashing into a tennis net. And so it goes. It seems as if the older one just started riding her bike ten minutes ago – and now her long, ever-growing limbs call to mind Kermit the Frog riding his bicycle in The Muppet Movie.
Two years ago, Pedro Alvarez was the second overall pick in baseball’s amateur draft. For the next 24 months, the Pittsburgh Pirates kept a set of training wheels on their talented third baseman. The Pirates transitioned Alvarez from Vanderbilt University to the pros by letting the lefty slugger learn in the minors. He played in towns such as Altoona, Pa., and Indianapolis, belting home runs at every step.
In the middle of June, Pittsburgh decided it was time. The training wheels came off, and Alvarez was called up from Indianapolis. He is now the starting third baseman and No. 5 hitter in a major-league lineup. The Pirates hope he’ll be theirs for many years to come.
In his second month on that two-wheeler, Alvarez is most definitely making sharp turns. He slugged a pair of home runs on Tuesday, then followed that up with another pair of homers on Wednesday. So far, the 23-year-old has seven home runs and 20 runs batted in after just 112 at-bats. He’s striking out a lot, and his average is at .250. But the young man is showing tremendous promise. That’s what was expected, and that’s what his team is seeing.
Someday, when Pedro Alvarez is holding some award in his hand or signing his first nine-figure free-agent contract, it will seem difficult to remember some of those days back in the minors, when the training wheels were fastened tightly. But if he thinks hard enough, he’ll remember. And while I’m sure he’ll be living in the moment, I’ll bet Alvarez will also yearn somewhat for that formative time, before he strapped on the black and gold hat and went out into the big leagues on his own.
Because once the wheels come off, you have to make your own way along the path you’re given. You can ask for directions, and you can get some tips on how to slow down or avoid obstacles. But ultimately, it’s in your hands now. You’re growing up.
And those tears you see? Oh, that’s just Mom and Dad feeling proud of you. Proud, and just a little bit older.
Day Ninety-One: Pedro Alvarez, Pittsburgh Pirates
She started on a grass field, where the falls would be softer. Once she’d gained some confidence there, it was on to a tennis court. After a few laps around the court, she was ready for the parking lot. And when the asphalt seemed easy, all she could do was smile.
Chelsea, at age 5, has taken off the training wheels. She’s a two-wheelin’ girl now, and there’s no going back. When she hops on her pink and white bicycle, she looks comfortable and relaxed enough to take a ride along a boardwalk or through a park. It’s definitely a “big girl” accomplishment, and she will tell anyone who’ll listen about her latest triumph.
Moments such as these are incredibly exciting, yet also a bit sad for Mom and Dad. We encourage our girls’ growth and independence and celebrate their triumphant steps forward. But then, in our private moments together, Amy and I remember with fondness and longing the moments when our girls were littler, and depended on us more to carry them through each step of life. It all goes by so fast, and we know there will come a day when it will seem as though they went from two-wheelers to car keys in no time.
For now, though, Chelsea is thinking only of strapping on her purple helmet and taking to the sidewalk or tennis courts. “Daddy, you need to watch out,” she says, “because I make sharp turns.” OK, Chelsea, I’ll be on my toes. Her older sister, meanwhile, can see that our attention is on Daughter No. 2. Therefore, she begins cutting Chelsea off with her bike, and performing tricks that she really can’t do that well on her bike. Before long, she’s crashing into a tennis net. And so it goes. It seems as if the older one just started riding her bike ten minutes ago – and now her long, ever-growing limbs call to mind Kermit the Frog riding his bicycle in The Muppet Movie.
Two years ago, Pedro Alvarez was the second overall pick in baseball’s amateur draft. For the next 24 months, the Pittsburgh Pirates kept a set of training wheels on their talented third baseman. The Pirates transitioned Alvarez from Vanderbilt University to the pros by letting the lefty slugger learn in the minors. He played in towns such as Altoona, Pa., and Indianapolis, belting home runs at every step.
In the middle of June, Pittsburgh decided it was time. The training wheels came off, and Alvarez was called up from Indianapolis. He is now the starting third baseman and No. 5 hitter in a major-league lineup. The Pirates hope he’ll be theirs for many years to come.
In his second month on that two-wheeler, Alvarez is most definitely making sharp turns. He slugged a pair of home runs on Tuesday, then followed that up with another pair of homers on Wednesday. So far, the 23-year-old has seven home runs and 20 runs batted in after just 112 at-bats. He’s striking out a lot, and his average is at .250. But the young man is showing tremendous promise. That’s what was expected, and that’s what his team is seeing.
Someday, when Pedro Alvarez is holding some award in his hand or signing his first nine-figure free-agent contract, it will seem difficult to remember some of those days back in the minors, when the training wheels were fastened tightly. But if he thinks hard enough, he’ll remember. And while I’m sure he’ll be living in the moment, I’ll bet Alvarez will also yearn somewhat for that formative time, before he strapped on the black and gold hat and went out into the big leagues on his own.
Because once the wheels come off, you have to make your own way along the path you’re given. You can ask for directions, and you can get some tips on how to slow down or avoid obstacles. But ultimately, it’s in your hands now. You’re growing up.
And those tears you see? Oh, that’s just Mom and Dad feeling proud of you. Proud, and just a little bit older.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Babes & Busters (One Sixty-Two: Day 79)
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 Seventy-Nine: Buster Posey, San Francisco Giants
This year, the National League has one of its most impressive rookie classes ever. From the outfield to the pitcher’s mound to the backstop, rookies are playing crucial roles on several big-league teams. America’s modern youth sports system expects young athletes to specialize in one sport early on, and to play that sport all year long. So when a 22-year-old arrives in the big leagues today, he’s a lot more experienced and ready to contribute than the typical rookie of previous generations. This year’s rookies are likely to play deciding roles in determining who wins the league’s pennant. Come November, it will be awfully tough to determine who this season’s NL Rookie of the Year should be.
Despite their enormous talent, there’s one problem with most of these talented National League rookies: Their first names are too dull. There’s Stephen Strasburg, Jason Heyward, Michael Stanton, Matt Latos, Mike Leake, Pedro Alvarez. Jaime Garcia, Ike Davis. All right, Ike isn’t a name you’d see every day, but the rest are just so ordinary. Where are the nicknames? Ever since the early days of pro baseball, nicknames have been such a colorful part of the game. Where are they now?
Until these youngsters find a more colorful moniker, my Rookie of the Year vote goes for the 23-year-old who catches for the San Francisco Giants and answers to the name of Buster. His given name is Gerald Posey, but this Georgia native is the one rookie who’s following that time-honored baseball tradition of grabbing hold of a cool nickname. Buster Posey: Once you hear the name, you can’t forget it.
Creative nicknames add to a ballplayer’s mythic lore, and offer the sportswriters more color to work with when describing the players’ exploits. Back in the old days, when sports fans learned about their athletes from newspaper articles rather than SportsCenter highlights, these nicknames helped paint a picture of the player in each reader’s mind.
Who needed a Lawrence Berra when you could call the Yankee catcher “Yogi”? And why call the outfielder plain ol’ Joe Jackson when “Shoeless Joe” sounded so much better? The great home-run hitter’s name was George Ruth, but how ‘bout just calling him “Babe”? And on it goes, from James “Cool Papa” Bell to Mordecai “Three Finger” Brown to Joseph “Ducky” Medwick. And that’s not even counting all the men named Lefty or Red or Whitey or Hack or Goose or Smokey.
According to the San Jose Mercury News, Posey’s father, Demp, was called “Buster” as a kid. When he had his own son, Demp named his child Gerald Dempsey Posey III, but chose to call the kid by the same nickname he had known as a child. "It stuck with him," Demp Posey told the Mercury News. "It's just kind of him. He's just ol' Buster."
So let Stephen Strasburg strike out the world, and let Jason Heyward hit home runs to the moon. As for me, I’m voting for the rookie who’s hitting .333, driving in runs and leading the defense for San Francisco. He’s a gamer, and he’s a Buster. They named him just right.
Day Seventy-Nine: Buster Posey, San Francisco Giants
This year, the National League has one of its most impressive rookie classes ever. From the outfield to the pitcher’s mound to the backstop, rookies are playing crucial roles on several big-league teams. America’s modern youth sports system expects young athletes to specialize in one sport early on, and to play that sport all year long. So when a 22-year-old arrives in the big leagues today, he’s a lot more experienced and ready to contribute than the typical rookie of previous generations. This year’s rookies are likely to play deciding roles in determining who wins the league’s pennant. Come November, it will be awfully tough to determine who this season’s NL Rookie of the Year should be.
Despite their enormous talent, there’s one problem with most of these talented National League rookies: Their first names are too dull. There’s Stephen Strasburg, Jason Heyward, Michael Stanton, Matt Latos, Mike Leake, Pedro Alvarez. Jaime Garcia, Ike Davis. All right, Ike isn’t a name you’d see every day, but the rest are just so ordinary. Where are the nicknames? Ever since the early days of pro baseball, nicknames have been such a colorful part of the game. Where are they now?
Until these youngsters find a more colorful moniker, my Rookie of the Year vote goes for the 23-year-old who catches for the San Francisco Giants and answers to the name of Buster. His given name is Gerald Posey, but this Georgia native is the one rookie who’s following that time-honored baseball tradition of grabbing hold of a cool nickname. Buster Posey: Once you hear the name, you can’t forget it.
Creative nicknames add to a ballplayer’s mythic lore, and offer the sportswriters more color to work with when describing the players’ exploits. Back in the old days, when sports fans learned about their athletes from newspaper articles rather than SportsCenter highlights, these nicknames helped paint a picture of the player in each reader’s mind.
Who needed a Lawrence Berra when you could call the Yankee catcher “Yogi”? And why call the outfielder plain ol’ Joe Jackson when “Shoeless Joe” sounded so much better? The great home-run hitter’s name was George Ruth, but how ‘bout just calling him “Babe”? And on it goes, from James “Cool Papa” Bell to Mordecai “Three Finger” Brown to Joseph “Ducky” Medwick. And that’s not even counting all the men named Lefty or Red or Whitey or Hack or Goose or Smokey.
According to the San Jose Mercury News, Posey’s father, Demp, was called “Buster” as a kid. When he had his own son, Demp named his child Gerald Dempsey Posey III, but chose to call the kid by the same nickname he had known as a child. "It stuck with him," Demp Posey told the Mercury News. "It's just kind of him. He's just ol' Buster."
So let Stephen Strasburg strike out the world, and let Jason Heyward hit home runs to the moon. As for me, I’m voting for the rookie who’s hitting .333, driving in runs and leading the defense for San Francisco. He’s a gamer, and he’s a Buster. They named him just right.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
