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 Forty-Five: Alex Rios, Chicago White Sox
After playing outside in the heat for a while, the girls realized it was time to cool down in the air-conditioning. As they glanced around the living room, they huddled up and decided to re-create the carnival they’d attended at Katie’s school on Friday. So, within 20 minutes’ time, the room was filled with games of chance and skill.
I was handed 10 dominoes and told that these were my tickets. I was escorted through each of the games, which were set up on end tables and chairs throughout the room. I tossed a ball at stuffed animals to knock them down, I flipped Littlest Pets into plastic drinking cups, and I guessed which cup the ponytail-holder was hidden beneath. The games kept coming, and I kept trying to win some of the toys lined up beneath the homemade sign. It was simple sign, and it read: “Prizzes.”
Don’t we all aspire to win a few prizzes. In baseball, they give out plenty, including a lesser-publicized prize known as the Comeback Player of the Year Award. It may not carry the cachet of an MVP or a Cy Young award, but it means an awful lot to those who win it. What the award says is that you got your game together again, and returned to the level of excellence you had attained at an earlier time in your career.
Alex Rios is 29 years old, with plenty of baseball left in him. But in 2007, it appeared that Rios would soon become one of the best all-around players in the game. Rios hit .297, smacked 24 homers, drove in 85 runs and stole 17 bases three years ago. As the Toronto Blue Jays mapped out their future, they centered it around Rios.
But then the production dropped. In both 2008 and ’09, Rios hit fewer home runs, drove in fewer runs, and watched his batting average dive down. Finally, Toronto traded him to the Chicago White Sox to clear his salary off of their books. So as 2010 began, Rios had something to prove in Chicago.
And my, has he come back. One-third of the way through the season, Rios already has hit 12 home runs, driven in 29 runs, stolen 17 bases and posted a .318 batting average. Better yet, Rios has cut down on the strikeouts and increased his number of walks. Although his team is struggling, Rios has shown the White Sox that they made a very smart move in trading for him. Chicago, like Toronto three years ago, can build its future around this 6-foot-5, right-handed slugger.
If he keeps this up, Rios will have a Comeback Player of the Year Award in his living room this fall. But at the pace he’s producing, that won’t be the only honor he gets. When you hit like this, there’s no telling how many prizzes you’ll get. The carnival lasts a long time for players like this.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Stemming the Flow (One Sixty-Two: Day 44)
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 Forty-Four: Chris Tillman, Baltimore Orioles
When you view it through the box score, it looks like a disaster. He faced 11 batters, and five of them reached via hit. Two more walked. Four runners scored. The line tells you he pitched one and one-third inning, and watched from the mound as the Boston Red Sox belted him around the park. Once the struggles began for Chris Tillman last night, they didn’t stop.
Tillman is one of the Baltimore Orioles’ hot young prospects, and he’ll likely pitch much better his next time around. But last night, after absorbing a Boston pounding, the young man might have struggled to remember it was just a game.
If he did have some trouble letting go of last night’s loss, Tillman needed only to look at a newspaper for perspective. A lost ballgame hurts, but the flow of Red Sox runs means very little compared to the flow of oil beneath the Gulf of Mexico.
Tillman’s poor pitching numbers pale in comparison to the numbers we’re getting out of the Gulf: According to British Petroleum, more than 115 million gallons of oil may already have spilled into the Gulf since the Deepwater Horizon oil rig explosion of April 20. The lineup of animals affected by this disaster is much more frightening than any Red Sox lineup, ranging from pelicans and gulls to dolphins and whales to shrimp and plankton to tuna and turtles. Scientists and reporters are helping us to understand this crisis, and the government and BP are trying to fix it. But the reality is crystal-clear that this never, ever should have happened.
Two of my seniors gave a presentation this week on solar and wind energy. They constructed their own wind turbine using a bicycle wheel, duct tape, an old car jack, a car belt, scrap wood and a ’61 Ford generator. As wind blew on the turbine, the voltmeter displayed energy, created solely by air.
It’s the same air that lifted those hits off of Chris Tillman last night. But it’s clean and crisp and free, and the only thing it does to turtles and pelicans is fill their lungs. We bounce back from disasters by making changes. The sun and the wind are here, ready to provide for us. It’s time to change our approach to energy, because this kind of mistake needs a game-changer.
Day Forty-Four: Chris Tillman, Baltimore Orioles
When you view it through the box score, it looks like a disaster. He faced 11 batters, and five of them reached via hit. Two more walked. Four runners scored. The line tells you he pitched one and one-third inning, and watched from the mound as the Boston Red Sox belted him around the park. Once the struggles began for Chris Tillman last night, they didn’t stop.
Tillman is one of the Baltimore Orioles’ hot young prospects, and he’ll likely pitch much better his next time around. But last night, after absorbing a Boston pounding, the young man might have struggled to remember it was just a game.
If he did have some trouble letting go of last night’s loss, Tillman needed only to look at a newspaper for perspective. A lost ballgame hurts, but the flow of Red Sox runs means very little compared to the flow of oil beneath the Gulf of Mexico.
Tillman’s poor pitching numbers pale in comparison to the numbers we’re getting out of the Gulf: According to British Petroleum, more than 115 million gallons of oil may already have spilled into the Gulf since the Deepwater Horizon oil rig explosion of April 20. The lineup of animals affected by this disaster is much more frightening than any Red Sox lineup, ranging from pelicans and gulls to dolphins and whales to shrimp and plankton to tuna and turtles. Scientists and reporters are helping us to understand this crisis, and the government and BP are trying to fix it. But the reality is crystal-clear that this never, ever should have happened.
Two of my seniors gave a presentation this week on solar and wind energy. They constructed their own wind turbine using a bicycle wheel, duct tape, an old car jack, a car belt, scrap wood and a ’61 Ford generator. As wind blew on the turbine, the voltmeter displayed energy, created solely by air.
It’s the same air that lifted those hits off of Chris Tillman last night. But it’s clean and crisp and free, and the only thing it does to turtles and pelicans is fill their lungs. We bounce back from disasters by making changes. The sun and the wind are here, ready to provide for us. It’s time to change our approach to energy, because this kind of mistake needs a game-changer.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Short People (One Sixty-Two: Day 43)
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 Forty-Three: David Eckstein, San Diego Padres
This is a short story. About a short man. He’s easy to mistake for Dave from accounting, or Dave the IT guy, or “Hello, this is Dave, may I take your order?”
He is 5-foot-7, and could easily blow away in a wind storm. Do you waste an early draft pick on an infielder who’s 5-7? Of course not. You take him with the 581st pick in the draft, then send him to the minors.
You raise an eyebrow, though, when at age 26 he’s starting at shortstop for the Angels and stealing 29 bases as a rookie. The following year, you really perk up when his inspiring infield play and leadoff hitting plays a key role in the Angels’ first-ever world championship. You watch him earn All-Star appearances in 2005 and ’06 for the Cardinals, and by this time, when he earns a World Series MVP for St. Louis in 2006, you’re no longer surprised by anything this man does.
You remember the bridge to Randy Newman’s song Short People: “Short people are just the same / As you and I … All men are brothers / Until the day they die.” David Eckstein, all 67 inches of him, has been exceeding expectations on the baseball field for nine years now. This year, as the Padres’ second baseman, his consistent hitting and fielding are one of the reasons why San Diego has surprised the baseball world by standing atop the National League West division, four days into June.
The Padres aren’t supposed to be this good. But then again, neither is David Eckstein. He chokes up on the bat, stands there looking like your cousin at the batting cage, and waits for the pitch. Then, as he did in the bottom of the ninth against the Mets’ Francisco Rodriguez two nights ago, he shocks you with another big base hit.
Turtles survived the dinosaur era. It makes no sense. David Eckstein lived through the steroid era. Again: inexplicable. But perhaps Randy Newman meant for those words to come out a little different. Maybe short people are not the same as you and I. Maybe they’re better.
Day Forty-Three: David Eckstein, San Diego Padres
This is a short story. About a short man. He’s easy to mistake for Dave from accounting, or Dave the IT guy, or “Hello, this is Dave, may I take your order?”
He is 5-foot-7, and could easily blow away in a wind storm. Do you waste an early draft pick on an infielder who’s 5-7? Of course not. You take him with the 581st pick in the draft, then send him to the minors.
You raise an eyebrow, though, when at age 26 he’s starting at shortstop for the Angels and stealing 29 bases as a rookie. The following year, you really perk up when his inspiring infield play and leadoff hitting plays a key role in the Angels’ first-ever world championship. You watch him earn All-Star appearances in 2005 and ’06 for the Cardinals, and by this time, when he earns a World Series MVP for St. Louis in 2006, you’re no longer surprised by anything this man does.
You remember the bridge to Randy Newman’s song Short People: “Short people are just the same / As you and I … All men are brothers / Until the day they die.” David Eckstein, all 67 inches of him, has been exceeding expectations on the baseball field for nine years now. This year, as the Padres’ second baseman, his consistent hitting and fielding are one of the reasons why San Diego has surprised the baseball world by standing atop the National League West division, four days into June.
The Padres aren’t supposed to be this good. But then again, neither is David Eckstein. He chokes up on the bat, stands there looking like your cousin at the batting cage, and waits for the pitch. Then, as he did in the bottom of the ninth against the Mets’ Francisco Rodriguez two nights ago, he shocks you with another big base hit.
Turtles survived the dinosaur era. It makes no sense. David Eckstein lived through the steroid era. Again: inexplicable. But perhaps Randy Newman meant for those words to come out a little different. Maybe short people are not the same as you and I. Maybe they’re better.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
A Man on the Mend (One Sixty-Two: Day 42)
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 Forty-Two: Miguel Cabrera, Detroit Tigers
It’s not often that a Detroit Tiger’s one-hitter becomes the most-discussed sports story in America. But that will happen when a perfect game is foiled by a missed call with two outs in the ninth inning. Armando Galarraga’s near-perfect game, umpire Jim Joyce’s erroneous safe call and emotional apology afterward, Commissioner Bud Selig’s refusal to change the call – all have been covered extensively over the past 24 hours. There are enough voices debating the merits of instant replay right now.
Instant replay on a limited scale might help clarify some missed calls, but the beauty of baseball continues with or without it. To me, the most extraordinary thing about last night’s controversial play was not Joyce’s call; it was, instead, the play of Tigers first baseman Miguel Cabrera. Some have criticized Cabrera for ranging so far to his right for the ball, rather than allowing the second baseman to field the play. But playing good defense in baseball requires a smart aggressiveness, and Cabrera showed just that – he pounced to his right, scooped up Jason Donald’s grounder, and made a clean toss to Galarraga. In making this play, Cabrera showed more than great defense; he showed us a man on the mend.
It was the first weekend of October, 2009, and the Detroit Tigers were in a battle for the divisional crown with their American League Central rival Minnesota Twins. Early on a Saturday morning, Miguel Cabrera had a much-publicized fight with his wife, in which police found both husband and wife with scratches and Cabrera with a very high blood-alcohol level. Cabrera was brought to a police station, and team general manager Dave Dombrowski drove there to pick him up. Later that day, Cabrera would go hitless as his team lost a critical game. By the end of the weekend the Tigers’ season was over, the Twins were on their way to the playoffs, and, while no charges had been filed against him, it was clear that Cabrera was a mess.
This spring, Cabrera explained that he had undergone counseling over the winter. He did not hide from his troubles. At 27 years of age and in his eighth season in the big leagues, Cabrera looked a bit like a man ready to grow up.
So to see Cabrera playing with such energy and passion last night was a most welcome sight – one that was clearly not present eight months ago. This afternoon, Cabrera was at it again, slugging his 16th home run – tied for the major-league lead – and driving in his 50th and 51st runs of the year. No one in baseball has driven in as many runs. With his batting average at .352, Cabrera is vying for both the Triple Crown and a Most Valuable Player award.
Nobody’s perfect in this life. Not Armando Galarraga. Not Jim Joyce. And definitely not Miguel Cabrera. But we can take steps forward. We can improve, recover, and make amends. It happens one step and one day at a time. Cabrera took a few steps to his right last night, fielded a tough ground ball, and looked like a new man.
Day Forty-Two: Miguel Cabrera, Detroit Tigers
It’s not often that a Detroit Tiger’s one-hitter becomes the most-discussed sports story in America. But that will happen when a perfect game is foiled by a missed call with two outs in the ninth inning. Armando Galarraga’s near-perfect game, umpire Jim Joyce’s erroneous safe call and emotional apology afterward, Commissioner Bud Selig’s refusal to change the call – all have been covered extensively over the past 24 hours. There are enough voices debating the merits of instant replay right now.
Instant replay on a limited scale might help clarify some missed calls, but the beauty of baseball continues with or without it. To me, the most extraordinary thing about last night’s controversial play was not Joyce’s call; it was, instead, the play of Tigers first baseman Miguel Cabrera. Some have criticized Cabrera for ranging so far to his right for the ball, rather than allowing the second baseman to field the play. But playing good defense in baseball requires a smart aggressiveness, and Cabrera showed just that – he pounced to his right, scooped up Jason Donald’s grounder, and made a clean toss to Galarraga. In making this play, Cabrera showed more than great defense; he showed us a man on the mend.
It was the first weekend of October, 2009, and the Detroit Tigers were in a battle for the divisional crown with their American League Central rival Minnesota Twins. Early on a Saturday morning, Miguel Cabrera had a much-publicized fight with his wife, in which police found both husband and wife with scratches and Cabrera with a very high blood-alcohol level. Cabrera was brought to a police station, and team general manager Dave Dombrowski drove there to pick him up. Later that day, Cabrera would go hitless as his team lost a critical game. By the end of the weekend the Tigers’ season was over, the Twins were on their way to the playoffs, and, while no charges had been filed against him, it was clear that Cabrera was a mess.
This spring, Cabrera explained that he had undergone counseling over the winter. He did not hide from his troubles. At 27 years of age and in his eighth season in the big leagues, Cabrera looked a bit like a man ready to grow up.
So to see Cabrera playing with such energy and passion last night was a most welcome sight – one that was clearly not present eight months ago. This afternoon, Cabrera was at it again, slugging his 16th home run – tied for the major-league lead – and driving in his 50th and 51st runs of the year. No one in baseball has driven in as many runs. With his batting average at .352, Cabrera is vying for both the Triple Crown and a Most Valuable Player award.
Nobody’s perfect in this life. Not Armando Galarraga. Not Jim Joyce. And definitely not Miguel Cabrera. But we can take steps forward. We can improve, recover, and make amends. It happens one step and one day at a time. Cabrera took a few steps to his right last night, fielded a tough ground ball, and looked like a new man.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Hemingway's Kind of Hero (One Sixty-Two: Day 41)
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 Forty-One: Albert Pujols, St. Louis Cardinals
Do you believe the great DiMaggio would stay with a fish as long as I will stay with this one? he thought. I am sure he would and more since he is young and strong. Also his father was a fisherman. But would the bone spur hurt him too much?
I have begun reading Ernest Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea with my freshmen. While they haven’t yet reached the quote above, they are engaged in Santiago’s humble, dedicated life as a fisherman, and they are well aware of the protagonist’s devotion to the great Joe DiMaggio.
When I asked the freshmen if they knew who DiMaggio was, almost all said they’d heard the name, and that he had something to do with baseball. A few knew he was a Yankee. But that was about all. So I gave them a primer on one of the 20th century’s most famous Americans, from his humble beginnings as the son of an immigrant fisherman to his 56-game hitting streak to his life as the royal prince of New York and, eventually, of baseball. I explained that the level of popularity DiMaggio experienced during the 1940s surpasses the fame of any American athlete today, since baseball was simply the sport at that time in our history. We watched a video of DiMaggio, and the kids asked some good questions.
But afterward, as I flipped through the book preparing for tomorrow’s lessons, I wondered who Santiago would call his hero if he were out on his skiff in the Caribbean today. Which ballplayer would give him strength as that mighty marlin tugged on the line for days?
Would it be the great Mariano Rivera, relief pitcher for the New York Yankees, who maintains a regal grace and cool under pressure as he saves games for his team? Would it be Mike Lowell of the Boston Red Sox, who has been discarded like an old fisherman and tossed aside on the Boston bench, and who must wait patiently for his opportunity to ply his trade again for another team? Or would it be Kendry Morales of the Angels, the most famous of the current players born in Santiago’s country of Cuba?
All would be wise choices. But I think that if Hemingway were writing this novel today, he’d do just what he did 60 years ago, and shoot for the top. If you’re facing the greatest challenge of your working life, then why not take your inspiration from the mightiest baseball hero of all? Santiago’s choice would be easy: He’d be cheering for Albert Pujols, the St. Louis Cardinals’ larger-than-life first baseman.
It is the mighty Pujols, after all, who hits all pitchers, who has played with pain in his elbow, and who stops at nothing to excel in all facets of his game. Pujols has averaged 40 home runs and 123 runs batted in per year in his first nine seasons. He has won three Most Valuable Player awards and one world championship. At age 30, Pujols is already a sure-fire Hall of Famer. And he may still be improving. By the end of the year, this Dominican-born slugger will likely have more than 400 career home runs. Were he to play into his 40s, there may be no record he does not own.
So yes, Pujols would surely be Santiago’s man today. But although it’s easy to pick DiMaggio’s equal in 2010, it is much more difficult to visualize Pujols the hero in quite the same way that Santiago saw DiMaggio in Hemingway’s story. Santiago was a poor man, who might have had access to some radio, but whose main source for baseball news was the newspapers that he read, then used as a sheet to cover the springs that stuck up from his bed. Today, however, the fisherman would surely have access to countless Pujols images on TV and the Internet.
While this makes it easier to know just what the big guy looks like hitting his awesome homers, it also takes something away from the myth-makers inside of us. When you’ve got to create your own images from the agate type you read in the box scores, those home runs take on a whole new life. They become personal snapshots and videos that you can own and fine-tune all day long, as you hold fast to that great fish inside your skiff on the sea.
Day Forty-One: Albert Pujols, St. Louis Cardinals
Do you believe the great DiMaggio would stay with a fish as long as I will stay with this one? he thought. I am sure he would and more since he is young and strong. Also his father was a fisherman. But would the bone spur hurt him too much?
I have begun reading Ernest Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea with my freshmen. While they haven’t yet reached the quote above, they are engaged in Santiago’s humble, dedicated life as a fisherman, and they are well aware of the protagonist’s devotion to the great Joe DiMaggio.
When I asked the freshmen if they knew who DiMaggio was, almost all said they’d heard the name, and that he had something to do with baseball. A few knew he was a Yankee. But that was about all. So I gave them a primer on one of the 20th century’s most famous Americans, from his humble beginnings as the son of an immigrant fisherman to his 56-game hitting streak to his life as the royal prince of New York and, eventually, of baseball. I explained that the level of popularity DiMaggio experienced during the 1940s surpasses the fame of any American athlete today, since baseball was simply the sport at that time in our history. We watched a video of DiMaggio, and the kids asked some good questions.
But afterward, as I flipped through the book preparing for tomorrow’s lessons, I wondered who Santiago would call his hero if he were out on his skiff in the Caribbean today. Which ballplayer would give him strength as that mighty marlin tugged on the line for days?
Would it be the great Mariano Rivera, relief pitcher for the New York Yankees, who maintains a regal grace and cool under pressure as he saves games for his team? Would it be Mike Lowell of the Boston Red Sox, who has been discarded like an old fisherman and tossed aside on the Boston bench, and who must wait patiently for his opportunity to ply his trade again for another team? Or would it be Kendry Morales of the Angels, the most famous of the current players born in Santiago’s country of Cuba?
All would be wise choices. But I think that if Hemingway were writing this novel today, he’d do just what he did 60 years ago, and shoot for the top. If you’re facing the greatest challenge of your working life, then why not take your inspiration from the mightiest baseball hero of all? Santiago’s choice would be easy: He’d be cheering for Albert Pujols, the St. Louis Cardinals’ larger-than-life first baseman.
It is the mighty Pujols, after all, who hits all pitchers, who has played with pain in his elbow, and who stops at nothing to excel in all facets of his game. Pujols has averaged 40 home runs and 123 runs batted in per year in his first nine seasons. He has won three Most Valuable Player awards and one world championship. At age 30, Pujols is already a sure-fire Hall of Famer. And he may still be improving. By the end of the year, this Dominican-born slugger will likely have more than 400 career home runs. Were he to play into his 40s, there may be no record he does not own.
So yes, Pujols would surely be Santiago’s man today. But although it’s easy to pick DiMaggio’s equal in 2010, it is much more difficult to visualize Pujols the hero in quite the same way that Santiago saw DiMaggio in Hemingway’s story. Santiago was a poor man, who might have had access to some radio, but whose main source for baseball news was the newspapers that he read, then used as a sheet to cover the springs that stuck up from his bed. Today, however, the fisherman would surely have access to countless Pujols images on TV and the Internet.
While this makes it easier to know just what the big guy looks like hitting his awesome homers, it also takes something away from the myth-makers inside of us. When you’ve got to create your own images from the agate type you read in the box scores, those home runs take on a whole new life. They become personal snapshots and videos that you can own and fine-tune all day long, as you hold fast to that great fish inside your skiff on the sea.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Kings James & Carl (One Sixty-Two: Day 40)
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 Forty: Carl Crawford, Tampa Bay Rays
The Lakers are playing the Celtics again in the NBA Finals this year, but this matchup of legendary franchises is not the top story in the NBA right now. Since 28 other teams are done for the year, and the most talented basketball player on Earth is a free agent, the biggest story is this: Where will LeBron James be playing next year? Will he re-sign with his hometown Cleveland Cavaliers? Or will he go for the big-city life and choose the New York Knicks, New Jersey Nets, Chicago Bulls or Los Angeles Clippers?
The team that James chooses will immediately become a playoff contender, if it’s not one already. His presence on the court will carry his team to dozens of wins that it wouldn’t have claimed without him. A championship requires more than one great player, but one LeBron James can serve as a ticket to the NBA’s postseason.
Baseball is much different, in that one player cannot single-handedly lead his team into the playoffs. Ken Griffey Jr. couldn’t do it for the Reds, Alex Rodriguez couldn’t do it for the Rangers, and Carlos Lee hasn’t done it for the Astros. In baseball, the best free-agent signings are the ones that provide the one missing piece a team needed in order to rise from good to great. The Boston Red Sox’s 2003 signing of David Ortiz, the slugging lefty, is one such example. When Ortiz entered the Boston lineup, he prevented teams from pitching around Manny Ramirez. One year later, the Red Sox were champions.
So in baseball this winter, there will be no talk of LeBron James. The big question, instead, will be this: Where will Carl Crawford play next year? The Tampa Bay Rays’ left fielder is one of baseball’s elite talents: He plays the best left field in baseball, he steals bases at will, he hits for average, he pops just enough home runs to keep outfielders from playing him shallow, and he serves as a vocal leader in the clubhouse. In short, there’s very little the man can’t do. Add him to an already-strong team, and you might just have yourself a championship club.
Losing Crawford would deal a devastating blow to Tampa’s civic pride, in the same way that Cleveland would suffer without James. Fans of the Rays hope that a great 2010 from the team (the Rays currently hold the best record in baseball) will keep Crawford in town beyond this year. As for the rest of baseball, there are an awful lot of owners with their checkbooks ready.
By the time we reach October, Crawford’s free agency might just overshadow the on-field drama of the World Series. By then, an enormously wealthy LeBron James will be starting his season – somewhere, with a team still to be determined. Stay tuned.
Day Forty: Carl Crawford, Tampa Bay Rays
The Lakers are playing the Celtics again in the NBA Finals this year, but this matchup of legendary franchises is not the top story in the NBA right now. Since 28 other teams are done for the year, and the most talented basketball player on Earth is a free agent, the biggest story is this: Where will LeBron James be playing next year? Will he re-sign with his hometown Cleveland Cavaliers? Or will he go for the big-city life and choose the New York Knicks, New Jersey Nets, Chicago Bulls or Los Angeles Clippers?
The team that James chooses will immediately become a playoff contender, if it’s not one already. His presence on the court will carry his team to dozens of wins that it wouldn’t have claimed without him. A championship requires more than one great player, but one LeBron James can serve as a ticket to the NBA’s postseason.
Baseball is much different, in that one player cannot single-handedly lead his team into the playoffs. Ken Griffey Jr. couldn’t do it for the Reds, Alex Rodriguez couldn’t do it for the Rangers, and Carlos Lee hasn’t done it for the Astros. In baseball, the best free-agent signings are the ones that provide the one missing piece a team needed in order to rise from good to great. The Boston Red Sox’s 2003 signing of David Ortiz, the slugging lefty, is one such example. When Ortiz entered the Boston lineup, he prevented teams from pitching around Manny Ramirez. One year later, the Red Sox were champions.
So in baseball this winter, there will be no talk of LeBron James. The big question, instead, will be this: Where will Carl Crawford play next year? The Tampa Bay Rays’ left fielder is one of baseball’s elite talents: He plays the best left field in baseball, he steals bases at will, he hits for average, he pops just enough home runs to keep outfielders from playing him shallow, and he serves as a vocal leader in the clubhouse. In short, there’s very little the man can’t do. Add him to an already-strong team, and you might just have yourself a championship club.
Losing Crawford would deal a devastating blow to Tampa’s civic pride, in the same way that Cleveland would suffer without James. Fans of the Rays hope that a great 2010 from the team (the Rays currently hold the best record in baseball) will keep Crawford in town beyond this year. As for the rest of baseball, there are an awful lot of owners with their checkbooks ready.
By the time we reach October, Crawford’s free agency might just overshadow the on-field drama of the World Series. By then, an enormously wealthy LeBron James will be starting his season – somewhere, with a team still to be determined. Stay tuned.
Biggie Played Dead (One Sixty-Two: Day 39)
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-Nine: David Ortiz, Boston Red Sox
Toward the end of a glorious Memorial Day weekend at the beach, Katie was digging in the sand by the water’s edge. As Amy and I lounged in the sun, our daughter came running up to us, her orange pail in hand.
“Mommy, I found a big crab!” she exclaimed, showing her mom a sand crab that was slightly more than an inch long an inch wide. Katie quickly named her crab “Biggie,” and soon had two smaller crabs in the pail to keep him company. The companions were named Sammy and Georgie.
Every few minutes, Katie would reach into the sandy bucket and lift Biggie out to inspect him. After a minute of checking him out, she’d drop Biggie back into the pail, and he’d quickly dig his way into the sand at the bottom of the bucket. After several minutes of this back and forth, Katie again dropped Biggie into the pail. But this time, instead of digging, he lay motionless in the water. Upside-down.
After a moment, the tears began rolling down Katie’s cheeks, and the guilt set in. She blamed herself for poor Biggie’s death, for all that lifting him out of his element. But just as we prepared to bury him, Biggie suddenly flipped himself over, scurried into the sand, and left an 8-year-old girl laughing away the tears.
Biggie played dead. Was that a recent headline in The Boston Globe? And didn’t I read those words in Beantown last spring, too? In Massachusetts, Biggie is better known as Big Papi, who is better known to the rest of us as David Ortiz, designated hitter for the Boston Red Sox. In 2009 and 2010, Ortiz started his baseball seasons in miserable fashion. Last year, Ortiz had just one home run and 33 hits through the end of May. This season, he had one homer and a .143 batting average by April’s end.
And then, just as the David Ortiz career retrospectives were going to press, the big man flipped around, dug his cleats into the dirt again and started bopping home runs all over the yard. Last year, he hit 27 home runs in the season’s final four months. This year, he slugged 10 homers and drove in more than a run per game in May.
So here he is now, as we enter June, just a few home runs off the league lead. Here is his team, playing winning baseball again and back in the pennant race. Indeed, Big Papi is back. And with him, so are the Red Sox.
Once Biggie the crab flipped over in the pail, Katie brought him back to the ocean. No more playing around with this crab. It was time for Biggie to do his thing again, in his own element. And the same went for Sammy and Georgie, too.
Day Thirty-Nine: David Ortiz, Boston Red Sox
Toward the end of a glorious Memorial Day weekend at the beach, Katie was digging in the sand by the water’s edge. As Amy and I lounged in the sun, our daughter came running up to us, her orange pail in hand.
“Mommy, I found a big crab!” she exclaimed, showing her mom a sand crab that was slightly more than an inch long an inch wide. Katie quickly named her crab “Biggie,” and soon had two smaller crabs in the pail to keep him company. The companions were named Sammy and Georgie.
Every few minutes, Katie would reach into the sandy bucket and lift Biggie out to inspect him. After a minute of checking him out, she’d drop Biggie back into the pail, and he’d quickly dig his way into the sand at the bottom of the bucket. After several minutes of this back and forth, Katie again dropped Biggie into the pail. But this time, instead of digging, he lay motionless in the water. Upside-down.
After a moment, the tears began rolling down Katie’s cheeks, and the guilt set in. She blamed herself for poor Biggie’s death, for all that lifting him out of his element. But just as we prepared to bury him, Biggie suddenly flipped himself over, scurried into the sand, and left an 8-year-old girl laughing away the tears.
Biggie played dead. Was that a recent headline in The Boston Globe? And didn’t I read those words in Beantown last spring, too? In Massachusetts, Biggie is better known as Big Papi, who is better known to the rest of us as David Ortiz, designated hitter for the Boston Red Sox. In 2009 and 2010, Ortiz started his baseball seasons in miserable fashion. Last year, Ortiz had just one home run and 33 hits through the end of May. This season, he had one homer and a .143 batting average by April’s end.
And then, just as the David Ortiz career retrospectives were going to press, the big man flipped around, dug his cleats into the dirt again and started bopping home runs all over the yard. Last year, he hit 27 home runs in the season’s final four months. This year, he slugged 10 homers and drove in more than a run per game in May.
So here he is now, as we enter June, just a few home runs off the league lead. Here is his team, playing winning baseball again and back in the pennant race. Indeed, Big Papi is back. And with him, so are the Red Sox.
Once Biggie the crab flipped over in the pail, Katie brought him back to the ocean. No more playing around with this crab. It was time for Biggie to do his thing again, in his own element. And the same went for Sammy and Georgie, too.
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