The Incredibles

            It was fitting this week that the Baseball Writers’ Association of America released its Hall of Fame voting results just one day before the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences announced their Oscar nominations. If baseball looks closely enough, it may find a solution to its most weighty problem on that Oscar ballot.

            In 1994, a vicious labor dispute led to the cancellation of the entire baseball postseason, embarrassing the sport to such an extent that many wondered if fan interest would ever resurface. However, once the games resumed in 1995, America’s pastime stormed back with a vengeance, just as it did after the Chicago White Sox scandal of 1919, when several players “threw” the World Series by taking money from gamblers.

            In the 1920s, baseball was saved in large part by a portly man whose mammoth home runs brought fans to the ballpark in droves. In 1998, baseball was saved in large part by two muscular men whose mammoth home runs electrified the nation. But there was a difference between the way in which Babe Ruth saved baseball in the 1920s, and the way in which Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa saved baseball in the late ‘90s. Babe Ruth, according to writers and historians, was known to enjoy many a good drink; he succeeded despite taking a performance-inhibiting drug. McGwire and Sosa, on the other hand, seem to have succeeded due to performance-enhancing drugs. And with their success, baseball fully entered its Steroid Era.

            Home run records fell by the dozens in those late ‘90s and early 2000s. Barry Bonds hit so many home runs so often that he was walked a record 232 times in the 2004 season. There has never been anything like this, as home runs soared over fences with a frequency you had to see to believe. But then again, you had to see these ballplayers’ muscles to believe them, too. During that 2004 season, Bonds turned 40 years old. Yet, he looked more like the lead character from Pixar’s ’04 film hit The Incredibles than a typical 40-year-old athlete. The bulked-up ballplayers, who were free from any kind of steroid testing, flexed super-sized biceps, pecs and quads that brought to mind Mr. Incredible and his giant, muscular body.

            A lot has gone down since 2004 in Major League Baseball, as we’ve learned that so much of that excitement from the late ‘90s and early ‘00s was created by performance-enhancing drugs. Who took what, and when, and how much is impossible to know for sure, as there was no steroid testing until 2006. There was no agreement on in-season testing for human growth hormone until yesterday. Athletes in search of an edge turned to syringes to enhance their own skills, and they got rich doing so.

            And so, when several of the most celebrated players of the past 15 years became eligible for Hall of Fame candidacy this year, the baseball writers sent a powerful message by electing no one to receive baseball’s highest honor in 2013. Not the guy with seven MVP awards. Not the guy with seven Cy Young awards. Not the guys with 3,000 hits, 500 or more home runs, or 3,000 or more strikeouts. Nobody.

            Some of these eligible players did not take steroids or human growth hormone, but through its massive cover-up baseball did not allow us to know who was cheating and who was playing fair. So, this year, every player suffered the consequences.

            It was an era of irresponsible, unhealthy, and deceitful behavior. But it is also true that during this time, baseball fans devoured the record-breaking offense with much enthusiasm and not much questioning. It is, therefore, rather difficult for us to point fingers at these players without pointing fingers at ourselves as well. They were, after all, giving us what we wanted. We cheered and clapped for the guys who looked like Pixar characters, so the sport created more and more of them.

            So that brings us to the Oscars. Back in 1995, Pixar introduced a revolutionary form of digital animation with the now-classic film Toy Story. Half a decade later, after the success of A Bug’s Life and Toy Story 2, it was clear that this company had changed the way movies were made. Thus, in 2001 the Academy began awarding an Oscar for Best Animated Feature. In the first 11 years of that award, a Pixar film was nominated eight times. This week, the company picked up nomination number nine.

            Baseball can look at this Oscar category and follow suit with its Hall of Fame dilemma: Simply take the players from the Steroid Era and vote them in under “Best Animated Players.” Some of them were on the juice and some weren’t, but baseball gave us no way of knowing. So we’ll treat them all like we do Buzz Lightyear, Wall-E and Mr. Incredible – we’ll give them their own category. And if the dust ever clears and we get full disclosure, we’ll consider nominating them for the regular Hall as well, just as Pixar movies like Up and Toy Story 3 have also been nominated for Best Picture.

            It’s fitting that this year’s Pixar nominee is a film titled Brave. If only Major League Baseball had shown some degree of courage during the Steroid Era, we might be looking at our recent sports history through a different lens. But brave they weren’t. So the baseball writers called them out on that this week. Even Mr. Incredible can’t save the day with this one.

When Time Speeds Up (One Sixty-Two: Day 131)

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-One: Gordon Beckham, Chicago White Sox

Time started to speed up today. From the moment I entered my school on this, the first day for teachers, everything felt like it was moving in fast forward. The paperwork. The meetings. The conversations with colleagues. The boxes to unpack. The room to decorate.

The marathon that we call a school year has begun, but it always begins and ends in a sprint. As we go from 0 to 60 in a matter of hours, teachers try to search within for the ability to breathe deep and allow time to slow down again. It can be done, but it takes real effort. If we don’t slow it down, the only thing we can be sure of is that we’ll come home with a headache every day.

They talk a lot in baseball about what happens when the game starts to speed up on players. When you’re struggling, it often ends up that you step into the batter’s box and, before you can blink, you have two strikes on you. Hitting coaches work with players to develop rhythms and patience at the plate, with the hopes of preventing pitchers from dictating the outcome of every at-bat. As for pitchers, they too need to slow things down so that they don’t find themselves walking two batters quickly, only to groove a pitch down the middle of the plate to the third man up.

Gordon Beckham has struggled this year with the pace of his game. Two years ago, Beckham was a first-round draft pick, and he debuted with the Chicago White Sox last season. Beckham’s rookie campaign was an excellent one, as he hit .270 with 14 home runs in just 378 at bats. There were high hopes pinned on Beckham in the Windy City as the 2010 season began. But in April, Beckham found himself hitting just .235 for the month. In May, he hit .159. And in June, he hit .233. Overall, this left him at just .216 for the first half of the season. Beckham had gone from one of the hottest young prospects in the game to one of the least effective starting position players in all of baseball.

And then, in early July, time started to slow down for the second baseman. He began to knock doubles into the gap, and he hit some home runs as well. The White Sox have kept Beckham in the ninth spot in the lineup, but he is hitting again. In July, his average was .354, and in August it was .309. Beckham is controlling his at-bats once again, and he can anticipate a pitch and make the pitcher pay.

In teaching parlance, Beckham is once again walking in the door ready for his lessons – he prepared the day before, and he knows the material well. He’s well-rested and ready to meet the students’ needs, whatever they might be. He’s doing his grading, but not letting that stack of papers take over his life. He’s got the rest of his paperwork under control, and he’s not getting stressed out over the little things. He’s calling the parents of students who are struggling, in order to avoid major problems down the road. And, most importantly, he’s going home and doing something for himself each day so that the job doesn’t consume him in all the unhealthy ways that work can do to us.

The White Sox like the kind of baseball that their second baseman is playing right now, and he’s certainly not losing his job anytime soon. Gordon Beckham knows this, I’m sure. Now as September brings the pennant race to a close with another full-out sprint, the key for Beckham is to keep his cool as the hot lights shine on him and his teammates. The stakes may be high, but the game doesn’t have to go any faster than you want it to go. Just breathe deep, and keep your hand off that fast-forward button.

All-Stars Among Us (One Sixty-Two: Day 83)

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 Eighty-Three: Brian McCann, Atlanta Braves

One of the first great lessons my parents taught me grew out of their friendship with George and Maurice. These two men, both my parents’ age, were over our house all the time – for birthdays, holidays, and regular days – and it was clear that they were extremely close with my parents. George, after all, was my godfather, while Maurice was my brother’s godfather. In addition to being two of the most grounded individuals I know, George and Maurice also are two of the most compassionate people I’ve ever met. My parents’ friendship with them stretched back to their days at Curtis High School on Staten Island, and I could see, even as a kid, that their bonds would stretch on into forever.

So the lesson I learned here was that my own interpretation of family need not be restricted to blood ties. If your relationship with a friend was so close that they knew what you were thinking before you said a word, that person was not merely a friend. He was your brother, your cousin, your uncle. Your family. And so it has been for my brother and me, as we’ve grown up with Uncle George, Uncle Reese (until he forced us, in our 20s, to call him Maurice) and numerous other uncles, aunts and cousins whom you will not find on our family tree.

In our own adulthood, my brother and I have adhered to this ideal, and it can be seen quite wonderfully in the ways in which my daughters now call some of our close friends “Uncle” and “Aunt.” The girls don’t question it, as they seem to understand the concept completely. This was evident again this past weekend, when they spent time with their Uncle Neil and Aunt Siobhan.

Neil was my brother’s best friend in high school, and has remained his closest friend throughout Eric’s life. As I came to understand what a remarkably compassionate and considerate individual Neil was, I was able to develop a very strong friendship with him as well. He is my younger daughter’s godfather, and he chose to marry an equally loving woman who, like him, finds limitless ways to reach out to her “family” every day. As Neil and Siobhan have grown together, they’ve become the rock around which their own families revolve. They are constantly there for their parents, siblings, nieces, nephews and cousins. Their umbrella of family extends far and wide, encompassing friends from high school, college, law school and work. They are the ones who get the calls from loved ones in need of help, or a listening ear, or advice. This can be a considerable weight to carry, especially now that they have their own child. But I don’t think Neil and Siobhan would have it any other way. It’s simply who they are.

I thought of these two last night, while watching baseball’s All-Star Game. The folks at Angels Stadium, along with People magazine, had a neat idea to welcome 30 everyday heroes to the pregame festivities. These individuals were dubbed the “All-Stars Among Us,” as they have contributed mightily to their communities through various service projects. Neil and Siobhan have spent many hours coordinating and working at the Mercy Center for women and families in the South Bronx. They know what it’s like to give of yourself freely for the greater good.

Then, as the game played itself out, I saw a man step out of the shadows and carry his National League team to victory when the moment called for it. Brian McCann of the Braves wasn’t an All-Star starter, but when he stepped to the plate with the bases loaded in the seventh inning, he had a responsibility to get the job done. And so McCann did it, with a bases-clearing, game-winning double off of Chicago White Sox reliever Matt Thornton. It was enough to earn the catcher this year’s All-Star Game MVP award.

So McCann was the rock on which the National League rested its hopes last night. And he delivered. On the baseball diamond, he did what Neil and Siobhan do every day, and what they will continue to do for as long as they live. As for me, I’m just one of the lucky ones who get to experience their friendship. My parents showed me a long time ago what family is. It’s the all-stars among us.

Fathers and Footes (One Sixty-Two: Day 59)

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 Fifty-Nine: Omar Vizquel, Chicago White Sox

They popped up from behind the couch, with a “Happy Father’s Day” and a gift bag in hand. The girls gave me their homemade cards, a really cool fitness watch, and a ball that’s made for catches on the beach (“Bounces on water!” the box reads). As I thanked the girls and their mom for each of these gifts, I noticed one more small package in the gift bag.

The silver wrapping looked about the size of a baseball card – and, wouldn’t you know it, it was a pack of baseball cards. It’s been about 20 years since I’ve held a brand-new pack of cards in my hand, and I know the pack would probably be more valuable if I never opened it. But after 20 years, I still remembered that anticipation of what might be inside. I tore open the wrapper.

It wasn’t a bad pack, either, with Manny Ramirez, Cole Hamels and Jonathan Papelbon cards inside, as well as a rookie card for Giants prospect Madison Bumgarner. The most enjoyable card in the pack for me was White Sox shortstop Omar Vizquel, as the back of his card required Topps to cram 21 years worth of statistics onto one tiny surface. The point size for Vizquel’s statistics was in the low single digits, and I remembered fondly some of the similar cards I’d had as a youngster – players such as Tim McCarver and Jim Kaat, who had played in the big leagues for more than 20 years and whose numbers seemed to require a magnifying glass to read them.

The package stated that there would be 12 cards inside – unless you were lucky enough to be a winner. This year, Topps is running a contest it calls the “Million Card Giveaway,” in which the company is sending lucky winners an original baseball card from years gone by. “We’re giving you back the cards your mom threw out!” the slogan reads.

If you’ve won a card, then your pack features a replica of an old card (not the real one), along with another card featuring a special code on it. When you register on-line, you type in this code and find out which old card Topps is willing to send you.

The relic card I received was a 1955 Duke Snider, which is not a card that my mother threw out – but, most assuredly, a card that my father’s mother threw out. I looked at the young Snider following through on his swing and thought of my dad, who was enjoying a day at the beach today. The Duke was my dad’s childhood sports hero, and 1955 was the year in which Snider and Co. finally claimed that elusive world championship by defeating the rival Yankees. What daydreams my father must have had, holding this card in his 12-year-old hands and thinking of No. 4 hitting another one out of Ebbets Field.

As I said, the Snider card was just a replica. But this second card had a code on it, with an original waiting for me if I just chose to register on-line and type in the code. I knew I was setting myself up for about 500 e-mails from Topps, but with the Snider card staring me in the face I had to do it. What if this card they’ll send me really is a ’55 Snider? That would definitely provide an excuse for the late Father’s Day gift, wouldn’t it?

And so I logged on, registered, and typed in all the letters and numbers. My heart skipped a beat as I clicked submit, and … and … it was a 1980 Barry Foote.

Indeed, I was awarded the card of a weak-hitting catcher who spent most of his career as a backup. Foote looks ever the sportsman on the card, all right, with his thick mustache and his wavy brown hair spilling out from beneath a blue Cubs helmet. Back in 1970, when Foote was a first-round draft pick, he inspired a lot of excitement in the baseball world. And he certainly played the game far better than I ever did. But today, as I “unlocked” his old card from Topps, I was definitely underwhelmed. Especially considering that I have the card in my house, along with the rest of the 1980 collection that I completed the old-fashioned way, one pack at a time. So when Topps offered to send me the card for $3 in shipping, I balked.

Had it been a Duke Snider card, that’s another story. Oh, well – maybe next time, Dad. I hope you enjoyed the rest of your Father’s Day, and you know I love you. Sorry I couldn’t get you that card your mother threw out, but there are far worse things in this world.

And hey – the Topps site does say we can trade the cards we’ve gotten through this giveaway. So if any of you out there have a Barry Foote fetish, let’s do business. I’m awaiting your request.

Deep-Dish Dreaming (One Sixty-Two: Day 51)

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 Fifty-One: Alfonso Soriano, Chicago Cubs

It’s been a special sports week for the city of Chicago, as the Blackhawks claimed their first Stanley Cup in 49 years Wednesday night against the Philadelphia Flyers. Two million hockey fans lined Michigan Avenue yesterday to toast the Blackhawks’ players and coaches. In the afterglow of this hockey title, the town also remains abuzz with hopes that the Chicago Bulls might lure LeBron James from Cleveland to the Windy City this summer.

As for baseball, it’s shaping up to be a summer of mediocrity in Chicago. The White Sox of the South Side are 8½ games out of first place, while the Cubs of the North Side are 7½ games back. The White Sox will receive more of a pass here since they’re just five years removed from their own championship parade. The Cubs, on the other hand – well, those 102 years without a title do nag at the Wrigley Field faithful just a bit. This generation of Cubs teams was built to follow the lead of outfielder Alfonso Soriano. The lean, sweet-swinging Soriano was signed to a long-term deal after slugging 46 home runs and stealing 41 bases for the Washington Nationals in 2006. While Soriano has hit his share of blasts as a Cub, his power, run-production, speed and run-scoring numbers continued to fall each year from 2007-09.

This season, Soriano’s production has inched up again. He’s got 10 homers already, and he’s driving in more runs than ever as a Cub. He’s not running like he used to, but perhaps the 34-year-old doesn’t have the legs for that anymore. Cubs fans can live without Soriano’s legs; what they need is his heart. They need this seven-time All-Star to lift up his teammates through his actions and words.

Two million people sounds like an awful lot of happiness. But you can’t even imagine the delirium of a Chicago Cubs victory parade. It’s a joy that Alfonso Soriano would like to experience, I’m sure. But he’s going to have to search even deeper for more of his youthful vigor, and send a few more of those moon shots over the left-field bleachers and onto Waveland Avenue.

Maybe while he’s out for some deep-dish pizza, Soriano will bump into a few Blackhawks. Perhaps they’ll let him touch the Stanley Cup. Let some magic wisp its way through the Windy City. The parade is waiting, Alfonso. They’ll crown you king.

Carnival Hero (One Sixty-Two: Day 45)

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.

Settling for Less (One Sixty-Two: Day 35)

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-Five: J.J. Putz, Chicago White Sox

There are so many complications to an economic recession, experienced on many different levels. One of the current recession’s drawbacks is the fact that many people are working at jobs for which they are overqualified. When your upper-management position is eliminated, you may have to settle for a mid-management job. When you graduate with a degree in teaching and there are only a dozen teaching openings in your county, you may find yourself grateful for a job as a teacher’s assistant.

You know that economies operate in cycles, and you eagerly await the day when the job markets will improve. But it’s not easy to wait. Not only has your income taken a hit, but so has your self-esteem.

J.J. Putz knows what it’s like to settle for a job. Three years ago, Putz was the most dominant closer in baseball, saving 40 games for the Seattle Mariners with a 1.38 earned-run average. Over a two-year span in 2006-07, Putz struck out 186 batters in 150 innings, while walking only 27. He was nearly unhittable. But a couple of injuries and an economic downturn later, Putz now finds himself as a middle reliever for the Chicago White Sox. He’s been effective this year, striking out batters at a high rate once again. But Putz is not the head man in his team’s bullpen anymore.

There is hope, of course. Putz’s team is struggling, and there will be teams shopping around for closers in the weeks ahead. Perhaps one will offer the White Sox some prospects in exchange for the former relief ace. Maybe then Putz will get his shot once more at a job he knows he can do – a job he’s proven he can do.

Maybe those Help Wanted ads will fill up again soon, too. Maybe the call will come – “We’d like you in for an interview” or “We’d like to offer you …” Until then, those who are overqualified for their jobs try to find solace in the reality that it could, indeed, be worse. J.J. Putz may be an undervalued middle reliever, but at least he’s got work.

Let's Play Some Ball

They asked me to write a baseball preview for the school newspaper back in my sophomore year of college. I had earned that job because, in a writers’ poll the year before, I had chosen the Cincinnati Reds to win the 1990 World Series. I was a big Lou Piniella fan, and he had taken over as Reds manager. In October of ‘90, my colleagues at the paper weren’t the only ones surprised that I had gotten this pick right – the entire baseball world watched in amazement as the Reds swept an Oakland A’s team that seemed nearly flawless.

So in 1991, as I penned my baseball preview, I felt it my responsibility to make another surprise pick. I liked the young talent on the Chicago White Sox, so I chose them to defeat the also young and talented Montreal Expos in the World Series.

That didn’t happen.

However … it did start a trend in my April baseball picks – I began falling in love with teams that were filled with young talent. And, inevitably, I was a year or two early in predicting these teams’ postseason success. It wasn’t 1991 that the White Sox made it back to the playoffs, but 1993. It wasn’t ’91 that Montreal made its big move, but 1994, a season that never saw the playoffs due to the absence of a labor agreement.

I gushed over the Milwaukee Brewers in 2005, ’06 and ’07, only to see them make the playoffs in ’08. I liked the Oakland A’s in ’05, but they made the American League Championship Series in 2006. I chose the Cleveland Indians to make the World Series in ’06, yet it was the following year that saw them come within a game of the Fall Classic. I picked the Phillies to make the World Series in ’07, only to see them win it in ’08. I picked the Mets to win it all last year, so that’s good news for the guys in Queens.

And so, as baseball’s regular season begins tonight, I present you with my picks for this year. As you read, I’d suggest you pencil these teams in for 2010.

American League: It seems that the New York Yankees will do whatever is needed to win the American League East this year, even if that means paying Sandy Koufax to find a fountain of youth and return to the mound. I’ll pick the Yanks for the division, with the Tampa Bay Rays and their scintillating young talent edging out the Boston Red Sox for the wild card. In the AL Central, I think the Detroit Tigers are the most professional ballclub in an evenly matched division, with the Indians right behind them and the Kansas City Royals paving the way for a return to postseason play in 2010. In the West, I am concerned about injuries to the Los Angeles Angels’ pitching rotation, but in a weak division I imagine they’ll trade for pitching if they need to do so. It is possible, however, that the Texas Rangers will be a much stronger team than most are predicting they will be. I like the Yankees defeating the Tigers in the Division Series, and the Angels outpitching the Rays. In the ALCS, I see the Yankees exorcising some demons by finally defeating the Angels.

National League: The Mets and Phillies both have tremendous ballclubs this year, and therefore they will both make the playoffs. I see the gritty, confident Phillies edging out New York for the division crown, but with both teams being well aware by mid-September that they’re playoff-bound. In the NL Central, the Chicago Cubs have tremendous pitching coupled with weaknesses in their lineup, but it will be enough to hold off the Brewers or whoever lands in second place. In the NL West, the Los Angeles Dodgers and Arizona Diamondbacks will duel it out in a very tight race, with the Rockies making some noise back in third place. But the Dodgers are just too talented a team, and if pitching is a problem, they’ll make the necessary moves as the season ensues. I like the Dodgers over the Mets in a classic Division Series matchup, and the Cubs edging out the Phillies in another close contest. The Dodgers will be far too much for the Cubs to handle in a seven-game championship series, putting Joe Torre’s group in the Series.

What a matchup: Yankees versus Dodgers; Torre versus the club he managed to four titles. The two historic franchises will meet in the World Series for the first time in 28 years, and they will be so evenly matched that the series can’t help but go seven. The Dodgers’ young players will find intestinal fortitude they never knew they had, and Torre will keep them calm amidst the nerve-wracking intensity of the Fall Classic. Matt Kemp will provide the big blow for Los Angeles in Game Seven, and the City of Angels will place a permanent halo over Torre’s head, as he leads the Dodgers to their first title in 21 years.

So there you have it – one man’s humble predictions in the newness of spring. As the season begins, it is indeed true that every team is tied for first place right now. But if you notice my picks, you’ll see that the Rays and Tigers are the only teams from mid-sized markets that I chose for this year’s playoffs. More than getting my World Series picks right, I’d love to see close races, involving teams with a variety of salary scales. That would be some real baseball.

October 1993

It was the fall of ’93, and I was busy typing up resumes and cover letters in my parents’ basement as my stereo pumped out the music of Pearl Jam and Nirvana. I had just graduated from college, and was hungrily looking for my first newspaper job. With our country crawling out of a recession, I was casting a wide net, firing out resumes to papers in every mid- and major-size city in America, as well as to papers in Ireland, England and Canada. It was a time of anticipation and hope for a 22-year-old. While doing all this, I had half an eye on the TV screen, where the Chicago White Sox were playing the Toronto Blue Jays in the American League Championship Series, and the Philadelphia Phillies were taking on the Atlanta Braves for the National League pennant. Bo Jackson was challenging his White Sox teammates to bring their games to a higher level, while the Phils’ Curt Schilling was pitching like a man who knew what the postseason was all about.

I’ve been thinking of that period, 15 years ago, as I reflect on the impending reality that 2008 will mark the first autumn since’93 that Major League Baseball is holding a postseason and the Yankees are not a part of it. Like any baseball fan, I’m disappointed that my favorite team doesn’t seem to have enough muscle to push their way into the playoffs. And yet, as I think back on 1993, I remember surviving that year just fine. So as I think ahead to next month, I also see much room for personal fulfillment even without a Yankee playoff game.

As a baseball fan, I’m eager to see young teams like the Brewers, Twins, Rays, Diamondbacks and Cubs vie for a playoff spot and a title. As a Yankee fan, I’m looking forward to watching the team unload some of the high salaries and re-tool. And I must say, some of the New York playoff rituals were getting a bit tiresome – the Irish tenor singing “God Bless America,” Rudy Giuliani clapping from his seat behind home plate, the Joe Torre investment commercials, even – dare I say it – the Jeter fist-pump.

When I think back to ’93 and the Yankees, I remember that being a year in which the team’s future started to unveil itself. We realized that year that it wouldn’t be long before New York returned to the playoffs for the first time since ’81, as the superb young players they’d grown from within had actually not been traded during George Steinbrenner’s two-year exile from baseball. The organization had realized that if you drafted great talent and nurtured it, you could be in pretty good shape once you added the right mix of veterans. In 1993, no Yankees player epitomized the future more than the guitar-playing center fielder, Bernie Williams.

Number 51 was still figuring out how to avoid pickoffs on the bases and when to lay off the breaking pitches at that time. But man, he could hit and run. And as time passed, we realized that this man possessed a brilliant combination of talent and class. He was the kind of player who could hit a walk-off home run in a tension-filled playoff game, then put his head down and run the bases without showing off the opposing team. He was a man who seemed to know that his intense passion on the field would only be maintained by having other interests (such as classical guitar) off the field. He never showed up the fans, and always maintained his cool under the hot lights.

As the Yankees close up their old ballpark and prepare for the new one, there has been no tribute to Bernie Williams. The old center fielder last played in the major leagues during the 2006 season and had a falling out with the team during spring training last year. Whatever was said during that time, the Yankees organization should be fully capable of moving beyond it and retiring No. 51 before the stadium closes. When a man helps his employer make billions of dollars with skill, effort and integrity, he deserves to be honored. When he’s not, the employer looks ungrateful.

Until I see No. 51 hanging up in left field with the other retired numbers, I won’t be too teary-eyed about the Yankees missing out on any playoff series. I’ll keep an eye on Ryan Braun, Alfonso Soriano, Evan Longoria and Chris Young, as they vie for a title. I’ll listen to my music – more Wilco and Beck these days than the grunge music of ’93. I’ll keep up my writing and my teaching. And life will indeed go on.