Writer’s note: One Sixty-Two is a season-long series of blog posts connecting baseball’s major-league players to life’s universal themes. Just as there are 162 games in a season, so there will be 162 posts in this series. Let’s play some ball.
Day One Hundred Fifty-One: Jason Heyward, Atlanta Braves (via Bobby Cox – and the Whale)
“Hast seen the White Whale?”
It’s either appropriate or insane that during the same summer in which I undertook 162 blog entries in 162 days, I also decided to read Moby-Dick. What, an English teacher who had never read Herman Melville’s Great American Novel? Indeed, guilty as charged.
But no longer. While I still have a week and a half left of the blog series, I did finish Moby-Dick last night – all 654 dense pages of her. It’s a fascinating book, from its detailed description of whales, whaling and nautical life, to its thrilling account of Captain Ahab’s pursuit of the mighty white whale.
In the 159 years since the novel’s publication, countless scholars have analyzed Moby-Dick to explore its structure and meaning. Most notably, readers have wondered just what Ahab and the whale symbolize. Do they represent greed? Good and evil? Race? Religion? Nature and humanity? Fate? Life itself? Or something else entirely?
These varied interpretations serve only to make this epic novel that much more interesting. I’ve spent the past two months reading the book, and now that I’m finished I can say that I know exactly what Ahab’s quest was meant to symbolize.
It was all about Bobby Cox.
Ahab was a whaling man for 40 years. Cox, the legendary Atlanta Braves manager, is in his 40th year as either a manager, coach or general manager. His next win will be the 2,500th of his career. Only three other major-league managers have won more. Cox and Joe Torre share the record for most playoff appearances by a manager, with an astounding 15.
There is no question that when Bobby Cox retires at the end of this season, as he has announced he will do, he will quickly find himself inducted into the Hall of Fame. But there’s another piece to this man’s managerial record, and this is the part where we find Ahab and the whale. Of those managers who have made the playoffs eight or more times, all have won multiple championships – except Bobby Cox. A manager like the Yankees’ Joe Girardi, now in just his fourth season as a skipper, has won as many titles as the 69-year-old Cox, who has 29 seasons as a manager under his belt.
It has been all of 15 years since Bobby Cox’s Atlanta Braves won their sole championship under his reign. That’s the equivalent of five 19th-century whaling voyages. You age an awful lot in 15 years, and your thirst for another sight of the white whale only grows fiercer. It’s no wonder that Bobby Cox has been ejected from 158 games as manager – far more than any other skipper in history. You blow a lot of fuses when you push onward with such passion in your quest for another baseball title.
So as young sailors such as right fielder Jason Heyward man the mast-head and sharpen their harpoons, Cox paces the deck and sets sail toward the equator. His Braves are currently 2½ games ahead in the National League Wild Card race. With just two weeks to go, Cox can taste that record 16th postseason appearance. If and when he gets there, the legendary skipper will have one last chance to claim that second title.
It’s been a long, long journey since Bobby Cox first captained a ship. He’s about ready to quit and go home, something Captain Ahab was never willing to do. But before he gets back to his own Nantucket, Cox is about to get one last shot at his ultimate goal. All signs indicate that he’s ready.
“Hast seen the White Whale?” you ask. Indeed, Bobby – there she blows! Man the deck, and lower the boats. You’ve got one more pass at the mighty beast.
Showing posts with label Jason Heyward. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jason Heyward. Show all posts
Monday, September 20, 2010
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.
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