I’ve been a Yankees fan for 35 years now, ever since that Sunday afternoon in June when my mother drove me to the ballpark in the South Bronx for the first time. It was Bat Day, 1977, and I was handed a wooden bat with Thurman Munson’s name and Burger King’s logo engraved on it. It didn’t matter to me that the Yankees lost to the Minnesota Twins that afternoon. As I stared out at the vast expanse of green before me, and as I heard the crack of bat against ball, I was hooked. A Yankee fan for life.
Since that day, I’ve chatted about the Yankees all the time with my mom, brother, grandparents, friends and wife. Even my dad, who grew up rooting for the Brooklyn Dodgers and was deprived of the chance to bring his sons to the ballpark that sparked his childhood dreams, has come around to talking Yankees with us. And my daughters, despite their marked preference for Webkins and Glee, have their moments of joining in some pinstriped passion.
When talking baseball with others, it can be uncomfortable to share the fact that I’m a Yankees fan. There are, of course, those 27 championships to gloat over – 16 more than any other team in baseball history. With the Yankees sporting baseball’s highest payroll every year, it’s easy to assume that I’m a front-runner. Here in New York, Mets fans may have more misery, but they can always claim the integrity of sticking with their team no matter what the outcome.
Yet, I came of age in the 1980s, the one decade in the past five in which the Mets can clearly say they were New York’s team. I watched the Yankees go 14 consecutive years without making the playoffs, and saw the Mets claim a World Series title and a division crown during that same stretch. Had there been a Wild Card team during those years, the Mets would have made the playoffs six times in seven years. Meanwhile, the Yankees were stumbling along with a variety of managers, general managers and high-priced veterans. So I know what it’s like to see your favorite team implode in front of you while other local club gets all the press.
The past 17 years have changed that landscape quite a bit, though, as the Yankees have made the playoffs every year but one since 1995. It may seem a bit outdated to use the old cliché that cheering for the Yankees is like rooting for U.S. Steel. So to update it a bit for 2012, cheering on the Bronx Bombers is more like cheering for higher quarterly reports from Apple. Ho-hum. Buy me some iPads and Cracker Jack.
But with all honesty and understanding, I ask you this: What can I do? Must I feel guilty for the Yankees’ success? Should I stop rooting for the Yankees simply because they have won too often? Do I push aside my memories and toss that old Thurman Munson bat in the trash because of my adult awareness of economics? Is competitive imbalance enough reason to turn aside the rush of childhood joy that accompanies the sight of an interlocking NY? Aren’t all of our baseball passions much more about feeling 8 years old again than about thirsting for victory?
In recent years, Major League Baseball has taken important steps to level the playing field somewhat in terms of team revenue, thanks in large part to revenue-sharing and luxury taxes. In addition, changes to the way the game is played and scouted have turned baseball into a sport dominated by the best young players teams can find. The Yankees have won just one championship over the past 11 years, and their 2012 club is just like all the others they’ve put together over that time period – very talented, but with clear weak spots. They might win, and they might not.
So I’ll cheer for the Yankees in 2012, just as I always have. But at age 41, I’ve matured to the point where my heart no longer breaks if the Yankees’ season ends with a loss. Because I know that whenever my team loses, there are other fans, with their own passions and memories, who are delighted over their team’s victories. Last year, as the St. Louis Cardinals claimed their 11th championship, millions of Redbirds fans were glorying in their unexpected triumph. That’s pretty awesome to see, no matter what the team. This year, I’ve got my eye on the Royals from Kansas City, who have not made the playoffs since their championship season of 1985, and who are unveiling a team filled with some of baseball’s top young talent. It might not be this year for the Royals, but it may be quite soon. I’m also watching out for the Nationals of Washington, who have even more young talent than Kansas City, and could contend for the playoffs as soon as this season. Washington has only seen one baseball championship, and that was nearly 90 years ago. Perhaps it’s about time for a second.
A new baseball season is set to begin this week. I’m hoping to get to a couple of Yankees games this year, where I can see that big green field and hear those bats and balls connect. The season will unfold, and I’ll follow it like a novel I can’t put down. But no matter what happens in the end, it will have been worth it. It always is.
Showing posts with label New York Mets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label New York Mets. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Very Sunny in Philadelphia (One Sixty-Two: Day 150)
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: Cole Hamels, Philadelphia Phillies
If you live in the New York area, the baseball news you hear about most these days pertains to either the Yankees, who head into October looking to repeat as world champions, or the Mets, who limp to the finish line poised to remake what has been a very disappointing ballclub. You look at the standings and see that the Yankees have the best record in baseball, and you figure they’ll claim yet another title this year.
And they may do that. But don’t think for a moment that the Yankees have the best team in baseball right now. If you head about 90 minutes west of New York, you’ll find baseball’s premier unit, and they don’t need to advertise themselves to anyone. Those within baseball know that the Philadelphia Phillies are the team to beat. The question is just whether anyone will be able to do so.
The Phillies started their 2010 season off slowly, as they were hampered by injuries and poor first-half performances by key players. But in the past month, the Phils have won 20 of their last 30 games, including 16 of their last 20. On paper, they look like world-beaters. Finally, they are looking the same on the field.
Offensively, the Phillies’ prowess has never been in question. Their 2008 championship and 2009 pennant both were sparked by the offense, and this year their lineup is as potent as it gets – from Ryan Howard to Chase Utley to Jayson Werth to Jimmy Rollins to Shane Victorino to Raul Ibanez. But the difference this season is found on the pitching mound, where the Phillies have three aces in their starting rotation. Roy Halladay, the likely National League Cy Young Award winner, has 19 wins, 210 strikeouts and one perfect game. Roy Oswalt, the former Astros ace dealt to the Phillies in July, has yielded fewer than two runs per nine innings since arriving in Philly. And then there is Cole Hamels, who took a minor detour from greatness but is back again, thank you very much.
In 2008, Hamels was MVP of both the National League Championship Series and the World Series, as the Phillies stormed to their first title in 28 years. But last season, Hamels stumbled to a 10-11 record, then faltered badly in the playoffs. The lefty with the matinee-idol appearance seemed to be drifting off the list of baseball’s elite pitchers.
And then a new season began. This year, Hamels has been the victim of poor run support during several of his games, but that has not prevented him from pitching tremendous baseball once again. Number 35 is yielding just three runs per nine innings, he’s struck out 201 batters, and he’s been nearly unhittable in the second half of the season. Hamels’s resurgence and Oswalt’s arrival have allowed the Phillies to overtake the Braves in the National League East, where they now have a three-game lead.
In a seven-game playoff series, the Phillies can either start Halladay, Oswalt and Hamels twice apiece, or send Halladay to the hill three times, and the other two aces twice. However they choose to do it, the Phillies are the dominant force to be reckoned with in October 2010. And this time, it starts with pitching.
So as you hear all the news about Derek Jeter’s slump and Carlos Beltran’s lost season, remember this: The Yankees and Mets may be news today, but in slightly more than a month you may very well be picking up your newspaper and seeing a picture of Cole Hamels holding aloft another World Series trophy. They know this in Philadelphia, and they’re ready to make it happen. They’re just keeping quiet about it for as long as they can.
Day One Hundred Fifty: Cole Hamels, Philadelphia Phillies
If you live in the New York area, the baseball news you hear about most these days pertains to either the Yankees, who head into October looking to repeat as world champions, or the Mets, who limp to the finish line poised to remake what has been a very disappointing ballclub. You look at the standings and see that the Yankees have the best record in baseball, and you figure they’ll claim yet another title this year.
And they may do that. But don’t think for a moment that the Yankees have the best team in baseball right now. If you head about 90 minutes west of New York, you’ll find baseball’s premier unit, and they don’t need to advertise themselves to anyone. Those within baseball know that the Philadelphia Phillies are the team to beat. The question is just whether anyone will be able to do so.
The Phillies started their 2010 season off slowly, as they were hampered by injuries and poor first-half performances by key players. But in the past month, the Phils have won 20 of their last 30 games, including 16 of their last 20. On paper, they look like world-beaters. Finally, they are looking the same on the field.
Offensively, the Phillies’ prowess has never been in question. Their 2008 championship and 2009 pennant both were sparked by the offense, and this year their lineup is as potent as it gets – from Ryan Howard to Chase Utley to Jayson Werth to Jimmy Rollins to Shane Victorino to Raul Ibanez. But the difference this season is found on the pitching mound, where the Phillies have three aces in their starting rotation. Roy Halladay, the likely National League Cy Young Award winner, has 19 wins, 210 strikeouts and one perfect game. Roy Oswalt, the former Astros ace dealt to the Phillies in July, has yielded fewer than two runs per nine innings since arriving in Philly. And then there is Cole Hamels, who took a minor detour from greatness but is back again, thank you very much.
In 2008, Hamels was MVP of both the National League Championship Series and the World Series, as the Phillies stormed to their first title in 28 years. But last season, Hamels stumbled to a 10-11 record, then faltered badly in the playoffs. The lefty with the matinee-idol appearance seemed to be drifting off the list of baseball’s elite pitchers.
And then a new season began. This year, Hamels has been the victim of poor run support during several of his games, but that has not prevented him from pitching tremendous baseball once again. Number 35 is yielding just three runs per nine innings, he’s struck out 201 batters, and he’s been nearly unhittable in the second half of the season. Hamels’s resurgence and Oswalt’s arrival have allowed the Phillies to overtake the Braves in the National League East, where they now have a three-game lead.
In a seven-game playoff series, the Phillies can either start Halladay, Oswalt and Hamels twice apiece, or send Halladay to the hill three times, and the other two aces twice. However they choose to do it, the Phillies are the dominant force to be reckoned with in October 2010. And this time, it starts with pitching.
So as you hear all the news about Derek Jeter’s slump and Carlos Beltran’s lost season, remember this: The Yankees and Mets may be news today, but in slightly more than a month you may very well be picking up your newspaper and seeing a picture of Cole Hamels holding aloft another World Series trophy. They know this in Philadelphia, and they’re ready to make it happen. They’re just keeping quiet about it for as long as they can.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Cleaning House (One Sixty-Two: Day 143)
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 Forty-Three: Melvin Mora, Colorado Rockies
Today we had it out. They refused to clean their rooms once again, and then they wanted to turn the living room into a third play area. I said no. They pouted. And on it went.
I get little help on the cleaning front because my wife believes our two girls need to take ownership over their own rooms. If they don’t want to clean, she says, then let them deal with the consequences themselves. I have just a wee bit of obsessive-compulsiveness within me, so I cringe when I see the clothes strewn about and the emptied bins of American Girl doll clothes all over the floor. I often give in and clean the rooms myself, which only serves to enable the thing I’m trying to change.
So what is a father to do? How do you make it through the moments when two kids seem like two more than you can handle?
You think of Melvin Mora, that’s what you do. The Colorado Rockies third baseman, now in his 12th season as a major-leaguer, is the father of 9-year-old quintuplets. I am sure that this man’s home features a frenzy of activity the likes of which I have never seen. If I’m going to stress out over two messy rooms, I can only imagine what it’s like for a father of five active fourth-graders. I would imagine that you learn to put things like dirty socks into perspective. You choose instead to check on how everyone is feeling today, and if the homework’s been completed, and if everybody has eaten. You spend some time playing and talking with your kids, and you listen to them tell you about their classes and friends and sports teams. Cleaning up, I would think, falls a bit lower on the list.
At age 38, Melvin Mora is near the end of a successful career that has seen him collect nearly 1,500 hits while playing various infield and outfield positions for the New York Mets, Baltimore Orioles, and Colorado Rockies. Mora’s quintuplets weren’t born yet when he appeared in the playoffs for the first and only time, with the 1999 Mets. This year, Mora has been a backup for the Rockies, but he has started nearly every day since starting third baseman Ian Stewart went down with an injury a couple of weeks ago. And during Mora’s time in the lineup, the Rockies have become baseball’s hottest team, winning 10 straight games and pulling to within 1½ games of the National League West division lead. If the red-hot Rockies keep it up, perhaps the Mora Five will have the chance to see their dad play in the postseason, after all.
There’s probably very little time for cleaning in the Mora household these days, other than all the sweeping that Dad’s team has been doing at the expense of other baseball teams. It’s a busy time of year, what with school starting and pennant races running full-tilt. It’s the kind of bustle that leaves kids to take care of their own rooms.
After all, the American Girl doll clothes won’t destroy the house. And, when you least expect it, they will clean. They are your kids, and you’ve raised them well. Take a breath, Dad. Watch a ballgame. Check out those Rockies.
Day One Hundred Forty-Three: Melvin Mora, Colorado Rockies
Today we had it out. They refused to clean their rooms once again, and then they wanted to turn the living room into a third play area. I said no. They pouted. And on it went.
I get little help on the cleaning front because my wife believes our two girls need to take ownership over their own rooms. If they don’t want to clean, she says, then let them deal with the consequences themselves. I have just a wee bit of obsessive-compulsiveness within me, so I cringe when I see the clothes strewn about and the emptied bins of American Girl doll clothes all over the floor. I often give in and clean the rooms myself, which only serves to enable the thing I’m trying to change.
So what is a father to do? How do you make it through the moments when two kids seem like two more than you can handle?
You think of Melvin Mora, that’s what you do. The Colorado Rockies third baseman, now in his 12th season as a major-leaguer, is the father of 9-year-old quintuplets. I am sure that this man’s home features a frenzy of activity the likes of which I have never seen. If I’m going to stress out over two messy rooms, I can only imagine what it’s like for a father of five active fourth-graders. I would imagine that you learn to put things like dirty socks into perspective. You choose instead to check on how everyone is feeling today, and if the homework’s been completed, and if everybody has eaten. You spend some time playing and talking with your kids, and you listen to them tell you about their classes and friends and sports teams. Cleaning up, I would think, falls a bit lower on the list.
At age 38, Melvin Mora is near the end of a successful career that has seen him collect nearly 1,500 hits while playing various infield and outfield positions for the New York Mets, Baltimore Orioles, and Colorado Rockies. Mora’s quintuplets weren’t born yet when he appeared in the playoffs for the first and only time, with the 1999 Mets. This year, Mora has been a backup for the Rockies, but he has started nearly every day since starting third baseman Ian Stewart went down with an injury a couple of weeks ago. And during Mora’s time in the lineup, the Rockies have become baseball’s hottest team, winning 10 straight games and pulling to within 1½ games of the National League West division lead. If the red-hot Rockies keep it up, perhaps the Mora Five will have the chance to see their dad play in the postseason, after all.
There’s probably very little time for cleaning in the Mora household these days, other than all the sweeping that Dad’s team has been doing at the expense of other baseball teams. It’s a busy time of year, what with school starting and pennant races running full-tilt. It’s the kind of bustle that leaves kids to take care of their own rooms.
After all, the American Girl doll clothes won’t destroy the house. And, when you least expect it, they will clean. They are your kids, and you’ve raised them well. Take a breath, Dad. Watch a ballgame. Check out those Rockies.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Peace Be With Us (One Sixty-Two: Day 142)
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 Forty-Two: Josh Thole, New York Mets
We awoke on this beautiful morning with an invitation to remember. As we honor the fallen of September 11th, we remember the importance of peace, acceptance, understanding, cooperation, and sacrifice. We remember the hope that comes with determination and rebirth, and we celebrate the beauty that can arise after tragedy.
Many museums have taken to offering free admission on September 11th, which seems to capture much of the spirit of this day. These institutions open their doors to the public and allow us all to study and appreciate works of art or science from around the world. It is a sharing of creations, inventions, stories and imaginations – in a sense, it is the ultimate celebration of freedom. Baseball stadiums would do well to offer discounts on this day as well, as a means of bringing people together in the name of fellowship, fly balls and frankfurters.
Josh Thole was only 14 years old on September 11th, 2001, and he was living half a continent away. Now a catcher for the New York Mets, Thole has surely seen the video clips of his Mets predecessors wearing the caps of the different city agencies that had lost workers on 9/11. If he walks around the city today, Thole will feel some of the vibe of unity that followed this tragic day. And perhaps he and the rest of the Mets will carry that vibe with them throughout the day. It’s a good day to remember, and a very good day for seeking peace.
Day One Hundred Forty-Two: Josh Thole, New York Mets
We awoke on this beautiful morning with an invitation to remember. As we honor the fallen of September 11th, we remember the importance of peace, acceptance, understanding, cooperation, and sacrifice. We remember the hope that comes with determination and rebirth, and we celebrate the beauty that can arise after tragedy.
Many museums have taken to offering free admission on September 11th, which seems to capture much of the spirit of this day. These institutions open their doors to the public and allow us all to study and appreciate works of art or science from around the world. It is a sharing of creations, inventions, stories and imaginations – in a sense, it is the ultimate celebration of freedom. Baseball stadiums would do well to offer discounts on this day as well, as a means of bringing people together in the name of fellowship, fly balls and frankfurters.
Josh Thole was only 14 years old on September 11th, 2001, and he was living half a continent away. Now a catcher for the New York Mets, Thole has surely seen the video clips of his Mets predecessors wearing the caps of the different city agencies that had lost workers on 9/11. If he walks around the city today, Thole will feel some of the vibe of unity that followed this tragic day. And perhaps he and the rest of the Mets will carry that vibe with them throughout the day. It’s a good day to remember, and a very good day for seeking peace.
Friday, August 27, 2010
A Bad Week for Flame-Throwers (One Sixty-Two: Day 127)
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 Twenty-Seven: R.A. Dickey, New York Mets
So the best pitching prospect since Roger Clemens is likely out of baseball until 2012, and the Rocket himself as been indicted.
Not a great week for flame-throwing right-handers.
As Stephen Strasburg prepares for the likelihood of Tommy John surgery for the torn ligament in his golden right elbow, and as Roger Clemens prepares for the possibility of spending time behind bars with the accusation that he lied to Congress about his use of steroids, it seems like a good day to celebrate someone who never wowed the crowds with blazing fastballs.
It’s a good day to be R.A. Dickey, knuckleball-throwing specialist for the New York Mets. For years, Dickey tried to stick in the major leagues with a fastball and breaking ball. But at the age of 35, he has mastered the knuckler, a floating, fluttering wild card of a pitch that hitters often have no idea what to do with. In 2010, Dickey has been the second-best pitcher on the Mets, winning eight games and maintaining a superb 2.64 earned-run average. Not only that, but Dickey is throwing a pitch that’s much easier on the arm, as it can’t dance properly unless released with far less exertion than a fastball.
Stephen Strasburg quickly became a household name this season thanks to his strikeout prowess with the Washington Nationals. But as Strasburg steps out of the spotlight and into rehabilitation, the former All-Star pitcher for whom his upcoming surgery is named – Tommy John – has heard his name mentioned nearly every day in relation to this increasingly common surgery among pitchers. The procedure, which was first performed on John in the 1970s, involves replacing a ligament from the elbow with a tendon from elsewhere in the body. Today, it is performed all year long on arms throughout the collegiate and professional ranks. The odds of recovering from the surgery keep getting better, but the procedures continue as pitchers pile on innings at all levels of development. The physics of throwing a baseball overhand at great speed does not compute well with the biology of the human arm. Even as teams try desperately to keep pitchers from throwing too many innings, the fact remains that our arms are much better suited to throwing the ball underhand.
Or to throwing a knuckleball. And if you’re tossing the ball 50-something miles an hour, you’re probably not too tempted to try any performance-enhancing drugs, either. So cheers tonight to R.A. Dickey, as he finally finds himself pitching regularly for a big-league team every five days. It’s taken nine years, but some things are worth the wait. That’s some advice Stephen Strasburg could probably use right now, as he looks ahead to 2012. And the same applies to Roger Clemens, as he looks ahead to many days in court.
Day One Hundred Twenty-Seven: R.A. Dickey, New York Mets
So the best pitching prospect since Roger Clemens is likely out of baseball until 2012, and the Rocket himself as been indicted.
Not a great week for flame-throwing right-handers.
As Stephen Strasburg prepares for the likelihood of Tommy John surgery for the torn ligament in his golden right elbow, and as Roger Clemens prepares for the possibility of spending time behind bars with the accusation that he lied to Congress about his use of steroids, it seems like a good day to celebrate someone who never wowed the crowds with blazing fastballs.
It’s a good day to be R.A. Dickey, knuckleball-throwing specialist for the New York Mets. For years, Dickey tried to stick in the major leagues with a fastball and breaking ball. But at the age of 35, he has mastered the knuckler, a floating, fluttering wild card of a pitch that hitters often have no idea what to do with. In 2010, Dickey has been the second-best pitcher on the Mets, winning eight games and maintaining a superb 2.64 earned-run average. Not only that, but Dickey is throwing a pitch that’s much easier on the arm, as it can’t dance properly unless released with far less exertion than a fastball.
Stephen Strasburg quickly became a household name this season thanks to his strikeout prowess with the Washington Nationals. But as Strasburg steps out of the spotlight and into rehabilitation, the former All-Star pitcher for whom his upcoming surgery is named – Tommy John – has heard his name mentioned nearly every day in relation to this increasingly common surgery among pitchers. The procedure, which was first performed on John in the 1970s, involves replacing a ligament from the elbow with a tendon from elsewhere in the body. Today, it is performed all year long on arms throughout the collegiate and professional ranks. The odds of recovering from the surgery keep getting better, but the procedures continue as pitchers pile on innings at all levels of development. The physics of throwing a baseball overhand at great speed does not compute well with the biology of the human arm. Even as teams try desperately to keep pitchers from throwing too many innings, the fact remains that our arms are much better suited to throwing the ball underhand.
Or to throwing a knuckleball. And if you’re tossing the ball 50-something miles an hour, you’re probably not too tempted to try any performance-enhancing drugs, either. So cheers tonight to R.A. Dickey, as he finally finds himself pitching regularly for a big-league team every five days. It’s taken nine years, but some things are worth the wait. That’s some advice Stephen Strasburg could probably use right now, as he looks ahead to 2012. And the same applies to Roger Clemens, as he looks ahead to many days in court.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Shake It Up (One Sixty-Two: Day 121)
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 Twenty-One: Angel Pagan, New York Mets
Sometimes it’s worth driving 22 miles each way just for some pizza and an Italian ice. On a Friday night in August, with summer nearing its twilight, we decided to take the girls to a pair of Staten Island, N.Y., institutions – Denino’s Pizzeria and Ralph’s Ices, located across the street from each other on Port Richmond Avenue. Anyone on the island will tell you that there’s nothing like a pie from Denino’s – the sweet sauce, the fresh cheese, the perfectly textured crust. Many New York City publications list Denino’s as one of the top pizzerias in all five boroughs. And as for Ralph’s, the water ices here taste as close to the genuine fruit as possible, yet they’re sweet enough to fit the bill for the perfect summer dessert.
Over in Manhattan’s Madison Square Park, the hottest dinner-dessert spot in New York City just keeps growing in popularity. The Shake Shack, with its walk-up windows and outdoor seating, regularly features incredibly long lines snaking through the park. In these lines, you’ll find locals and tourists alike who crave a good burger and frozen custard shake. I’ve waited in the line, and I can tell you that the food is worth every minute of the wait. Since so many people agree, the Shake Shack has branched out to locations throughout Manhattan, as well as to a particular baseball stadium in Queens.
When you get to Citi Field, there’s a lot to check out, as the second-year stadium features an impressive array of activities, food venues and standing-room views of the field. But the clear-cut winner for most popular spot in this ballpark is the Shake Shack, located in the concourse out in left-center field. You can stand here and miss at least a third of the game, just waiting for a vanilla shake. Many people do it.
Now under normal circumstances, I would argue that these people are wasting their money. No disrespect to the delicious shakes, but if you’re paying to see a baseball game, shouldn’t you actually watch the game rather than wait in line for food? In 2010, however, there’s a clear counterargument to be made that Citi Field hasn’t actually hosted much genuine baseball of late. The Mets have given their fans a flashback to the dismal days of the late 1970s this summer by falling precipitously out of the pennant race and into the lower levels of their division. The team has had embarrassments on and off the field, and fans are wondering just what direction these Mets are headed.
So, with that in mind, maybe a long wait at the Shake Shack is a smart move right now. When the Mets are on the field, one of the closest players to the Shake Shack is outfielder Angel Pagan, who splits his time between left field and centerfield. While Pagan’s skills are not to be confused with those of his All-Star teammates Carlos Beltran, David Wright and Jose Reyes, Pagan has arguably been the most consistent player in Queens this year. He is hitting just a hair below .300, and he has 10 homers, 30 steals and 40 extra-base hits. He’s been dependable and more than competent for manager Jerry Manuel, and these days at Citi Field that’s enough for a medal.
So watching Angel Pagan has been one true treat for Mets fans this year. Beyond that, though, 2010 is shaping up to be a tough one for the Flushing faithful to swallow. Unless, of course, you’re on line at the Shake Shack. Or, even better, listening to the game in your car while finishing off a Ralph’s Ice. Your team’s fortunes may be melting, but the summer is still here. I’ll take a medium watermelon ice, please. My day is complete.
Day One Hundred Twenty-One: Angel Pagan, New York Mets
Sometimes it’s worth driving 22 miles each way just for some pizza and an Italian ice. On a Friday night in August, with summer nearing its twilight, we decided to take the girls to a pair of Staten Island, N.Y., institutions – Denino’s Pizzeria and Ralph’s Ices, located across the street from each other on Port Richmond Avenue. Anyone on the island will tell you that there’s nothing like a pie from Denino’s – the sweet sauce, the fresh cheese, the perfectly textured crust. Many New York City publications list Denino’s as one of the top pizzerias in all five boroughs. And as for Ralph’s, the water ices here taste as close to the genuine fruit as possible, yet they’re sweet enough to fit the bill for the perfect summer dessert.
Over in Manhattan’s Madison Square Park, the hottest dinner-dessert spot in New York City just keeps growing in popularity. The Shake Shack, with its walk-up windows and outdoor seating, regularly features incredibly long lines snaking through the park. In these lines, you’ll find locals and tourists alike who crave a good burger and frozen custard shake. I’ve waited in the line, and I can tell you that the food is worth every minute of the wait. Since so many people agree, the Shake Shack has branched out to locations throughout Manhattan, as well as to a particular baseball stadium in Queens.
When you get to Citi Field, there’s a lot to check out, as the second-year stadium features an impressive array of activities, food venues and standing-room views of the field. But the clear-cut winner for most popular spot in this ballpark is the Shake Shack, located in the concourse out in left-center field. You can stand here and miss at least a third of the game, just waiting for a vanilla shake. Many people do it.
Now under normal circumstances, I would argue that these people are wasting their money. No disrespect to the delicious shakes, but if you’re paying to see a baseball game, shouldn’t you actually watch the game rather than wait in line for food? In 2010, however, there’s a clear counterargument to be made that Citi Field hasn’t actually hosted much genuine baseball of late. The Mets have given their fans a flashback to the dismal days of the late 1970s this summer by falling precipitously out of the pennant race and into the lower levels of their division. The team has had embarrassments on and off the field, and fans are wondering just what direction these Mets are headed.
So, with that in mind, maybe a long wait at the Shake Shack is a smart move right now. When the Mets are on the field, one of the closest players to the Shake Shack is outfielder Angel Pagan, who splits his time between left field and centerfield. While Pagan’s skills are not to be confused with those of his All-Star teammates Carlos Beltran, David Wright and Jose Reyes, Pagan has arguably been the most consistent player in Queens this year. He is hitting just a hair below .300, and he has 10 homers, 30 steals and 40 extra-base hits. He’s been dependable and more than competent for manager Jerry Manuel, and these days at Citi Field that’s enough for a medal.
So watching Angel Pagan has been one true treat for Mets fans this year. Beyond that, though, 2010 is shaping up to be a tough one for the Flushing faithful to swallow. Unless, of course, you’re on line at the Shake Shack. Or, even better, listening to the game in your car while finishing off a Ralph’s Ice. Your team’s fortunes may be melting, but the summer is still here. I’ll take a medium watermelon ice, please. My day is complete.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Mr. Unlucky (One Sixty-Two: Day 97)
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-Seven: Matt Cain, San Francisco Giants
Cain is able. He just can’t catch a break.
Each year, without fail, a handful of starting pitchers are unlucky. These are the guys who put together great seasons, only to see their teammates fail to score runs almost every time they’re on the mound. This season, pitchers such as Roy Oswalt of the Houston Astros, Felix Hernandez of the Seattle Mariners and Johan Santana of the New York Mets have suffered from dismal run support, and their low win totals reflect that.
Out in San Francisco, though, the Giants have a young starting pitcher who can beat anyone’s woeful tale of low run support. His name is Matt Cain, he’s 25 years old, and he throws a fastball that can blow a hole through a wall. In his five full seasons, Cain has developed quite nicely from a thrower into a pitcher. But Cain arrived in San Francisco at the tail end of the Barry Bonds years, and his Giants have not yet built a formidable offensive club in the post-Bonds era. Hence, Cain has received very little hitting support throughout his career. To put it in perspective, his career earned-run average of 3.47 is ninth among active pitchers. And yet, his career won-loss record is 52-59.
That’s right – he gives up three and a half runs per nine innings, and he loses more games than he wins. By comparison, Andy Pettitte owns a 3.87 career earned-run average – .40 points higher than Cain’s. And yet, in his first five seasons in the majors, Pettitte had a won-loss record of 81-46. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Pettitte was pitching for the Yankees during those years. Indeed, Pettitte has never had a losing record in his career, even going 14-11 with a 4.70 ERA in 1999. By comparison, Matt Cain went 7-16 with a 3.65 ERA in 2007 and 8-14 with a 3.76 ERA in ’08.
Despite a slightly improved offense this year, Cain is still not getting the run support he surely craves. His ERA is at 3.14, but his record stands at just 8-8. The Giants as a whole have such strong pitching this year that they’re in second place, just behind the Padres, in the National League West. As Saturday’s trade deadline nears, Matt Cain is surely hoping to see his team pick up a potent bat from another team. Should they do so, and should rookie catcher Buster Posey continue hitting the cover off the ball, the Giants might be able to give Matt Cain the one thing he undoubtedly craves more than his own victory total – a trip to the playoffs.
In the October spotlight, Cain would have the chance to introduce himself to the scores of fans who don’t know him from Adam. His own Giants fans and teammates know him quite well, though. And they’d like nothing more than to ride that golden right arm into the promised land.
Day Ninety-Seven: Matt Cain, San Francisco Giants
Cain is able. He just can’t catch a break.
Each year, without fail, a handful of starting pitchers are unlucky. These are the guys who put together great seasons, only to see their teammates fail to score runs almost every time they’re on the mound. This season, pitchers such as Roy Oswalt of the Houston Astros, Felix Hernandez of the Seattle Mariners and Johan Santana of the New York Mets have suffered from dismal run support, and their low win totals reflect that.
Out in San Francisco, though, the Giants have a young starting pitcher who can beat anyone’s woeful tale of low run support. His name is Matt Cain, he’s 25 years old, and he throws a fastball that can blow a hole through a wall. In his five full seasons, Cain has developed quite nicely from a thrower into a pitcher. But Cain arrived in San Francisco at the tail end of the Barry Bonds years, and his Giants have not yet built a formidable offensive club in the post-Bonds era. Hence, Cain has received very little hitting support throughout his career. To put it in perspective, his career earned-run average of 3.47 is ninth among active pitchers. And yet, his career won-loss record is 52-59.
That’s right – he gives up three and a half runs per nine innings, and he loses more games than he wins. By comparison, Andy Pettitte owns a 3.87 career earned-run average – .40 points higher than Cain’s. And yet, in his first five seasons in the majors, Pettitte had a won-loss record of 81-46. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Pettitte was pitching for the Yankees during those years. Indeed, Pettitte has never had a losing record in his career, even going 14-11 with a 4.70 ERA in 1999. By comparison, Matt Cain went 7-16 with a 3.65 ERA in 2007 and 8-14 with a 3.76 ERA in ’08.
Despite a slightly improved offense this year, Cain is still not getting the run support he surely craves. His ERA is at 3.14, but his record stands at just 8-8. The Giants as a whole have such strong pitching this year that they’re in second place, just behind the Padres, in the National League West. As Saturday’s trade deadline nears, Matt Cain is surely hoping to see his team pick up a potent bat from another team. Should they do so, and should rookie catcher Buster Posey continue hitting the cover off the ball, the Giants might be able to give Matt Cain the one thing he undoubtedly craves more than his own victory total – a trip to the playoffs.
In the October spotlight, Cain would have the chance to introduce himself to the scores of fans who don’t know him from Adam. His own Giants fans and teammates know him quite well, though. And they’d like nothing more than to ride that golden right arm into the promised land.
Friday, July 23, 2010
The Tear-Jerkers (One Sixty-Two: Day 92)
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-Two: David Wright, New York Mets
For the past few years, Amy and I have shared a Friday-night ritual with the girls that we all have come to love. We call it Movie Night. After dinner, we sit down in the living room, pop a film into the DVD player, and watch it together. I fetch the ice cream, Amy turns off the lights, and the girls cuddle up with us.
It started one Friday night in August three years ago when I showed the girls the old 1966 Batman movie, featuring all the actors from the delightfully campy ‘60s TV show. The girls had watched plenty of Disney, Pixar and Sesame Street films with us before, but this might have been the first time I’d actually selected a movie for them. Somehow, the Adam West-Burt Ward madcap feature appealed to the girls, and they wanted Daddy to pick another movie for next week.
So the Friday-night ritual was born. By now, we’ve exhausted our own collection of age-appropriate films as well as our local library and the county library system. Some Fridays – tonight being one of them – we find ourselves watching a film we’ve seen already. (The girls get a second look at The Tale of Despereaux today.) Other weeks, we branch out further than we thought we would, even into the realm of foreign films (The Red Balloon and White Mane, to name a couple). Still other weeks, we move into the documentary realm and watch episodes of Planet Earth. Whatever the choice, we can’t go wrong because of the simple fact that we’re all spending time together.
Being that most of our films are G-rated, they typically end happily. We don’t lean toward many tragedies in our Friday-night club. However, if the girls wanted to stay up a little late tonight, they could watch a genuine tear-jerker right before their eyes.
Right now, the sad tale is playing out in Los Angeles, and it was in Phoenix earlier in the week preceded by San Francisco last weekend. It’s the tale of the 2010 New York Mets, and it’s getting ugly fast. The Metropolitans were in the thick of the National League East divisional race during last week’s All-Star Break. But after losing seven of eight games on the West Coast, New York now finds itself 7½ games out of first place. A few more losses, and the Mets will be sitting in fourth place.
If you read the news, you see all kinds of speculation about changes in the Mets’ front office and dugout. I certainly have no idea what the team’s owners will do. But I do know what it’s like to sit in the midst of a serious slump. It starts to feel, after awhile, like you’re on a long train to nowhere. Every pitch, every inning and every game seem designed to leave you on the bottom looking up.
David Wright is one of the more talented hitters in baseball, and he’s certainly been the Mets’ top player this year. But even Wright finds himself caught in the current that has carried his team backward this past week. Wright is 6 for 30 since the All-Star Break, with just two extra-base hits and two runs batted in. The amazing thing is that Wright’s .200 average during these past eight games is actually higher than the team average of .189.
The Mets need some hits, and they need some wins. That’s easy to say. What’s much more difficult is to actually do it – to turn the losing streak around, and bring a much happier ending to your season.
My girls are a little young for PG-13 movies. But when they’re old enough, I’m sure we’ll sit down one night and watch Titanic together. They’ll fall for the love story, they’ll cry over the senseless deaths, and they’ll marvel at the magnitude of the tragedy. In sports, the metaphor of a “sinking ship” is often used to describe a franchise whose fortunes are falling fast. The metaphor’s use intends no disrespect toward those ships that really have gone down. It’s just a way of visualizing the mounting strikeouts in the scorebook, zeroes on the scoreboard, and losses in the record books.
Right now, that metaphor fits the New York Mets better than any team in baseball. In order for that to change, someone has to steady the ship. The Mets need a W, and they need someone to set things right. W; right. David, it sounds like you’ve been called on deck. Grab a bat, my friend. The movie isn’t over yet.
Day Ninety-Two: David Wright, New York Mets
For the past few years, Amy and I have shared a Friday-night ritual with the girls that we all have come to love. We call it Movie Night. After dinner, we sit down in the living room, pop a film into the DVD player, and watch it together. I fetch the ice cream, Amy turns off the lights, and the girls cuddle up with us.
It started one Friday night in August three years ago when I showed the girls the old 1966 Batman movie, featuring all the actors from the delightfully campy ‘60s TV show. The girls had watched plenty of Disney, Pixar and Sesame Street films with us before, but this might have been the first time I’d actually selected a movie for them. Somehow, the Adam West-Burt Ward madcap feature appealed to the girls, and they wanted Daddy to pick another movie for next week.
So the Friday-night ritual was born. By now, we’ve exhausted our own collection of age-appropriate films as well as our local library and the county library system. Some Fridays – tonight being one of them – we find ourselves watching a film we’ve seen already. (The girls get a second look at The Tale of Despereaux today.) Other weeks, we branch out further than we thought we would, even into the realm of foreign films (The Red Balloon and White Mane, to name a couple). Still other weeks, we move into the documentary realm and watch episodes of Planet Earth. Whatever the choice, we can’t go wrong because of the simple fact that we’re all spending time together.
Being that most of our films are G-rated, they typically end happily. We don’t lean toward many tragedies in our Friday-night club. However, if the girls wanted to stay up a little late tonight, they could watch a genuine tear-jerker right before their eyes.
Right now, the sad tale is playing out in Los Angeles, and it was in Phoenix earlier in the week preceded by San Francisco last weekend. It’s the tale of the 2010 New York Mets, and it’s getting ugly fast. The Metropolitans were in the thick of the National League East divisional race during last week’s All-Star Break. But after losing seven of eight games on the West Coast, New York now finds itself 7½ games out of first place. A few more losses, and the Mets will be sitting in fourth place.
If you read the news, you see all kinds of speculation about changes in the Mets’ front office and dugout. I certainly have no idea what the team’s owners will do. But I do know what it’s like to sit in the midst of a serious slump. It starts to feel, after awhile, like you’re on a long train to nowhere. Every pitch, every inning and every game seem designed to leave you on the bottom looking up.
David Wright is one of the more talented hitters in baseball, and he’s certainly been the Mets’ top player this year. But even Wright finds himself caught in the current that has carried his team backward this past week. Wright is 6 for 30 since the All-Star Break, with just two extra-base hits and two runs batted in. The amazing thing is that Wright’s .200 average during these past eight games is actually higher than the team average of .189.
The Mets need some hits, and they need some wins. That’s easy to say. What’s much more difficult is to actually do it – to turn the losing streak around, and bring a much happier ending to your season.
My girls are a little young for PG-13 movies. But when they’re old enough, I’m sure we’ll sit down one night and watch Titanic together. They’ll fall for the love story, they’ll cry over the senseless deaths, and they’ll marvel at the magnitude of the tragedy. In sports, the metaphor of a “sinking ship” is often used to describe a franchise whose fortunes are falling fast. The metaphor’s use intends no disrespect toward those ships that really have gone down. It’s just a way of visualizing the mounting strikeouts in the scorebook, zeroes on the scoreboard, and losses in the record books.
Right now, that metaphor fits the New York Mets better than any team in baseball. In order for that to change, someone has to steady the ship. The Mets need a W, and they need someone to set things right. W; right. David, it sounds like you’ve been called on deck. Grab a bat, my friend. The movie isn’t over yet.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Going for Three (One Sixty-Two: Day 67)
Writer’s note: One Sixty-Two is a season-long series of blog posts connecting baseball’s major-league players to life’s universal themes. Just as there are 162 games in a season, so there will be 162 posts in this series. Let’s play some ball.
Day Sixty-Seven: Ichiro Suzuki, Seattle Mariners
I think I’ve finally broken through. At long last, I have come to appreciate soccer. And baseball has shown me the way.
I’ve tried, every four years, to lose myself to soccer. I’ve watched those graceful, gritty Brazilians, Argentinians, Germans, Dutch and Italians, as they’ve glided up and down the pitch in search of the goal that will bring their country untold glory and honor. I’ve watched these men’s World Cup matches, and, to be honest, I’ve struggled. Struggled to find enjoyment in 90 minutes without a single score. Struggled to understand just what these soccer fans out there are seeing. Wondered if they were seeing something that I just couldn’t see.
As I’ve watched pieces of this year’s 2010 World Cup, I haven’t had an epiphany, where I now see every facet of beauty in the game. High-definition is good, but not that good. Yet, I have figured some things out, and I’ve done it by viewing soccer through the prism of my own passion of cowhide and red stitches.
The one thing I’ve always known about soccer is that there are very few moments in sport as thrilling as the scoring of a goal. The electricity of the goal is on par with the boxing knockdown, the horseracing photo finish, the basketball fast break, the hockey breakaway, and the football “Hail Mary” pass. In baseball, the most exciting play I’ve ever seen is the triple. And it is here that I see my way into soccer.
When you’re at a ballgame, there is nothing like it – a line drive is hit in the gap, it splits two outfielders, and the ball rolls all the way to the wall. As the runner nears second base, he makes a quick, aggressive decision and kicks his legs into another gear. The fans pop to their feet and shout, “He’s going for three!” The outfielder grabs the ball and throws to his cutoff man, who then fires a line drive to third. The runner dives head-first, the umpire keeps his eyes glued to the white base, and a cloud of dust kicks up on the left side of the diamond. We look to the man in black, who makes the call.
So imagine, if you will, a baseball game in which teams can only score a run if they hit a triple. Think about that for a second – no home runs, no stolen bases, no ground-rule doubles, no singles. Just triples, or else you’re out. And teams would still be required to play their nine men in the traditional defensive positions, or else they’d be called offside. It would be a much, much lower-scoring affair, but teams would have to strategize on how to hit the ball in ways that make a three-bagger more possible. They’d also set their defense in order to defend better against the triple.
So there would be no home-run heroes, with bulging triceps and slow trots around the bases. There’d be no stolen-base thieves, who turn singles into doubles. Instead, the sport’s heroes would be men who could manipulate the bat to shoot the baseball into those gaps, or along the foul lines. These heroes also would have speed on the basepaths and in the field, and perhaps even a strong arm to throw out those runners on their way to third.
In a game like this, a man like Ichiro Suzuki of the Seattle Mariners would be a dominant player in his sport. With his 70 career triples, his ability to maneuver the bat like a magician (2,132 hits in 9½ years), and his rocket arm (nine Gold Glove awards in nine years), Ichiro has all the tools needed to produce and stop triples. He would join the likes of Carl Crawford of Tampa Bay, Shane Victorino and Jimmy Rollins of Philadelphia, and Jose Reyes of the Mets as baseball’s most important players.
It would be a lower-scoring sport, all right, but what a roar you’d hear when those triples appeared. Instead of the “Goal!” calls we hear now, it would be a “Three!” Some fans would complain that the sport is too slow. But others would call it pure, gorgeous, and brilliant. Ichiro, who is arguably the world’s most famous baseball player already, would be even more popular across the globe.
So that’s my in – I’ve selected the most beautiful part of the sport I love, and connected it to soccer. I’m still not sure what a yellow card means, nor do I get the whole offside thing. But it takes a lot of strategy, skill and speed to score those gorgeous goals. I can see that, at least. I’m getting there. My appreciation of soccer hasn’t completed its circuit yet, but I’m standing on third base. And I like the view.
Day Sixty-Seven: Ichiro Suzuki, Seattle Mariners
I think I’ve finally broken through. At long last, I have come to appreciate soccer. And baseball has shown me the way.
I’ve tried, every four years, to lose myself to soccer. I’ve watched those graceful, gritty Brazilians, Argentinians, Germans, Dutch and Italians, as they’ve glided up and down the pitch in search of the goal that will bring their country untold glory and honor. I’ve watched these men’s World Cup matches, and, to be honest, I’ve struggled. Struggled to find enjoyment in 90 minutes without a single score. Struggled to understand just what these soccer fans out there are seeing. Wondered if they were seeing something that I just couldn’t see.
As I’ve watched pieces of this year’s 2010 World Cup, I haven’t had an epiphany, where I now see every facet of beauty in the game. High-definition is good, but not that good. Yet, I have figured some things out, and I’ve done it by viewing soccer through the prism of my own passion of cowhide and red stitches.
The one thing I’ve always known about soccer is that there are very few moments in sport as thrilling as the scoring of a goal. The electricity of the goal is on par with the boxing knockdown, the horseracing photo finish, the basketball fast break, the hockey breakaway, and the football “Hail Mary” pass. In baseball, the most exciting play I’ve ever seen is the triple. And it is here that I see my way into soccer.
When you’re at a ballgame, there is nothing like it – a line drive is hit in the gap, it splits two outfielders, and the ball rolls all the way to the wall. As the runner nears second base, he makes a quick, aggressive decision and kicks his legs into another gear. The fans pop to their feet and shout, “He’s going for three!” The outfielder grabs the ball and throws to his cutoff man, who then fires a line drive to third. The runner dives head-first, the umpire keeps his eyes glued to the white base, and a cloud of dust kicks up on the left side of the diamond. We look to the man in black, who makes the call.
So imagine, if you will, a baseball game in which teams can only score a run if they hit a triple. Think about that for a second – no home runs, no stolen bases, no ground-rule doubles, no singles. Just triples, or else you’re out. And teams would still be required to play their nine men in the traditional defensive positions, or else they’d be called offside. It would be a much, much lower-scoring affair, but teams would have to strategize on how to hit the ball in ways that make a three-bagger more possible. They’d also set their defense in order to defend better against the triple.
So there would be no home-run heroes, with bulging triceps and slow trots around the bases. There’d be no stolen-base thieves, who turn singles into doubles. Instead, the sport’s heroes would be men who could manipulate the bat to shoot the baseball into those gaps, or along the foul lines. These heroes also would have speed on the basepaths and in the field, and perhaps even a strong arm to throw out those runners on their way to third.
In a game like this, a man like Ichiro Suzuki of the Seattle Mariners would be a dominant player in his sport. With his 70 career triples, his ability to maneuver the bat like a magician (2,132 hits in 9½ years), and his rocket arm (nine Gold Glove awards in nine years), Ichiro has all the tools needed to produce and stop triples. He would join the likes of Carl Crawford of Tampa Bay, Shane Victorino and Jimmy Rollins of Philadelphia, and Jose Reyes of the Mets as baseball’s most important players.
It would be a lower-scoring sport, all right, but what a roar you’d hear when those triples appeared. Instead of the “Goal!” calls we hear now, it would be a “Three!” Some fans would complain that the sport is too slow. But others would call it pure, gorgeous, and brilliant. Ichiro, who is arguably the world’s most famous baseball player already, would be even more popular across the globe.
So that’s my in – I’ve selected the most beautiful part of the sport I love, and connected it to soccer. I’m still not sure what a yellow card means, nor do I get the whole offside thing. But it takes a lot of strategy, skill and speed to score those gorgeous goals. I can see that, at least. I’m getting there. My appreciation of soccer hasn’t completed its circuit yet, but I’m standing on third base. And I like the view.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Super Cold (One Sixty-Two: Day 34)
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-Four: Ike Davis, New York Mets
So they’re going to play a Super Bowl in Jersey. This seems about as wise an idea as hiring Vanilla Ice to sing at the Super Bowl halftime show. Which, considering the weather around here in February, might actually be a fitting choice.
Whoever earns the right to play in Super Bowl XLVIII will have the privilege of suiting up at the New Meadowlands Stadium in lovely East Rutherford, N.J. If you’re looking for someplace to watch U2 in concert this summer, New Meadowlands is the perfect spot. But a Super Bowl? If I’m spending the kind of money they charge for a ticket to the big game, I want to see it in the most pleasant weather possible. Give me Pasadena, not past the Turnpike.
If the National Football League is going to play a Super Bowl in the Northeast, then maybe Major League Baseball should re-visit that proposal it received from Buffalo, N.Y., to host a major-league franchise. Back in the early 1990s, when baseball was expanding from 26 to 30 teams, Buffalo was one of the finalists. But, alas, it lost out to such warm-weather cities as Miami, Phoenix and Tampa. The one northern city given a franchise was Denver. And while the Colorado Rockies do have their share of snow-outs, a Buffalo team might spend most of April sliding around in the slush and snow.
There is a professional baseball team in Buffalo, albeit a minor-league one. The Buffalo Bisons serve as the New York Mets’ Triple-A affiliate. The team plays its games in open-air Coca-Cola Field, which seats more than 18,000. Up until a few weeks ago, Ike Davis was hitting the ball all over that field. But when you’re too proficient a hitter in the minors, you soon find yourself suiting up for the show.
And so now Ike Davis finds himself starting at first base for the Mets, plying his trade 25 miles from the site of Super Bowl XLVIII. Davis is doing well so far, hitting .282 in his first month as a big-leaguer. The 23-year-old seems able to excel regardless of the weather or the city. Davis even connected on the first pitch he saw from the great Mariano Rivera on Friday night. Davis smashed the Yankee pitcher’s famous cutter into right field for a run-scoring double.
To hit Rivera so hard, on your first try, is a sign that this Davis kid has some big-game talent. And maybe even nerves of steel. Or ice. Ice. Baby. Bring him to the Jersey Super Bowl. He can handle the chill.
Day Thirty-Four: Ike Davis, New York Mets
So they’re going to play a Super Bowl in Jersey. This seems about as wise an idea as hiring Vanilla Ice to sing at the Super Bowl halftime show. Which, considering the weather around here in February, might actually be a fitting choice.
Whoever earns the right to play in Super Bowl XLVIII will have the privilege of suiting up at the New Meadowlands Stadium in lovely East Rutherford, N.J. If you’re looking for someplace to watch U2 in concert this summer, New Meadowlands is the perfect spot. But a Super Bowl? If I’m spending the kind of money they charge for a ticket to the big game, I want to see it in the most pleasant weather possible. Give me Pasadena, not past the Turnpike.
If the National Football League is going to play a Super Bowl in the Northeast, then maybe Major League Baseball should re-visit that proposal it received from Buffalo, N.Y., to host a major-league franchise. Back in the early 1990s, when baseball was expanding from 26 to 30 teams, Buffalo was one of the finalists. But, alas, it lost out to such warm-weather cities as Miami, Phoenix and Tampa. The one northern city given a franchise was Denver. And while the Colorado Rockies do have their share of snow-outs, a Buffalo team might spend most of April sliding around in the slush and snow.
There is a professional baseball team in Buffalo, albeit a minor-league one. The Buffalo Bisons serve as the New York Mets’ Triple-A affiliate. The team plays its games in open-air Coca-Cola Field, which seats more than 18,000. Up until a few weeks ago, Ike Davis was hitting the ball all over that field. But when you’re too proficient a hitter in the minors, you soon find yourself suiting up for the show.
And so now Ike Davis finds himself starting at first base for the Mets, plying his trade 25 miles from the site of Super Bowl XLVIII. Davis is doing well so far, hitting .282 in his first month as a big-leaguer. The 23-year-old seems able to excel regardless of the weather or the city. Davis even connected on the first pitch he saw from the great Mariano Rivera on Friday night. Davis smashed the Yankee pitcher’s famous cutter into right field for a run-scoring double.
To hit Rivera so hard, on your first try, is a sign that this Davis kid has some big-game talent. And maybe even nerves of steel. Or ice. Ice. Baby. Bring him to the Jersey Super Bowl. He can handle the chill.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Cracking 'The Lineup' (One Sixty-Two: Day 18)
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 Eighteen: Jason Bay, New York Mets
There’s a neat show on the MSG Network titled “The Lineup,” in which a panel of experts debate the best players at each position in the history of New York baseball. Although Babe Ruth was the clear-cut choice for right field on last week’s show, he had plenty of esteemed company: Reggie Jackson, Darryl Strawberry, Willie Keeler and Roger Maris, to name a few. Tomorrow’s show takes on center field, and the debate here is an extraordinary one: Who do you pick from among Joe DiMaggio, Willie Mays, Mickey Mantle and Duke Snider? Whew.
But in left field, the candidates are not quite as impressive as at the other two outfield spots. Sure, you’ve got Hall of Famers Dave Winfield and Rickey Henderson, but they played most of their careers outside of New York. The top two choices are probably the Giants’ Monte Irvin, who would have had much more impressive career numbers had baseball not maintained a color barrier prior to 1947, and Zack Wheat, the Hall of Fame Brooklyn Dodgers outfielder.
As I said, though, no one really stands out. That’s what makes the Mets’ signing of slugging outfielder Jason Bay this past winter that much more interesting. Bay is 31 years old, and in six full seasons he has averaged more than 30 home runs and 100 runs batted in per season. If Bay averaged the same over another 10 years, he’d be both a Hall of Famer and the greatest New York left fielder of all time. Toss in a Mets’ championship and he might even have a retired number.
But such lofty goals can only be achieved one game at a time. So far, Jason Bay is starting off slowly, with just a home run and 14 runs driven in this year. The Canadian native is not exactly lighting up Citi Field quite yet. But the season is a marathon, and there is time to turn things around. When he does begin lifting balls out of the park, Bay might even brush up on his New York baseball history. He’ll find that there is plenty of room for new legends in left field.
Day Eighteen: Jason Bay, New York Mets
There’s a neat show on the MSG Network titled “The Lineup,” in which a panel of experts debate the best players at each position in the history of New York baseball. Although Babe Ruth was the clear-cut choice for right field on last week’s show, he had plenty of esteemed company: Reggie Jackson, Darryl Strawberry, Willie Keeler and Roger Maris, to name a few. Tomorrow’s show takes on center field, and the debate here is an extraordinary one: Who do you pick from among Joe DiMaggio, Willie Mays, Mickey Mantle and Duke Snider? Whew.
But in left field, the candidates are not quite as impressive as at the other two outfield spots. Sure, you’ve got Hall of Famers Dave Winfield and Rickey Henderson, but they played most of their careers outside of New York. The top two choices are probably the Giants’ Monte Irvin, who would have had much more impressive career numbers had baseball not maintained a color barrier prior to 1947, and Zack Wheat, the Hall of Fame Brooklyn Dodgers outfielder.
As I said, though, no one really stands out. That’s what makes the Mets’ signing of slugging outfielder Jason Bay this past winter that much more interesting. Bay is 31 years old, and in six full seasons he has averaged more than 30 home runs and 100 runs batted in per season. If Bay averaged the same over another 10 years, he’d be both a Hall of Famer and the greatest New York left fielder of all time. Toss in a Mets’ championship and he might even have a retired number.
But such lofty goals can only be achieved one game at a time. So far, Jason Bay is starting off slowly, with just a home run and 14 runs driven in this year. The Canadian native is not exactly lighting up Citi Field quite yet. But the season is a marathon, and there is time to turn things around. When he does begin lifting balls out of the park, Bay might even brush up on his New York baseball history. He’ll find that there is plenty of room for new legends in left field.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Fretting Over Fantasy
To a certain extent, I’ve had it with fantasy baseball. I’m tired of checking to see who the hottest rookie call-up is, tired of comparing the WHIPs of relief pitchers, tired of figuring out which shortstop will tally the most extra-base hits. I’ve been playing fantasy baseball for four years, and by this time of year I’ve often had enough of the daily and weekly grind of trying to improve my team.
And yet, on the other hand, I love fantasy baseball. Baseball statistics are part of the neurological programming in my brain, as I’ve been memorizing and analyzing them since I was six years old. At age 9, I was playing hand-held computer baseball games with the small, plastic Entex game in one hand and a scorecard in the other. The little red dots that beeped and danced around the tiny screen would land on “single,” “double,” “triple,” “home run” or “out,” and I’d fill in the appropriate box for my make-believe matchup between the 1980 Astros and the 1980 Mets. When I was hit by a car and unable to walk without crutches for a few months, I sat down on my backyard patio and threw a racquetball against our chimney, and created an imaginary scheme of bounces and high flies that led to hits and outs. Again, the scorecard gave me stats. As my brother and I grew into our teen years, our parents bought us a Commodore 64 computer, and we quickly found a game called “MicroLeague Baseball.” When we put the floppy-disk software to this game into our computer, the Commodore let us play games featuring real baseball lineups, and the stats were kept for us, right there on the screen. Entire summer days were spent in this statistical heaven.
In high school, Eric and I joined a “rotisserie league,” as fantasy baseball was commonly called at the time, and had a blast as our friend compiled the league stats by hand. College brought me into the world of sports journalism, and I chose to devote nearly all of my free time to writing. It wasn’t until three years ago, at age 34, that I tried out fantasy baseball in its 21st-century incarnation. Fantasy sports are quite the pastime today, with many millions participating around the world in a variety of sports ranging from football to golf to auto racing. I find it fascinating that so many are turned on by the lure of statistical speculation – so much that even Michael Phelps said in a news conference that he had to refrain from opening an e-mail about fantasy football during the Olympics, to keep from getting distracted.
And yet it is that distraction that concerns me, especially when I have spent enough time at my computer already during the day and what I really need is to go for a run, hang out with my wife or play a game with my kids. I don’t want fantasy sports, of all things, to play a role in keeping me away from what I want to do most with my precious time and energy.
So as I finish this fourth year of fantasy baseball (currently in sixth place in both my leagues, by the way), I wonder about whether to go further. Isn’t it perfectly acceptable for me to spend a few minutes doing something that I truly enjoy? Yet, if my free time is limited, isn’t it silly to spend any of it playing a make-believe game?
I’ve talked this over with my wife, kids, brother and best friend, and I think I’ve found a solution. The solution lies with the aspect of fantasy sports I enjoy most of all – the opportunity it affords for keeping in touch with friends and family members – in some cases with people I haven’t seen in quite some time. The sense of community that fantasy baseball provides is something I simply don’t want to give up now. Keeping in touch with friends is hard enough as it is, and if fantasy sports give me a chance to do so, then it’s worth my time.
How much time, though? That’s the key question, and after much deliberation with my 6-year-old, we’ve come up with a solution. When Daddy wakes up on a day off from work and wants to check his fantasy baseball, we’ll set the oven timer to 15 minutes, and leave him alone for that time. When the timer rings, he’s done, and we move on to the rest of our lives.
Sounds like a good deal: A chance to have some fun and keep in touch, but with some clear boundaries that prevent it all from becoming an obsession.
Let’s see if I can pull it off.
And yet, on the other hand, I love fantasy baseball. Baseball statistics are part of the neurological programming in my brain, as I’ve been memorizing and analyzing them since I was six years old. At age 9, I was playing hand-held computer baseball games with the small, plastic Entex game in one hand and a scorecard in the other. The little red dots that beeped and danced around the tiny screen would land on “single,” “double,” “triple,” “home run” or “out,” and I’d fill in the appropriate box for my make-believe matchup between the 1980 Astros and the 1980 Mets. When I was hit by a car and unable to walk without crutches for a few months, I sat down on my backyard patio and threw a racquetball against our chimney, and created an imaginary scheme of bounces and high flies that led to hits and outs. Again, the scorecard gave me stats. As my brother and I grew into our teen years, our parents bought us a Commodore 64 computer, and we quickly found a game called “MicroLeague Baseball.” When we put the floppy-disk software to this game into our computer, the Commodore let us play games featuring real baseball lineups, and the stats were kept for us, right there on the screen. Entire summer days were spent in this statistical heaven.
In high school, Eric and I joined a “rotisserie league,” as fantasy baseball was commonly called at the time, and had a blast as our friend compiled the league stats by hand. College brought me into the world of sports journalism, and I chose to devote nearly all of my free time to writing. It wasn’t until three years ago, at age 34, that I tried out fantasy baseball in its 21st-century incarnation. Fantasy sports are quite the pastime today, with many millions participating around the world in a variety of sports ranging from football to golf to auto racing. I find it fascinating that so many are turned on by the lure of statistical speculation – so much that even Michael Phelps said in a news conference that he had to refrain from opening an e-mail about fantasy football during the Olympics, to keep from getting distracted.
And yet it is that distraction that concerns me, especially when I have spent enough time at my computer already during the day and what I really need is to go for a run, hang out with my wife or play a game with my kids. I don’t want fantasy sports, of all things, to play a role in keeping me away from what I want to do most with my precious time and energy.
So as I finish this fourth year of fantasy baseball (currently in sixth place in both my leagues, by the way), I wonder about whether to go further. Isn’t it perfectly acceptable for me to spend a few minutes doing something that I truly enjoy? Yet, if my free time is limited, isn’t it silly to spend any of it playing a make-believe game?
I’ve talked this over with my wife, kids, brother and best friend, and I think I’ve found a solution. The solution lies with the aspect of fantasy sports I enjoy most of all – the opportunity it affords for keeping in touch with friends and family members – in some cases with people I haven’t seen in quite some time. The sense of community that fantasy baseball provides is something I simply don’t want to give up now. Keeping in touch with friends is hard enough as it is, and if fantasy sports give me a chance to do so, then it’s worth my time.
How much time, though? That’s the key question, and after much deliberation with my 6-year-old, we’ve come up with a solution. When Daddy wakes up on a day off from work and wants to check his fantasy baseball, we’ll set the oven timer to 15 minutes, and leave him alone for that time. When the timer rings, he’s done, and we move on to the rest of our lives.
Sounds like a good deal: A chance to have some fun and keep in touch, but with some clear boundaries that prevent it all from becoming an obsession.
Let’s see if I can pull it off.
Friday, July 18, 2008
The True Professional
I have been watching Willie Randolph for as long as I’ve been watching baseball. I was five years old when he joined the Yankees in 1976, and I saw him play on everything from pennant winners to also-rans. I saw him win championships with his bat, his glove, and his coaching instincts. I saw him turn the double play with an endless array of shortstops, and I saw him wave home dozens of Yankees players. I voted for him to start in All-Star games, and I cheered his selections as a co-captain, coach and manager. While it was always strange to see him in a Mets uniform, I rooted for him to win as manager of New York’s National League team.
I don’t know everything there is to know about Willie Randolph. But as a man who tries to go about my own job with a quiet dignity, a dedication to professional standards, and a compassion for others, I have viewed Randolph's behavior and demeanor with admiration on more than one occasion. He has always struck me as the kind of person who knows what is most important in life, and who is made that much better as a professional because of the perspective he carries along with him.
Willie Randolph may not be the manager of the New York Mets anymore. But beyond the change in job title, he is still a champion in all the right ways. I wish him the very best.
I don’t know everything there is to know about Willie Randolph. But as a man who tries to go about my own job with a quiet dignity, a dedication to professional standards, and a compassion for others, I have viewed Randolph's behavior and demeanor with admiration on more than one occasion. He has always struck me as the kind of person who knows what is most important in life, and who is made that much better as a professional because of the perspective he carries along with him.
Willie Randolph may not be the manager of the New York Mets anymore. But beyond the change in job title, he is still a champion in all the right ways. I wish him the very best.
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