Trust me when I say this: You can't kill the game of baseball. And, trust me when I say, ...But that doesn't keep us from trying.
Now, I doubt there is a vast right-wing conspiracy to destroy the national past time, but there have been times over the years that baseball has broken the hearts of its fans. With the release of the Mitchell Report, today might just be one of those times.
To be completely honest, I haven't read the report myself. There are other people whose job it is to read and digest that type of information and pass it on to the rest of us, including the names of individuals that were caught using steroids and other illegal substances to enhance their performance.
It's a sad day when stars of the game such as Miguel Tejada, Andy Pettite, Roger Clemens are outed as cheaters. No one should be surprised that names like Barry Bonds, Jose Canseco, and Mark McGwire made the list as well. It's sad, but the game, like a good pitcher coming off a horribly poor showing, will toe the rubber once again to pitch another day. You can't kill this game.
Prior to 1942, blacks were not allowed to play baseball. In 1919, the Chicago "Black" Sox threw the World Series. In 1994, because of labor disputations and the ensuing strike, there was no World Series. Baseball, just like the rest of us, evolves and moves forward, sometimes making mistakes along the way. The steroid era is one of those mistakes, but baseball will live to play another day.
Players that pumped steroids or took performance enhancing drugs cheated. They cheated the hallowed history of the game by tainting the statistical bridge that joins everyone that has ever played at the highest level. They cheated teammates who had the moral strength to abstain from using those substances when everyone around them said it was okay. They cheated an entire generation of young fans who grew up emulating them, who will only find out one day that their heros were frauds. But most of all, and saddest of all, they cheated themselves. Altruistic? Yes. But, Roger Clemens will never know how good he would have been had he been clean. How many strikeouts would he have had? Barry Bonds will never be sure if he could have broken the homerun records without help. Maybe they could have had the hall of fame careers that they have had even without drugs. But, we will never know for sure -- and neither will they.
But, understand this: the game will go forward. One day we may discover that half of all players used some sort of illegal substance and cheated. But even then, half of them did not. Those players have had to work harder just to keep pace, and the game will be better for it. Those players are the heart and soul of baseball, and as long as they are there, baseball will never die.
Luther "Dummy" Taylor was a 21 game winner in 1904 for the New York Giants. He and fellow pitcher Christy Mathewson led the Giants to back to back National League pennants in '04 and '05. One Detroit sportswriter said that he threw "the best drop ball delivered across the plate by any pitcher." Throughout his major league career, his ERA (earned run average) was usually low, especially by today's standards, though his record often suffered from a lack of run support. The Saturday Evening Post once commented about him, "Wherever Taylor goes he will always be visited by scores of the silent fraternity among whom he is regarded as a prodigy." In other words, he was adored by other members of the "silent fraternity" because he was great, and because he was one of them. He was deaf.
It was common practice at the time for deaf persons to be nicknamed "dummy," so Taylor's own epithet had more to do with his handicap than his intelligence. However, he did not view his impaired hearing as a detriment. He felt that, much like Ben Aflek in Dare Devil, lacking one sense only enhanced his others. For example, his keen eyesight allowed him to easily steal the signs from the opposing team. He also said he could gauge whether a baserunner was going to steal or not based on his facial expressions.
But, why should Dummy Taylor warrant a post on such a prestigious blog as this? Well, according to some sources, he may be at least partially responsible for the proliferation of "signs" in baseball. John McGraw took over the helm of the New York Giants in 1902 and came up with an innovative way of dealing with Taylor's handicap by making the entire team learn sign language. The team would practice everywhere. For example, while riding the train, they would spell out the roadsigns as they passed. Eventually, this skill spilled over into their games and became the earliest form of "signs" in baseball, according to the Giants.
These days signs are an integral part of the game. A catcher not only uses signs to tell the pitcher what to throw, but can also alert the infielders as to what their responsibilities are should the man at the plate lay down a sacrifice bunt. There are all sorts of signs and signals in the game; too many to list. They can be as complex as the third place the coach touches himself after he retouches the first place he touched after he touched the bill of his hat, or as simple as in little league where, if the coach touches his belt ("B" is for belt), you bunt ("B" is also for bunt). With signs in baseball the lines of communication are open, and getting nine guys on the same page and playing together as a team is invaluable.
As for Dummy Taylor, sure, there are plenty of players past and present that might be more exciting. But, as a coach once told us, everyone brings something different to the table. Everyone has a role to play, and to be our best, everyone needs to fulfill that role. Dummy made his contribution, and I'm glad he did.
So maybe I'm a few days late on the Alex Rodriguez hype. With not much going on in the baseball world these days, I figured I should jump on the band-wagon and throw in my two-cents on the subject, for what it's worth. If you're sick of A-Rod, you are definitely not alone, and you might just want to check back in a week for a new post. But, despite all the irritating things about this superstar, his accomplishments deserve some recognition--and what better way of recognizing the best player of the modern baseball era than by dedicating a post to him on an obscure blog with a readership of at least 7 (give or take).
Alex Rodriguez was drafted out of Miami's Westminster Christian High School June 3, 1993 by the Seattle Mariners and broke onto the Major League baseball stage July 8, 1994 at the tender age of 18 years and 4 months. Newsflash: If you're good enough to get at-bats in the Majors when you're 18 years old, you are pretty good. But, just two years later, at the age of 20, A-Rod was already contending for the American League MVP. His 36 HR, 123 RBI, and .358 BA that year were enough to earn a second place finish in the balloting behind Juan Gonzalez.
With 518 career homeruns, and now only 31 years old, he is the youngest player ever to reach the 500 homerun mark. When Willie Mays was 31 he had hit a mere 368. Hammerin' Hank Aaron had pounded out 398. And Barry "Indict-Me" Bonds had smashed only 334. Let's conservatively say that over the next 10 years of Rodriguez's new contract with the Yankees he hits an average of 30 homeruns a season. Now, if you're unfamiliar with A-Rod's season-by-season homerun totals, you might think that this is a little optimistic. He's got to have some down years in there, right? Well, consider this: He has officially played in 14 seasons, dating back to his 1994 debut. However, in '94 he played in only 17 games, and in '95 he played in just 48. Still, if you average his 518 homeruns and include those first two seasons, where he hit a combined total of 5 homeruns, he's currently averaging 37 homeruns a year. So, if you only take the 12 full seasons he has played and subtract the 5 from his first two seasons, his average homerun output a year jumps to 42.75 (which I guess would mean 42 homeruns and one triple?).
A-Rod is a very special player. Most people have plenty of reasons for not liking him though. Most recently, he aroused the ire of the media by announcing his opt-out of his Yankee contract during the final game of this season's World Series, despite rules that prohibit such news during the Fall Classic. Indications were that he was seeking a 10 year, $350 million contact as a free agent. However, there were a few problems. Most importantly, there is only a very small group of teams that could afford that type of contract. Besides, it's obvious that you don't need A-Rod to win a championship, since that is about the only achievement he has yet to attain. So, the Angels, the Giants, and the Dodgers passed. Suddenly, his list of potential suitors had diminished to one team: the New York Yankees. So, it seems he returned to the negotiating table, hat in hand, saying he still wanted to be a Yankee after all.
And, I'm okay with that. The Yankees are probably the only team in baseball that is bigger than A-Rod. It seems like a perfect fit to me.
There's also one other reason why I think he decided to go back to New York and it can be summed up in one word -- Legacy. If he were to retire today and never play again, he's a hall of famer, no doubt. Having reached the plateau of 500 homeruns is enough for admission to the Hall. But, under what club would he be admitted. For quintessential stars like Ted Williams, or more recently, Cal Ripken, Jr. and Tony Gwynn, who remained with the same team for their entire careers, the choice is clear: Ted Williams=Red Sox, Cal Ripken=Orioles, and Tony Gwynn=Padres. But what about A-Rod? He spent a few seasons in Seattle, but bolted for the largest contract in sports history at the time when he signed a free agency deal with the Texas Rangers. He had some spectacular years there, but was soon traded to the Yankees because Texas couldn't afford the mortgage payments. But now, if he's able to play out his contract in New York and reach the monumental milestones for which he's ahead of pace, he'll finally have a home and a team.
Sure, you and I may not agree with everything he does, and it may be hard to relate to a man whose salary is over $22 million a year for most people. But, we have to admit, he is one of the greatest to ever play the game. There's A-Rod, and then, there's everyone else... In more ways than one.
What could possibly motivate me to post a week before Thanksgiving, when I'm so busy trying to organize my portfolio for a run at a job at Hallmark? Uniforms, of course.
Maybe you've heard about this already, but when did the Tampa Bay Devil Rays drop the Devil? The Tampa Bay Rays? That's right. And along with the new name comes some sweet new textiles. Personally, I love the little sun burst. Funny how all of the teams that were established in the '90s are adopting more traditional team colors in place of what were the trendy teals and purples of that time. As for the name thing, I don't think the league should have allowed this change. The American League East is on a slippery slope here. There has to be some sort of obscure by-law that would prohibit a situation where the Rays and the Jays are in the same division. How long before the Toronto Blue Jays put out a press release that announcing they are no longer Blue? What about that team in Boston? Isn't their name too long too? Sox would suffice. Sure, you might get confused with the White Sox, but maybe they could convince them to change their team name to White. No logo, just white pants, jerseys, and hats, kind of like the Beatles White album.
Come to think of it, maybe the "Rays" are on to something (actually, Arizona's uniforms probably make them bigger culprits of team name truncation, but I like the "D-backs'" new look). There are a few teams that could shorten their names. I'd definitely like to see the Angels pick a city. Doing so would cut their name in half.
Bottom line: bush-league uniforms for a bush-league club. Tampa Bay's new look (especially the jersey) has a distinctly minor league feel. I hope they didn't pay too much for that logo. I would have done twice the job for half the dough.
Well, it didn't take long for the Red Sox to take care of the Colorado Rockies, did it. I told you I have a habit of cheering for the wrong team. But, look at it this way, die-hard Rockies fan -- your team won 21 of its final 26 games en route to its first ever World Series appearance. And as Manny Ramirez always says, "If it doesn’t happen, so who cares? There’s always next year. It’s not like it’s the end of the world.” So, lighten up. He's right. It's not the end of the world, just the end of another season of baseball. So, with that in mind, I've created the countdown timer for Spring Training 2008 (right side of the page). Stay tuned during the offseason, as I plan on providing plenty of baseball blogging goodness, with a little graphic design on the side.
The Colorado Rockies are the hottest team in baseball, perhaps in baseball history, having won 21 of its last 22 games coming into the 2007 World Series, and you and I, and any other shlubs too poor for basic cable TV will finally get to see them. The last team to beat the Rockies was the Arizona Diamondbacks, the same team that the Rockies rolled over in four games, sweeping the National League Championship Series eight days ago. The last National League team to be 7-0 in the post-season was Cincinnati's Big Red Machine in their romp to a World Championship in 1976.But, despite all of this, the fabled Boston Red Sox and their ace, Josh Beckett, stand in their way. Most of you know, and I'll admit to those who don't, but back in first half of this decade, I was high on the Red Sox. Luckily, I've since broken that addiction. I was crushed in 2003 when Aaron Boone launched a Tim Wakefield knuckleball into the left field stands, prolonging the curse of the Bambino. We must know the bitter to taste the sweet, and it didn't get any sweeter than the 2004 ALCS when the Sox rallied against their arch rivals to become the only team to come back from a 3-0 deficit in a seven-game series and win. Their sweep of the Cardinals in the World Series gave Red Sox Nation it's first World Championship since a few front-office folks thought it was a good idea to sell George Herman Ruth (the Babe) to the Yankees to raise funds for the production of the Broadway musical No, No, Nanette. But soon after the rise of the Red Sox, I began to see them as no different than their Bronx rivals. The bullied had become the bully. The larger the payroll, the less likely that I will be a fan. And so, I was through with the Red Sox. I still have the hats in my closet, but I can't remember the last time one got out in public.
So, here's my prediction: Rockies in 5***.
The Rockies should be able to split the first two games in Fenway before heading home to Coors Field, where, I predict, the Red Sox will struggle for a few reasons. First of all, in the World Series the teams play by the home team's rules. Therefore, while in Denver, the Red Sox won't be able to use the DH, which will leave a large hole in its potent lineup. David "Don't-Ask-Big-Papi-For-An-Autograph" Ortiz will have to play first base and trying to work Kevin Youkilis, who has come through big-time for Boston this post-season, could lead to some problems on defense. And, speaking of defense, Manny "So-What-If-It's-Just-A-Single-I'm-Not-Going-To-Run-Hard" Ramirez will have a heck of a time in left field in Colorado. But, because I'm a good sport, I made this for him to help navigate the enormous ground he'll need to cover in Coors Field.
That's my prediction, and I'm sticking to it (unless the Sox win the first two, in which case, I may have to change it to 6 games). If you have a prediction, or any thoughts on this year's fall classic, leave a comment.
***Disclaimer: Todd Reynolds has a history of rooting for the losing team in all sporting events due to a rare medical condition causing him to cheer for the underdog in every situation unless it involves the Kansas City Royals or The BYU Cougars. This World Series prediction is in no way statistically founded enough to use as the basis of any type of wager, sanctioned or otherwise.
Watching a little of Game 4 of the American League Championship Series (ALCS) last night at a friend's house, I was able to see Tim Wakefield pitch for the Boston Red Sox. Unfortunately, he wasn't doing so well when we tuned in, so he didn't stay on the mound for long. But, seeing him pitch and seeing the frustration of many of the Indians' hitters made me think about the Knuckleball. Having pitched myself, I know how difficult it is to throw a knuckleball and how it is even harder to catch, much less hit. Many times the action on a knuckleball is described as dancing, fluttering, or dipping and diving. It is difficult to get a real sense of just how much movement is on that pitch if you're just watching the game on television. But trust me, I've played catch with an outfielder in college who could throw a good knuckler, and I was always worried that I would miss it and it would hit me in the face.
With most pitches, pitchers are trying to increase the amount of spin on the ball, as well as the direction. But with a knuckle, the pitcher is actually trying to minimize the amount of spin on the ball. By decreasing or eliminating the spin on the ball, the movement of the pitch becomes random and somewhat unpredictable. If you've ever played volleyball at a family picnic, you may have experienced a knuckleball effect. When a volleyball is served with little or no spin, the seams of the ball as well as the ridges and valleys of the ball causes it to "float," or to knuckleball.
Here's a good connection to a past posting: In the recent post about baseball movies I talked about "Eight Men Out," a story of the 1919 Chicago White Sox and how they were bought off in exchange for throwing the World Series. One of the pitchers, Eddie Cicotte, is widely credited as the first knuckleball pitcher, and finished his career with 221 wins. Some say he may have been elected to the Baseball Hall of Fame had he not been (spoiler alert) banned from baseball for his involvement in the Black Sox scandal.
So, would you like to learn how to throw a knuckleball? Me too. I could actually explain how to throw it, but I can't really do it myself (Actually, there are quite a few things about baseball that I could explain mechanically, but I can't actually do well... Maybe coaching is in my future). But I found this video tutorial to help you learn. Notice the sudden movement of the ball back to your right just before the ball crosses the plate.
When I was little, I loved the Oakland Athletics. Jose Canseco, Mark McGwire, Carney Lansford, Walt Weiss, Mike Gallego, Dave and Ricky Henderson, and Dave Stewart... Those were the days. The A's were tough back, when for me, baseball was more about card collecting and colossal trades with the neighbors. A new package of Donruss baseball cards was 45 cents at the checkout counter in the local grocery store where my mom shopped. I think I bought a new pack just about every time. If I concentrate, I can still smell the wax-paper packaging. Every kid I knew had baseball cards, and we would spend hours and hours counting and re-counting them. At first, you would trade cards based on the player, and if you didn't know a player by name, you would check out his stats. Eventually one of my friends bought the Beckett Baseball Card Guide and trades began to be based in the card's value.
These days, I don't know any kids who collect cards. Who could afford it? The price of your average pack of baseball cards has skyrocketed well past the modest allowance granted to your everyday pre-teen. In my view, this is detrimental to the game of baseball. Where it used to be accessible to all, it has become a past-time for the privileged.
Back when you could afford baseball cards and you knew a player's batting average because of it, my Oakland A's were in the playoffs. Occasionally, an ALCS (American League Championship Series) game would begin in the afternoon on a weekday. I remember running home from school and turning on the television just in time to see the post-game interview with the A's winning pitcher, Dave Stewart. I would have to settle for the National League game that evening, but I knew I would be able to see the next A's game live, on network television.
It's too bad that doesn't happen anymore for kids trying to watch their team. Or, for that matter, for adults who love baseball and just want to be a part of post-season magic. I just saw the TV schedule for this year's playoffs.
None of the American League or the National League Divisional Series will be on network television. There could be as few as 12 or as many as 20 playoff games played in the next 10 days, but unless you have cable or satellite TV, you won't be able to see any of them. Once the final two teams from each division are ready to battle in the ALCS and NLCS, only the American League games will be available to anyone with a TV set and a pair of antenna. I'm sure the executives at FOX Sports are on their knees praying for another Yankees-Red Sox series (Personally, an Angels-Indian series is what I'm hoping for). Then, finally, when the World Series is here, all games will be broadcast on network television.
I hear that viewership of the World Series has been trending downwards recently. I wonder why? Could it be that no one gets attached to the teams during their playoff runs because you can't watch a single National League playoff game without TBS? No one west of Las Vegas would have cared about a World Series between the Anaheim Angels and the San Francisco Giants had it not been for the ability to watch those two wildcard teams battle through the first two rounds. In the weeks of playoff games leading up to the World Series, you formed your alliances, and you knew that the people in the apartment above you were for the Giants and for one week they despised both you and your Rally Monkey.
That won't happen this year. By the time the playoffs come to the homes of the little people with rabbit ears, who cares? Little by little, it seems like they are taking the game away. Exclusive radio rights so you can't listen to a game unless you have an online subscription or satellite radio; $5 for a pack of baseball cards, but now you only get 8 cards instead of 12; the extinction of the playoffs on network television; it's all about making money. As the business of baseball takes over, the game suffers and so does America's love affair with it's former national past time.
A while back there was a suggestion to do my favorite baseball movies. Actually, I think it was to pick the greatest baseball movie of all-time. Then, today, while browsing the world wide web, I stumbled on this promo/sweepstakes by Major League baseball in anticipation of the release of the latest baseball flick, The Final Season, starring the only hobbit to ever play football at Notre Dame. Besides filling out all sorts of personal information, which I'm sure they keep to themselves, the link prompted you to pick your favorite baseball movie. I didn't give them my daytime phone number, or any other information for that matter, and I didn't pick a movie; but it did inspire me to write about it.
When I think of baseball movies, there are a few that instantly come to mind, a few more that I can remember after a while, and many more that I vaguely recall if I really think hard. I'll start with those, and end with the best "you-must-see-these" baseball movies.
Granted, at least half of the world's baseball movies are R-rated, so I haven't seen them; and if I have, it was some broadcast television filler on a lazy weekend afternoon, sandwiched between the Ronco Food Hydrator and Tony Little's agonizing sell of the Gazelle fitness machine. But, having been on road trips with teams in college, I can safely say that the R content in those shows is not overly embellished. I can only imagine what might go on off the field in professional baseball, like in the minors, for example.
One baseball movie that you can confidently watch without worrying about any questionable content is Everyone's Hero (2006). We picked this up one night because we were just in the mood for a clean, computer-animated family film, and we were pleasantly surprised. Complete with talking baseball equipment, this show is fun for the entire family, and the perseverance plot line doesn't hurt either. I give this a strong 3 1/2 stars out of five, keeping in mind that I docked the film half a star because of blatant Yankee propaganda. If you're in the mood for a fun little show, you won't be disappointed, especially if there are kids involved.
Another show I've seen very recently for the first time that most die-hard baseball fans may not even know exists is Take Me Out to the Ballgame (1949), starring Frank Sinatra, Esther Williams and Gene Kelly. The reason I had never heard of it was because my brothers and I didn't grow up watching musicals every Sunday night with our family. I quite enjoyed this show, but it reaffirmed something I learned when I attended a high school production of Damn Yankees: Although most baseball players can't carry a tune, I've never seen a musician that can convince me he's a professional baseball player. 3 1/2 stars.
Rounding out the crop of family films with a baseball theme are Rookie of the Year (1993), Little Big League (1994), the original Bad News Bears (1976), and Angels in the Outfield (1994). Interestingly, the 1994 production of Angels in the Outfield was a remake of its 1951 predecessor. Same title, but the original had no sweet orphans and no CaliforniaAnaheim Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim -- the team needing a little boost in '51 was the Pittsburgh Pirates. Go figure.
This is getting to be a bigger post than I had intended, so I'll skip to the really good baseball shows. But before I get to my top five flicks, there are two that need mentioning for their historical value. First is Eight Men Out (1988) about the 1919 Chicago White Sox, aka Black Sox. Maybe you've heard about Shoeless Joe Jackson or Bucky Dent? This is the story about what led to their lifetime ban from the game of baseball and is definitely worth the rental.
The other historical gem requires some time -- roughly 1,080 mintues. Baseball: A Film by Ken Burns (1994) is a nine part (inning) series that originally aired on PBS. Although it can drag at times, the information and history of America and its national past time it devolves are invaluable. My suggestion? Watch one inning a month, beginning in February when pitchers and catchers report to spring training and ending in October during the post season. If you like baseball, you must see this series.
Okay, now counting 'em down from five to one, my picks for the best baseball motion pictures ever.
5. SANDLOT (1993) -- An instant classic, this show reminds you of your childhood while wishing you could have been part of a group of kids similar to the Sandlot gang. As a perennial underdog fan, I can't help but root for these misfits. This is full of great one-liners and hilarious situations. If you haven't seen this show lately, pass on all of the garbage in the New Releases section of your local video store and pick this one up.
4. FOR LOVE OF THE GAME (1999) -- This is the second time I've mentioned this movie in my blog. The first was in the post about perfect games. By virtue of the fact my parents actually own this movie, I am guessing that I have seen this movie more times than any of the other top five. It is a great look into the mindset of a professional pitcher trying to accomplish an incredible feat amidst a plethora of issues he is dealing with personally. I especially loved the depiction of the pitcher-catcher relationship.
3. FIELD OF DREAMS (1989) -- Another classic with timeless quotes like, "If you build it, he will come." Shame on you if you've never seen this show. Kevin Costner stars as an Iowan corn farmer who follows the direction of the voices in his head on his way to all sorts of personal fulfillment and self-actualization (in case you're wondering, he has been the lead in four baseball movies: Chasing Dreams (1982), Bull Durham (1988), Field of Dreams (1989), and For Love of the Game (1999)).
2. THE ROOKIE (2002) -- As a former pitcher who only made it as far as the junior college ranks, and had always wished that I had been given just a little more velocity, this show holds a particular place in my heart. Here, a small town science teacher/baseball coach makes a wager with his underachieving band of young ballplayers that changes his life. This show is absolutely inspiring. Grab this if you either haven't seen it or if it's been a while.
1. THE NATURAL (1984) -- This show is arguably the greatest baseball movie of all time. Robert Redford stars as an amazingly talented young pitcher, Roy Hobbs, whose path to the big leagues takes a nasty turn when foul play enters the picture. This show is timeless and every time I get the chance to see it I want to jump out of my seat cheering. I'm getting goose bumps just thinking about it. The soundtrack is great too.
There you have it. A post about baseball movies just in time for the off-season. Pop yourself some popcorn, add some M&Ms, and enjoy.
It may seem obvious to most people, but before you can get to October, you need to get through September. In baseball, October is synonymous with the Playoffs. Eight teams go in, and one comes out, Champions of the World. The other 22 teams, however, call it a season, go home, and spend some much needed time with family and friends. Trust me, no matter how fun it may look to play baseball for a living, the grind of the 162-game regular season is a tough one. Heck, by the end of the year, your average player is probably sick of his own team's logo.
September though, can be the most exciting time of the year, or it can be the hardest time of the year. It all depends on who you are rooting for and whether or not your team is in a race for a spot in the playoffs. Here in Kansas City, the local sportscasters and writers were so excited for the Chiefs training camp. To them it meant the end of the need to spend time on the Royals, and the beginning of a new NFL season. I'm sure there are many people here that feel the same way. After all, even though the Royals made some strides (you may say baby-steps, but I'm a Royals optimist) by avoiding a fourth 100-loss season in a row, and stringing together a few winning months, they still may not make it out of the cellar of the American League Central division. So, for some Royals fans, September is when you stow away your powder blue, break out your red and yellow, and head on down to Arrowhead for some pre-game brats.
Not me.
I must admit though, I haven't been as diligent in reading the post-game reports and newspaper articles as I was at the height of the summer. I know the season is coming to an end, and I realize that every game left from here on out is basically meaningless, as far as the standings are concerned. But, October is just around the corner, and for you National League fans, this final week of the season is going to be great. With everything still up in the air, virtually every game will have some bearing on an organization's playoff hopes.
But what about those of us who are not from Cleveland, who can no longer root for the Red Sox in good conscience, and loathe that team from the Bronx. I guess there's the Angels. The Cubbies are always a feel good favorite, but they may not make the playoffs. I guess I'll just have to wait and see, but trust me, we all need to pick a team and ride them out. The playoffs can produce some of the greatest moments in sports, and you wouldn't want to miss them just because your Devil Rays didn't make the cut this year. Because, after all, just because my Royals will be done by this time next week, I still love baseball. And, with that in mind, here are some great ads from FOX sports. Enjoy!
Today is my 28th birthday, and my darling wife gave me the perfect gift: a new baseball mitt. Growing up, I didn't have hand-me-down gloves, because after all, I was the oldest child. But, let's just say that I didn't have the nicest mitt on the team either. It's due to a combination of various reasons, one of which is that I was not very good until I was about 14 years old. When I was 14, I actually upgraded my glove by switching to my mom's tan-colored Rawlings from what I officially call the black beast -- a 13" Easton with a closed back, and my name and phone number written on one of the fingers in silver permanent marker.
I used that Rawlings for a few more years before getting a nice glove for Christmas. It was dark brown, almost mahogany colored Easton with an open back. That was the glove I used through high school and for my first year in junior college. But by my second year it was time for another new glove. A teammate of mine was working at Big 5 Sporting Goods at the time, and he used his employee discount to get me a new 11.25", black TPX, also with an open back. I loved that mitt. No glove oil, shaving cream, or any other substance touched that one. I didn't wrap a ball inside it and stick it under my parents' mattress to break her in either. That glove was formed strictly by playing catch. Unfortunately, about two years after I got it, it was stolen out of my luggage on my way back from a summer job in Puerto Rico. Hopefully there's an up-and-coming shortshop down there that has enjoyed my mitt ever since.
A baseball glove is a very personal piece of equipment. You will understand what I mean if you have ever had to leave your mitt with some goon on the opposing team who forgot his at a church softball game. You don't want someone else sweating in your glove. It's your glove, after all. It's like a natural extension of your hand. I recently read that the center fielder for the Minnesota Twins, Torii Hunter, keeps his game mitt under lock and key in the club house. Professionals have plenty of gloves that they usually received as gifts from manufacturers, but there's one special one that is reserved for game time.
So, if you're ever in the market for a new glove, here is some information about how to choose a glove you'll love.
First of all, there are many, many, many gloves out there. Whether you are looking to buy a glove for a child or for yourself, you can find a mitt in your price range. Low-end gloves can be purchased for $15 to $30, and high-end, I-want-the-exact-same-mitt-as-my-baseball-idol gloves are usually $300. And there are all sorts of gloves in between.
There are also many manufacturers of baseball gloves. Rawlings, Easton, Mizuno, TPX, Nike, Nokona, Akadema, Wilson, SSK, and Worth; just to name a few. As far as what brand you buy, it's really just a matter of preference and style. Pick a glove you like, but don't go overboard with funny gimicks. I remember the old Wilsons that you could turn a dial to tighten or loosen your glove, almost akin to Reebok Pumps. I'll list a few links to these companies' websites. The Rawlings site is especially cool.
You'll also need to decide on the size of glove you'd like. Glove sizes are measured according to their length. Usually the smallest adult glove you will find is 11 inches. 11, 11.25, and 11.5" gloves are usually reserved for middle-infielders, and sometimes pitchers. Shortstops and Second basemen like the small gloves because it's easier to make the quick transfer from glove to throwing hand on double plays and such. Third basemen usually prefer a slightly larger glove so they can knock down hot shots hit their way. Outfielders wear longer gloves, sometimes over 13" long. That way, it can increase their reach just enough to snag a would-be double in the gap. Personally, I prefer smaller gloves. Maybe it's because I grew up playing with giant adult softball gloves in little league... who knows? But I feel I have better control with less leather at the end of my finger tips. However, if you will be buying a glove strictly for softball, a bigger glove might be better because there will be more room for the larger ball in the pocket of your mitt.
Once you have your glove, there are all sorts of ways of breaking it in and getting it game ready. But perhaps we'll discuss those in a future post. For now, just keep this in mind. Chonne Figgins of the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim played all through little league with a Burger King give-away mitt because his family couldn't afford a real glove. So, although having a nice glove isn't necessary, if you have your choice, it sure is nice to own a glove you can be proud of, even if you don't really play anymore.
No... This post doesn't have anything to do with chaw or "Big Tobacco's" devious attempt to addict little baseball fans everywhere with shredded chewing gum that comes in little foil-lined pouches that look an awful lot like expensive tobacco packaging. Nope. But, that might not be a bad idea for a future post.
Today I thought we'd talk about the nature of the game. If you didn't play much growing up, you might not fully understand. Then again, there were plenty of kids that quit when they were seven years old because baseball was too hard. Sometimes they quit because the ball itself was too hard. Ever wonder where the term "Hard Ball" comes from? Baseball is hard ball. Soft ball, and I'm talking here about the leagues full of has-been's and never-were's (one of which I'll be happily joining this fall), might as well be called Easy Ball just to accentuate the difference.
Consider this: The current Major League leader in batting average, Magglio Ordonez, is currently hitting .353. So basically, the man most likely to hit safely in the Majors only gets a hit less than 4 times out of 10. He's out more than 6 times out of 10. The infamous Ty Cobb, the all-time batting average leader at .367 over his career played for 24 season and collected 4191 hits. He got out 64% percent of time, but as far as hitting goes, Cobb was and still is the benchmark. Can you imagine doing anything day in and day out and succeeding about 30% of the time? There are plenty of good, everyday ballplayers in the pros that succeed less than 30% of the time.
Sure, there may be hot streaks where a guy may hit .450 for a few games, but not for long. One of the interesting things about the 162 game-season played in the majors is that everything usually evens outs. Guys that should hit about .250, but start the season red-hot, batting .375 over the first month, will usually hit a dry-spell later on, and then even out and finish the season about where his talent says he should be. Then, there are guys who go through the entire season, play maybe every other day for a while, and then maybe only about twice a week, and never pull out of their slump. The back-up catcher for the Royals has a total of 20 hits in 52 games this season. It took Alex Rodriguez 14 games to reach the 20 hit mark. And, after 52 games A-Rod had 19 homeruns.
And it's not just individuals who take a beating in baseball. Look at team records. I tried a search, and then I sorted the all-time team pitching statistics, so, if anyone out there has better data, please share. According to what I found, the team that has won more games than any other is the Giants, obviously including their time in New York. However, the team with the best all-time winning percentage is the New York Yankees with an astounding .569. Over their long history, they have won 9,242, and lost 6,997 games. By the way, this won't come as a surprise to anyone, but if you're looking for a team to root for, don't spend much time considering the Tampa Bay Devil Rays. They are owners of the league's worst all-time winning percentage at an abysmal .396.
The point of all of this is whether you play or follow baseball, you have to expect some disappointment. And, when it comes, don't beat yourself up about it. So if you're in a slump, keep trying to hit the ball hard, and sooner or later they'll start to fall. After all, you can't win them all -- and you won't lose them all either.
By the way, if you're having an unproductive moment, check out "Pinch Hitter 2" at the very bottom of this page.
About a month ago I read an article in the Sports section of the Kansas City Star. I would have posted a link to it, but it has been "archived," so I would have to pay for it; and since no one likes to click on the advertisements on the left, I'm not making a dime on this blog. It was written by Joe Posnanski, recently voted the best sports writer in America. I've always enjoyed his stuff, but this particular article held special meaning for me. It was entitled, "You Can't Always Judge a Pitcher by His Fastball" -- Amen.
There were two questions that he addressed in his article: First, what has been the impact of the radar gun in baseball, and second, is Rowdy Hardy a real, bonified prospect for the Kansas City Royals. As it turns out, it was pretty much the same question, just stated differently.
Rowdy Hardy is currently pitching in A-Ball for the Royals' organization, and pitching well. His numbers rival any pitcher in the minor leagues. 14-4 on the season, 84 strikeouts, and only 14 walks. His ERA (Earned Run Average) is well under 3.00. But the numbers that keep him in Single-A are 81-82 -- which is about how hard he throws his fastball. If he threw 91-92, with the same numbers, the Royals wouldn't be able to move him up fast enough. As it sits, however, they're not exactly sure what they have in Hardy. Dayton Moore, the General Manager for the Royals, has said that next year he will play on the Double A squad, and that he will continue to move up in the organization until guys start to hit him.
Earl Weaver helped to pioneer the use of the radar gun in baseball. A legendary, hall of fame manager for the Baltimore Orioles, Weaver was obsessed with statistics and information. His purpose for using the radar gun wasn't to see how hard guys were throwing, but to better judge the difference between his pitchers' fastballs and off-speed pitches. For example, if a guy throws a fastball at 85 mph and his change-up comes in at 80 mph, it's really just a fat fastball, and he won't fool anyone with it. But, if someone was throwing their fastball 85 mph and the change-up at 69 mph, that was something they could work with and get guys out with. Weaver understood that pitching is much more than just how hard you can throw. The trick to pitching well is to keep the batter off balance, and you can do that by changing speeds and location. If a batter knows you throw a curveball that loops in there at about 65-67 mph, and your change-up looks just like your fastball, but it makes its way to the plate at about 70 mph, it makes your 80-81 mph fastball seem that much "quicker" to the plate. It's like Einstein said -- it's all relative.
So, while it is not necessary to throw the major league average 91-92 mph, it really is. Radar guns have changed the way scouts evaluate pitching prospects, and in most cases, unless a guy has a good, major league fastball, they could care less about any other abilities you may possess. But, every now and then a little left-hander like Rowdy Hardy takes their formula and throws it out the window -- at a blazing 82 mph.
I realize there are only about five people that actually pay any attention to this blog, and three of them are related to me. Still, I feel bad that it has been so long since my last post. I guess you could say I have been on summer vacation. Well, I'm back... and just in time for a new home run king.
I remember exactly where I was when Mark McGwire broke Roger Maris' single-season homerun record, and I remember exactly what the blast looked like. It happened to be on the same night that Gordon B. Hinckley was going to be interview on the Larry King show, so I was at a neighbor's house because we didn't have cable. Luckily, they had picture in picture, so we didn't miss anything. Larry King went to commercial, so we switched the screens to bring the Cardinals game to the forefront. Then, right on cue, Big Mac hit a screaming line drive that just kept on going, right over the left field fence.
I also remember all of the excitement generated by the record chase that year. It was a three-man race until about half-way through the season. McGwire, Sosa, and Junior. I liked Junior, but he just wasn't the big bopper that the other two were. So, we he bowed out, I switched camps and started rooting for Slammin' Sammy. That was a season I will always remember.
But, to be completely honest, I had no idea that Barry Bonds had tied Hank Aaron's career homerun record over the weekend.
Now, I still don't have cable TV, so I don't watch as much Sports Center as I would like to, and I'm sure this latest milestone homerun was well covered by the world-wide leader in sports. But, on the other hand, I do have this really cool thing called the "inter-web," which magically transports scores and highlights to my iMac. So had I wanted to track Bond's progress, I easily could have done so. But I didn't really care. I still don't. Just like I didn't care when he broke McGwire's single-season homerun record.
I really used to like Barry Bonds. I was upset when he went to the giants and changed his number from 24 to 25. Of course, I also used to like Jose Canseco, but I've already made that confession, and we've moved on. The Pirates were my team there for a while, back in the days of Barry Bonds, Bobby Bonilla, and Andy Van Slyke (or was it Dick Van Dyke... I always get those two names confused. By the way -- Eddie Murray and Eddie Murphy, one worked in Baltimore and the other in Beverly Hills, but I can't keep them straight either). Doug Drabek was their stud pitcher. But, anyway, those days are gone. Though I can't explain it now, I really did like Barry Bonds at one time. So, why not rejoice in this milestone? It's not like there was some misconception that Big Mac and Slammin' Sammy were actually doing what they did on God-given talent and ability alone, right? There was plenty of speculation back then too. But I was still into it. Heck, I'm even a not-so-proud-anymore owner of a #21 Sosa Cubs jersey.
Maybe it's because of Bond's attitude that I don't seem to care about this feat. Maybe it's because of alleged use of illegal substances that I'm so apathetic to the "Barry Watch." I understand that he is a great player, but there's still something about him that I can't like.
Luckily, we shouldn't have to wait too long for Barry's name to fall back to number two on the all-time homerun list. Alex Rodriguez, or A-Rod, if you prefer (by the way, does Barry Bonds have a nick-name?), has just become the youngest player ever to reach 500 career homeruns. He definitely has a chance to take his place as the homerun king.
At any rate, Barry Bonds will most-likely hold that title by the end of the week. Of course, there's always a chance that he could get injured, or worse, fail a drug test. If you have any ideas for a nick-name for Barry, include them in a comment. How about Barry BALCO?
There are many things that are passed on from generation to generation. There are bad things, like abuse. There are annoying things, like male-pattern baldness or the shape of your nose or ears. And, there are good things, like an old pocket watch, Grandma’s wedding ring, the Du Pont family fortune, and baseball.
More specifically, the love of baseball.
Baseball is a game that must be passed on from father to son. Kids at recess won’t play baseball. There is too much equipment involved, not to mention, you would need 17 of your best buddies to properly fill the lineups for both teams. Everyone would need a mitt, unless they all trade off between innings, in which case, you could get by with eight—the right fielder doesn’t need a glove in elementary school. It just gets in the way. It’s easier picking dandelions with both hands.
We no longer live in a Sandlot world. Nope -- kids don’t usually pick up a love of baseball in the schoolyard at recess. Another reason for this is the game is filled with failure. It’s too hard. Can you think of a professional quarterback that only completed 30 percent of his passes in his career? Or a basketball player who only made 30 percent of his shots? Even Greg Ostertag shot 48 percent for his career. Can you imagine if a baseball player hit .480 even for one fluke season, let alone over an entire career? It is a very difficult game to play. The very best players at the highest level are only going to hit safely three times in every ten at bats. It can be frustrating, especially for kids, which is probably why they invented the wiffle ball.
The game is most often first learned in the backyard. Dad starts off by purchasing your first mitt. He also buys a ball – probably not a real ball, but something a little softer. He takes you out back after the sun has gone down, but before it’s too dark, and tosses you the ball. His glove seems enormous compared to yours as you toss it back. When he returns from retrieving your errant throw, he flips it back to you, but now he’s aiming for your glove. It’s pretty hard to make it into a little boy’s mitt when he flinches at the ball every time it comes his way, but that doesn’t stop Dad from trying. After all, you have never seen anyone as excited about anything as a boy catching his first few balls. For that matter, Dad can’t help but get a little excited himself.
Next thing you know, you’ve been signed-up for t-ball. Dad sets up a baseball tee in the backyard and now you practice swinging. If you are the first child, maybe it’s not the highest quality sports equipment, and after a dozen or so swings that miss well below the ball ends up breaking the tee, Dad realizes maybe next time he’ll buy a stronger one.
Little by little, you start getting better. Dad takes you to games and you start becoming familiar with the game. Familiar enough that something doesn’t make sense. If that player was all the way to second base by the time they caught the ball, why was he out? Your Dad explains the fly ball rule, and you go on absorbing the game from him, someone who loves baseball, and wants you to love it too.
When I was eight and nine years old my Dad would crouch down in the backyard under the walnut tree and I would pitch to him. He bought a left-handed catchers mitt for just such occasions. When I was ten and eleven years old he would still sit under the walnut tree, but he found that it was easier to sit on a bucket. He also figured out that it would be easier if he had a few spare balls at his side so he didn’t need to chase after every wild pitch. By the time I was twelve or so, it hurt his hand when I pitched, so he bought a “pitch back.” The problem was, you never quite new where it was going to pitch it back to. And, by that time, I had grown to love the game as much as he did. You can’t love it more than another person, only just as much. You either love the game, or you don’t. I do. So does Dad.
So guys, start early with your kids. If you love the game, it’s up to you to pass that on to your posterity. You owe it to them. I mean, after all, they inherited your hairy back, so you’ve got to give them something to make up for it.
William Howard Taft was born September 15, 1857, to proud parents Louisa Torrey and Alphonso Taft, in Cincinnati, Ohio. He would eventually be elected the 27th President of the United States and would serve one term, 1909-1913. George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, and many other Presidents are remembered for their tremendous accomplishments. President Taft, however, is probably remembered most for his weight. Weighing over 350 pounds, he is easily the heaviest President in the history of the United States. In fact, President Taft became stuck in the White House tub so frequently, that a new, custom-built tub large enough to fit the six men who installed it replaced the smaller, problematic tub.
Brother Jasper of Mary, F.S.C was working at Manhattan College in the late 1800s. He may not look like a particularly happy man, but he is credited for introducing the game of baseball to the college—so he can’t be too bad. He became the baseball squad’s first coach, and today, all sports teams at Manhattan College are called the Jaspers. I guess you could say he’s now the school mascot.
If you’re wondering why this post is providing superficial history lessons on two seemingly unrelated figures, you may also be wondering what these two have to do with baseball and The Perfect Game. Or, if you’re like me, you may just be reading and not really retaining anything and by the time you reach the point that you realize you have no idea what you’ve just read, you’ll go back to the top, and start over. Feel free to do so.
April 14th, 1910 was Opening Day for the Washington Senators. President Taft was in attendance that day and is credited for being the first U.S. President to throw out the first pitch. There is no record of how well the pitch was thrown, but I suspect that had he embarrassed himself that afternoon, other Presidents would not have sought the opportunity of continuing the tradition. After the first pitch, he settled in for what became a long, slow contest between the Senators and the Philadelphia Athletics. The game continued to drag and the small, wooden seats at the ballpark became increasingly uncomfortable for the obese dignitary. According to reports, by the middle of the seventh inning, the President couldn’t handle the pain and discomfort any longer and he stood up. Back then, the general public revered the President of the United States, and as was customary, when everyone in attendance noticed that he had risen, they thought that he was getting up to leave, so the crowd also rose from their seats out of respect. After a few minutes, President Taft returned to his seat, the game continued, and another baseball tradition had been born: The Seventh Inning Stretch. One person establishing two long-standing traditions in one day is pretty impressive.
But wait… Manhattan College begs to differ. It was their historical figure, Brother Jasper, who initiated the Seventh Inning Stretch.
This particular story traces the origin of the Seventh Inning Stretch to an exhibition game between Manhattan College and a semi-pro team called the Metropolitans. (Hmm. Metropolitans…That has a nice ring to it, but it’s a little long…Oh! I know! What if we shorten the name to the Mets…Now there’s an idea.) Anyhow, that day, Brother Jasper noticed the Manhattan students were getting restless as his team was coming to bat in the seventh inning, and we all know what can happen when college students get restless. So, in an attempt to stem the tide of unruly fans, Brother Jasper called time-out and instructed the students to stand and stretch for a few minutes until the game resumed. This Seventh Inning Stretch spread to the major leagues because the college played exhibition games against the New York Giants each year. And now, every major league ballpark in the county participates in the Manhattan College stretch.
That's a good story too, but, baseball historians have uncovered a letter home from Harry Wright, a player for the Cincinnati Red Stockings (Red Stockings? Hmm. That’s catchy too—a little cumbersome though. What about this—Red Socks? Huh? Nah, it would probably never stick). Wright wrote home in 1869, which easily pre-dates both the Taft and Jasper accounts, and described what seems to be a Seventh Inning Stretch.
“The (Cincinnati) spectators all arise between halves of the seventh inning, extend their legs and arms, and sometimes walk about.” (http://www.baseball-almanac.com/articles/7th_inning_stretch.shtml)
The real question is which story is true.
It doesn’t really matter, does it? Whatever the origin, kids and adults alike, at ballparks and stadiums all across the county look forward to the Seventh Inning Stretch. Everyone stands, stretches, and sings “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.” There are few things better than swaying back and forth with good friends and family, singing that song and substituting “…root, root, root, for the home team” with “root, root, root for the Royals” or the Bees, or the Trappers, or the Jaspers, or whatever your home team is, and then settling back in, grabbing your scorecard and a pencil and taking in the last 15 outs of the game.
I was 10 years old the first time I can remember choosing my number. At the time, it felt like I had hit the big time. I was playing on my cousin's fall ball team, which, since he was in the "majors" and I was just finishing two years of "minor B," seemed like I had been given a chance to prove myself on a bigger stage. I saw it as an extended tryout. Maybe the bright yellow t-shirts with tropical screen-prints on the front and our names and numbers on the back should have been a clue—it probably wasn't quite the big break I had been hoping for. But at the time, you couldn’t have convinced me otherwise. After all, in minor B my number was given to me according to my t-shirt size—the smaller the shirt, the smaller the number. I think I was #2. But, now I had been given the opportunity to choose my number. So what number does an up-and-coming, not-so-soon-to-be high school state championship role player choose in 1989 at 10 years old? 33, of course.
To explain this pick, I must make a devastating disclosure. And, if any of you choose never to return to this blog again, I will not hold it against you. I am ashamed to say it now, but in my youth, my baseball idol was… Jose Canseco. Maybe you’ve heard of him. He’s the author of the controversial expose on steroids in baseball, Juiced: Wild Times, Rampant 'Roids, Smash Hits, and How Baseball Got Big. Needless to say, now that I’m older and a little wiser than my 10 year-old self, I can understand why my first hitting coach cringed when I answered that my favorite player was Canseco. But at the time, I thought he was crazy. I mean, at the time, the guy was the only person in the history of the game to hit 40+ homeruns and steal 40+ bases in a single season.
Either I moved on from Canseco, or I didn’t hit well with the number 33 on my back. Whatever the reason, the next time I was allowed to choose my number I chose the number 2. I guess I had just grown comfortable with that number. It didn’t take long, however, before I discovered a new idol, one worthy of admiration: Roberto Clemente. I wished that I could add a 1 after my 2 so that I could be 21, just like him. Unfortunately, I was stuck with 2 for a few years. Then, when I was 12 years old, it was looking like I was going to make the all-star team, but only because there was an A-team, and a B-team (I made the B-team). What my number was going to be became a healthy recess discussion with my elementary school buddies. We decided on 18, though I don’t remember why. The next season brought another B-team All-Star opportunity and I decided on 51. Ichiro and Randy Johnson are notable 51s, but I didn’t know that at the time. When I made the choice, it was because of a pitcher that was two years older than me that I “looked up to.” Had I known that he would “pants” me at my locker (which was right next to the sophomore cheerleaders) between classes my sophomore year, I probably wouldn’t have thought so highly of him. Anyway, his number was 15, but since he was left-handed, I used the opposite, 51.
When I finally cracked the A-team, I was given #1. I didn’t get to choose because they had the jerseys pre-made. The regulars got the numbers they’d always had, but I was a last-minute decision. Just happy to be there, I took what they gave me.
By the time I made the high school team I had settled on 16. A teammate, and one that was a little more productive that me, had claimed 15 years ago, so I took 16. It grew on me and the best part was, I never had to complete for that number. It was waiting for me again in junior college.
If you’ve ever played organized sports, then you probably understand how important a number can be. Growing up, everyone wanted the #23 basketball jersey because, thanks in part to Gatorade, everyone wanted to be like Mike. But, there was a time in baseball when players didn’t have numbers.
According to the National Baseball Hall of Fame, numbers on the backs of players’ jerseys became permanent for the first time in 1929. The Cleveland Indians were the first to do so on April 16, and the New York Yankees jumped on the bandwagon two days later. While the Indians only used the numbers on their home jerseys, the Yankees were the first to put numbers on both the home and away uniforms. Speaking of the Yankees, I have been asked to post about how they are the “best professional sports team of all-time.” But, it will have to wait until they can at least pull themselves up to, I don’t know, at least five games over .500, unless you think that’s too much to ask.
But I digress…
Originally, numbers were assigned to players according to their position in the batting order, which is why Babe Ruth was number 3, and Lou Gehrig was number 4.
Prior to 1929, some teams had tried to implement numbers, but the players didn’t really like them. The fans seemed to enjoy the identifiers, but apparently, the players’ felt the numbers made them look like prison inmates. Funny…prison serial numbers might actually work in the NFL.
Have you ever been watching a major league baseball game and wondered why the catcher gives so many balls back to the umpire, who then throws it out? Every time a pitch is thrown in the dirt, the catcher turns and hands the ball over to the home plate umpire. More often than not, after a brief examination, the umpire will then roll the ball back to the home team’s dugout where an eager ball boy scoops it up and officially retires it from the game. If you haven’t ever noticed this, watch a game this weekend. It’s more noticeable if you actually go to the ballpark because television cameras usually focus on whatever the announcers are discussing between pitches rather than the minutiae of the game. The reason is so that the pitcher cannot gain an advantage with a scuffed or scratched ball.
Back in the good ol’ days, some pitchers would actually take razors, tacks, sandpaper, or anything else they could smuggle out to the mound to scrape and scuff the baseball. Why? It’s basically simple physics.
If you’re looking for an interesting book to read and you are not bored by the finer points of either baseball or scientific study, I recommend Robert K. Adair’s text, The Physics of Baseball. Here, he described the possible result of pitching with an illegally modified ball that has been scuffed on one side:
Scarring or scuffing the ball can produce asymmetric forces on the ball that result in aberrant trajectories. Since it is probably impractical to scuff or scrape the surface of the ball so that the imperfection has as dominant an effect as the stitching, it might seem that such modifications cannot be very important, and that is largely the case for casual throws. But the highly skilled pitcher can throw the ball so that the effect of the stitches is symmetric, but if the ball is scuffed on one axis – and not on the other – unbalanced forces can be realized, which act only in one direction…Properly thrown, the scuffed left-hand side of the ball could induce low-resistance turbulence in the air passing by while the air will pass the smooth right-hand side in high-resistance smooth flow and the ball will veer to the left – toward the scuffed area! Since a deviation of a fraction of an inch can change a home run into a pop fly or a double-play ground ball, the controlled deviations a skilled pitcher can induce by disfiguring the ball are important (p. 40-41).
So, since Major League Baseball has cracked down on illegally modifying a baseball, the only hope for a pitcher who wishes to pitch with the advantages of a scuffed ball is for the scuff to come during regular game play, which is why so many baseballs are thrown out by the umpire – that, and there is enough money to go through 50-60 balls a game.
Not growing up in an area where a major league ballpark was readily accessible, my memories of going to ballgames as a kid are of the Salt Lake Trappers. I loved the Trappers. Back then, the Pioneer League seemed like it was so important. It didn’t matter that the league was on the lowest rung of minor league baseball. I always knew where the Trappers stood in the standings. I remember the season they won 29 straight games. I remember promotional give-aways like the mini wood bats, and the navy blue plastic helmet with a Trapper logo and the removable brown “head-sizer thing.” Then there was my Trappers hat that blew off my head one day while riding the Heber Creeper, never to be seen again. Some of my greatest baseball memories are of sitting on those old bleacher-style benches on a warm summer night in the nostalgic glow of the lights; (lighting like that can only be found at the parks of small-town minor league teams) or watching foul balls fly over our heads and out of the stadium, and thinking how great it would be to spend a game just outside the park collecting real game balls. I remember the huge Tiger’s Blood sno-cones, peanuts, and Red Vines. It was at a Trappers game where it first occurred to me that I could bite the ends off of a piece of licorice and use it as a straw for my Sprite. I also remember standing and singing Take Me Out to the Ballgame during the seventh-inning stretch with my family, just happy to be at the ballpark, watching my team.
The Trappers were only around for eight seasons. After the 1992 season, Salt Lake City tore down the old Dirk’s Field and built and brand new ballpark which came with a brand new AAA minor league team, just a step below the big leagues. Somehow I never quite seemed to care as much about the Buzz, or the Stingers. When the team’s name changed again before the 2006 season to the Salt Lake Bees, my wife and I went to a few dozen games and felt a small connection, but it was never quite as magical as it had been with the Trappers.
Now we are in Kansas City and the Royals are our team and I found some of that magic at the first game I attended. I had been to a few major league games in the past. I saw the Rockies in Denver during their inaugural season. I saw the Oakland Athletics and the Baltimore Orioles during one trip to California, and the Anaheim Angels during another. I even had the chance to see Roger Clemens pitch for the Houston Astros against the Chicago Cubs at Wrigley Field. But, none of these experiences stirred the boy inside me like my first trip to Kauffman Stadium in Kansas City. For whatever reason that nostalgic feeling came back to me.
That’s one of the reasons why baseball is such a great game. It’s not just a game, it’s an experience. It’s following your team and reading the box scores. It’s taking in a few hotdogs, some soda, nachos, a few scoops of ice cream, and maybe a pile of chili-cheese tots. In other words, an entire month’s worth of junk food in one night. It’s taking your glove to a game just in case a ball comes your way; showing up extra early to see the visiting team take batting practice; and staying late to wait for an autograph from the guy who slugged two home runs for your team that night.
When you are young, you might not understand everything that goes on in the field, but you will remember those muggy nights at the ballpark. You will remember your dad coming back to your seats balancing roughly 13,000 calories in a small drink tray, and how great it all tasted. You may even remember how mythical your team’s heroes seem. But most importantly, you will remember the magic in the air. And if you’re lucky enough, you’ll be able to capture that again later in life.
A few people have asked about my blog's name, The Perfect Game. Baseball-savvy individuals that find this blog will hopefully appreciate the name's double meaning, especially coupled with the blog's web address (http://27up27out.blogspot.com). For me, at least, Baseball is the perfect game. There is no other sport that can captivate me as baseball can. But, perhaps I will expound on its overall perfection in a future post. For now, the topic is a perfect game—nine innings of determination, stamina, and most times, a little luck.
There are many feats for which a pitcher strives. A complete game, for example is when a single pitcher is able to throw each inning of the game. This doesn't happen as much as it did in the old days, before the baseball world became obsessed with pitch counts. Now, to throw a complete game, a pitcher not only needs to get guys out, but do it efficiently with as few pitches as possible. Additionally, the prevalence of dominant (or at least, hard-throwing) closers who usually come into a game in the ninth inning to get the final three outs, and the likelihood of throwing a complete game diminishes even more. On top of that, if there's an ace on the mound, throwing really well, keeping his pitch count down, but his team is ahead by so many runs that the opposing team has no real chance of winning, the ace will usually be rested and the manager will call upon the bullpen in 8th inning or so. Yeah, complete games are not as common as they used to be.
A shutout is a pitching accomplishment which entails holding the opponents scoreless for the entire game. A shutout, unlike like a complete game, doesn't need to be thrown by just one pitcher. When it is, it is referred to as a "complete game shutout." But, just like complete games, shutouts are also hard to come by. In today's world of bigger players, harder throwers, and longer homeruns, even the Kansas City Royals, one of the most futile teams in recent history, are averaging over three runs a game, and have only been shutout once in 28 games so far.
The next step up from the shutout, and holding the opponent scoreless is holding them hitless. No-hitters (a complete game without giving up a hit) are rare as well. In the history of the game, there have only been 234 no-hitters. Most no-no's (that's "baseball talk" for a no-hitter) are thrown by just one pitcher, though on rare occasion, multiple pitchers may combine for nine innings if no-hit ball. The Houston Astros, for example, set a Major League record on June 11, 2003 by sending six different pitchers to the mound at Yankee Stadium, none of whom allowed a single hit. The most recent no-hitter was thrown by White Sox pitcher Mark Buehrle when he threw against the Texas Rangers April 18, 2007. It was the first no-hitter in the American League since Derek Lowe’s no-no for the Boston Red Sox in a 10-0 win against the Tampa Bay Devil Rays in 2002.
Shutouts are sweet. Complete game shutouts are even better. A no-hitter is dream come true for any pitcher. But the perfect game is something all together magical.
Simply put, a perfect game is a complete game in which no opposing player ever reaches base safely—27 up, 27 out. How rare is a perfect game? Only 17 pitchers have tossed perfect games in Major League history. If you give up a hit, it's gone, and so is your no-no by the way. As if throwing a no-hitter isn't hard enough, throw four pitches out of the strike zone to one batter, and away walks your bid for perfection. If your sinker runs too far inside and hits a batter, you're not perfect enough. Literally, no one must reach base—not even on an error by the young shortstop that was just called up from AAA. If you're lucky enough to be perfect on the mound, it is something you will never forget, nor will anyone in attendance that day.
A perfect game is one of those achievements that have the ability to immortalize an athlete. It is as rare as a hole in one, maybe even more so; because unlike a hole in one, a pitcher can't get lucky one time and throw a perfect game. He must go out and pitch to the best baseball players in the world inning after inning. A pitcher relying on luck will soon find that it runs out at the most inopportune moments.
Another aspect of a perfect game is how important the eight other men on the field become. No one is going to strike out 27 batters, so the defense must come up with play, after play, after play. The pitcher is the player who goes down in the history books, but the credit should somehow go to the entire team. The most recent perfect game in the majors was thrown by Randy Johnson, then with the Arizona Diamondbacks, on May 18, 2004, against the Atlanta Braves. MLB.com has incredible footage of all 27 outs that day at the above link. Notice how close the first batter comes to ruining Johnson’s perfect day before anyone even imagines it could happen. If it weren’t for a tremendous play by the first baseman, the lead-off man is on base and it’s just another day at the ballpark.
For Love of the Game (1999) is a great baseball movie that follows fictional aging ace Billy Chapel (Kevin Costner) in his quest for a perfect game on what could be the final game of his career. This show does a great job of showing all of the drama of a perfect game while reminding us that it doesn’t happen like the Randy Johnson clip of out after out. The pitcher has plenty of time to sit and think while his team bats each inning, which only adds to the difficulty of a perfect game. It also brings up one extremely important facet of a perfect game that everyone should know—don’t jinx it!
I don’t care if you’re watching a professional baseball game, a college game, a high school game, or your 8-year-old nephew’s little league game—if you suddenly realize that not only has the pitcher not given up a hit, but you can’t remember any baserunners at all, don’t say it out loud! I can’t stress this enough. For your own health it is important that you remember this rule. Don’t ask someone about it. Don’t mention it to the pitcher’s proud father. Don’t even think about it. Just pretend it’s not happening and that there’s nothing special going on. If you hear someone less savvy than you, quickly silence them by any means possible, and inform them of this all-important rule. If you talk of the perfect game while it’s in progress you will jinx it and something will happen to ruin it. I am convinced that part of the reason there have only been 17 perfect games in the history of the Major Leagues is because there are too many people who don’t know this rule. Everyone on the field is knows it, and abides by it, but some drunk in the upperdeck who can’t keep his mouth shut ruins it and before you know it, the pitcher, who had been so perfect, loses his bid on an infield single or a “judy” just out of the reach of the second baseman.If we can work together and get this message out to everyone that sees a baseball game, I believe we can double the number of perfect games thrown in the Major Leagues in just five years. After all, if Kevin Costner can do it, why can’t Johan Santana or Roy Halladay?
Then again, maybe it’s good that perfect pitching is so rare. There are so many everyday achievements in baseball that are considered great or incredible, that the game needs something so unique, so incomparable, and so extraordinary that there’s only one word adequate to describe it—perfect.
