Poor Execution

Did you see that the "cursed" David Ortiz jersey sold on eBay for $175,000? If you haven't heard about this story, here's the short version: The Yankees are building a new stadium, and one of the construction workers, who happened to be a Red Sox fan, buried an Ortiz jersey in one of the service corridors of the new park, hoping to curse the arch rivals.

Seems a little silly to me.The proceeds from the week long auction go to the Jimmy Fund organization to help fight cancer. It's a worthy cause if there ever was one, but I really can't believe it sold for that much money. First of all, it didn't really do anything. The Curse of the Bambino lasted for 86 years. Now that was a curse. This was just a poorly executed attempt. The Yankees didn't even play a single game in that new stadium. What's more, Ortiz started off the season ice cold, and has only now begun to produce. Maybe the curse backfired.

I have a theory about baseball curses: The most successful curses (or devastating, depending on your vantage point) are self-imposed. Take, for example, the two most famous baseball curses, the previously mentioned Curse of the Bambino, and the Curse of the Billy Goat, which has "prevented" the Chicago Cubs from winning the World Series since 1908. The Bambino Curse began when the Red Sox owner sold George Herman Ruth, Jr., The Babe, to the New York Yankees and allegedly used the proceeds from the sale to finance his production of a Broadway musical, commonly believed to be No, No, Nanette.

The Curse of the Billy Goat goes back to Game 4 of the 1945 World Series when the Detroit Tigers came to Wrigley Field to take on the Cubbies. A local tavern owner had two box seat tickets for the event. According to Wikipedia, he took his pet goat, draped in a blanket that read, "We Got Detroit's Goat." They let both ticket holders into the game, and allowed them to take their seats. But, when it started to rain, the man and his goat were thrown out due to the foul wet goat smell. The man was so mad, he cursed the Cubs, and the rest is baseball history.

Had the Yankees gone years without going to the World Series after moving to their new stadium, followed by rumors of a David Ortiz jersey buried on the premises, a frantic search to locate the textile, and a dramatic unearthing of the cursed object, then maybe you could justify a six-figure sale of a tattered, torn, dirty jersey.

God bless capitalism and the free market.

I'm No Dummy

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.

That's a Stretch

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.

A Perfect Game

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.