Three Two Pitch Is Fouled Back

Finally, I have solved two puzzles that have been messing with my nap times. Both have to do with Topic A, which, with the all but disappearance of the casino and pro wrestling maggot from the front pages, has become, of course, the pandemic. My first mystery was, how did Microsoft swine Bill Gates suddenly gain the title “philanthropist”? I mean, he is way ahead of the Andrew Carnegie/ John D. Rockefeller curve here. Well, it turns out that Pfizer, the company that raced to be first in supplying vaccines for a terrified populace, brought in $3.5 billion in revenue in the first quarter of 2021. With a profit margin estimated to be 20 per cent, one would think that that helps pay for a little overtime. And Mr. Gates, who long ago placed himself right smack in the middle of the vaccination game, will soon have more to “give away”. The other puzzle had been why, with sports in general but baseball in particular , are we suddenly seeing such a surge in the demand for change in the rules? I mean everyone has been trying, for an entire year now, to continue on with games despite the fact that spectators have been severely limited if not completely banned from the venues where the games are taking place. Is the television money that good? Apparently it is.

So that means, with little or no people in attendance, that the television has become boss. Consequently, the same corporate Schmidlaps that have been routinely ruining most of the fun things in life are in charge of what used to be called the National Pastime before it got replaced by Staring At Little Electronic Stuff. We all know that marketing whizzes make one big assumption before they begin their days, and that is that no one really likes the thing they are selling, so they have to trick us all into thinking we like it.

The first indicator that this premise is accurate is the assumption that baseball games take too long to play. It’s a phony issue. Americans by and large do not feel that time spent in front of a television set is wasted. Are they still called sets? I mean, back when I was still watching football, I saw actual people who really did watch the halftime shows. Marching bands and people dressed up like wild animals, gripping stuff like that. So there is not really any hurry. Television executives want a clock on everything. They need to know just how many times they can show us all the same ridiculous ads during every show, I mean game, so that the revenue stream is fully predictable. Remember the “Heidi” game? They don’t like stuff like that. And since their gig is revenue, there has been a gradual but relentless shift over the decades away from selling beer and gasoline to working slobs who used to play a little ball in their day to selling insurance, candy, pet food, whatever to , shall we say, a broader range of eager consumers who may or may not know the difference between Shohei Ohtani and Charlie Sheen. The kind of ” casual fan” that might be attracted to a contest consisting of numerous full counts, sporadic home runs and repeated strikeouts while really hoping for a bench clearing brawl for whatever reason is the viewer they seek. We don’t really like all of the “boring stuff” like squeeze plays, singles, or pitchers holding runners. So pitchers batting is out, even though, as previously pointed out, the Designated Sitter has only added two tenths of one run per game.

Also, since we don’t really like the game, let’s have double headers consist of two seven inning, rather than nine inning games. Actually, COVID19 concerns make this new rule acceptable but look for it to become permanent after this season.

They are talking about making rule changes to eliminate defensive shifts. I remember liking cricket because the defense was not so well defined so I think I would prefer the Ty Cobb solution to the Ted Williams solution. The Splinter said “To hell with that, you can’t get me out anyway..” and he proved it but the Peach would have hit it where they weren’t.

As for having artificial intelligence runners at second base to start extra innings, a month of seeing this has convinced me that, yes, it is just as stupid as it seemed a month ago. If you don’t like baseball, watch something else or go for a walk. There are some really talented young players in the game right now. Ohtani is one of them and he brings back warm thoughts of complete baseball players like Martin Dihigo, Double Duty Radcliffe, and Bullet Joe Rogan in the Negro Leagues not so very long ago. Specialty players like designated sitters are for the huge corporation types that operate remotely and don’t really know the game they are (not) playing.

Wrong Again

There I went again, getting it wrong. Specifically, I was sure that the 2021 baseball season was not going to happen because the pandemic was not going to allow it with people ignoring all the warnings and happily infecting each other with the killer virus at every opportunity to gather in large groups.

I’m very happy to have been wrong, of course, and it’s great to see the game being played again without cardboard cutouts in the stands. As regular readers already know, it’s not the first time I’ve been wrong. As a mature, emotionally balanced adult, I will admit my mistakes but not dwell on them. Like most folks, I will only dwell on other people’s mistakes. Continuing in confessional mode, I am still a bit stuck in the Rip Van Winkle thing because I didn’t really pay much attention last season until the playoffs started so I don’t have the usual amount of knowledge with regard to rosters and can’t pretend to be able to tell what teams are strong and what teams aren’t, but I’m sure that I will catch up. I know Sergio Romo is still around somewhere, but did Dustin Pedroia really retire?

Everyone appears to believe that the Chicago White Sox have become one of the best teams in the major leagues and now they have the astronomically over rated Tony LaRussa back as manager but all I can say is okay boomer. As usual, the Dodgers and Yankees are media favorites to meet in the 2021 World Series, but I will need to see a few dozen http://baseballreference.comgames first and besides my disdain for both organizations is still deeply seated.

As for the new rules, I am going to come across as a grumpy, recalcitrant, probably constipated old fart but I don’t care. I was raised to stand for what is right and good, not necessarily what is popular or “trending”. After 2020, when the designated sitter position became “universal”, meaning both leagues used it, even stalwarts who long favored pitchers batting began to become converts to the idea. Even my man Tim Kurkjian joined the crowd of unholy blasphemers. Jessica Mendoza wants the DH too. I am saddened but not crushed. Why am I such a holdout, incapable of acknowledging the inevitable? Because, first: the idea that both the National League and the American league need to be identical in every way is, to be impolite, bullshit. In fact, the two leagues are better off having differences. All of this homogenization crap began when the league presidents’ offices were done away with and umpires no longer worked for one league or the other. It’s part of the American system of not allowing any such thing as competition and we probably have to look at our old friends in the television business for culpability here. Having actually different leagues is as bad to them as suggesting that Taco Bell’s latest bastardization of authentic Mexican food isn’t worth eating. Because, second: Mendoza noted in her opinion that what everyone seemed to want was more scoring. To me, that is questionable. I mean, why? Perhaps the answer is that, for people who haven’t played the game or otherwise learned to appreciate it, more runs equal more excitement. The “casual viewer” thinks 1-0 is boring. I have heard actual live people say that American football is superior to international soccer because there are more points scored. For the sake of argument, let’s assume that 17-10 is more fun than 3-2, especially when you get all of those huddles and time outs because beer makes me have to pee. At any rate, if adding the designated sitter had the objective of increasing the number of runs scored, it worked very well. In 1972, 6,441 runs were scored in the American League. Among the twelve teams, that meant that the average was 3.31 runs per game were scored. In 1973, the very first DH season, the American League scored 8,314 runs, or 4.276 runs per game per team, an increase of almost one run per game for each side. Now let’s jump all the way to 2006, when all of those A.L. teams had enjoyed three decades plus of no bats in the hands of inept pitchers but, instead, had found happy homes on the benches for players who were not so good at catching ground balls or fly balls and otherwise might be unemployed except for the fact that they could still occasionally hit a ball over the wall. Of course, by 2006, players had (ahem) better nutrition and closer fences and all that as well, but the runs were plentiful. The 14 American League teams scored 11,262 runs that year, or 4.966 per team per game. Imagine all of those highlight shows of balls leaving the yard and guys circling the bases and pointing to the sky! Ah, but guess what? In the same season, National League teams scored 12,338 runs which, for the 16 teams meant an average of 4.76 runs per game for each team. That is a whole two tenths of a run less than the vaunted designated sitter league. Wow! But mostly because, third: The designated sitter spread all over the game and was not confined to the major leagues. Amateur players are made into specialists at far too young an age. Don’t like hard balls bouncing off your shins? That’s okay, just hit it hard. We’ll find a place for you. Just like pitching and don’t want to try to hit the curve ball? Dude, just work on throwing it 100 miles per hour. You’ll get to play. All the stuff that used to be confined to senior slow pitch softball has spread all the way down to little league. No one is feeling any pressure to work on their whole game. This attitude will have the long term affect of making the game a lot less fun for all concerned.

I am not nostalgic for all of the old ways from the days of Ty Cobb and Rogers Hornsby because I think nothing should ever change. I just know that, when pitchers bat and batters field it maintains the concept of team in a better way. Sacrifice bunts and squeeze plays can be very exciting. The hit and run play has always mystified me but I like it when I see it work. Home run derby and strikeouts galore do not entertain me. Great defense, triples, and smart pitching by hurlers who have learned how to bunt and field and run the bases entertains me a lot.

As for the three batter minimum for relief pitchers, try again Manfred Manne. To shorten games, let’s have one commercial per half inning. And ten pitchers per roster.

And the runner on second at the beginning of any extra inning? The idea is to get a result, but both teams get the same deal. Bush league. Not even bush league. Play ball.

Despite all this grousing, it’s really good to have our game back. Now it’s time for me to catch up.




I Woke Up Woke

I had a term for my friends who would sometimes, back in the day as we say, get so involved with their “partying” that they could not remember things that occurred while they were in that presumably happy state. I would refer to them as Ripped Van Winkle. I should not assume that everybody knows the story of Rip Van Winkle because that assumes that everybody reads or gets read to them all of the books and stories that I enjoyed back in my youth, which was so long ago that people had telephones merely for talking to each other. Rip Van Winkle, a fictional character in a story written by American author Washington Irving, takes a walk in the Catskill Mountains purportedly to temporarily get away from his nagging wife. He runs into a strange group in the woods and imbibes some of their mysterious liquor and, tying one on for the ages, falls asleep for twenty years. While he slept, the American Revolutionary War began and ended and his beard grew by a foot. When he awakes, he goes back home but doesn’t recognize anyone. It all eventually works out. To me, the best part was that Rip had a dog named Wolf.

I had a similar experience a few months ago. I was hospitalized for a week and that week proved two important things to me which I will now reveal. First, the health care system in the United States is just another business like casinos and dope smuggling and selling iPhones and the fact that it is considered an industry is a national disgrace. Second, it is absolutely assured that nurses and other healthcare workers are some of the hardest working, compassionate, and skilled people on the planet and I will be eternally grateful for their care and love. So I slept a lot. Some of the dreams I had were nightmares and some of the waking hours were like that too but mostly I was treated very well while at the same time I was quite anxious to get the hell out of there.

Even after I got back home I was sleeping a lot while recovering. After one of those long nights, I woke up feeling like the world had changed. So had I, or so it seemed. The mundane matters no longer held my interest. life was far too short to remain hung up about relatively trivial things. If people like Trevor Bauer were being rewarded for mediocre careers with wildly inflated salaries, so what? It’s not my money. If certifiable idiots like Rob Manfred wanted to alter the game beyond recognition with ridiculous rule changes, let it be. If owners of teams with loyal fan bases like the Pittsburgh Pirates and the Oakland Athletics decide that winning isn’t important as long as they get TV money, calm down and accept life for what it is. They can’t all be Buster Posey or Mike Trout. Stop yearning for the days of Roberto Clemente and Willie Stargell, Tom Seaver and Gil Hodges and Chuck Tanner. The time may soon again be upon us when young boys and girls are free and healthy enough to get together and play just for the fun of it. I feel like Rip Van Winkle about a lot of things. Music, for instance. Now, with the help of Apple and others, we have dozens and dozens of what they call genres. Where did all of that come from and where was I when it happened? Like, what is House? Happy spring training everybody.

Pandemic Ball

Before there was Curt Flood, there was Ty Cobb—almost. The major league baseball season in 1918 was abruptly halted with a month left and many games to be played. There was a huge, disastrous influenza pandemic going on then but the big reason that games had to be halted was that most constant feature of the history of civilization—war. America, or at least its business leaders, wanted to help Great Britain, its old pal, destroy Germany. Many professional baseball players were being drafted into the armed forces or were volunteering. Cobb signed up for a job that was apt for his personality, being a flame thrower. In addition, that June Provost Marshall General Crowder had issued a “work or fight” order that meant to force all draft age men to either join the military or go to work in “essential” industries. Baseball did not have television executives around in those days to explain how essential baseball players were.

The owners were all fairly well to do in 1918 but they tended to be individuals like Jacob Ruppert or Charles Comiskey rather than investor groups like we have today so the scale of business was smaller and more easily managed. They were patriotic and generous then, as well, just like what we have today. Each of the leagues, the established National and the adolescent American, had presidents to guide them on their righteous courses but there was not yet a commissioner over both leagues because no one had tried to fix a World Series. Anyway, the owners saved themselves a bundle in payroll due to the aborted season. What they granted to the players was that the players would all be released from their contracts. All would become free agents. Now, legal beagles among us will recognize that what has been called the reserve clause meant that a player could negotiate a new contract only with whatever team he had signed with previously. There was no freedom of movement except for retirement. Now, with this move, the owners had made free agents of all players. That was going to destroy the thing that was helping the owners make lots of money and not have to constantly be rebuilding their teams. Ty Cobb counted among his skills the ability to hit, to steal bases. to play a good outfield, and, especially, to negotiate contracts. When World War I was essentially over and the press inquired of Cobb as to if and where he might play when the 1919 season began, he replied that he expected the owners to be competitive. No such luck, players, the owners secretly agreed to keep their hands off each others’ property and everybody just went back to work.

Now here we are in 2021 and what the heck is going on? Well, just about everybody who doesn’t still believe in the Lizard People realizes that there is a real pandemic going on that has claimed the lives of over half a million people here in the United States alone. Nevertheless, whistling while they work, Major League Baseball is going almost full blast. Players are getting traded, free agents are signing big contracts and, holy mackerel, there is a Grapefruit League and a Cactus League getting done. We are going to have a 162 game schedule, say the players and the owners. Arizona and Florida, two of the hottest hot spots for the virus and its mutants, are going to be busy. Can this really be true? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m wishing it were so and would love it as much as anyone. But I need some kind of super pill to swallow to help me suspend disbelief.


Hall of Ghosts

We were like ants, like they used to tell us it was with the Chinese, so many of us that, if half of us went missing, there would still be lots more. Just the numbers alone made us special. War babies. That was the original term before “baby boom” made us “baby boomers” and then, as we progressed from being agents of change in various succeeding markets like housing, school building, 45 RPM records, LPs, cars, drugs, prisons, assisted living centers, and now crematoriums, it is simply “boomers”.

Of course, many of us didn’t make it all the way to senior status. A large segment of the lower income bracket boomers went to war and never came back. Others fell by the wayside the way people normally do and insurance company executives have made all of the necessary adjustments.

One hundred and seven former major league baseball players died in 2020. I don’t know if that is a high number or a low number or an average number (Bill James probably knows) but it has been a significant year for deaths of all kinds and some really significant players have passed from the scene this year. The significance is tied to the Boomer thing, as the late father of one of our three boomer presidents may have put it. That’s because so many of those men were prominent in the big leagues that we the boomers have been following from our earliest days. I remember folks my parents’ age spending a lot of their conversational time talking about so and so or what’s her name who just died and thinking, damn, they sure do talk about death a lot. Well, now that’s us. We boomers spent a lot of time, 50 years or so it seems, coming of age but here it is. Half the Beatles are dead and have been for some time. All of the Rolling Stones have been dead for some time but no one has told them all. Dylan just looks like it.

I can’t recall all 107 players who died in 2020 and will only mention some but it’s a difficult thing to grasp. For instance, if you graduated from high school in the mid sixties there was a team in St. Louis that was really special. They won it all over the end of empire Yankees in 1964, won a great World Series over the Boston Red Sox in 1967, and then blew a 3-1 lead in games in’68 to the Detroit Tigers. Two great competitors who made all of that possible were Bob Gibson, the fiery right handed pitcher, and Lou Brock, the base stealing outfielder who also hit for average and power. It’s hard to imagine the world without them.

Much of the winning in the 1970s occurred in Cincinnati after the Reds acquired second baseman Joe Morgan from the Houston Astros. He was equivalent to Willie Mays in his ability to beat his opponent by hitting, running, stealing bases, and fielding. He also played well for a long time and then entertained us with his astute analysis in the television booth.

Al Kaline made it to just one World Series but his steady magnificence for the Detroit Tigers was an excellent example of skill and grace and good manners. Don Larsen had a mostly mediocre career but his moment to shine in the 1956 World Series was unforgettable as he threw a perfect game against the hard hitting Brooklyn Dodgers. I’m no Yankee lover but Whitey Ford was the very definition of a money pitcher as the lefty piled up win after win, especially in the “post season”, which in his day meant the World Series. Speaking of lefties, Johnny Antonelli was one of the first big winners of my youth as his 1954 Giants swept my favored Cleveland Indians. Another very good lefty who passed this year was Mike McCormick, who won the Cy Young award for the Giants in 1967. The Toy Cannon, Jimmy Wynn, was a great power hitting and speedy outfielder who was one of Houston’s first big stars.

It’s also very hard to imagine the world without Tom Seaver. The so called Miracle Mets of 1969 were actually not such a miracle because they had the strong man from Fresno out there twice a week to keep them in the game for at least nine innings. He had to wear a few other uniforms before he was through but I have to think of Tom Terrific as a Met.

The arguments will continue as to whether Dick “Sleepy” Allen should be in the Hall of Fame. When someone suddenly passes it is a natural thing to begin to think better thoughts about him and he certainly has the credentials. Beyond that he was a good strong man and a great all around athlete and team mate. Rest in peace, Dick, and all of you others. One last personal note. Biff Pocoroba also died this year. He was no contender for the Hall of Fame. I mean no disrespect, but Biff was a family favorite just because of his name. When my son and I would play Whiffleball in the yard, we would often use his name in announcing the next batter and start to giggle. Because his name kind of said what he was–a power hitting catcher. His best year was 1977, when he had 24 doubles, 8 homers, and 44 runs batted in. He played his entire career with the Atlanta Braves. And we don’t just miss the stars, because what we love is the game.

The No Ball Era

We have a smart television now. We were content to hobble along with our clumsy, fat old set despite its obvious limitations but our son took mercy on either us or it a while back and bought us one of the slim ones with the huge screen so we could count Joe Buck’s nose hairs. It is mostly resting now since the 2020 World Series ended but we do use it for watching movies or old episodes of Fargo or some such streaming stuff. My smart TV thinks I live in Tulsa. I don’t want to give too much away but from where I live you can’t drive to Tulsa in one day. Still, it’s kind of fun to get Oklahoma regional news headlines and comforting to know that other areas of this great land of ours have the same prominent issues, like where to get the best rate on your next “re-fi” or what the governor is pretending to know about the pandemic.

So I hate to be the one to break the news to you all ( all of the news appears to be breaking these days) but there isn’t going to be any baseball to play or watch or talk about this coming season. I know, everyone is pretending that it’s all going to be okay and MLB network and ESPN and all the usual sources are going through the motions of announcing the signing of free agents or the speculation about trade possibilities and pennant predictions, but, come on, it ain’t gonna be. And, really, that’s okay because we all have some serious stuff to pay attention to that cardboard cutouts and fake crowd noise isn’t going to relieve us from this time. Not that we don’t need diversions, but the money men are not going to put up with another faux season that doesn’t pay the bills. The San Francisco Giants just guaranteed $6 million for next season to a right handed pitcher who had a 7.22 earned run average last season and, even though they are owned by a consortium of people wealthier than most of us can imagine, you don’t accumulate wealth of any magnitude by throwing cash around carelessly unless you are seriously running for president.

Can we get along without the exploits of Mike Trout and Cody Bellinger and George Springer until further notice? I think we are about to find out the answer to that. Will we be shaken to our cores minus the double guessing of Aaron Boone and Joe Maddon? Apparently the NFL and the NBA are staggering forward as well although I barely pay attention. It’s hard to imagine contact sports and portable morgues co-existing much longer.

We will, many of us who are sick or not sick, still have a lot of extra time on our hands and eyes and ears. So, without baseball (okay, other sports too), what will we do? Well, besides our smart televisions and other appliances, we have Social Media. Let’s face it, though, faceschnook, twitter, and all of that other crap are getting a bit long in the tooth. We need something fresh and, without baseball, I need another avocation. I am taking steps to compete with those antiquated outfits that sell too many ads, invade too much privacy, and are owned by far too wealthy people. No, we are going to be different. There will be a strict limitation on photos. There will be no pictures at all of whatever you just had to eat. You might think that it’s cool, but none of the rest of us gives a damn. There will be absolutely no photos of cats doing anything at all. Take your cats and shove them to faceschnook. I think, after a few years of social media monitoring, that I know what people really want from them. What we want is to spew hostility, because we really feel a lot of it. We are mad and we are not going to take it anymore. Let it all hang out and, don’t worry, there will be no algorithm. We’ll have Al Gore Rhythm, which means no rhythm at all. No one will keep track of anything you do. We’ll just have an annual membership fee. There, I feel better already. I will call it Some Hostile Information Today To You. Yeah, that’s good. So long, See you on S.H.I.T.T.Y.

October Surprise

This has been an extremely tense October so far with a pandemic raging, more and more evidence of global warming plus, on a personal level, my new job. I probably should have just turned it down, but with things going the way they are economically I just couldn’t refuse. Representatives of the sovereign state of Bulgaria approached me about helping them with a problem. They were quite frank. International relations are important to them, they said, and they hoped to assist their country and its government in understanding better the culture here in the United States. Normal diplomatic channels have been sending mixed and confusing messages for the last four years, they said, so perhaps I could help them by reporting on some aspect of the American culture that I was comfortable with and thereby help make life more understandable for all of us. Plus, they would pay me.

It just so happened that the major league baseball season was coming to a close with an unprecedented 16 team playoff schedule that promised to be a great source of information for my new friends. The fact that I would not be able to attend any game in person but would need to rely on television only enhanced the opportunity. I was able to report that the things that Americans seem to be most interested in are eating food that they don’t have to cook themselves (especially if it contains canned “cheese” sauce and pickle slices), shopping for automobile insurance, drinking alcoholic beverages, driving new cars that easily slide sideways through all sorts of obstacles, and gambling their paychecks on all manner of sporting events so that other people can get really rich really fast. There were other things of note as well, such as the white man in a white suit with white hair and a white beard who seemed to like dripping brown gravy on top of pearly white mashed potatoes, which seemed a bit Freudian or something.

The games were a lot better than the incessant advertising, though, even when Joe Buck was working. It must be said that, despite lots of genuine excitement and loads of talented stars, the quality of play was not up to usual MLB standards. This was noticeable all season, and much of it had to do with the shortened schedule of both preparation and actual games. Base running gaffes were common and fielding errors as well as mental mistakes definitely marred things a bit, but what fun it was to have some ball to watch! It was, after all, the best we could do in 2020 considering the tragedy of Covid 19.

Oh, those Rays! Tampa Bay versus Atlanta was our personal wish but those damned Dodgers had to go and ruin things. At least we have a clear choice to root for in the World Series. That would be the Rays, a winning team assembled by intelligence, hard work, and bold thinking. Now we all know them. Did you know who Mike Brosseau was a couple of weeks ago? Neither did I, but Rays fans sure did. Last year, Randy Arozarena was just an interesting name to many of us. Now we know better. The list goes on: Nick Anderson, Willie Adames, Ji-Man Choi, Brandon Lowe, Joey Wendle. Others, like Hunter Renfroe. Tyler Glasnow, Kevin Kiermaier, and Charlie Morton we may already have been familiar with. What has become evident is that this is a very good team with sensational defense, tough pitching, and good situational hitting. Watch out, you West Coast launch anglers with the left handed tire salesman. Here’s a side note about Justin Turner: one wished that the ghost of the dearly departed Bob Gibson could have appeared on the mound for the Braves on Turner’s next at bat after he played footsie with a pitched ball and got awarded first base.

Out of all the beautiful plays so far, the one that had me applauding in my Bulgarian spy armchair was the gorgeous sacrifice bunt put down by Houston’s Martin Maldonaldo that led to two runs when George Springer did the right thing. And kudos to Dusty Baker for his managing job too. The vilified Astros got caught doing something just about every other team might try and, yes, that was wrong, but for people to condemn that team while selecting the Cheater of Cheats to reside in the White House comes across as lame indeed.

A Bulgarian salute also goes out to TBS, the network vastly superior in covering baseball to the one we are stuck with now. Pedro Martinez, Jimmy Rollins, Curtis Granderson and Ernie Johnson were superb.

We are witnessing death too, and I refer not only to the many outstanding players we have recently lost but also to certain baseball traditions that are fading away: pitchers batting, sacrifice bunts, choking up and taking what is given and, sadly, starting pitching period.

Some of us are also wishing death to certain things: microphones on the field, gold chains, fake crowd noise, and incessant advertisements. Happy World Series!

Okay, Zoomer

Forgive me, Commissioner, for I have been a doubter, but here we are, having a post season after the weirdest “season” on record. And yes, I am eating it up. 2020 is already assured of being one of the strangest years in the history of years, all things considered, but let me quickly go on record as being totally mortified that ABC, still a low grade outfit after all these years, had the poor taste and undignified crassness to interrupt the ninth inning of a crucial major league playoff game just to give us a “special report” about the health of a third rate television star. That was disgusting.

The Miami Marlins are already the story of the year. I have to admit, I have fancied myself a serious follower of the sport for a number of years now, but I cannot rattle off the names of the Marlins roster with any confidence. Now I know about Sixto Sanchez and Garrett Cooper and Lewis Brinson and some others but, especially after Covid 19 set them back early on, none of us was really giving these guys any kind of chance even with the expanded playoff scheme.

Another interesting team among the also rans was the San Francisco Giants. I had figured that they were probably good for 19 wins in their 60 game schedule and there they were contending right up to the end and finishing 29-31. Credit Gabe Kapler and his extensive crew of modern coaches for putting together a credible offense from the unlikely collection of veterans like Brandon Belt, Donovan Solano, Mike Yastrzemski, and Alex Dickerson along with youngsters like Mauricio Dubon and Joey Bart. The Toronto Blue Jays, in their newly adopted city of Buffalo, New York, and the St. Louis Cardinals were also very pleasant examples of teams overcoming extreme difficulty to salvage a memorable season.

Since almost no one was able to attend any of the games in person, we were all subjected to viewing games on television whether or not we could ever actually afford to buy tickets. This meant, of course, being deluged with an endless repetitive cycle of the same tired advertising to make us feel small and stupid. Who could have predicted that so many rejects from comedy writing schools would eventually find gainful employment writing ads for insurance companies? Hankook Tires, however, repeats with the most insulting ad award for the excessively lame bit featuring Clayton Kershaw demonstrating unsafe, irresponsible driving combined with illogic fit for a presidential speech writer.

The rule innovations introduced in this short season were all bad for the game but MLB continues to seek new fans among the casual, bored potential sports fans out there who might also be amused by watching hunting on roller skates. Runner on second to start extra innings? Well, I had hoped that it might help bring back bunting but no chance I guess. Universal designated sitter? It is no doubt time for folks like me to give up on fighting this . Okay, zoomer, I guess I’d just as soon watch some fat guy work the count to three and two, foul a few off and then strike out instead of watching some poor bastard pitcher who never got trained on the sacrifice pop out. The three batter minimum on relievers? Makes absolutely no difference.

It’s a new game in many ways but it’s still the best one going. The passing these last few weeks of two of the icons of an era gone by must be noted with true respect. Lou Brock and Bob Gibson were a pair of real winners in every sense of the word. The memories are all good with those two, and may they rest in peace.

Another Packed House

Sometimes, when I am not quite awake and not quite asleep, I get the feeling that I’m just in the middle of a dream. When I’m really awake and making espresso it will all go away, right?  No, man, you had better try going back to sleep. The dangerous world really did get even more dangerous. The Ignoramus-In-Chief is still looking for someone to blame. Can’t talk about Clinton or someone will bring up Epstein. The Amazon Rainforest won’t be there to bail us out of this one. The Green Berets are refusing to invade the bat caves. Larry King won’t answer his phone. The Pope has his own problems. Fauci is getting higher ratings. People testing  today won’t know if they are positive or negative for two weeks unless they work in the White House or play baseball.  Ah, yes, baseball.

Wait, though! The other night, while I was sleeping, they established universal designated sitters! No! The worst part of that is that everyone is happy about it. And even John Smoltz says he likes  the runner on second base to start extra innings. Oh, Lord, take me now!  And you know what I’m going to say about relief pitchers having to face three batters. The bullshit story is that they are trying to make games move faster. That’s what  polite people call disingenuous and what folks in my neck of the woods call happy horseshit. Many of you are familiar by now with the Baseball Anarchy remedy for long games, which only really bother people who get in for free anyway. That is, ten pitchers per roster for one thing. For another thing, let’s deep six the Ridiculous Replay Review. The idea seemed good at first, but then it got implemented. Gosh, maybe that portly fellow with indigestion made a mistake on that out call at first base. Let’s have a look. Well, it’s anything but instant, even when the call is obviously right or wrong. No, we have to make a long distance call to New York or Calcutta or wherever the replay gods hang out. Then someone has to wake them up and refill their beer steins while they watch the tape. Then they send their decisions via Morse code to all the ships at sea and one of the ships uses a carrier pigeon to send a message to the proper ball park and someone there phones the umps. Many fans have been conceived in less time than it takes for the average replay review to be consummated. So it’s bizarre but we have baseball except in those places where too many players have been infected. Plus, I’ve been water boarded enough to accept it all, even the post season that now includes almost as many teams as the NBA does. I’ve seen the first two hits in the career of Chadwick Tromp and that was fun. I have seen  Johnny Cueto and Max Scherzer pitch. I have seen  Cody Bellinger make several outs. I have not seen a Madison Bumgarner snot rocket and I don’t care. It may not last very long but I’ll take it, even if it includes Joe Buck and that awful Taco Bell commercial  for the Grilled Cheese Burrito box that hurts my stomach, Let it anarchy logoBig Klu

Brave New World

It was one of those headlines that made you look twice. Then read it again to make sure it wasn’t something from the Onion or part of a dream. The major leagues are going to try to have a season right here in 2020.  There are more deaths from this virus already than this country had in World War I and there is no sign at all of abatement but here we go, empty stadiums and all.

Golly gee! Right away my head began to spin and my legs started taking me in a direction I had not traveled in quite a long time.  The next thing I knew I had opened the door to the neighborhood tavern and, once my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I realized that there was no one in there that I knew, except for Nick, the bartender. Nick never acknowledges your presence until your  wallet is in your hand.  There was one sly guy standing near the side door with a bottle of beer in his right hand and his left hand  held a lit cigarette that he could step right outside with if anyone made a fuss. I was the only one wearing a mask, including Nick, so I guess the side door was handy for that as well. I needed to talk, so I was glad that there was music playing although I didn’t see a juke box. It was Joe Walsh playing Time Out,  “wake you up to tell you it’s okay to sleep some more, by the way, is there any you can sell us?” and not so loud you couldn’t have a conversation but loud enough you could talk.

There was a little man with a pony tail on a stool at the end of the bar nursing a drink of some kind. He looked to be Asian or maybe Native American, I can’t always tell and I never ask because it’s rude and I hate to show my ignorance. Anyway, he had a kind face and was smiling so I began to unload.  Do you follow baseball? Yeah, well, did you hear? Sixty games! No fans in the stands and masks in the dugout! Holy shit, this is weird. Oh, and the most Mickey Mouse thing of all, if there are extra innings—–yeah, right, a runner on second to start the inning! But the worst, the absolute worst is Designated Sitter in both leagues! That’s it man. Pitchers hitting is gone forever. Sacrifice bunts, what’s that?  Squeeze play, forget it! I had hope. I had hope but now it’s gone. I can’t believe it! Sorry to be so upset, thanks for listening.

I admit that I drank the first beer too quickly but I ordered another and told myself to sip this time. The kind man said that his name was Elmer and that he had an answer for me if I would be so kind as to provide another drink for him. I said thank you and asked Nick for a bottle of mineral water for Elmer. Eventually, it arrived. Now the juke box or whatever it was  featured Ry Cooder singing It’s Just Work For Me and I was still sort of fidgeting. Elmer had a sip of water and began to speak. You have your reality and I have mine, he said. Every living thing does. What holds us all together is heavy as a stone and light as a feather. It is fragile and it is strong. It is big and it is small. What do you want to do? Do you want to be back to 1972, when Richard Nixon wiped the floor with George McGovern? Do you like Sansabelt slacks? Do you want cigarettes to cost a dollar a pack so you can start smoking again? Is Barry Manilow your favorite singer?

He looked at me with a little half smile. I wanted to smack his little face. I thanked him for his time, gulped down the rest of the almost cold beer and went back out into the searing heat. Okay, then, I’ve got nothing against Ron Blomberg or Harold Baines or any of those guys. It’s just that the game I’ve always loved is—-okay, screw it. Let’s go. Let’s go all the way like a co-ed softball league. Let’s have more wretched excess than Blind Faith and Vanilla Fudge put together. Sixty games? Hell, let’s have 60 double headers of five innings each! Guys don’t pitch more than five innings anyway. Instead of using nine innings to figure earned run average, let’s use five. Who cares? Old school pitchers like Madison Bumgarner and Max Scherzer could start both games of the double header. So called “closers” could get two saves in one day. Then you have a 120 game schedule, sort of like a strike year. And why stop with designated sitters? With that extra inning rule we would be ripe for designated runners too. And, not to denigrate the good fielders who can’t hit much, let’s have designated fielders who also aren’t allowed to bat. Sure. It’s an age of specialization so now youngsters can choose early on what aspect of the game they prefer to practice. Perfect. We would all rather just play video games anyway, right?