Author: Dan Freedman

THE BLIVET

As an ode to my mom, who never missed an opportunity to say something whacky or just plain funny, I present to you the “blivet”. Sure, we could go with Webster, and tell you that a “blivet” is also known as a poiuyt, devil’s fork, or widget.  I could explain to you that a blivet is an undecipherable figure, an optical illusion, and an impossible object; something that appears to have three cylindrical prongs at one end which then mysteriously transform into two rectangular prongs at the other end.  Here, stare at it for a while.

But no, that is not what I am talking about.

Long before there was ever the concept of the Urban Dictionary, my mom was extolling the virtues and vices of the “blivet”, which, in her and UD’s world, is defined as 10 pounds of shit in a 5 pound bag.

What, on God’s green earth, you ask, does this have to do with baseball?  Ah, I am glad you asked.

Every day I pick my son up from baseball – be it a game or a long practice – and each time I am treated to a protracted delay while he tries to put all of his equipment into what I deem to be an already very large bag.  My son is truly shoving 10 pounds of shit into a 5 pound bag.  He then turns it upright, rolls it to the car, and allows me to wrench my back lifting it into the trunk.  Who needs all 10 pounds of this shit?  Not to get all “get off of my lawn”, but in my day…

…In my day, we rode our bikes to the park and to practice.  If we were lucky, we had a bat (usually wood, although that changed in the mid-’80s) that we held across our handlebars, with our lone glove on one end of the bat and our cleats tied to the other.  We held on for dear life (no helmets required), and then rode home at dusk.  In between, we played some pretty good baseball.

While I acknowledge that riding your bike to practice today is both impractical and against all societal norms, the rest of it could theoretically still hold true.

Alas, that is not the case.  Here is a brief summary of what currently resides in my son’s baseball bag (and yes, I am 89.4% to blame for this): 1 very expensive, totally unnecessary, top of the line, aluminum (or composite, who the hell knows) baseball bat; 1 pitcher’s glove; 1 outfielders’ glove; 1 first baseman’s glove; 1 catcher’s glove; a set of shin guards; a chest protector; a catcher’s mask; a batting helmet; multiple pairs of batting gloves; 2 different arm sleeves; a few loose baseballs; 2 wrist protectors (one a custom Evoshield and another off-brand that actually provides more protection); an odd wristband; and a pair of cleats.  He isn’t a player so much as he is a section of Sports Authority.

As I have previously written, I remember with great clarity the day I got my first first baseman’s glove, which upped my equipment tally by 33.3%.  My son could lose a $200 mitt in his bag and forget it even exists.

Each kid today must have his own helmet – heaven forbid lice gets spread.  Each must have his own bat – when did the Easton corporation perform a mind meld on every Little Leaguer such that his life is incomplete if he doesn’t have the latest SL or Mako model?  Each kid must have multiple mitts.  How could a fielder ever handle first base with a glove that has individualized fingers?  Some players now sport two pairs of cleats – rubber for Little League and metal for travel ball.  Cleats that, ostensibly, he will out grow before he wears out.  And each player must have a high performance bag to carry all this swag – be it a cool backpack with slots for multiple bats (really?) or a bag with wheels to protect their precious lumbars.  When did this happen?  How did this happen?  Why did this happen?

As to when, it must have been some time in the past 5-10 years, but maybe it happened even earlier.

As to how, that is simple.  We, as parents, allowed it to happen.

As to why, I have a few thoughts, in no particular order:

• Ubiquity.  When I was a kid, sporting goods were the purview of a single aisle at Thrifty Drugs, a small section at Sears (where they also sold fishing rod and guns), the local sporting goods store (which didn’t open in my neighborhood until I was in high school), and the occasional mail-order catalogue that found its way into our mailbox.  Today, kids are just a few clicks away from “what pros wear”.  In fact, “whatproswear.com” is an actual website that contains links to everything you see on television or at the stadium.  (And, not for nothing, this is an awesome site to get lost in, and which make you pine to be a kid again.)  Everything they could want is within reach, all they need is . . .

• Vicariousness.  If you are anything like me, when you were a kid you wanted everything you saw, but for the reasons stated above, plus parents who didn’t really care what we wanted, plus the cost of such items, that gear was unattainable.  So, if you are anything like me, you live vicariously through your kids in the swag department.  Batting gloves that match the uniform, check; cleats with cool contrasting laces, check; glove with his name embroidered on the side, check, check, and check.  If we couldn’t have that stuff, at least they can.

• The Joneses.  You gotta keep up.  This has various permutations.  The first is obvious – Little Timmy’s got it, so your guy should have it too.  That story doesn’t get much traction in my house, but that story gets told nonetheless.  But how about the fact that your kid won’t have a helmet to wear unless you buy him one?  The league doesn’t provide them, and teammates (or their parents) are loathe to let someone borrow theirs.  This is a real life issue.  Or this one: Bobby and Mikey both have $40 custom-molded Evoshield elbow guards; your kid asks for one and you laugh him out of the room.  And then he gets hit on the elbow and you feel (a) guilty, (b) like an asshole, (c) like a cheap asshole, and (d) a guilty, cheap asshole who has now lost all high ground in these future battles.  I guess Bobby and Mikey have better parents than my kid.

• Coolness.  Truth be told, the equipment is just plain cool.  Even if you never played the game, and thus have no vicariousness to deal with, you still want your kid to look cool on the field.  And, let’s be honest, the Oakley Half Jacket 2.0 XL with Black Iridium lenses and team color sock kit just look damn good (even if they spend the majority of their time perched on top of the cap rather than on the player’s eyes).  What 12-year old doesn’t need an arm sleeve – let alone a custom one with his initials or number on it?  What group of 12-year olds doesn’t need matching $150 bags with their names and numbers embroidered on them so they can hang side-by-side on the back of the dugout?  Let’s face it, the majority of the people reading this blog never wore Fonzie’s jacket, but we all hold out hope that our kid just might.

This phenomenon, rest assured, is not exclusive to baseball; it is just the world we live in today.  When I pick my daughter up from her dance studio, after her two hour practice (which, of course, includes a private lesson), I am stuck waiting in the lobby while she jams all of her dance gear into a pink, embroidered (with her name), customized (for her dance team), wheeled blivet.

For generations people have had as their solitary goal that their children have a better life than they.  In many ways, that is the American Dream.  I just don’t think, when immigrants started landing on Ellis Island in the late 19^th century, they could have ever envisioned that all of their worldly belongings – their own personal blivets – would fit into a knapsack smaller than the bag my son takes to the field every day.

And when the children of those immigrants first picked up a broomstick and a Spaldeen, and ran from manhole to manhole, avoiding parked cars and angry shop owners, I highly doubt they ever worried about modified trap webbings, BBCOR technology, or Pittards digital sheepskin leather.  They cared about the game of baseball – and getting home before the streetlights came on.

Ah well, this is the monster we created; we could always say, “no”.

So, if you can find one at the bottom of that suitcase your player rolls into the dugout, I say to you . . .

PLAY BALL!!

BASEBALL GODS

I’m a Red Sox fan.  There, I admitted it.  And I have no shame in doing so.  Of course, that is considerably easier today than it was 12 years ago.  Over the past 11 seasons, the Red Sox have won 3 World Series championships.  It’s not hard to be a fan.  After 86 years of futility, after countless near-misses, after torturing not only a fan base but an entire region of this great country, it seems the Baseball Gods smiled down on the players housed in a musty clubhouse locked underneath the then 92-year old edifice erected between Lansdowne St. and Yawkey Way.  Ah, the Baseball Gods.

Do they exist, these oft-quoted, oft-lamented, Baseball Gods?  If you are a superstitious sort, like I am, you definitely believe.  There has not been any qualitative or quantitative research done on the number of Atheist baseball fans who believe in the Baseball Gods, but I have to imagine there are more than a few.  If not for the Baseball Gods, how could you explain the crazy turns of event that seem to happen over and over again?

And the corollary to the concept is that one must go to great lengths not to upset the Baseball Gods.  It is a well worn fact that, in the midst of a no-hitter, you don’t deign to talk to the pitcher, and the announcers and fans are verboten from discussing the same.  We have now taken this to its logical and technological conclusion, to the world of social media, where this edict is now writ large (small?).  To wit:

SportsCenter ‏@SportsCenter Jun 14: DEVELOPING: Nationals P Max Scherzer has not allowed a baserunner vs Brewers through 6 innings. He has 11 strikeouts on 67 pitches.

You see any words that are conspicuously missing?

How about this one:

Baseball Tonight ‏@BBTN Jun 9: Chris Heston is having himself a pretty good game…

Or last night:

No one – with the possible exception of Buster Olney who, for reasons that are inexplicable, doesn’t believe – wants to be the guy who pissed off the Baseball Gods are caused a base hit to occur.

How about when the Baseball Gods have taken out their animus on entire organizations (see Cubs, Chicago; Red Sox, Boston)?  The Baseball Gods were big fans of the Bambino in Boston and not so much Billy Goats on the ballfield.  Is there any other way to explain, in no particular order:

• Bucky “Fucking” Dent
• Bill Buckner
• Aaron “Bleeping” Boone
• Steve Bartman
• Leon “Bull” Durham (in case you forgot, a quick reminder)

And, to that end, is there any other way to explain how fortunes change?  Go to Netflix and watch “Four Days in October” and tell me that some form of divine intervention wasn’t at play.

Or what about baseball’s biggest heel: Barry Bonds.  Did anyone – mortal or otherwise outside the City by the Bay – want him and the Giants to win the 2002 World Series?  Apparently not, as that series turned on a dime when Scott Spezio (yup, Scott Spezio, who later fell out of baseball in a haze of drug abuse and ended up being tased by the police a few months back) changed a player’s and a team’s fortunes with one swing of the bat.

The Baseball Gods are not fond of certain vices; gambling on the sport, for instance.  The White Sox (er, Black Sox) fixed the 1919 World Series. They didn’t get back to another World Series for 40 years (losing to the Dodgers in ’59), and didn’t win one until 2005.  It seems the Baseball Gods abide by some long-gestating statute of limitations.

The Baseball Gods are not kind to premature victory celebrations.  Take, for instance, the 2001 World Series, wherein the Yankees were up a run going into the bottom of the ninth of Game 7, with Mariano Rivera on the mound.  Some marketing mensa thought it made sense to cover the Yankees’ locker room with plastic and roll out cases of champagne.  We all know what happened next, as the D-Backs got to Rivera and Luis Gonzalez duck-farted his way into World Series lore.  I hope that same lackey was charged with clearing out the clubhouse before any shocked Yankee made it down the tunnel.

Nor do Baseball Gods take kindly to “Bush League” behavior.  For a litany of examples, see the career high (low?) lights of one Alex Rodriguez.  He ran across the mound in Oakland – much to the dismay of Dallas Braden; he yelled “Hah, I got it” while running past the third baseman in Toronto; he smacked the ball out of Bronson Arroyo’s glove in Game 6 of the 2004 ALCS, and then claimed he did nothing of the sort.  We could do this all day with this guy.  End result: A-Rod received the harshest drug punishment in the history of the sport – without ever failing a drug test.  The Baseball Gods (this time in the form of Bud Selig) had spoken.

Lest we think the Baseball Gods only focus on the Big Leaguers, I personally pissed them off a few years ago.  After the fifth run scored in extra innings of a win or go-home game, I started making weekend plans for the next round of playoffs.  Wouldn’t you know it, the opposing team scored six times in the bottom half – culminating with a walk-off grand slam (which was preceded by a Bull Durham/Bill Buckner-esque ball through the first baseman’s wickets).  I knew I had done wrong when I opened my mouth, but thought there was no way the Baseball Gods would bother with a 12-year old baseball game.  As my daughter is apt to say, “I guess you were wrong”.

The Baseball Gods are also quick to punish what they believe are unfair outcomes.  Last week we (re)learned about Merkle’s Boner. That mistake (read: properly but questionably enforced rule) allowed the Cubs to win the pennant and then the World Series.  As we discussed, they haven’t won one since, and haven’t even been back in 70 years.  Or, how about when a coach appeals and wins a questionable (albeit, by the rules, correct) interference call early in a series, only to end up losing that series in the final game?  The Baseball Gods never forget; their power is always lurking right around the corner.

So forget Friday the 13th and black cats running across the field, it is not calendars and felines you need to be worried about.  It is the omniscient, omnipotent, and omnipresent Baseball Gods with whom you must curry favor.  So grab your glove (which, hopefully, no one else has touched), step over the baseline, touch second base on your way to the outfield, use the same bat over and again, draw a symbol in the batter’s box, carry a crystal in your back pocket, and then just go about your business.  Because nothing can affect your performance or the outcome of the game . . . except the Baseball Gods.

PLAY BALL!!

WHEN IS A RULE A RULE?

It is often said that lawyers are the people in society who have read the inside of the box.  We (ostensibly) know the rules, and we are charged with helping interpret those rules, enforcing those rules, and/or seeking remediation when someone violates those rules.  But what happens when a rule isn’t a rule?  What happens when there is another side of the box, the side with the rules that are seldom enforced?  (As an aside, we will cover the unwritten rules at another time.)

Situation in Point: A shortstop, in attempting to turn a double-play, doesn’t touch the bag.  This is so commonplace that is has its own name: “The Neighborhood Play”.  Abide by the specific rules of baseball, and the base runner is safe.  When was the last time that call was made?

Situation in Point: A third baseman swipes the tag down well ahead of a would-be base stealer.  The throw and tag beat the runner by some distance, but the glove (with the ball) doesn’t actually make contact with the sliding player.  We often chalk that one up to “the throw beat him”, so he should be out.  With instant replay now being utilized at the Big League level, this is probably a safe call.  But for the last 100+ years (prior to 2014), more often than not (read: nearly always), the runner was out.  Was this the right call?

How many times have you seen the strike zone expand on a 3-0 count?  Or when a pitcher is at the plate?  Or shrink for a batter with a reputation for a great eye (see Boggs, Wade)?  Again, with new technology and umpires under stricter scrutiny, this happens less often, but it still happens.  Isn’t a ball a ball and a strike a strike, regardless . . .?

Umpires have an incredibly difficult job.  The rule book looks like a phone book and reads like the Talmud.  And yet, umpires are expected to know all of the rules, recognize the play, and make the right call, all in a split second.  Not so easy to do.  So, should they be forgiven for being lenient?  Or for choosing when not to enforce the rules?

How about this one, a direct case on point: A college softball player hits her first and only homerun of her career.  Coming around first base she tears a ligament in her knee, and cannot make it around the bases.  By rule, if her teammates help her, she will be out; if she cedes to a pinch-runner, it will be a single.  Isn’t this an instance when the rule need not be a rule?  Apparently not, as it took the great sportsmanship and humanity of her opponents to help make the homerun happen for the injured player.  By the way, this happened twice – on the same day, six years apart.

(After what we have seen recently in college softball, it is worth reading these to reaffirm your faith.)

http://www.tampabay.com/sports/colleges/foes-carry-softball-player-around-bases-after-her-first-homer/481640

http://espn.go.com/espnw/news-commentary/article/10848732/espnw-florida-southern-college-softball-players-carry-injured-eckerd-college-opponent-bases-game-winning-homer

A rule is a rule, even when the umpires need to use common sense to enforce it.  A batter hits a swinging bunt down the third base line.  It rolls and rolls.  If the third baseman touches it, it will be a fair ball, and an infield single.  So, he does what any right-thinking grown man would do: he drops to his knees and blows the ball into foul territory.  Ingenious?  Not so much; the umpires rule interference, the batter is safe, and now it is the hitter who gets to blow – a sigh of relief, that is.

But, sometimes, a rule is not a rule, and umpires (or league officials) have to use common sense not to enforce it.

In 1983, George Brett came to the plate at (Old) Yankee Stadium to face Rich “Goose” Gossage.  The Royals trailed 4-3, there were two outs, and U.L. Washington (and his toothpick) were on first.  We all know what happened next: Brett hit a bomb deep into the right field seats; Billy Martin contested the homerun claiming George had too much pine tar on his bat; Umpire Tim McLelland agreed (invoking MLB Rules 1.10(c) and 6.06) and called Brett out; game over; and then Mt. George erupted.  By all accounts, Brett was in violation of the rule, and however bush it may have been, Martin (and McLelland) were right in their assessment.  However, American League president Lee McPhail disagreed, claiming that was not the “spirit of the restriction”.  McPhail overruled the rule, and allowed the homerun to stand.  The teams had to finish the game nearly a month later (with Ron Guidry playing centerfield and Don Mattingly playing second base), and the Royals tallied the victory.

The “when is a rule a rule” debate has become heated the past two seasons with respect to “foreign substances” that pitchers use to get a better grip on the ball.  Back in the day, Vaseline was the substance du jour, but that was used to gain a competitive advantage.  Hell, Gaylord Perry, a self-described cheat (his biography is entitled “Me and the Spitter”), is in the Hall of Fame (see, Bloom Back on the Rose, March 21, 2015).

In my day, sandpaper and nail files were used for competitive advantage.  Today, it does not seem that pitchers use the substances to cheat, but cheating it is (Rule 8.02(4)).  But when?  If Clay Buchholz loads goop into his hair and touches his flowing locks in between every pitch, why don’t the umpires call him out.  When Kenny Rogers had a dark streak of something on his throwing hand in the World Series, or Jon Lester had some green substance on his glove during another World Series, why were those acceptable?  And yet, when Michael Pineda loads up his neck with pine tar; or when Brian Matusz or Will Smith put a little rosin and sunscreen on their arms, let the suspensions begin.  Which rule were they violating that the others were/have not?

(As an aside/on a related note, this is one of my favorite videos: Joe Niekro trying to fling away an Emery board.)

One thing we can all agree upon is that, with respect to the field, all of the rules must be enforced, right?  Well, not always.  How many times have you seen a batter wipe away the back line of the batter’s box before he digs in a little farther back.  Rare is the umpire – at the MLB level, at least – who will redraw the batter’s box.  I guess Rule 6.03 isn’t necessarily “a rule”.  Or what about teams who over-chalk the baselines if they have especially proficient bunters?  Or teams that over-water the infield if facing a team with speedsters?  I guess umpires liberally interpret (i.e., don’t enforce) Rule 1.04.

Here is a famous one that could easily not have been enforced.  To baseball aficionados it is known as “Merkle’s Boner”.  If you don’t know the story, it’s pretty good one:

On September 23, 1908, Fred Merkle, all of 19 years old, having played in only 38 games all year, was called for his first big league start against the Cubs in the heat of the pennant race (Merkle’s Giants were tied with the Cubs for first place).  With the game tied 1-1 in the bottom of the ninth, Merkle came to the plate with the winning run on first.  This was only his 48^th plate appearance of the season.  Merkle promptly singled down the rightfield line, moving the winning run to third.  The next batter, the light-hitting Al Bridwell, ripped the first pitch into centerfield for the apparent game winner.  Giants fans poured out of the stands and mobbed the field.  Merkle, advancing from first base, saw the onslaught of fans and (knowing what a crowd of unruly/overly excited New Yorkers might do to him) turned back to the dugout before ever reaching second base.  The Cubs’ centerfielder, responding to his teammate’s pleas, tossed the ball to Johnny Evers, who stepped on second base to record the third out.  Rule 4.09 was enforced, and “Merkle’s Boner” was born.  So much chaos ensued that the game was ruled a tie, and the teams had to meet two weeks later to decide the pennant.  The Cubbies won that game, on their way to winning the 1908 World Series.  Which, as we all know, is the last time that happened.  Which leads us to a topic for another day: The Baseball Gods . . .

As with most topics, we could go on and on.  You watch enough baseball, you will see and learn something new nearly every day.  Unfortunately, you oftentimes have to learn it by figuring out what rule was or was not enforced.

To some people, baseball is boring.  To others, it is confusing.  To us, it is beautiful.  But even to the baseball lovers and cognoscenti among us, it is truly dizzying trying to determine “when is a rule a rule”.

PLAY BALL!!!

HOW MUCH IS TOO LITTLE?

The game is over, the dugout is empty, and the field has been dragged.  One team is headed to the snack bar or the parking lot.  And the other team is jumping into a dogpile in the outfield.  The jubilation of a come-from-behind victory?  Possibly the sweet relief of a hard-fought tournament championship?  Nope, the end result of a 10-run, 4-inning mercy at the hands of a considerably stronger opponent.

In some circles, that dogpile would be players throwing haymakers at each other; blaming one player or another for not tagging up, or failing to cover a base, or over-throwing a cut-off man.  But, in this particular dogpile, you had a bunch of players who had processed the loss and moved on.  Quickly.  Too quickly for some.  Much too quickly for me.

Here is the rub: For the past few years, I have had the honor of coaching a travel baseball team.  Now, I realize that many of you immediately recoil at the thought of travel ball (although, if you are reading this blog, probably not), and all that it entails.  Trust me when I tell you that everything you have heard is exaggerated and yet totally on point.  But I digress.

Coaching this group of kids has been one of my greatest pleasures.  However, my biggest frustration with this team has not been the strike outs, or the dropped pop flys, or the sometimes circus-like throws about the field.  No, my biggest frustration has been what appears to be a lack of caring.  Now, I am not a psychologist, but I certainly play one in the dugout.  And to my knowing eyes, our boys care more about what’s for lunch than they do who’s on first.  That said, I could be wrong, and this could just be the loosest group of athletes ever assembled.

But I often ask myself (and others): How much better would we be if the boys cared more?  If they had that fire in the belly, would the outcomes to our games be different?  I see other teams where winning is the only thing.  They seem to do well.  But, I don’t live with them, and I certainly don’t coach them, so I cannot say with any certainty that that is accurate.  And, even if it is, to what end?  They are, of course, “only 12” (or 7, 8, 9, 10, or 11).

Would it be better – for the team, for the coach, for the player – if every strikeout resulted in a chucked helmet or a slammed bat?  Would tears on the mound result in more batters struck out?  Or would tears in the batter’s box mean less slow walks back to the dugout?

Can a group of young players care too much?  Can they care too little?

A few weeks back, I and a bunch of coaches, players, and fans were treated to a spectacle not often witnessed on a Little League diamond.  We got to see a young man slam his bat onto home plate with such ferocity that the dish nearly came loose (this, before a pitch was even thrown).  We then saw outrage (genuine, eye-rolling, jaw-dropping, foot stomping outrage) when the umpire deigned to call a strike.  When this young gentleman’s team lost, he threw his hat; chucked his glove; and went Paul O’Neill to the dugout.  And, for the final indignity, the player tore out the outfield grass as his coach attempted post-game condolences.  It was performance art at its most absurd.  Suffice it to say, this young Sam Kinison cared a little too much.

Is there a happy medium?  Can we get our kids to channel their desire for excellence into actual excellence, without the end result being tantrums and self-flagellation?

Or is this just hard-wired, and we cannot change the spots on our pre-teen leopards?

Or is it situational?  In certain circumstances, kids will feel the weight of the world and squeeze the sawdust out of the bat (metaphorically speaking, of course); while in other situations they stroll back to the dugout after looking at strike three without a care in the world.

I tell the kids all the time that they have chosen a vicious sport, a sport predicated on failure.  You all know the adage: Fail 7 times out of 10 and you an All-Star; only fail 6 times out of 10 and you are a Hall of Famer.  Over the past 6 years, there has been an average of nearly 1.5 errors per MLB game.  And that just counts the physical errors.  Hell, Mike Trout (everyone’s All American) struck out looking 53 times in 2013 (and was 2nd in MVP voting).  Julio Teheran picked off 8 baserunners in 2013; 5 more in 2014; and has already picked off 3 this season.  If that isn’t mental failure on the part of baserunners (at this point they should know he is pretty good), I don’t what is.

So, with that much failure at hand, how much caring is enough?  How much is too little?  How do we – on behalf of our kids – attempt to regulate this.  Should we be pleased when a player comes back to the dugout and slams his helmet but then, five minutes later, gathers himself and struts right back out to play defense?  Or is that too much emotion?  Should we be pissed when he allows a ball to go through his legs or overthrows his first base, and just laughs it off?  Or is that a healthy reaction to a game predicated on failure?  I wish I knew the answer(s).

Maybe the lesson here is that we, as coaches and parents, need to care less.  Maybe we let them fail and/or succeed in their own way, provided they are not harming themselves, their teammates, or their team.  If they do cross that line, then we pull them from the game (hard to do as a parent sitting in the stands; harder still when you are coaching your own kid).

All I know is that baseball is sheer joy.  It is frustrating as hell; it can be humiliating and maddening; it can bring outright happiness and downright despair.  But it is a beautiful thing.  There is a reason that the vast majority of the readers of this blog get a little tingle when Vin Scully intones: “It’s time for Dodger baseball”.  There is a reason we leave the office early to sit in the stands or on a bucket for 2½ hours a few times a week for months on end.  There is a reason we plan our long weekends around baseball tournaments.

And what we should want, more than anything else, more than winning or losing, more than success or failure, what we should want is for our kids – 30 years (or more) down the road – to have this same love of baseball.  We don’t want them to burn out or learn to hate the sport (as too often happens).  So, whatever mechanism they need to get there – tears on the mound, batting gloves torn from hands, giggles on the walk from the batter’s box, or dogpiles after getting their asses handed to them – we should support wholeheartedly.  Because, in the end, it is all:

PLAY BALL!!

LANGUAGE BARRIER

Within the past week, two people who I love dearly each told me – separately – that they try to read this blog, but can’t always follow it.  That didn’t bother me in the least, because, as I wrote in my very first entry, this ain’t for everyone.  I was just happy that they tried.  This got me to thinking about why they couldn’t follow.  I write short paragraphs, and include pictures, videos, and graphics; so why is it so hard . . . ?

And then it hit me: There is a language barrier; they don’t speak baseball.

Baseball, possibly more than any other sport, has its own language.  Sure, football has crazy plays that are nearly impossible to decode/understand (real life sample: “Brown Right Over Flip Zac 73 Chicago F arrow X curl”).  And basketball has “pin down screens” and “backdoor cuts” and “alley oops”.

But in describing the day-to-day of the game, listening to it on the radio, or casually having the television on in the background (not Dodger games in 70% of Los Angeles, natch), requires a base level of understanding of what certain oft-used terms mean.  So, today I am reaching out to the uninitiated; the common masses who listen but do not hear; who try to understand, but have trouble comprehending.

The next time Vin Scully says any of the following, or Bob Costas starts “talkin’ baseball”, or Pete van Wieren interjects any of the below while being a homer (i.e., an announcer who roots for the team signing his paycheck) for the Braves, you will have a better understanding of what the hell just happened:

A batter hits a soft line drive into left field.  What shall we call that? For starters, “line drive” typically means a hard hit ball – a ball hit “on a line”.  So, by definition, a “soft line drive” is an oxymoron – let the confusion begin.  Listening in the car, you may hear that described as a Texas Leaguer, a duck fart, a broken bat single, or a dying quail.  Some refer to it as a flair.  In all of the above instances, the batter will be safe at first base.

What about a bouncing ball that makes it into the outfield?  Well that could be a seeing-eye single or a twelve hopper or a Baltimore Chop.  Again, the batter will have safely made it on base.

And the slow roller that doesn’t even it make it to one of the infielders?  A squib or a swinging bunt (another oxymoron). “Slow rollers” don’t normally make it into the outfield – only on special occasions, like Game 6 of the 1986 World Series.

And what to make of the aforementioned line drive? A screamer; laser; pea; seed; rocket; shot.  If it leaves the yard then it is a homerun, which might be referred to as a dinger or tater, a dong or a round-tripper.  Really hit it hard and it’s a bomb.

Players often refer to homeruns as Jimmy Jacks, which can be shortened to the more simplistic Jack (wherefore art thou, Jimmy?).  Whatever you call it, the hitter can touch ‘em all.  If hit particularly well, it is a no doubter because that one is not coming back (see, Stanton, Giancarlo).  If it barely makes it out, it is a wall scraper or a cheap one:

If the bases happened to be loaded (i.e., runners of first, second, and third base), then that pedestrian homerun becomes a grand slam or a salami.

Sometimes a batter see four balls (as opposed to three strikes), and then he literally receives a base on balls (which, as a call back, is recorded in the scorebook as “BB”).  That is also known as a free pass; and when done intentionally – whether at the Little League or another level – it is known as an intentional walk (pretty straightforward), but could also be called four wide ones.  Where it gets tricky is when the pitcher doesn’t mean to walk the batter, but doesn’t mean not to walk him.  We call that an unintentional intentional walk – again with the oxymorons.  Got it?

The flip side is when a batter gets three strikes before anything else good happens.  In that instance, he strikes out.  Or is down on strikes. Or Ks.  If he doesn’t swing at the third strike, he is caught looking and will suffer a ʞ (verbally: “a backwards K”).  Old schoolers may say he fanned or whiffed (or, as Dan Patrick might say, “the whiiiiiff!”).

Then there are the pitches themselves.  They sound so lame: fastball, curveball, change up.  Let’s add a little baseball flair to each of them:

A fastball is a heater.  If near the batter’s head, it’s a high/hard one.  Some pitchers throw cheese or gas.  Whether they throw a four-seamer or a two-seamer, they bring the heat.

How about the curveball?  Well, that is an Uncle Charlie (many theories, but actual origins unknown), a bender or, in the case of Clayton Kershaw and pitchers of his ilk, Public Enemy Number One.  Some announcers can’t “read” the pitch from their lofty perch above the diamond, so they call everything that isn’t a fastball an off-speed pitch (be leery of any play-by-play guy who uses this term too often).  Some call it the hammer or the hook, a yakker or a knee bender.  They often come in through the back door, so be wary of a pitcher with a nasty deuce.  And pitchers need to get on top of, own, sell, believe in, or bite it, lest it hang in which case the hitter will bang, often resulting in a bomb.  Are you still with me?

Curveballs, like clockwork, often go from 12 to 6 or 9 to 3, and sometimes in different directions if the release is 3/4s (i.e., a somewhat sidearm motion) or submarine (i.e., a sidearm motion that borders on being underhanded).  To wit:

Hurlers have so many pitches in their repertoire that it is sometimes hard to understand what the announcer says he threw.  So, if you hear any of the following, this is what they saw:

• A change-up or off-speed pitch is pitched with the same motion as the fastball, just slower.

• The knuckleball is thrown (?) at a considerably slower speed, with the ultimate goal of taking all spin away from the ball, resulting in the ball acting a like a butterfly as it flutters toward the plate. This pitch has made more big league catchers and hitters look like little league players than anything else in the history of the game.

• A slider is essentially a hard curveball, but with less “break”.  It looks like a fastball, moves sorta like a curveball, and makes the hitter more often look like screwball (see, Gibson, Bob or Johnson, Randy).

• The screwball is the opposite of a curveball, meaning it breaks in the opposite direction.  To get this to happen, a pitcher needs to twist his arm inward on release, such that his palm his facing outward (not a very sustainable motion).  While baseball has had many “screwballs” over the years, over the years not too many pitchers could consistently throw screwballs.  (Even if you don’t follow baseball, if you lived in Southern California in the early ‘80s, the name Fernando Valenzuela has special meaning.  He is the greatest screwball pitcher of all time – a short list, to be sure, but an honor nonetheless).

•  Some pitchers load the ball with Vaseline, sunscreen, or good ol’ fashioned spit.  Not surprisingly, those pitches are called spitballs.  Other pitchers have gotten more creative and used nail files and sandpaper to doctor the ball.  If you can control where you scuff the ball, you can make it do all kinds of fun things, and have great success (see, Scott, Mike).

• And, in honor of a special birthday today (answer below if you cannot figure it out), one cannot forget the Eephus Pitch which looks like something you might see at a Sunday softball league.  It is essentially lobbed to the plate with an arc of 20-25 feet.  The goal is to catch the batter off-guard.  (Side note: There is a theory that the term “Eephus” may come from the Hebrew word אפס (pronounced “EFF-ess”), meaning “nothing”.)

Pitchers pitch, and hitters hit, but not all hitters are created equal.  Some hitters are mashers who hit seeds and frozen ropes all over the yard.  Some studs put on laser shows and others are just plain feared.  Some hitters are picky, and will only swing at strikes (see, Boggs, Wade) while others are free-swingers, whose only requirement is that the pitcher actually release the ball (see, Guerrero, Vladimir).  Many of the former are said to sit and spit, meaning they sit back and spit on a crappy pitch, refusing to swing.  Many of the latter hail from the Dominican Republic, where it is often said, you can’t walk off the island.

On the other end of the spectrum are Punch and Judy hitters.  They go up to bat with a wet newspaper and don’t hit the ball very hard.  Oftentimes their batting average hovers around the Mendoza Line (which is .200).  So, to recap, a hitter sucks and is danger of being released and/or sent off to the Bush Leagues if he only gets 2 hits every 10 at bats; but if he can get 3 hits every 10 at bats, he is a Hall of Famer.  Baseball is a difficult and strange game.

Okay.  We have dealt with pitchers and their pitches, hitters and their hits.  Now we have to deal with the fans.  Like kids, they say the darndest things.

You may hear be tough with two and wonder what that means.  Well, it means to battle with two strikes, trying not to get fanned.  This should not be confused with let’s get two or roll a pair or twist it, all of which refer to the pitcher’s best friend, a double-play (1 pitch turns into 2 outs).

You may hear someone yell to the batter: pick a spot.  This doesn’t have anything to do with measles; rather it means a batter should focus on one area, and if the pitch is in that area, they should swing away.  A corollary to “pick a spot” is if it’s hangin’ you’re bangin’ which relates to the above-referenced Uncle Charlie.  If the pitcher doesn’t get “on top” of the “deuce”, because of the nature of its spin, it may “hang” in the middle of the plate at which point a “stud” more often than not will hit a “seed”, and potentially “touch ‘em all”.

How about inside out.  This means to keep your hands inside the baseball (i.e., your hands should stay between your body and the ball as you swing), causing the batter to hit the ball to the opposite field (i.e., right field for righties; left field for lefties).

When a lefty inside-outs a ball, he often hits it in the 5-6 hole which is the small swath of earth between the third baseman and the shortstop.  Easier said (and understood) than actually done (unless you are Tony Gwynn).  (Note: You never hear about the 3-4 hole.)

We often want the hitter to find a gap.  And while some may do this post-game, in this context it means the hitter hits the ball to the left or right of the center fielder, to a place where the corner outfielders (i.e., right fielder and left fielder) cannot reach.

Speaking of corners, when a pitcher hits his corners or a batter takes a pitch on the corner it means that the pitcher is painting the black. Still don’t follow?  Home plate is 17” wide, and retreats 8½” towards the catcher, and then meets at a point 12” later.  All of the edges are black in color.  When you hear any of the above, it means the pitch went through the strike zone above the black part of the plate.

Here is one that you may not hear often, but when you do, you are thoroughly confused: infield fly.  Learn this one, and you can impress your friends and neighbors alike.  Simply put: runners on at least first and second base and less than two outs, the batter hits a pop fly that can reasonably be caught by an infielder.  The umpire immediately calls/signals “infield fly” and the batter is automatically out (regardless of whether or not the fielder actually catches the ball).  The runners are then free to run at their peril, and no force play is in effect.  Quick and easy.  Thank me later.

“Ah, I get it now, but what is a force play”  you ask?  This can either be easy or complicated.  For the casual viewer/listener/reader, let’s make it easy: Is/was the runner forced to go to the next base by the batter or another runner.  If yes, the defensive player need only touch the base with the ball under his control, and the runner is “forced out”.  If no, the defensive player must tag the runner (while controlling the ball) before the runner reaches the base.

(Editor’s Note: We will cover “tagging up” another time.)

Two more before we go:

When the aforementioned batter is up to bat with runners on first and second or the bases are loaded, it is said that there are ducks on the pond.  When that is the case, the batter has a chance to get a steak or a rib eye by knocking the runner in and allowing him/them to score.  (Note: When a batter’s hit allows a run to score, the hitter is awarded with a run batted in or an RBI for short; which term has now been bastardized to ribby or rib eye, which eventually led to “steak”. Got it?!?)  (Discussion question: Is the plural “RBIs” or “RBI”?)

And lastly, an age old classic.  The batter hits short pop fly – normally to the outfield – which is easily caught.  That is known as a can of corn.  Why, you ask?  Because back in the day, grocers used to drop cans of corn (and, ostensibly, other canned food) from the top shelf and catch them in their aprons.  Never saw Willie Mays do that!

As with most of these topics, I could write for days.  And I am sure many of the readers out there will be quick to tell me about the 10 or 50 other ones I have missed.  I look forward to it.  But, in the meantime, I believe this is a great primer as we head into the summer.  Share this with your loved ones . . .

PLAY BALL!!

Trivia Answer:  Dave LaRoche

p.s.  Under the rubric of “it takes a village”, I think it is important to note that many friends and readers offer up suggestions for these postings, and I want to make sure I give credit where credit is due.  My friend Eva Cohen suggested this topic, and my sister and brother-in-law had confused looks on their faces, so they all should either be thanked or reprimanded.

TO I-WALK or NOT TO I-WALK

A few posts ago I proffered my opinion on a matter, and dogmatically declared that anyone who disagreed with me was wrong.  I will not do that today.  Truth be told, I sit firmly on the fence on this matter, and don’t believe I can be convinced either way.  That said, I am open to discussion.

According to Peter Morris’ “A Game of Inches”, the first intentional walk was issued to George Wright of the Cincinnati Red Stocking on June 27, 1870, in a game against the Washington Olympics.

Over the past 145 years, a countless (truly a countless, I could not find the answer anywhere) number of I-Walks have been issued.  Barry Bonds received 688 of them over his career, including an amazing 120 in 2004 alone.   (Think about that; he essentially received a free pass once every 5 times he went to the plate; and he received 4 in a single nine-inning game that season.)

The Hawk, Andre Dawson, received 5 over 16 innings back in 1990.

(How many of you own(ed) the card on the left?  I could not resist including the afro on the right.)

But those are just fun stats.  The intentional walk is part of the game.  Some managers believe in it more than others (see: Joe Maddon walking Josh Hamilton with the bases loaded in a 4-run game).  In fact, rookie manager Kevin Cash was kicking himself earlier this week for not walking Brian McCann with first base open in a tight game.  McCann rewarded that failure with a game-breaking double.  Oops!

Where this conversation really gets interesting, though, is at the Little League level.  Some of you reading this would be appalled at even the thought of issuing an intentional walk to a 12-year old (or younger).  Some of you may be purists and believe that part of the reason the kids are on the field is to learn how baseball is supposed to be played, and we need to teach them the game – without age being a factor.  Or, you may be like me, and come down right in the middle.

Tanner Boyle ran on the field, and Kelly Leak’s dad yelled, “Let them play” (0:35 mark),

and that became a mantra for all Little Leaguers for all times.  But what does that mean, literally?

Does it mean let them “hit” or does it mean let them “play baseball”?

Let’s get the easy stuff out of the way.  If you are teaching your kids baseball, and a slugger (or one of the opponent’s best hitters) comes to the plate representing the tying or winning run, or the tying/winning run is in scoring position, and first base is open, the intentional walk is the right baseball play.  There is no debate about that.  But just as it is the right baseball play for the shortstop to throw to third when a runner goes from second to third with less than two outs, it doesn’t mean we always want our Little Leaguers to do it.  So how do we bridge that gap?

How about when the winning run is on second, and the next two hitters are studs, and the guy in the hole is considerably less dangerous?  Do you walk them both?  That is a more difficult call.  At the big league level, it may be no-brainer.  But, in that situation, you have to weigh many considerations, including a 12-year old’s ability to throw strikes with the bases loaded.  So, in context, it may not be the right baseball play.

This one may be easier: Winning run on first, one out, slugger at the bat.  Intentional walk?  Conventional wisdom tells you never to walk the winning run into scoring position.

We could do this all day.  (And I would be happier for it.)

But then we circle back to the original question: Should we do this at all?

Should we – as coaches and parents – ever tell a 12-year old that you don’t think the player can retire a particular batter?  What does that do to the kid who just signed up to play some rec ball, and never thought he would be a literal pawn in a coaching chess match?

Should we – as coaches and parents – ever even intimate to a 12-year that we are so invested in the outcome that we are actually scared?  What does that do to the kid who now has the world (okay, potentially a smaller subset) thinking he is so good that teams are afraid to pitch to him?

I guess the question comes back to what we are doing out there.  Is the goal to win at all costs?  Are we trying to give our kids the best experience possible?  What is it that we are teaching our kids?  It is a delicate balance, and I am not sure where I land.

Let’s add an additional wrinkle: Does/should it matter who the pitcher is?  What if the pitcher is an All-Star caliber player who has had much past – and will have much future – success?  Does that change the equation?

If you come down on the side of “teaching baseball”, does the skill level of the pitcher – or the batter, for that matter – matter?  Why not always utilize the intentional walk when the situation calls for it?

If you come down on the side of “let them play”, do you potentially sacrifice a championship for the rest of the team (maybe 9, 10, or 11 players) who may never get another chance at baseball glory, simply to allow 12-year olds to go niño-a-niño?

And let’s add another wrinkle: Do kids even know how to properly issue an intentional walk?  The short answer is no.

I have seen a balk nearly called because the catcher left the catching box before the pitcher released a wide one (a little known rule).  I have seen a kid throw one to the backstop when trying to intentionally walk a player, allowing the game-winning run to scoot home from third (that one hurt).  I have seen a coach direct his pitcher to roll (you read that right, roll) the ball to the plate to avoid either of the above results, or the even more dangerous outcome: the player swinging anyway.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IOvZV4SX64k

So where does all of this leave you?  For me, right back to where I started: On the fence.  The floor is now open for discussion.  Talk amongst yourselves . . .

p.s.  As a call back to the first sentence of this entry and a Blog from a few weeks back: Earlier this week, Jed Lowrie tore the UCL in his thumb diving into home; he will be out at least 8-12 weeks.  Last night, Chris Johnson broke his left last night diving into second base.  He was out, and now is out for 4-6 weeks!

PLAY BALL!!

THE LOST ART

Back in the day, people would go to the ballpark with a transistor radio in one hand, and a few pencils in the other.  For 50¢ or a buck, you picked up an official scorecard, you grabbed a dog and a beer, took your seat, and only got up to pee (in a trough) and for the 7^th Inning Stretch.  For the other 3 hours, you watched the game and kept score.

For the older readers out there, here are some memories:

Can you remember the walk from the vendor to your seat, flipping through that program?  You got the other team’s full roster; height and weight; birthdate and home town.  Sometimes they had pictures, but more often it was just a list of players.  I remember many times when it was just a single page insert, but no matter, you had all the information at your fingertips.  And when the Cubs or Red Sox or Yankees were in town, you always knew who was who.

Man, in simply writing that previous paragraph I can smell the beer (which I wasn’t yet drinking) and taste the mustard.

You took your seat, got yourself situated, and prepared to take notes (not school notes, mind you, but things that really mattered – the history that was being made on the baseball field).  The starting line-ups were announced and then displayed on the scoreboard.  You quickly wrote the names down – in pencil if you were careful, and in pen if (a) you were confident or (b) that is all your mom had in her purse.  You took off your cap for the National Anthem, the first pitch was thrown, and now you were officially a part of the game.

After a tough groundball into the 5-6 hole, you would check the corner of the scoreboard to see if it was a “H” or an “E”.  When a ball scooted between the catcher’s legs, your eyes went to the same spot looking for either a “WP” or a “PB”.  Waiting for that determination was painstaking as it affected what you jotted down.  Was it a straight horizontal line (see below) or an E6?  You had to know.  Today, you are lucky if that information is displayed during the same inning.

Ah, the lost art.

Chances are, but for Little League, the vast majority of people wouldn’t even know what “keeping score” means, let alone have the ability to do it.  And it is so much easier today, with the scorebooks laying everything out for you.

Back in the day, you had to be prepared to make horizontal lines, and write very small to account for what happened to each player on each play.

I guess there is no need to do any of this any more.  You can Gamecast on your phone; get full, live, and complete box scores with up-to-date statistics from a dozen websites as the game is going on.  And, even if you are inclined to do it, your pen-to-program sureness can really be messed up when a player calls up to the Official Scorer mid-game to get a call changed.  I sure hope you have erasable ink.

When I was a kid, I was a score-keeping madman.

One summer I played an entire Strat-O-Matic season with cards, dice, and a scorebook I bought in the sports aisle at Thrifty (where I also got my inaugural first baseman’s glove – a Rawlings/Keith Hernandez Fastback with a basket web).  What I would give to find that book (or that glove).  Not for nothing, but that 13-year old summer checked off both boxes of Keith Olbermann’s trope: “If you are scoring at home, or if you are alone . . .”

I am not embarrassed to tell you that I used to sit in my family room with my trusty book and keep score of the College World Series back before the general population even knew that such a thing existed.  Somewhere I must have Pete Incaviglia’s stats from Rosenblatt Stadium vs. Cal State Fullerton and Arizona St.

(Side note: I am not sure anyone ever hit a ball harder or farther than Inky did with a metal bat.  48 dingers in a 75-game college season?!?  To this day I am shocked that one of his lasers back through the box didn’t kill some sad sack pitcher.)

My days of keeping score went the way of the dodo bird when I started bringing young kids to the ballpark.  Bathroom breaks – repeated bathroom breaks – and ice cream runs are not conducive to a full and complete scorecard.  And the idea of trying to catch up – as anyone sitting in the stands at a Little League game can attest – is a fool’s errand.

To be totally honest, my days of keeping score at the ballpark ended when the game became more social and less about the action on the field.  And guess what, there is nothing wrong with that.  I put this in the same category as even though I no longer have to iron my shirts, it is important that I possess the ability to do so.

So the next time the home team coach looks up into the stands and asks, “Who can keep score?,” raise your hand high, grab a pencil, and proudly say, “I do, I can, I will!”  And just think, you can make sure that every time your kid hits a dribbler down the third base line, it will “look like a line drive in the scorebook”.

Who better to end this with:

PLAY BALL!!

USE YOUR HEAD…BY USING YOUR FEET

At the risk of sounding like Nancy Kerrigan:

“Why . . . why . . . why!?!?”

Why do players insist on sliding head first – into any base.  I know there are a ton of people who disagree with me on this, and to them I will simply say, “You’re wrong!”  (See below)

I was coaching third in a game a few weeks ago and an 11-year old kid came ‘round second and slid headfirst right into third base; and then walked feet-first right into the dugout, as Little League rules are smart and strictly prohibit sliding on your belly (excluding, of course, going back to the bag).

When I asked him “who taught you that?” he responded with: “I taught myself.”  I highly doubt that, but no matter.  It is crazy to me that players who make their livings (millions and millions of dollars of livings) with their hands, wrists, and shoulders, still take this unnecessary risk, day in-day out.

There are some of you reading this shaking your head – who say that it is I who is wrong, that it is faster and safer to slide headfirst.  To you naysayers, I present to you:

The National Institute of Health:

http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/12855927

The American Journal of Sports Medicine:

http://ajs.sagepub.com/content/30/6/834.abstract

My biggest issue is with guys who dive into first base.  David A. Peters, Ph.D. of the McDonnell Douglas Professor of Engineering at Washington University in St. Louis, settles this one for us.  He says the only advantage of any slide into first base is to avoid the first baseman’s tag when he has to come off the bag to spear an errant throw.  Sliding does not get a player to first base more quickly.  Professor Peters stated that: “Mathematically, you might think there’s an advantage, but leaving your feet is actually a detriment because you’re no longer pulsing (pumping your legs) and you start to decelerate.  When you’re running, your get your feet out in front of the center of gravity, so you’re getting maybe three or four steps of an advantage.”

Don’t believe Dr. Peters, how about the guys at Sports Science:

I guess MLBers don’t subscribe to Dr. Peters’ journal or watch Sports Science, because many of the players listed below must still think diving is faster than remaining upright.  And so they continue to slide headfirst; and they continue to get hurt.

It happened again . . . on Opening Day.  John Jaso – the Rays catcher who came over in a trade from Oakland and who was supposed to be a mainstay of the rebuilt ball club – decided to dive headfirst into second base and, shock of shock, sprained his wrist.  Goodbye first two weeks (at a minimum), hello disabled list.

Here is a totally not comprehensive list of guys with questionable base-running decision-making over the past few seasons:

Josh Hamilton, while playing for the Rangers, broke his humerus diving headfirst into home plate on a foul pop.  This play was bad on so many levels that I have chosen not to discuss any of them – it is simply too annoying.

But Josh was not through.  While playing for the Angels, and pocketing 5/$125M, he dove headfirst into first base.  Result: Torn ligaments in his thumb, out 47 games.  (In other words, he was paid $7.25M to sit on the bench due to his bone-headed play.)

Early in 2014, the Wild Horse (‘s Ass), Yasiel Puig, strained a ligament in his thumb diving into first base.

On Opening Day, 2013, Dustin Pedroia tried to beat a throw at first by diving into the bag.  He tore the ulnar collateral ligament in his thumb.  He refused to go on the DL, and played the entire season with the injury, but his numbers were down; he required off-season surgery; and didn’t recover as quickly as he had hoped.  As a result, he had another off year in 2014.  If you are scoring at home, that is two years of lost production to try to save (and to actually lose) 10 milliseconds on Opening Day.  Was the risk worth the (lack of) reward?

This one is priceless.  After being hit by a pitch in 2011, Shin Soo Choo had surgery on his thumb.  So, how did he go about protecting that injury?  In 2013 he slid headfirst into first.  This, of course, resulted in his spraining the same thumb.  He had this to say:

“Stupid play.  I tell myself, and I tell a lot of players, the worst play is the headfirst slide into first base and home plate.  But I did it.  I don’t know why I did it.”  Wise words from a wise man.

Michael Bourne didn’t get injured on his actual dive into first base, rather he was spiked when Matt Thornton (covering on the play) came down on his hand.  He missed 20 games.

Absent trying to avoid a tag coming down the line, what about this play ever makes sense?  This really may be the worst play in all of sports.

But first base isn’t the only culprit.

Rafael Furcal broke his thumb sliding headfirst into third base.  The injury was so bad that he considered retiring, and he hasn’t played regularly since 2012.

Yunel Escobar made an appointment with a neurologist after he collided with Andy LaRoche’s knee at third base.  Diagnosis: Concussion.

How about this one.  A player who, by all accounts, has abundant potential, but a chronically bum shoulder.  So what does he do: slide headfirst, of course.  Only, as luck would have it, Ryan Zimmerman didn’t hurt his shoulder.  No, he tore an abdominal muscle that required surgery and caused him to miss six weeks.

Ben Zobrist missed a few weeks with a dislocated thumb diving into second.

Not to be outdone, Alex Gordon missed four weeks with a broken thumb after diving into second base.

Jason Heyward sprained his thumb diving into third.  He avoided the DL, but hit .172 in his next 24 games.

Billy Hamilton jammed his middle finger diving into second base.  If I have to give anyone a pass, it may be Billy Hamilton.  This guy is so fast and runs so low to the ground – a la Ricky Henderson (kids, ask your parents) – that his momentum truly carries him forward (see this play from last week).

Carl Crawford injured not one, but two fingers with a dive into second base (a double-whammy of stupidity).

Ryan Ludwick tore his labrum, and missed 116 games, after diving into third.

Bryce Harper required surgery on his thumb and missed two months, also at third base.

Nolan Arenado missed six weeks after diving into second.  Thus denying us 37 games where he could potentially make plays like this:

Ian Kinsler suffered a stress reaction (one step below broken ribs, but worse than an oblique injury) diving into third.  He missed 25 games.

Early last season, Mike Napoli dove into third base.  He dislocated his ring finger.  He went on the 15-day DL, and had to tape his hand before every at bat for the remainder of the season.  I really only included this injury so I could show this picture:

I could keep going, but I think you get the idea.

Davey Lopes was able to steal 557 bases in his career, making him one of the greatest if all time.  And yet, to hear him tell it, “I never slid headfirst, ever.”

If none of the above is enough to convince you – to convince you to convince your kid – that sliding headfirst is a bad idea, how about this coup de grace:

Medical studies have confirmed that “sliding headfirst poses a far greater risk of serious injury because of the exposure of the head and neck.  Anything from a concussion to a cervical strain or even spinal-cord injury might result, particularly when there is contact with a player blocking the path.  In addition, the propensity for upper-extremity injury is heightened, not only because of the mechanics involved and collisions that are likely, but also because these joints are more vulnerable than the sturdier joints of the lower body — which have a greater preponderance of injury with feet-first slides.  Even the abdominal muscles are at greater risk for strains with headfirst slides due to the outstretched position of the body.”

Or, to keep it simple, ask yourself how many injuries you have seen, read, or heard about, when a player slides feet-first.

And with that, the offense rests.

PLAY BALL!!

THEY’RE BACK

Forget all this nonsense about the Monday after the Super Bowl; and forget ESPN’s world dominance and their creation of “Opening Night” the Sunday before.  Opening Day – Monday – should be a National Holiday.  A day when kids are off school (oh, right, they are already), and parents have freedom from meetings, and phone calls, and what’s that thing called, “work”, and everyone has the G-d given right to head over to the ballpark and enjoy this (hint: it’s the D-Backs’ new dessert, the Churro Dog):

I guess the one benefit of “Opening Night” is that the Cubs get to actually “start” the season 0-1.  The more things change . . .

. . . The less they stay the same.  There were exactly 158 days between Alex Gordon being left 90 feet from the promised land of a tie game in the bottom of the ninth inning of Game 7 of the World Series, and Jon Lester’s first pitch (a strike) at the corner of Sheffield and Waveland (where, apparently, there are no bleachers and not nearly enough working bathrooms).  The times, the ballparks, the rules, the teams, they are a changin’!

If you are not like me (and hopefully you are not nearly as obsessed), you kept only half an eye on the Hot Stove, you read a few columns (hopefully even this Blog), and you heard a few rumors.  Well now that the 2015 baseball season is upon us, allow me to highlight some of the changes you may have missed, overlooked, or simply forgotten about.  These are provided with commentary, but in no particular order:

Hot Topic: Pace of Play.  Batters must keep one foot in the batter’s box at all times.  There are enough exceptions to this rule that it will probably be legally not enforced more often than not.   Don’t tell that to Adrian Beltre.

The first pitch of an inning must be thrown within 2:25 of the last out of the previous inning if the game is only televised locally; and within 2:45 if the game is national.  Got that?  And remember the ol’ 8 warm-up pitches?  Well, they only exist if you can get them in before the clock strikes the :30 mark.  If not, you forfeit the rest.  Violation of these rules will result in no discipline until May 1st, and then will consist of warnings and fines.  Good luck with that.  Not for nothing, a future installment of Baseballcraziness will deal with the pace of play (stay tuned).

The Front Office Move DuJour: Andrew Friedman, the 38-year old wunderkind from Tampa got 5/$40M from the Dodgers – not to pitch or play centerfield or hit home runs – but to make player personnel decisions.  I guess in a world where CEOs make $50M/year, this is not such a bad deal.  But, come on, that is a lot of money for a guy in khakis.  And the Dodgers still have Ned Colletti on the payroll as a “consultant”, a new GM (Farhan Zaidi, from Oakland), and a new Sr. VP of Baseball Operations (Josh Byrnes, from the Padres).  Chavez Ravine is rocking quite the “C” Suite.

So go the dominoes.  When Friedman left the Rays, it made available an opt-out clause in Joe Maddon’s contract with the Rays – a clause by all accounts he didn’t know or forgot he had.  Traveling across the country in his Winnebago, Maddon decided to test the market and landed on the North Side of Chicago for 5/$25M.  In keeping with the AL East to the NL Central theme, Theo Epstein and Jed Hoyer (formerly of the Red Sox), along with Crazy Joe (formerly of the Rays), were able to woo Jon Lester (formerly of the Back Bay) to the Friendly (if currently unsightly) Confines.  I guess familiar faces and $155M have a way of making that type of transition a skosh easier.

Back in L.A., Friedman immediately went about cleaning house, spending Guggenheim’s money, and remaking the ballclub in someone’s image.  In baseball there is an adage about being strong up the middle.  I guess Friedman and Company think the same way.  A new catcher (Yasmani Grandal from San Diego, by all accounts a defensive upgrade over A.J. Ellis, although Ellis did get a 1-year deal to catch Clayton Kerhsaw every 5^th day); a new 2B (Dee Gordon out in a “sell-high” move; and their neighbor to the south, Howie Kendrick, in for at least 1 season); Hanley gone in an effort to avoid the expensive long-term deal knowing that they have a stud knocking on the door in AAA, and J-Roll in from Philly to hold the fort for a few months – potentially the whole season (and rewarding the faithful with a game-winning three-run jack on Opening Day, and two painful errors in Game 2); and the merry-go-round in CF is over, with Joc Pederson taking over full-time duties (service time be damned (and if you don’t know what that means, maybe it should be the topic of another article down the road when Kris Bryant and Addison Russell make their debuts)).

As a side note, when 70% are not watching the Dodgers, it is easy to forget that the Dodgers have Juan Uribe at 3B, they signed Hector Olivera for $60M+ to play where, exactly?, they still have Alex Guerrrero ($28M) who has a contract that allows him to refuse to go the minors (which is just as well as he got his ear bitten off there last season), Justin Turner, and Kiki Hernandez, all to play the infield.  And we cannot forget that, even with all of the off-season moves, there are still 4 outfielders for what I count as 3 positions, which means that Andre Ethier will be the most expensive pinch hitter in baseball this season (3/$55M).

Moving on . . .

As previously discussed on this site, Max Scherzer went to the Capital.  And, living up to the hype, nearly threw a no-no on Opening Day (only to suffer a loss because Ian Desmond forgot how to play baseball over the past few months).

After finishing last (for the second time in three years), the Red Sox yanked out their checkbooks to the tune of nearly $200M for the Panda to play 3B and the aforementioned Hanley Ramirez to (a) gahd the Monstah and (b) try to live up to the legacy of another dreadlocked right-handed slugger by the name of Ramirez who played LF for the BoSox and (c) remind all Red Sox fans what they missed when he was traded to the Marlins for a young hurler named Josh Beckett (who, helped the Red Sox win a World Series, was then traded to the Dodgers as part of a blockbuster deal two years ago, and retired this off-season).

But the Red Sox were not done.  Because they have 7 outfielders (Hanley, Mookie, Shane, Allen, Daniel, JBJ, Rusney Castillo for $72.5M), they decided to try to match that by spending $72M for an infielder who will not – any time soon – displace Panda at 3B, Xander at SS, or Pedey at 2B.  I guess it’s good to be rich.  And yet, they didn’t spend any money to get a #1 starter.  They did, however, dole out $82.5M for Rick Porcello on Opening Day – that’s $20M+/year for a guy with a career 4.30 ERA.  Yes, it is really good to be rich.

Staying in the AL East, Russell Martin went home to Canada, and Alex Anthopoulos brought in one of baseball’s most underrated stars, Josh Donaldson, to play 3B.

This is the first Opening Day since 1996 that Derek Jeter was not on the Yankees roster.  In his place, Didi Gregorius.  And Stephen Drew to back him up.  Bronx Bombers?!?

Nelson Cruz took his talents to the Great Northwest, and made the Mariner bandwagon the most popular place to be in March and April.  It will be interesting to see how many seats are available come the Dog Days.

Ervin Santana got busted for the juice – I guess baseball’s drug problem is not in it’s past.  No matter, while he gives up about $7M in salary for 80 games, he is still guaranteed another $47M+.  Who says cheaters never prosper?

Hopefully this guy is true to his word, as Giancarlo Stanton – as previously written – signed the richest contract in sports history.  And it certainly doesn’t look like getting hit in the face has had any effect on his power stroke.  Query: How soon until Schutt starts marketing custom faceguards for the Little League set?

As previously written about here, the Cardinals’ present and future slugger, the guy with the million watt smile and million dollar personality, Oscar Tavares, died while driving drunk in the Dominican Republic.  His girlfriend also died in that car.  So tragic.

As morbid as it sounds, the Cards found themselves in need of a new right fielder, so they acquired Jason Heyward from the Braves.  He repaid them with 3 hits on Opening Night.

A-Rod is back.  He scribbled out an apology note to anyone who cared to decipher his handwriting. I guess bygones aren’t always bygones: “Batting seventh for your New York Yankees: Alex Rodriguez . . .”

Torii Hunter is back home.  He signed a 1-year deal with the Twins rather than retiring to watch his sons play baseball and football.

Pete Rose wants back in.  Is this funny or tone deaf (I vote the former):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GYEGUzV-tOs

I saved the best two for last:

The San Diego Padres went out and hired a G.M. with what some might call a checkered past with respect to playing by the rules.  They then decided to forego honoring their long-time play-by-play guy, Jerry Coleman, and instead honor the departing commissioner, with his own special plaza in Petco Park.  The fans loved this idea so much that they started a petition to strip the commissioner’s name from the area.  The Pads were two for two.

But then the Winter Meetings started, and like a drunken sailor stumbling into the Gaslight with a fist full of hundies, A.J. Preller went to work.  In short order he acquired:

• Matt Kemp to play RF;
• Will Myers to play CF;
• Justin Upton to play LF;
• Will Middlebrooks to play 3B;
• Derek Norris and Tim Federowicz to catch; and
• Brandon Morrow and Josh Johnson to round out the pitching staff.

But wait, there’s more.  When no one else was willing to step up and sign Big-Game James Shields, Preller pulled out his Black Amex and ponied up 4/$75M for the horse.  Okay, their work was done, now A.J. could take a breath.

What’s that you say, “the season hasn’t started yet, there’s still time”?  Well, okay, then.  Moments before the first pitch in Wrigley on Sunday night, the Padres acquired the best closer in baseball, Craig Kimbrell, and gave Justin Upton (and the Braves) a nice gift by bringing in his lousy older brother, Melvin, Jr. (nee, B.J.), and the remainder of his $72.25M contract (just $46M left to be paid).

That is a lot of work for the first few months on the job.

And the best story of the off-season happened in one day, in 5 parks, in the Arizona desert.  That is when Will Ferrell decided to go all Jose Oquendo (or, for you local types, Derrel Thomas) and play 10 positions in 1 day – but he added the flair of doing it for 10 different teams.

And he did it all to raise money for cancer research.  Stay classy, indeed!

So there you have it, 5 months synopsized in under 2000 words.

Crack out this mug . . .

And, as Mike Winters said at about 7pm CDT Sunday night . . .

PLAY BALL!!!