Category: Fandom

“What If”: The Butterfly Effect

One on my favorite things to think about when watching baseball is the “what if…” “What if” that last pitch had been called a strike…?  “What if” that ball had been an inch to the right? “What if” the third baseman caught that foul ball?

But now that the baseball season has been in the books for two months, and the hot stove has been burning up, I got to thinking about an interesting (to me, anyway) “what if”, and the butterfly effect that it had on the off-season.

Let’s go back to the bottom of the ninth of Game 5 of the NLDS. While the Dodgers had led 3-0 after five, the score was 3-3 going into the bottom of the ninth. With one on and one out, and rookie catcher Will Smith lined the first pitch he saw from Daniel Hudson to deep right field. According to Rob Arthur (@No_Little_Plans) (who, if you don’t follow, you should), during the regular season balls hit with the same characteristics (exit velocity between 99-101 MPH and a launch angle between 25-27 degrees) flew an average of 385 feet. If Smith’s ball had traveled that far, it easily lands in the right field pavilion, and Smith finds his name mentioned amongst Gibby and Turner and Culberson (look that one up). A few more feet and the Nationals’ curse remains in place, and we would have had yet another Dodgers-Cardinals NLCS, and we possibly get a 2017 World Series rematch.

That is the team analysis. But what about certain players? “What if” Smith became a hero and the Nats went home? What happens with Stephen Strasburg? He had an opt-out in his agreement with the Nationals, meaning he could have become a free agent and walked away from the remaining 4/$100M on his existing deal. It is likley that he would have opted out no matter what, trying to get the CC Sabathia / Clayton Kershaw leverage extension, adding maybe two years and $50M to the deal; or maybe even an additional $80M, pushing the AAV to $30M. But…

Smith’s ball landed in Adam Eaton’s glove, the Nationals won the game in the tenth, and then Strasburg threw seven innings of Game 3 of the NLCS, giving up one earned run while striking out eleven. The Nationals went on to win the pennant.

Then, Strasburg won Game 2 of the World Series, pitching six innings, giving up two earned runs, while striking out seven.

And to put a bow on his post-season, Strasburg went 8-1/3 innings in Game 6 of the World Series, yet again allowing only two earned runs while striking out another seven Astros. This led to him being named the World Series MVP. Which made opting out of his contract a no-brainer – he would never again have more value or more leverage.

So, rather than getting a deal like the ones described above, Strasburg got himself a record contract of 7/$245M. There is simply no way he gets that deal if his season ended at Chavez Ravine in the NLDS.

With Strasburg’s deal in the books, his agent Scott Boras had a baseline to negotiate Gerrit Cole’s new contract. If the Astros has been playing the Dodgers (or the Cardinals) in the World Series, there is a better than zero chance that Cole wouldn’t have been sitting in the bullpen begging to pitch in Game 7, only to be spurned while his team walked off the field in defeat. In fact, against those other opponents, there is a better than zero chance that Cole would have found himself bathed in champagne and on a parade float through the streets of H-Town. And, in that alternate universe, there is no bitter Cole donning a Boras Corp. hat in the clubhouse after said Game 7, seemingly making the decision right then and there that he would be taking his talents elsewhere.

With Cole truly on the market, and with Strasburg’s deal inked, Boras preyed on the Yankees to get a ridiculous 9/$324M out of the Steinbrenners. Without Strasburg’s deal as a precedent, there is simply no way that Cole gets that deal. In fact, odds are that Cole would have gotten – and been happy with – Strasburg’s 7/$245M.

And with those two record-breaking deals done, Boras went to work for Anthony Rendon. Had his season ended at Dodger Stadium, he doesn’t hit .317 with 10 RBI over the NLCS and the World Series, including two huge homeruns in the seventh inning of both Games 6 and 7 in Houston. Going into free agency, the benchmarks for Rendon were Manny Machado at 10/$300M and Nolan Arenado at 8/$260M. But Rendon was able to command $35M/year from the Angels – for 7 years. Without those extra eleven games, there is simply no way Rendon gets a higher AAV than both Machado and Arenado for that many years.

Seven feet. Less than an eyelash of seam height differential on the ball. A fraction of an inch on the barrel of the bat. The flap of a butterfly’s wings. That’s all it would have taken to change history…and destiny. Millions – maybe hundreds of millions – of dollars changed hands when Smith “flew” out to right rather than walking the Dodgers off. Families, teams, and cities were transformed over 84 inches. Will Smith has a long career ahead of himself, so maybe he has easily moved on. But for Clayton Kershaw (he of the back-to-back dingers in the eighth), Dave Roberts, and Andrew Friedman, they have probably gone to bed every night for the past three months thinking, “What if…?”

PLAY BALL!!

 

Crime and Punishment

A few weeks ago the child of a good friend got in trouble at school. When the dust settled and the punishment was doled out, he/she was suspended for five weeks. You read that right, he/she was essentially given a grade-level death sentence. I am not sure what the school hoped to accomplish with this draconian measure, but I doubt the intent was to essentially cause a student to have to repeat a grade. After some much-deserved push-back, the school reduced the sentence to five days. Considerably more appropriate – at least in terms of time. It seems to me that an institution filled with academics could come up with a more productive punishment – one that would benefit the student, the school, and the community at-large, all while acting as a deterrent for potential future offenders. Alas, it was not meant to be.

So, if a private school that prides itself on its progressive policies, a place of higher learning that hopes to usher out into the world fully-formed, quality human beings, cannot figure out a proper penalty for aberrant behavior, I am not sure how we can expect a major sports league to do so. We have seen, time and again, the NCAA, the NFL, the NBA, and of course, MLB, bollox this up twenty-six ways from Sunday school.

Last week I was playing in my weekly softball game and, as one might expect, we started talking about the Houston Astros. To a man (there were no women in the dugout), the belief was that the Astros should have the book thrown at them. Unfortunately, there isn’t really an appropriate book. One suggestion was that the team should be disbanded. Another was that they should have to vacate their 2017 World Series title. And my favorite: they should be forced to play without a shortstop next season.

During our game, while I was playing first base, a call came from the dugout asking my opinion (these are pretty informal affairs). I quickly said, “Well, the max fine is $2 million, so…” and then I had to field my position. But like the echo in Casey’s at bat, there was an immediate response from the mound: “There is no way that $2 million is the most they can fine them,” and then he threw a pitch. This led to another conversation, wherein I promised to do the research.

Insofar as the U.S. Constitution is getting a lot of run these days, it seems fitting to look at the MLB Constitution. I will quote the entirety of Article II, Section 3, with specific highlights:

In the case of conduct by Major League Clubs, owners, officers, employees or players that is deemed by the Commissioner not to be in the best interests of Baseball, punitive action by the Commissioner for each offense may include any one or more of the following: (a) a reprimand; (b) deprivation of a Major League Club of representation in Major League Meetings; (c) suspension or removal of any owner, officer or employee of a Major League Club; (d) temporary or permanent ineligibility of a player; (e) a fine, not to exceed $2,000,000 in the case of a Major League Club, not to exceed $500,000 in the case of an owner, officer or employee, and in an amount consistent with the then-current Basic Agreement with the Major League Baseball Players Association, in the case of a player; (f) loss of the benefit of any or all of the Major League Rules, including but not limited to the denial or transfer of player selection rights provided by Major League Rules 4 and 5; and (g) such other actions as the Commissioner may deem appropriate.

So, the pitcher and I were both correct. $2 million is the maximum fine, for each offense. However, I am not sure how “for each offense” is actually applied. Let’s take a look at some precedent.

In 2017, after a lengthy investigation and a federal trial wherein a former Cardinals executive was sentenced to 46 months in prison for hacking into the Astros database (why are the Astros always in the middle of these things?), MLB handed the St. Louis club a $2M fine and the loss of two later round draft picks (together worth about $1.8M). According to the plea agreement, the executive hacked into the Astros’ system at least five times. Could that have been five “offenses” resulting in a $10M fine? Who knows. What we do know is that that didn’t happen. Further, Commissioner Rob Manfred determined that the executive was a “rogue operator” and that the club did not know or suspect the behavior. Thus, he declined to level the above-referenced $500,000 fine. But it sure seems like he could (should?) have.

With the Astros, we already have at least two “offenses,” and I have no doubt that upon further inquiry, many more will be determined. Was this behavior so egregious that more than $2M could be assessed? We know, from the email discovered by Ken Rosenthal and Evan Drellich that Astros executives were in on the potential cheating, asking scouts to get video of other teams’ dugouts. So, an additional $500,000 is definitely in order.

Let’s play this out. Let’s say Manfred discovers 25 can’t miss violations, and he determines that ten executives were in on it. And let’s say he interprets the “for each offense” to include each offense (for you attorneys, how about that for strict construction; and for you Brady Bunch fans, how about that for exact words). And he throws the whole library at the Astros to the tune of $55M ($2M x 25 plus $500K x 10). Does that do the job? According to Statista, as of 2019, the Astros are worth $1.8 billion. A $55M fine is just 3% of the team’s value. A drop in the bucket – or in Houston terms, a dribble in the spittoon. But, if you base the fine solely on revenue, it is considerably heftier. The Astros had $368M in revenue this year, so a fine this large would represent a 15% hit. Now we are talking behavior modification-type money.

But despite protestations otherwise, money is not everything. The team will get a ton more of that next year, and could simply cut payroll or raise ticket prices to offset the loss. More needs to be done. Let’s take another look at the precedent.

Last year a video appeared showing the Giants CEO, Larry Baer, forcibly struggling with his wife with her eventually ending up on the ground. Manfred reviewed the tape and concluded Mr. Baer’s conduct was “unacceptable under MLB policies and warrants discipline…In determining the appropriate level of discipline, I find that Mr. Baer should be held to a higher standard because as a leader he is expected to be a role model for others in his organization and community.” Baer was suspended for half the season.

If the facts lead where we believe they will, should MLB suspend Jeff Luhnow for half the season? If you will recall, Brandon Taubman, the assistant general manager, was already fired for being a horrible human being, so that would/could leave the Astros without its top two baseball operations executives until July. To make it really hurt, they could extend this until August 1st so the Astros would be without Luhnow for the trade deadline?

And what about A.J. Hinch? The manager either knew or should have known what was happening just outside his dugout? In the NCAA they call that a lack of institutional control. Should he be suspended for half the season? More?

Now let’s get creative and more dicey. What about Alex Cora, the Astros’ 2017 bench coach? He knew – or should have known. Regardless of the fact that he is now the Red Sox manager, he too should face discipline. And my favorite, how about Carlos Beltran? He was the veteran presence on that 2017 Astros club, who showed the younger players how to take certain advantages. My guess is that the investigation will cast a negative light on him as well. How Mets would that be to have their new manager suspended before he ever takes the field?

But since a federal crime only netted two later round draft picks for the Cardinals, I cannot imagine what some sign stealing would garner. How about a loss of the Astros’ 2020 first round pick (#30). And loss of $5M in bonus pool money (essentially their first round allocation). And, as a kicker, the loss of their international bonus pool as well. There is precedent for this, as MLB wiped away the Braves’ international bonus pool for their international signing violations in 2017.

Back to the softball field, it is unrealistic to take the Commissioner’s trophy away from the 2017 club. And, to be fair, there were no trash cans being banged in Dodger Stadium when Yu Darvish got shelled in Game 7. That was on him; and it was on the Dodgers for failing to capitalize on seven baserunners in the first three innings. Plus, if the Astros didn’t win that night, then does Carlos Correa propose to his wife on the field? Do we nullify their marriage, too?

Speaking of Correa, I am not sure Houston should have to play without him next year. I know Alex Bregman feels confident enough to cover the entire left side of the infield, but that seems like a non-starter.

And we can’t disband the team. What would happen to “Deep in the Heart of Texas” if it was not sung 81 times a year in Minute Maid Park?

Our friend’s school meted out a punishment that didn’t fit the crime. Luckily, they corrected their error. I fear that MLB will under-correct in the other direction. The Astros need the professional sports equivalent of a five-week suspension; they need a reprimand that requires them to “fail” next season; they need a rebuke that tells the world that this behavior will not be tolerated. Manfred is in an uneasy spot – he is required to penalize one of his bosses. Heavy is the head that wears the crown. But if we are going to be forced to live in a country that more and more looks like an autocracy, it is time for at least one person to lawfully execute his plenary powers.

PLAY BALL!!

Lying Only Makes it Worse

When I got home from work the other night, my 10-year old daughter had ink all over her arm. I asked her – maybe in a somewhat pointed way – what happened? She looked at her arm, and with feigned shock she said: “Hmm, that must have rubbed off from my paper.” I asked her if someone had written on her and she responded: “I don’t know.” Incredulous, I asked: “You don’t know if someone wrote on your arm?” And that is when the story fell apart and she acknowledged that she and her friend wrote on each other at school.

It was innocuous, frivolous, and thoughtless, but her first instinct – to avoid trouble – was to lie. She is not special. All (most?) kids do this all the time. (Well, I hope so. I would hate to be raising a sociopath.) We are all human, and we often take the path that we hope will offer the least resistance. Unfortunately, that path is often strewn with danger.

Which brings us to the non-baseball baseball topic of the week: Brandon Taubman and the Houston Asstros [sic]. I was speaking with a friend last night and asked him about L’Affair Taubman and he didn’t know anything about it. That reminded me that not everyone follows baseball as closely as I do; and not everyone lives in the baseball bubble – they have lives to live and non-sociopathic children to raise.

Here it is in a nutshell, but it does take some explaining. Here goes:

In 2018, Toronto Blue Jays pitcher Roberto Osuna was arrested on charges that he assaulted the mother of his child. The woman elected not to cooperate with the investigation, gathered her things, and fled back home to Mexico. But Osuna did not escape punishment. MLB suspended him for 75 games for violating the league’s domestic violence policy.

While under suspension, the Blue Jays essentially washed their hands of Osuna, trading him to the Houston Astros. The Astros are an organization steeped in analytics, run by many MBAs who started their respective careers in the banking, finance, and insurance industries. In short, they know a distressed asset when they see one; and they pounced on the opportunity to buy low on Osuna – a 23-year closer with an electric arm and allegedly a closed fist.

Much ink has been spilt about the poor optics of this decision, and the Astros were appropriately scorned for this trade. But, for all intents and purposes, over the past fifteen months the rancor dissipated. Until this past Saturday night.

Osuna came into the ninth inning of Game 6 of the ALCS with a chance to send the Astros back to the World Series. He failed. He gave up a game-tying two-run home run to DJ LeMahieu. He was, of course, bailed out by José Altuve in the bottom of said ninth inning, and Houston got to the World Series in spite of Osuna’s metldown.

In the midst of the clubhouse celebration, Astros Assistant General Manager, Brandon Taubman, got a little carried away. With a cigar in his mouth and a champagne bottle in his hand, he repeatedly (read: at least six times) yelled: “Thank God we got Osuna! I’m so fucking glad we got Osuna!” This was an odd time to be that exuberant, insofar as Osuna had just nearly blown the game. This was a horrific thing to shout for a bunch of other reasons as well.

Taubman apparently screamed this to, or in front of, or near, three female reporters, one of whom was wearing a purple domestic violence awareness bracelet. At first blush, there was no apparent reason for this outburst. But then we learned that Taubman had previously complained about the bracelet-wearing woman – he was unhappy with her tweets addressing domestic violence. The incident was so outlandish that an Astros staffer reportedly apologized for Taubman’s behavior in the immediate aftermath.

On Monday, Stephanie Apstein, a reporter for Sports Illustrated, and one of the recipients of Taubman’s tirade, reached out to Gene Dias, the Astros media relations director, to explain what she intended to write, and to ask if he, the Astros, or Taubman had a comment. Dias, apparently, rejected all three offers. So Monday night Apstein published her story.

That is when this whole thing became like the incident with my 10-year old daughter. My guess (and, truth be told, this is only a guess) the following is what transpired next:

  • Dias reported the incident to his boss, who reported it to his/her boss, who brought it to Jeff Luhnow, the Astros General Manager and President of Baseball Operations.
  • Luhnow confronted Taubman, and he could either admit someone wrote on his arm, or he could dissemble. He chose to dissemble.
  • Taubman made up a story about protecting a player and lied about what actually happened.
  • Luhnow huddled with the rest of the front office and thought, “that works.” And then they ran with it.

So, about one hour after Apstein’s story hit the internet, the Astros put out the following statement:

“The story posted by Sports Illustrated is misleading and completely irresponsible. An Astros player was being asked questions about a difficult outing. Our executive was supporting that player during a difficult time. His comments had everything to do about the game situation that just occurred and nothing else – they were also not directed toward any specific reporters. We are extremely disappointed in Sports Illustrated’s attempt to fabricate a story where one does not exist.”

Jeff Passan, Joe Posnanski, Buster Olney, Yahoo Sports, the Baseball Writers Association, and countless others have opined about this hogwash and how dangerous it was to the integrity of a sportswriter, so there is no need for me to pile on. Suffice it to say that at least four other members of the press immediately corroborated Apstein’s account and disputed the drivel offered by Houston’s front office.

Despite their best (worst?) efforts, when the issue wouldn’t just “go away,” when the “the ink just rubbed off on my arm” was being met by a cynical press corps, the Astros had to try again. Taubman tried his hand with the following:

“This past Saturday, during our clubhouse celebration, I used inappropriate language for which I am deeply sorry and embarrassed. In retrospect, I realize that my comments were unprofessional and inappropriate. My overexuberance in support of a player has been misinterpreted as a demonstration of a regressive attitude about an important social issue. Those that know me know that I am a progressive and charitable member of the community, and a loving and committed husband and father. I hope that those who do not know me understand that the Sports Illustrated article does not reflect who I am or my values. I am sorry if anyone was offended by my actions.”

Failed…again.

Lied…again.

When an equally feckless statement from Astros owner Jim Crane failed to move the societal needle, MLB stepped in and sent their own investigators. It took 72 hours, but on the fourth try, after being asked “do you really expect me to believe you don’t know if someone wrote on your arm?” the Astros issued the following statement:

“During the past two days, the Astros pro-actively assisted Major League Baseball in interviewing Astros employees as part of MLB’s investigation of the events published in the recent Sports Illustrated article. Major League Baseball also separately interviewed members of the media over the past 24 hours.

Our initial investigation led us to believe that Brandon Taubman’s inappropriate comments were not directed toward any reporter. We were wrong. We sincerely apologize to Stephanie Apstein, Sports Illustrated and to all individuals who witnessed this incident or were offended by the inappropriate conducts. The Astros in no way intended to minimize the issues related to domestic violence.

Our initial belief was based on witness statements about the incident. Subsequent interviews have revealed that Taubman’s inappropriate comments, were, in fact, directed toward one or more reporters. Accordingly, we have terminated Brandon Taubman’s employment with the Houston Astros. His conduct does not reflect the values of our organization and we believe this is the most appropriate course of action…”

What became clear, from MLB’s investigation and the above press release, is that Taubman, when faced with a bad situation, chose to lie. And the Astros, when faced with a bad situation, chose to lie. Taubman got fired, and the Astros faced a firing line. And then their two best pitchers lost back-to-back games at home for the first time ever; they now trail the World Series two games to none; and everyone in the country who knows this story is rooting against them. Karma is indeed a bitch!

The irony of all of this – what I tell my kids each and every time they try this bullshit – is that there was no need to lie, and the issue could go away with a simple “I’m sorry.”

In an alternate universe, when confronted with his aberrant behavior, Taubman could have said: “Man, I was so excited, and maybe a little tipsy on champagne, and I said something really stupid. I regret what I said and sincerely apologize to those writers.”

And in that same alternate universe, the team could have issued a statement saying: “One of our executives used poor judgment and used wholly inappropriate language in the clubhouse. We take these matters seriously. We have suspended Brandon Taubman for four weeks without pay, we have made a $500,000 donation to the Texas Council on Family Violence, and we – as an organization – sincerely apologize to the objects of this outburst as well as anyone else who witnessed or was affected by it in any manner.”^^

They could have done this on Monday, and by Tuesday there would not have been a story. Taubman would have been back at work before the winter meetings, and the Astros would not have engendered a level of ill-will not seen since…they acquired Osuna in the first place.

It is just so easy: Tell the damn truth. I sound like a broken record to my kids, but for the benefit of the entire Astros organization, here goes: Whatever it is, lying only makes it worse!

PLAY BALL!!

^^One last note: Moments before this posted, prior to Game 3 of the World Series, Stephanie Apstein met with Jeff Luhnow and asked that the original press release – the one that impugned her integrity and claimed she made the whole thing up – be retracted. Luhnow would not commit to doing so. Go Nats!

The Two-Strike Pitch (Redux)

Four years ago I wrote an article about what I love most about baseball. In case you have forgotten, or – more likely – in case you never read it, what I love most about baseball is the two-strike pitch.

And if that is my favorite aspect of the game, then boy-oh-boy did I get the motherlode on Saturday night. If, for some reason, you missed what happened in the top of the ninth inning of Game 6 of the ALCS, let me give you a brief recap:

With Astros leading 4-2, three outs away from the pennant, Gia Urshela lined the third pitch he saw from Roberto Osuna into left field, thus bringing the tying run to the plate. Brett Gardner followed and struck out on four pitches. But that turned the lineup over, and the Yankees’ best hitter came to the plate. It is at this moment that I said the following: “I see a two-run homer in our future.” (True story; I have witnesses.)

When I was in high school I had a coach who was studying to get his PhD in Psychology. He used his team, a bunch of tenth graders, as his guinea pigs, and tried all sorts of psychological tricks on us. I once asked him: “Bart, which would you want up in a clutch situation? The guy who is 0-4 or the guy who is 4-4?” True to form, he responded: “I would prefer the guy who has the most confidence.” Yeah, thanks for nothing, Bart!

On Saturday night, we got to see Bart’s concept put to the test. DJ LeMahieu hit .327 this year – his second best season ever – with a career-high 33 homeruns. He was hitting .320 in the ALCS when he stepped to the plate representing the tying run. But he was also 0-4 in Game 6. So, Bart, did we want this guy at the plate or not?

As a Yankee-hater, I certainly did not. He looked confident to me.

Osuna was able to get ahead of LeMahieu 1-2, setting up the pinnacle of baseball situations: the two-strike pitch. A slider away and the count was even. DJ then fouled back four straight pitches. But how about this: he fouled off two 97+ MPH fastballs, then an 85 MPH change-up, and then a 98.7 MPH fastball. How does one do that, on that stage, in that situation. Maybe Bart was right; maybe you want the guy with confidence. LeMahieu then took a 98+ MPH up and in to push the count full. For those of you counting at home (I sure was), that was six straight two-strike pitches. An embarrassment of riches.

And as Osuna checked the sign from Martín Maldonado, my thoughts went in a different direction. I said to a friend of mine: “This guy’s parents are just a few years older than us, and they are sitting in that ballpark watching this. Imagine how they feel?!”

As we all know, DJ hit the tenth offering – the seventh two-strike pitch – into the bleachers in right field to tie the game. Unbelievable!

As we also all know, the homerun that could have gone down in history as an all-timer may soon be forgotten, as José Altuve hit a game-deciding, series-ending, pennant-clinching, walk-off two-run dinger with two outs in the bottom of the ninth inning. The only downside: he did it with one strike.

But we as baseball fans can never allow ourselves to forget the two-strike pitch, or the seven of them that DJ LeMahieu saw on Saturday night. If that at bat didn’t get your heart pumping, nothing ever can, nothing ever will.

One last note: I called Altuve’s homerun, but not like Gerrit Cole. From The Athletic:

“Man, if he throws anything down and in, it’s going out,” Cole said.

“It’s going out to right,” Miley replied.

Cole was having none of it.

“It’s not going out to right. It’s going out to left. And it’s going deep,” he said.

I called that homerun two years too early. With the Dodgers trailing 12-11 with two outs in the top of the ninth inning of Game 5 of the 2017 World Series, Austin Barnes was on second base representing the tying run. As I stood in the stands behind the Dodgers’ on deck circle in Minute Maid Park, I turned to the Astros fans next to me and said that Chris Taylor was going to get a hit to tie the game just so Altuve could walk it off in the bottom of the ninth. Sure enough, Taylor got that hit. But…Altuve flew out to lead off the bottom of the ninth. My career as a prognosticator seemed to be over. I guess I am just ahead of my time!

The Fall Classic begins tomorrow. Scherzer v. Cole; Strasburg v. Verlander. Before we even get to Greinke v. Corbin, we will witness four potential Hall of Fame pitchers starting the first two games of the World Series. Those guys have a total of 8,729 career strike outs between them, including 1,120 this season. I feel pretty confident we will see plenty of two-strike pitches.

PLAY BALL!!

Game Day of Atonement

The email came in a little before 8pm Monday night. It was so simple, so pure, it didn’t require anything in the body; just the “re” line: “game 5?”

I didn’t get the message right away, but upon reading it, the response was also simple: “Can’t do it.”

I have omitted the first two words of my reply, as many of you reading this have probably inferred. The reason my response was so quick and so simple was those two missing words: “Yom Kippur!”

Now, I’m no Sandy Koufax, and don’t hold myself to some grand level of religiosity. But Yom Kippur – that one is sacrosanct. I am sure there will be many an MOT in Dodger Stadium on Wednesday night, breaking their fast with stale buns rather than challah, Dodger Dogs in place of corned beef. I just won’t be one of them. And, to be perfectly clear, I won’t vilify anyone for doing so. It’s just not for me.

But this is where things get interesting. According to Jewish Baseball News, there are nine current Jews in the majors. I am not sure when they updated their site, but I know they missed at least two others: Rowdy Tellez played for the Blue Jays and Ryan Lavarnway got 18 ABs for the Reds this season. So there are eleven big leaguers who may (or may not) have been bar mitzvahed. (And, not for nothing, the list of Jewish minor leaguers reads like the temple all-aliya team: Fishman, Gold, Goldstein, Gurwitz, Kaminsky, Rosenberg, Weiss, Weitzman, etc.)

Of those eleven in the show, a shocking five play for teams who made the playoffs. Ryan Braun was sent home in the Wild Card game, and Garrett Stubbs didn’t make the Astros’ playoff roster. So then there were three that mattered…and boy do they matter. Alex Bregman is an MVP hopeful for the Astros, Joc Pederson is providing pop for the Dodgers, and Max Fried may find himself on the biggest bema of his life.

The Astros will take the field in Tampa tonight at 7:07pm EST. That is exactly one minute before the sun will set and Kol Nidre will begin (wouldn’t it be great to have the shofar blown right before the umpire yells “Play Ball”!?). For some reason, I don’t see Bregman leaving the field after the first pitch is thrown. For those less devout, they may claim Bregman isn’t actually playing on the holiest day of the year, but I think that is a loophole he may need to atone for come Wednesday morning – I am sure he can find a nice shul in the Tampa area. The good news for Bregman is that, win or lose, he will be able to break the fast without worrying about any game on Wednesday (Game 5 of that series would not be until Thursday).

The sun is due to set in Atlanta on Wednesday at 7:13pm. That is two hours and eleven minutes after the start of Game 5 of the Braves-Cardinals series. For baseball in 2019, we may only be in the fifth inning when the Day of Atonement draws to a close, which means that Max Fried may be able to take the field without any guilt or remorse. For multiple reasons, Mr. Fried will be asking his high school teammate, Jack Flaherty, not to make too quick of work of the Braves. But a main reason would be so that the Book of Life can be sealed before Max has to take the mound. Time seems to be on his side.

And Joc Pederson may get just as lucky. If Dave Roberts elects not to start Young Joc (which is unlikely with Stephen Strasburg* on the mound), he would need only 51 minutes from the first pitch (5:37pm PST) until sundown (6:28pm PST) to avoid offense. If Joc is not in the starting lineup, there is a fair chance he does not get called off the bench to pinch hit until holiest day of the year is officially over. One wonders which outcome Joc prefers. One wonders which outcome Joc’s rabbi prefers? And one wonders, will Sandy Koufax wait until 6:28pm to take his seat next to the Dodger dugout?

*At this moment, you may be asking about the pitcher Joc and the Dodgers are facing Wednesday night: Stephen Strasburg. Although he is a “burg” and married to a woman named Rachel, he is decidedly not Jewish, and typically wears a cross around his neck when on the mound. For him, there is no ecclesiastical dilemma.

For those of you observing Yom Kippur, I wish you an easy fast. May your Yizkor and Ne’ilah services end early enough that you get to watch the end of what stands to be an epic Game 5.

Good Yuntif and then…

PLAY BALL!!

Head First Strikes Out…Again

As a writer (am I a writer?), I love an evergreen topic. It makes it so much easier to create content.

As a baseball fan (I am a baseball fan), however, certain evergreen topics are infuriating.

Last week I was listening to the Executive Access podcast (a must-subscribe if you love the inner working of baseball), and Mark Feinsand was speaking with Scott Sharp, Assistant GM of the Royals. They got to talking about the 2015 World Series, and Sharp was remarking about Eric Hosmer’s sprint home to tie Game 5 in the ninth inning. But, Sharp was lamenting about Hosmer got home, “after I told him countless times in the minor leagues: do not slide head first.” Sharp, as a former player, and a former director of player development, knows of the dangers that are inherent to leading with your hands, and instructed his players, repeatedly, not to do that. Obviously, they didn’t listen.

I wrote about this subject in 2015, and 2016, and 2017. I skipped last season, but as with other evergreen topics, we are back here again.

Two weekends ago, the Cubs MVP hopeful Javier Báez dove trying to steal second base. He ended up fracturing his thumb, and is out for the rest of the season. It’s not like the Cubs could use him for their last four weeks. It’s not like his .848 OPS, 4.7 WAR, and his glove work at shortstop would have been helpful down the stretch. The Cubbies are 6-5 since he got injured and fell out of a playoff spot for the first time since early in the season (as of this writing, they have a Wild Card spot). Do you think the Cardinals, leading the division and with seven games left against the Cubs, are licking their chops knowing that Nico Hoerner (he of the 20 career ABs) will be manning short in lieu of “El Mago”? I feel confident that the folks on the North Side don’t feel so good about that.

But I guess people (and teams) simply don’t learn their lessons. The other night I got home from work, plopped down on the couch, and turned on the television. The MLB Network was airing the Cubs vs. the Padres, and at the exact moment I turned on the game, Jason Heyward was diving into home plate, trying to score on a short fly ball to left. Upon review he was safe, and it may have been because of the impressive body control he displayed with the dive that he was so. The Cubs were trailing 6-2 at the time, and ended up losing the game. Did the reward of scoring a run down four in the fourth inning outweigh the risk of Heyward possibly breaking a finger, a hand, or a shoulder? In a pennant race? In a must-win game? When your best player had just been lost for the season doing the same thing? I can only imagine Theo, Jed, and Maddon all held their individual and collective breaths waiting for Heyward to pop up unharmed.

Why do players continue to do this? Why do teams still allow it? In 2017, Mike Trout potentially lost another MVP when he tore the UCL in his thumb sliding head first into second base. He was off to his best season ever. So what did Trout do upon his return? Did he forswear ever leading with his hands again? Nope. He got one of those new-fangled kitchen mitts that players wear to “protect” themselves when the slide…you guessed it, head-first. This is insanity.

What needs to happen to make this stop? Does a player need to break his neck and die on the field? Does a promising player have to have his career ended in one fateful moment? Does it need to start in Pony League (Little League already bans the practice)? High school? College?

All we read these days is how players who have swung the bat a certain way for 20+ years go to a hitting guru in the off-season and change their swing path. Think about that – a player has the ability to change something he has done probably a million times – swing a bat – in a matter of a few months. But, for some reason, he cannot “relearn” how to slide? Even though he slides feet first at least some of the time? Even though sliding is not as natural to him as swinging the bat. Any player who says he can’t change the way he has always done it is, pardon my French, full of shit. He doesn’t want to change – and no one is making him change. That has to change.

In 2016, I did a very rough break down of the costs associated with injuries resulting from head first slides (in salary terms only). That list and those costs could easily be recalculated upwards over the past three years. No matter; it is too depressing.

Every time I watch a player dive into a base, my heart stops – just for a moment. As a parent, it makes me angry; as a fan, it makes me nervous; and as a business person, it makes me crazy.

PLAY BALL!!

What We Do For Our Kids

When we decided to send our youngest to sleepaway camp in Wisconsin four years ago, I didn’t appreciate that it would require me to make two trips to the Midwest each summer. Of course, there is always the possibility that she could fly alone, but insofar as she was seven years old her first time, we thought it best to actually drop her off at the bus.

And then the light bulb went off. It didn’t take long for me to figure out that camp drop-off and pick-up in Chicago gave me ample opportunities to visit some beautiful stadiums and see some great games.

That first year, I just dipped my toe, going to Wrigley Field for a Saturday matinee.

The second year I realized that there are two ends to the summer, and baseball could be had on both. So, for drop-off, we took a trip to the Southside, and saw the White Sox play at Guaranteed Rate Field (by far the worst name in the sport). But for pick-up, we forwent Chicago and took the Milwaukee option. That gave me a chance to visit Miller Park. That place is splendid – many parks could learn A LOT from what they do and how they do it in Brew City (aka Cream City). If you have never been, I highly recommend The Selig Experience (which, ostensibly is an homage to Bud Selig, but is actually a multimedia presentation that tells the story of major league baseball in Milwaukee) and the frozen custard (which needs no explanation).

Year three brought all sorts of new adventures. The Cubs were in town when I dropped my daughter, but I didn’t need another game in the Friendly Confines. Especially when Chicago is just a short flight from Minneapolis, where the Twins were taking on the Rays. So, after saying “goodbye,” I raced to O’Hare to catch a flight to the land of a thousand lakes. I walked through the gate a few minutes before the National Anthem and enjoyed the hell out of Target Field. They have a vast array of beers on offer, fantastic food, and the Bat & Barrel – a restaurant-bar with indoor-outdoor seating – has walls and furniture full of relics from Twins’ seasons and players past. It is the most casual team hall of fame I have ever seen.


 

One unsung feature of the park: In the Town Ball Tavern in the left field corner, they have the original parquet floor from the Minneapolis Armory that George Mikan and the Lakers used to play on.

When it came time to pick up from camp, I decided to be ambitious. Did you know that if you take an 8am flight from LA, you can be in Dallas by 1pm, and in Globe Life Park by the second inning? Neither did I, until I did. Sure, a day game in North Texas in mid-August ain’t a day at the beach (and is the primary reason they are about to unveil a domed stadium next year), but that is totally beside the point. The park will be closing soon, and this was my opportunity to visit. That park had a lot of cool features, including a right field porch that allows you to feel if not in the action, at least on top of it. Few ballparks still have this design (most notably, the former Tiger Stadium), and soon the Rangers won’t either. Now, if you have been to Dallas once, it is my humble belief you can check that box and move on with your life. So move on I did.

I took leave of the Rangers and Mariners after eight innings, headed to the airport, and found myself in the BBQ capital of the world a short while later. I was in the parking lot of Kauffman Stadium when the last notes of the National Anthem rang out, and had a seat behind home plate and a beer in my hand before the end of the first inning. The Royals took the wood to the Cubbies that night (I could not escape the Cubs); I ate barbequed pork and ice cream (not together), and had myself a hell of a night. The crew at “The K” could not have been friendlier, the Royals Hall of Fame was terrific, and I see how their kids’ area became the inspiration for many current stadium upgrades. The next morning I caught a quick flight to Chicago, and was there long before the camp bus pulled up.

This year I elected not to go to a game at drop-off. I took my other daughter with me, and we had lunch downtown and saw Hamilton in the old CIBC Theater. It was a great diversion; I was plenty “Satisfied” and was willing to “Wait for It.”

But, since I skipped a game on the front side, I needed to spruce things up on the back. And this year, my son would be traveling with me. As you can tell, I have hit a lot of parks in and around the Chicago-land area. At this point, I need to get creative. And, remember, the timing of all of it – flights, distance from the airport, and most importantly, games being played – has to be precise. The planning of this is not for the faint of heart. When the MLB schedule came out last spring, I overlaid that against the camp schedule. I perused all day games within a couple hour flight of Chicago, and then start checking the airlines. It took some imagination and some willingness to miss a few pitches, but it was doable.

And that is how I found myself waking up Wednesday morning at 3:45, to catch a 5:45 flight to Detroit. The plane landed a few minutes before 1pm local time, and we were in the park by the top of the second inning. (Note: Showing up a little late makes buying a single ticket from a scalper extremely reasonable ($15).)

Comerica Park is terrific. The ushers were unbelievably helpful (they came down before every inning to see how we were doing and if we needed anything). The Tigers have an awesome row of statues in left center field that give you a taste of their history; and they have displays along the concourse celebrating each decade of their existence (I was preferable to the Trammel-Whitaker-Evans-Gibby ‘80s teams, but your mileage may vary).

 

And thanks to the MLB Foodfest that came through LA earlier this year, we knew to eat the chicken shawarma nachos. They didn’t disappoint. Unfortunately, Miguel Cabrera (0-4), and the hometown team, did. The White Sox (what is it with these Chicago teams stalking me?) whacked them around. But if you ever find yourself in the Motor City, I highly recommend taking in a ballgame. Unfortunately, we had to leave after eight innings to make it to the airport for our 5:54pm flight to the Steel City, but we certainly got the flavor of the place.

The next plane landed right before the first pitch of the Pirates-Brewers game, and – despite some shaky Lyft driving – we were in the park by the second inning. Again, arriving late gives you incredible leverage with the few scalpers still hanging around (second row down the left field line, $20). PNC Park lives up to the hype. It truly does have the best press box view in the game (see above). It has a homey feel – like someone stretched a minor league stadium into major league size. The steel (fittingly) is exposed. The people are warm and convivial. The site lines are great. And the food is delicious (where else can you get a pulled pork and pierogi sandwich?). My one beef is that the game went by too quickly. I wanted a slugfest that lasted four-plus hours; I wanted a 15-inning marathon; I wanted an excuse to stay there longer. Alas, it was not meant to be. Continuing the theme of the day, the home team lost, but that at least afforded us a  full nine innings. While we didn’t get to see Christian Yelich play, I did get to meet Travis Shaw and the Pirate Parrot under the stands. All in all, it was a phenomenal experience.

There are tons of hotels around PNC Park, but I intentionally chose one on the opposite side of the Clemente Bridge. When planning this out, I wanted to make sure we walked across that famous bridge, got a view of the park above the Alleghany, and had one last moment to take in the day. It was the perfect capstone.

When we laid our heads on our pillows in Pittsburgh Wednesday night, we had traveled over 2,000 miles in the air and nearly 100 miles on the ground; we had been in three major cities, seen two baseball games, eaten way too much food; and we had memories for a lifetime.

The next morning we flew to Chicago to pick up my daughter from her camp bus. It was the least we could do. It really is amazing what we do for our kids!

PLAY BALL!!

Actions Should Have Consequences

Last weekend, in what turned out to be his final act as a member of the Cleveland Indians, Trevor Bauer hurled a ball from the pitcher’s mound into the batter’s eye beyond the center field fence – some 375 feet away. It was a moment of pique. It was, in Bauer’s words, “unbecoming, childish, and unprofessional.” And his manager, Terry Francona, who has been around professional baseball his entire life (he was born during his father Tito’s 4th season in the Bigs), upon reaching the mound to take the vanished baseball from his starter’s hand, had the same reaction that most of us did:

 

 

Bauer knew, immediately, he had done wrong. He was immature and did an act that we would never accept from our children. What made this all the more glaring is that it happened on the field, in the full view of everyone in the park and on television. But these things happen every…single…day in ballparks across our great land (which, to be sure, includes Baltimore). The difference is that most of the time these outbursts occur in the tunnel or in the clubhouse. We might hear about them later – like when a pitcher breaks his hand punching a wall, or we may never. Existential question: Does our ignorance make these actions okay? If a player destroys a urinal with a 34 oz. bat, but no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound? Did it happen?

All of this led me to another question: Who cleans up the mess? Who pays for the damage?

Two nights ago, after another horrible outing, Red Sox pitcher Rick Porcello took out his frustration on two television monitors above the tunnel. He smacked them on his way to the showers (after surrendering 6 runs…again), shattering them both.

I could not get a feed of last night’s game, but I feel certain that those monitors were replaced. Some AV guy in the organization worked late Wednesday night, or came in early Thursday morning, to make sure that the evidence of Porcello’s temper tantrum was wiped away. Was Porcello charged for the cost of the monitors? Did they dock his paycheck for the AV guy’s overtime?

In fairness, Porcello did apologize (sort of): “I kind of wish I did that without cameras being on me…I apologize to everyone that had to see that.” So, I guess, had he smashed some monitors in the video room, his behavior would have been acceptable?

How many times have we seen a player destroy a water cooler after a strikeout? Those cost real money. It may not be significant money to a player making millions of dollars, but that is beside the point.

How about the time David Ortiz – the beloved Big Papi – took his lumber to the bullpen phone at Camden Yards? This was a player committing an act of vandalism right before our eyes. Was he charged with a crime? Was he charged at all? My guess is no, insofar as the Orioles gifted the carcass of that phone to Papi when retired in 2016.

                 Image

Have you seen the clip of Brett Gardner chucking his helmet into the bat rack, only to have it fly back in his face, lacerating his lower lip. That eruption required six stitches. Who paid for those medical expenses? For the broken helmet?

Remember cult hero Chris Sale, going Edward Scissorhands to the White Sox throwback jerseys because he didn’t want to pitch in a collared uniform? He destroyed all of them, got sent home, and was suspended for five games. I guess that counts as paying the piper – but tell that to the clubhouse guy who had to scramble to outfit the team; the guy who utilized part of his budget to procure the jerseys; the guy who cleans, presses, and hangs Sale’s clothes – just right – each and every day. Sale apologized for his actions, but to whom? I sure hope he pulled that clubbie aside and said, “Hey pal, this was not your fault, and I hope I didn’t ruin your day. Here’s a Benjamin, have a meal on me.”

The point is, we allow athletes to get away with shit we would never accept from our kids. And, to make matters worse, there (seems to be) no repercussions for their bad acts. Just once I want to hear that a clubhouse remodel was paid for by the millionaire who took out his frustrations on a handful of inanimate objects. I would love to hear that Player X bought the entire organization a round of drinks for crushing a Gatorade cooler.

Truth be told, some of this may be handled internally, in kangaroo courts and in payroll departments league-wide. But we as fans are left in the dark. We as parents have to try to either justify the player’s actions (John Farrell said this of Chris Sale: “That’s a fiercely intense competitor”), or tell our kids “just because they do it doesn’t mean you can.”

But, contrary to Charles Barkley’s famous refrain, these guys are role models. And it would be great for us to learn the ramifications of their actions…and be able to communicate that to our kids.

In the case of Bauer, it was easy: he was traded two days later. I guess some actions do have consequences.

Now let’s see what the Indians do with The Wild Horse.

PLAY BALL!!

 

Baseball: The Tie That Binds

About eight months ago my son decided he would do a summer program at the University of Texas. This would be an opportunity for him – while still in high school – to live in a dorm, experience college life, and be on his own for a few weeks. It would be an opportunity for me – while still clinging to my kids’ childhoods – to get ready to say goodbye, let go, and lose control. This would be educational indeed.

As the drop-off day approached, as the knot in the parental rope got looser, the knot in my parental stomach got tighter. I felt, not adrift, but an acknowledgement that time is racing by; and, like it or not, he would be heading off to college before I know it. It’s not like he was sprinting away from home like some modern-day Jack Keurouac, saying, “see ya, old man.” To the contrary. But the day is coming. And I sensed it.

After we paid the deposit for this program, we immediately pulled up the MLB schedule to see if either the Rangers or the Astros would be in town around drop-off. Sure enough, the Astros answered our call.

Over the years I have attended ballgames with many different people in my life – and sometimes alone – and each offers a different experience. As I have previously written, taking my father to the World Series will go down as one of my all-time moments. Enjoying a game with my wife, who allows me to educate her about the game, and never seems by bored by my/its minutiae, is always a pleasure. Sitting in the stands with my buddies, drinking a beer while allowing our frenetic lives to slow to and with the pace of the game may be better than yoga. But going to a game with my son will always hold a special place in my heart. Baseball is my eternal gift to him; and he has grabbed it with both arms and has simply internalized it. So visiting Minute Maid Park with him on the same weekend that we began our long (2+ years) goodbye had a certain resonance.

We got to the stadium and took a few laps around. This was my third trip to MMP, but the last time I was there I didn’t get to enjoy the environs – I stood in one spot for hours as the Dodgers and Astros played one of the most epic World Series games of all time. This time I wanted to tour the park with my son, taking in everything it had to offer. I wanted to eat Texas BBQ, drink a Shiner, and enjoy “Deep in the Heart of Texas” during the seventh inning stretch.

After eating, walking, and visiting all the nooks and crannies, around the fourth inning my son and I took our seats behind the Mariners dugout. There were all sorts of baseball fans around us – young and old, near and far, Astros and Mariners. Sitting over my right shoulder was a father and son, both sporting matching Astros jerseys. The boy could not have been more than two or three. This was me, fifteen years and fifteen hundred miles ago. The kid was adorable, and the conversation between dad and boy couldn’t have been more sweet.

With baseballs flying out of ballparks at a record clip this year, we have come to expect fireworks. Hell, the Yankees and the Red Sox combined for 50 runs in two games last weekend in London. But on Friday night in Houston, for nearly three hours, all we got was a measly third inning solo homerun by Mariners rookie Austin Nola (first of his career). In short, there was not much to cheer about.

But then, with two out in the bottom of the eighth, Josh Reddick hit a towering fly ball that landed about five rows deep in the right field seats, tying the game.

The Houston crowd went crazy as the right fielder circled the bases. With all the hoopla – and how loud it gets in a dome – the father and son behind me caught my attention…and my ear. I heard the dad explaining the game as follows: “You see, he ran to first base, and then to second base, and then to third base, and all the way home. That is called a homerun.” And with that, the boy’s eyes lit up, he may have hopped a bit, and he began to cheer anew. I looked to my left, to my son. And then it hit me.

That is what this is all about. We pontificate about contracts and free agency; we worry about our team’s shaky bullpen or failure to hit with men on base; we lament ticket prices and television blackouts. We call in to radio shows and write blogs about the sport. But when you step back and remind yourself of the how and why we love baseball, this is it. A father and son. At the yard on a Friday night. Learning the most basic elements of the game. Root, root, root for the home team. Is there anything more pure? Is there anything more American? Is there anything more special than that?

I have been to countless games in countless parks with my son. And in the years to come, I certainly hope he does the same with his. As I look to the next few years, when he leaves for college – for real – and he doesn’t need me quite as much, and the ties that bind become ever looser, I will know that, whatever else, we have baseball. That bond will never be broken. And when I see a dad explaining the most basic aspects of the game, and a son discovering its inherent beauty, I know this tradition will carry on.

Happy 4th.

PLAY BALL!!

Three Million Reasons Not to Care

Since 2001, the Dodgers have drawn more than three million fans every year, save for 2011, when they fell 65,000 short. Not only are they on pace to hit the mark again this year, they might set their all-time record (2007’s 3.85 million is the number to beat). To paraphrase an Iowan ghost, if you build it, no matter how bad it is, they will come.

And yet, no matter how many fans do come, it has become increasingly clear that the Dodgers don’t care about them. I am not sure when I first started to notice that, but I know I wrote about it in 2016. It may have been…

  • When they allowed the failed and hated owner Frank McCourt to retain ownership of the parking lots, and then jacked up prices, and made it more difficult than ever to navigate.
  • When I noticed a beer line filled with surly customers backed into the single children’s play area on the upper deck.
  • When they essentially gave up on making their games available to 75% of their local television audience.
  • Each time I have tried to get something decent to eat.
  • When they decided to make the walking space between the outfield pavilions a veritable lung cancer PSA, forcing non-smokers who want to travel from right field to left to suffer the gauntlet of a hundred yards of blue cigarette haze.
  • When I finally took a good look at the “batter’s eye” (more about that below).

That said, I do know when I was certain that the Dodgers flat out do not care about their fans: It was around 8pm on Friday, October 26, 2018. It was at that time – the ninth inning of Game 3 of the 2018 World Series, with the score tied 1-1, that the Dodgers closed their concession stands. That is when I knew for sure. To be fair, this is common practice at Dodger Stadium. It is a well-known fact that you cannot get a beer after the seventh inning (a league-wide rule) and cannot get a crappy Dodger Dog after the eighth.

But this was the World Series. This was not the typical Dodger crowd, when half (more?) of those in attendance head to their cars while the last notes of Take Me Out to the Ballgame are still reverberating around the stands. The official head count for Game 3 was 53,114, and the vast majority of them were still there in the ninth inning that Friday night. But the concessionaires were not. The peanut vendors were not. The candy hawkers were not.

If you know me, you know that I will happily climb a soapbox and wax incessantly on the failure of Dodger Stadium concessions. This has become my stock in trade. But, my standard misgivings aside, what we witnessed that night was incredible. Nothing was available for nearly ten innings – for nearly four hours. Think about that for a moment.

Again, to be fair, in the sixteenth inning they did open a dessert window at Aisle 46. The line grew so long, so quick, in multiple directions, that a fan feared he or she might miss a magical baseball moment waiting for an overpriced sundae. I know, because I was one of them. As I have previously written, I took my father to this game, and he and I were famished by 11pm. So I went alookin’ for sustenance, and found myself in line for ice cream. But after a full half inning with no movement, I surrendered, afraid of missing the Dodgers turn at bat in the bottom of the 16th. I am certain people were still in that line when Max Muncy ended the game in the 18th – I just wasn’t going to be one of them.

From a business standpoint, I cannot even begin to calculate how much money the Dodgers (and their concession partner, Levy) left on the table between innings 9 and 18. From a marketing perspective, I cannot even imagine how someone within the organization didn’t stop to think – maybe in the 11th or 12th inning – “we probably have a lot of hungry fans sitting there…hell, there may be some really cranky kids who haven’t eaten in hours.”

Now this is where some team official tells me that union rules don’t allow the concessions to remain open past a certain inning. Fair. Unreasonable, crazy, unacceptable, but fair. To which I would reply that a fan relations person should have then grabbed some colleagues and some ushers, and started chucking bags of peanuts and boxes of Cracker Jacks up and down the aisles. Make it a communal experience. Have Todd Leitz announce:

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are now amongst the longest World Series games ever, so the Dodgers would like to reward everyone still in their seats with some snacks – but if you are lucky enough to catch a bag or a box, be sure to share with your neighbors.”

What a great story that would be. In a battle of wills, with East vs. West, as the clock ticked past midnight, Chavez Ravine would have metamorphosed into a Don Draper Americana ad. Walls would have come down; friendships would have been made; stomachs would have been filled.

Instead, we sat there hungry and tired. So when the ball left the yard at 12:29 a.m., we collectively barely had the energy to hoot and holler. Sure, we did it, because that was what adrenaline and the moment called for. But the minutes and hours preceding Muncy’s heroics called for an organization to care about its fans; not to take its three million trips through the turnstile for granted. Simply put, the Dodgers had ten innings and four hours to prove that they give a shit about their fans. They failed.

Why am I writing about this now, seven months later? I have been to Dodger Stadium five times this season – twice this past week. I cannot say I am shocked, but I am at least stunned, at what I have seen. Two consecutive World Series appearances have done nothing for the Dodgers’ affection for their fans. They still don’t give a shit.

I will grant you, in advance, some of this is petty. But I ask you, shouldn’t the organization want to make its best showing; wouldn’t you expect that going into the season, that the ballpark would be gussied up and looking good? Haven’t we, as fans, earned that respect?

Apparently not.

To begin, as you enter the park in left or right field, you need to plot a course around construction zones. Was there not time to do this over the winter?

During opening week, I saw a sign at the entrance with paint peeling off. Huh?

This season the Dodgers moved Tommy’s Trattoria out of the pavilion and into the concourse. But you wouldn’t know that from the signage, which points you in the wrong direction towards its former location. How can this happen? Who is not looking or who is overlooking these details?

I caution you that what I am about to write will change your viewing experience at Dodger Stadium forever. Once you read these words, you will look and never be able to unsee. You have been warned. Take a look at center field – beyond the wall. You will see a stanchion of speakers. They may be an eyesore, but they do serve a purpose (we can debate the quality another time). Now glance slightly to the left. There you will find an elevated camera well. Every ballpark needs a center field camera – no argument there. But do you see the janky, torn, faded black table cloth/tarp that they use to as part of the batter’s eye to cover the scaffolding? Are we to believe that, in a town as flashy as Los Angeles, with a team as wealthy as the Dodgers, with a ballpark that sells itself on its vistas, that they cannot do better than this? If you have not noticed this before, you may be scoffing now…but just you wait.

There is a rumor – and some leaked sketches – that the Dodgers plan to overhaul center field ahead of the 2020 All Star game. Well, they better get cracking, because they have 13 months to turn a monstrosity into something worthy of the Mid-Summer Classic.

Yes, I am a hypocrite. I give them money, buy season tickets, and go to Dodger Stadium at least a dozen times per year. I could simply stop going. But I think my continued presence gives me standing to complain – I am not the one-time visitor from out of state who simply takes in the grandeur and the palm trees. I am a fan, with kids and disposable income; I am the fan the Dodgers should be trying to please. If, for no other reason, then to insure that I re-up my season tickets again next season.

But, when they are setting attendance records, they have more than three million reasons not to care.

PLAY BALL!!