2018 Season Preview: Oakland Athletics

It’s a beautiful Saturday night in April, and you can think of ten different places you would rather be. But propriety and parental obligation find you walking into your kid’s school spring fundraiser.

You do a quick assessment of the bar to the left (they gave you two whole drink tickets for your $65 admission fee), the lukewarm buffet to the right, and an array of tables directly in front of you. As far as the eye can see are scores of “gifts” that the fundraising committee was able to procure for this special night.

If you like movies, there is a DVD set, Orville Redenbacher, and two pairs of 3-D glasses. If you are into trinkets, there is a jade necklace and matching ring from the family-owned jeweler down the street. You want a little “me time,” there’s a gift certificate to the local spa, including a mani/pedi and some relaxing bath salts. On and on it goes.

And when you are just about at your wits’ end, with the picnic basket/wine bottle/cheese plate/corkscrew combo, you find the section set up for dads. A tastefully framed photograph of the local team’s basketball star; an over-sized sneaker signed by a basketball legend; jerseys from the ’90s. And there, at the end of the table, a pair of tickets (with parking pass) to a baseball game in your hometown ballpark.

The parent who made the latter donation looked up and down the schedule, determined the least exciting game he could imagine, and offered up the tickets as a show of goodwill for his kid’s school. Some schmuck will overbid to sit in seats not otherwise available to the general public, for a game he either couldn’t, or didn’t want to, attend. In one fell swoop, he has one less set of tickets to worry about, and one nice write-off.

You, the schmuck, check your calendar and realize that (a) you are free that Tuesday night in July (as of now), (b) they really are good seats, (c) you planned on going to a few games this summer anyway, and now you can buy tickets, reduce your taxes, and help the school. You quickly jot down your name and your bid. For the next forty-five minutes you circle the table, checking back to see what other parent had the same idea, but was willing to be $25 more generous. As time winds down, as the PTA president announces the final moments of the silent auction, you find yourself hovering. Before you were interested in the tickets; now you need them. One last bid seals the deal, and you find yourself the proud owner of two tickets to the … A’s game. Really, the A’s!? They finished 26 games out of first place last year, and won barely a third of their games on the road. Is it too late to cross out your name/bid?

Yes; yes it is. But fear not; all is not lost. The group of players donning Kelly Green, Wedding Gown White, and Fort Knox Gold (those are the official colors) are a lot more fun and a heck of lot more interesting than you might imagine. Granted, in 2018 they will be little more than a 4-A squad, but the donation has already been made, the tickets are yours to keep.

Let’s get this out of the way: Depending on what the Rangers do between now and Opening Day and/or the trade deadline, the Athletics are and will be either the fourth or fifth best team in the AL West. There are no post-season aspirations for 2018. But no matter. You can dig in to Billy Beane’s thinking and hop on the bandwagon early. The players you see on that Tuesday night in July may very well be playing in October in the not so distant future. And with this handy guide and your in-person account, you will have the ability to say: “I knew them when…”

SCHOLAR ATHLETES: Since you bought the tickets at a school event, there is no better place to start than with these big-brained ballplayers:

If you are lucky to see a start by Kendall Graveman (#49, nickname “Digger”), know that he studied Mechanical Engineering at Mississippi St., is an avid supporter of STEM education, and regularly assists the team with “Science of the Game” demonstrations and clinics. He came to the A’s from the Blue Jays in the Josh Donaldson trade, and went 6-4 with a 4.19 ERA last season. He throws a 93 MPH fastball approximately two-thirds of the time, and strikes out roughly two batters for every one he walks. He should keep the game close.

If Graveman isn’t pitching, maybe Andrew Triggs (#60, “Triggonometry”) will be. Triggs earned a degree in Political Science from USC before he finished his baseball eligibility, so he enrolled in the school’s MBA program. In 2012, young Andrew was the Pac-12 Baseball Spring Scholar Athlete of the Year. Had he not signed with the Royals, who knows what company or country he would be running today. As it stands, last season he won six games with a 4.29 ERA, and had better than a three-to-one strikeout-to-walk ratio. Triggs literally throws nothing but hard stuff (99.5% of his pitches last year were fastballs, sliders, or cutters), so bring a glove to the game and be on the lookout for foul balls hit the other way.

One thing is certain: Absent an injury, Stephen Piscotty (#25, “Momo”), who has a degree in Atmosphere and Energy Engineering from Stanford, will be patrolling right field. More about him below.

HOMETOWN HEROES: The tickets you hold in your hot little hand were the product of you giving back to your community. For that reason, let’s take a look at some local kids doing good:

 Marcus Semien (#10, “Mahkus”) should be the A’s everyday shortstop. Marcus attended St. Mary’s High School in Berkeley, then went to Cal. He originally signed with the White Sox, but came back to the East Bay in 2014. He may not be sure-handed (an MLB-leading/Oakland-record-setting 35 errors in 2015; an additional 21 in 2016), but he can hit – 27 dingers in 2016 and ten more in just 85 games last season. And if you bring your kid to the game, be sure to have her keep a watchful eye on Marcus. In 2016, he won the team’s Heart & Hustle Award, which honors the player who demonstrates a passion for, and best embodies the values, spirit, and traditions of, the game. He is a true role model.

Back-up outfielder Mark Canha (#20, no known nickname), grew up in San Jose and also attended Cal. He was drafted by the Marlins, but escaped to the Rockies, and found his way back home in 2014. Mark missed most of last season with a hip injury, but the A’s have high hopes for the guy who led all rookies in RBI in 2015. And, for kicks, you can follow Mark’s Instagram (@bigleaguefoodie) to get a taste of what and where this big league foodie likes to eat.

The aforementioned Stephen Piscotty learned to walk, run, hit, and throw in Pleasanton (29 miles southeast of Oakland), and as noted above, graduated from Stanford. Piscotty had been a rising star in the Cardinals’ organization since 2015, and played 153 for the Red Birds in 2016. Stephen had an off year last season, as he dealt with his mother being diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, otherwise known as ALS or Lou Gehrig’s Disease. The Cardinals, cementing their “class act” bona fides, agreed to trade Piscotty to the A’s so he could be closer to home, and allow his mom to watch him play all summer. A special green and gold hat tip to Bill DeWitt and John Mozeliak for their humanity and kindness.

The Athletics have another hometown hero that you cannot root for on the field, but in the front office. The A’s scouting coordinator is a 24-year old out the University of Virginia. And she may one day become baseball’s first female general manager. Haley Alvarez was Virginia’s team manager for four years, has worked for the Red Sox, the Reds, and the MLB central offices; and now she finds herself back home in Northern California (she grew up in San Francisco, a Giants fan), helping one of the most progressive teams in the sport to use scouting and analytics to build a team of and for the future. Make sure to tell your kids about her while watching the action on the field.

GOOD CITIZENS: We often view athletes only through the prism of their on-field accomplishments. However, this group of Athletics are more than just athletes. They each utilize their unique place in society to make the world a better place. Whether or not their activities make them philanthropists is open to debate, but each should be judged by more than OPS, DRS, and WAR:

There are many categories into which Jed Lowrie (#8, “Low”) would fit (for instance, he played at Stanford), but for our purposes, let’s take a look at the good deeds of one of the roster’s elder statesmen. This season will be Low’s fifth with the A’s, which comes after stints with the Astros (both NL and AL), as well as his first four seasons in Boston. Jed played 153 games last year, batted .277 with 14 homeruns and was second in the AL with 49 doubles, so the man can hit. But it is off the field where Lowrie makes his greatest contribution. In 2015, he traveled to Colombia as a sports envoy in the MLB’s “Diamond Diplomacy Program” in conjunction with the State Department. He and his wife, Milessa, founded the A’s “Jedi Warriors” program, which provides tickets, batting practice visits, and some pocket cash to spend in the park for families of wounded veterans. Jed and Milessa first founded the Jedi Warriors when Lowrie was playing in Houston, and they brought the program to the bay. In 2014, Jed was the A’s nominee for the prestigious Roberto Clemente Award, given to the player who “best exemplifies the game of baseball, sportsmanship, community involvement and the individual’s contribution to his team.”

On March 9th, the A’s added a stabilizing force to their lineup and their pitching staff when they acquired free-agent Jonathan Lucroy (#21, “Luc”). Luc has had an interesting career: an offense-first catcher when first called up to the Brewers who turned himself into the best defensive catcher in the game (worth 20 runs saved in 2014), to one of the worst defensive catchers in the league last season (costing his teams nearly 20 runs). This will be Lucroy’s fourth team in the last three seasons, as he was traded from Milwaukee to Texas in 2016 (after exercising his no-trade clause and scuttling a deal to Cleveland that would have given him a chance to play in the World Series), and traded from Texas to Colorado at the trade deadline last year.

But regardless of his output on the field, Lucroy may more value off the field. In each of the last two Novembers, Luc has participated in the Stars and Stripes Honor Flight, which allows veterans of World War II and the Korean War, as well as terminally-ill veterans, to go to Washington, D.C. to visit their respective memorials. In 2014, Jonathan contributed to the Open Arms Home, whose mission is to provide a loving residential environment that serves the emotional, physical, and developmental needs of orphaned, abandoned, and disadvantaged children in the Eastern Cape of South Africa. He also supports Fisher House Wisconsin, a facility for military veterans and their families receiving treatment at the Milwaukee Veterans Affairs Hospital. In seasons past, Lucroy provided military families with tickets to Brewers games. And in keeping with that theme, from 2011-13, Luc provided various $5,000 scholarships to military families. If that wasn’t enough, Jonathan is active with the Make-A-Wish Foundation and has served as a spokesperson for the Muscular Dystrophy Association Team Muscle Walk. And lastly, Jonathan is a supporter of the Miracle League, which allows all children to play organized baseball regardless of their ability.

So whether or not Lucroy returns to his hitting and catching dominance, he is worthy of your cheering and your praise when you see him behind the plate.

If Lucroy isn’t catching, you may see back-up catcher Josh Phlegley (#19, “PTBNL”) behind the plate. In 2006 Josh was named Indiana’s “Mr. Baseball,” which seems like a backhanded compliment until you see some of the previous winners. Josh was drafted by the White Sox in 2009, but played only 48 games in 2010 due to a rare autoimmune disorder called Idiopathic Thrombocytopenic Purpura (ITP), which lowers a person’s platelet count. The diagnosis resulted in Josh having his spleen removed. I don’t recommend heckling him about his missing body part, as he now works with the Platelet Disorder Support Association to help kids with the condition and to raise awareness about the disease. Phlegley has a cannon, and threw out 37.8% of the runners who tried to steal on him in 2015 (third best in the AL). A knee injury in 2016 limited him to 26 games; and a concussion, a new baby, and an oblique injury limited him to 57 games last season. Purely from a humanitarian perspective, let’s hope Josh can remain healthy in 2018.

Australian pitcher Liam Hendriks (#31, “Slydah”) is an animal lover and a man of the world who does well by doing good. Slydah was the A’s 2017 nominee for the Roberto Clemente Award, after his work with Athletes Brandand Food for the Hungry in an effort to end poverty in the Dominican Republic. And he can pitch, too. He was 4-2, with a 4.22 ERA, and a 3-1 strikeout-to-walk ratio in 70 games last season.

INTERESTING VETERANS: A team like the 2018 Oakland Athletics is going to be filled with youngsters making their way to “the show” and aging players on the downside of their careers. In the latter group, check out these guys:

This will be the eighth Big League season for Chris Hatcher(#44, “Hatch”). In 2006, the Marlins drafted Hatcher out of UNC Wilmington as a catcher (that’s right, Hatcher the Catcher). In 2009, the Jacksonville Jumbo Shrimp put Hatcher on the mound, and he retired the only batter he faced. Building on that success, the next season the Jumbo Shrimp put him on the hill for a full inning, which he finished in 13 pitches (including his first professional strikeout). Three months later Hatcher found himself in the Big Leagues…as a catcher. He went 0-for-6 with 5 Ks. In 2011, he made his first MLB pitching appearance, becoming the first player in 75 years to debut as a catcher and come back the next season as a pitcher (Art Doll of the Boston Braves was the other, in case you were wondering). Look for Hatch to come out of the pen throwing heat – he has a 3-1 strikeout-to-walk ratio, with 236 Ks in 216 career innings.

2018 will mark Yusmeiro Petit’s (#36, “Yus”) eleventh MLB season. His career has been somewhat of a rollercoaster, but he has had a few memorable moments: In 2013, Yus came within one out of throwing baseball’s 24th perfect game. Eric Chavez – the former Athletic – broke it up with a single to right. In 2014, Petit became just the third Giant pitcher to throw a nine-inning complete game with less than 90 pitches – he did it with 84. Petit is such a control freak that he once went 70 consecutive batters – over nearly a month – without going to a three-ball count. After starting his career in Miami, spending three seasons in Phoenix, and then four in San Francisco, Yusmeiro will now be on his fourth team in four years. The A’s locked him up with a 2 year/$10 million contract, hoping he will continue to throw strikes out of the ’pen.

Matt Joyce (#23, “DJ SS”) will be moving around the outfield and getting some ABs at DH. Joyce is one of only 107 players in the past 105 years to walk five times in a nine-inning game. DJ SS grew up in Tampa, and made his MLB debut with the Rays in July, 2010 (a Floridian hometown hero). In his first month in the Bigs, he hit two grand slams and a 3-run homer, all with two outs, and all game winners. He really had nowhere to go from there. In 2016, while playing with the Pirates, Joyce set a Major League record with 21 pinch walks (not a stat you see often). The A’s signed Joyce to a 2 year/$11 million deal last season, and he promptly hit 25 dingers for the club.

Any preview of the Oakland Athletics would be remiss if it failed to discuss Bruce Maxwell (#12, “Baby Prince”). Maxwell made news last season as the only Major Leaguer to kneel during the national anthem (Hometown Hero Mark Canha stood next to him with his hand on his shoulder). In some circles, this act made Bruce a pariah; and in others, a hero. Bruce was born in Germany; his father was stationed at the U.S. Army base in Wiesbaden at the time. Maxwell, an African American, stated that his decision to kneel represented concern for racial injustice as well as freedom of speech and the exercise of peaceful protest. The Oakland organization – true to its activist roots – supported his decision.

That story would be relatively interesting if it ended there. It does not. During this past off-season, Maxwell had two incidents that portray him in a much different light. First, Maxwell is alleged to have made up a story of racial profiling in a restaurant in Huntsville, Alabama. He claimed this incident was in retaliation for his decision to kneel; however, the accused waiter claims he had no idea who Maxwell was, and didn’t do anything wrong. As of this writing, the issue remains unresolved. Next, in November, Bruce was indicted on charges of aggravated assault with a deadly weapon for pointing a gun in the face of a female food delivery person. Maxwell has denied the allegations, but a grand jury disagreed.

By the time you see Maxwell play in July, all of this may have blown over, and Maxwell could be playing stellar defense and shepherding the pitching staff. Or, young Bruce might be serving 5-15 years in an Arizona prison, flushing his baseball career and a good chunk of his life down the drain because a waiter looked at him sideways and because his meat lovers pizza was ten minutes late.

One last point: Prior to Spring Training, Maxwell declared that he will no longer kneel for the anthem – so there is no need to get to the park early to witness his quiet protest.

THE FUTURE IS BRIGHT: To be compelled to buy a first-class seat on the bandwagon, you have to have hope in the future. These ballplayers lead you to think that Billy Beane has built something that will be blossoming just when Jose Altuve and Mike Trout become free agents, potentially opening the door for post-season baseball in the East Bay. And, let’s face it, you come to the ballpark to see great players, not just witness interesting stories. With that in mind, buy low on these guys:

First baseman Matt Olson (#28, “Oly”) hit 24 home runs in 189 at-bats last year. If he didn’t hit one the night before, there is a good chance he will circle the bases when you see him play – he homers once every 7.9 at-bats. But even when the ball doesn’t leave the park, it leaves a mark. Last season, only seven of 387 players who put at least 100 balls in play hit the ball harder. Oly averaged an exit velocity of 95 MPH. This guy should be fun to watch.

In 2016, Matt Chapman (#26, “Chappy”) led the Oakland farm system in homeruns, RBI, runs, extra base hits, and total bases; and he was ranked the A’s number three prospect by Baseball America. Those stats earned Chappy an invitation to the Big Leagues in 2017, where he hit fourteen homeruns in 84 games, with a .785 OPS. But it is Chapman’s defense that is really off the charts. In those 84 games, he turned 34 double plays and had 19 Defensive Runs Saved. The only third baseman with better defensive stats was Chapman’s high school teammate, Nolan Arenado. With Manny Machado moving back to his original position of shortstop this season, #26 is the early-season pick to win the AL Gold Glove at the hot corner.

The often-previously-mentioned Stephen Piscotty is one of baseball’s young great sluggers. In 2016, when Piscotty played 153 games, he hit 22 home runs and knocked in 85 with an .800 OPS. He looks to be an exciting player in right field for Oakland for years to come.

There are two Major League players with the last name “Davis” and the first name “Chris.” One plays in Baltimore, is overpaid and underperforms, and he spells his name “Chris.” The other will DH and play left field for the A’s, and he spells his name “Khris.” Khris Davis(#2, “Khrush”) hit 22 homers in 144 games in 2014; 27 homers in 121 games, including 21 dingers after the All-Star break, in 2015; Khris was tied for third in the AL with 42 home runs in 2016; and last season he hit another 43. He has also struck out 605 times over the last four seasons. So rest-assured, when you see Khrush, he will be swinging for the fences.

Late in the game, check the bullpen for Blake Treinen (#39, “B-Lockay”). Originally drafted by the A’s in 2011, he was traded to the Nationals in 2013, and then came back home in 2017. In 2016, Treinen established himself as one of baseball’s top relievers, appearing in 73 games, and was in the Top-15 in: ground ball percentage (3rd with 66.5%), ERA (8th, at 2.28), holds (12th with 22), and games (12th with 73). In those 73 appearances, he allowed only 51 hits. B-Lockay recorded a 2.13 ERA with the A’s last season in the 35 games he pitched after coming over from the Nats. If the A’s have the lead in the 9th, expect to see #39 take the mound.

Emilio Pagan (#15) pitched in 34 games for the Mariners last season, and was acquired by the A’s shortly after the World Series. Last season he struck out seven batters to every one he walked, and had a 0.93 WHIP. Look for Pagan to come into the game in high leverage situations and put out the fire. If you are rooting for your hometown team, you may not want to see Pagan jogging in the from the ‘pen with the game on the line.

Franklin Barreto (#1, “Kaki”) made his MLB debut last season, and in 2016 was ranked the A’s top prospect by Baseball America. Oakland is currently trying to figure out if he should play second, short, or in Nashville. He will need to hit – and not strikeout – to remain on the Big League roster, but expect him to be somewhere in Oakland’s middle infield when the A’s start to contend for an AL West title.

And lastly, an off-shoot of the interesting vet is the interesting rookie, whose future is bright. Herschel Mack Powell, IV (#3) is known as “Boog,” but he is no relation to the former Oriole. As a kid he was called “Little Mack,” but then his family starting referring to him as “Boog,” and it stuck. Boog signed with the A’s in 2012, but was traded to the Rays in 2015. He was came back to the Pacific Northwest at the end of 2015, when he was traded to the Mariners. If Boog was smart, he never would have unpacked his suitcase. The following is a list of his travelogue for 2017: MLB debut for the Mariners in Cleveland on April 29th; sent down to Tacoma May 5th (he actually flew to Las Vegas); recalled to play in Oakland on May 16th; sent down to Tacoma on June 11th; recalled to the big club in Anaheim on July 2nd; sent down to Tacoma on July 18th (he flew to Albuquerque); traded to the A’s on August 6th and was sent to Nashville (one can only hope he was able to fly from Kansas City, rather than routing through Oakland); called up to Oakland on August 11th where he finished the season. Powell will share time in centerfield this season, and looks to have a great future – if he ever gets to unpack his bags.

So there it is – a comprehensive list of reasons to be thrilled you scored those tickets to the A’s game in July. As is Billy Beane’s want, a handful of these players – and others not mentioned – could be traded at the July 31st deadline. But you should be able to see the squad before players start being sent hither and yon.

There is nothing like a night at the ballpark – be it Little League, Minor League, or the Majors. The lights have a certain way of belying the actual time of day; the grass, without the sun’s reflection, is the perfect shade of green; the beer, not needing to fight the daytime heat, goes down with just the right bite; and the hot dogs, serving as dinner rather than lunch, feel all the more decadent and taste all the more delicious. And a late game ice cream, at a time when you normally would be putting your kids to bed, is totally self-indulgent. Sure, traffic is insane, and you get home late and wake up tired, but no matter. Life’s short, enjoy yourself; and embrace the 4-A Oakland A’s – they should make for an entertaining night at the yard.

Cut out this handy chart, fold it up, and keep it in your wallet for that wonderful night in July when you get to see, in person, one of the most interesting teams in baseball:

PLAYER UNI # NICKNAME FUN FACT
Franklin Barreto 1 Kaki Smooth in the middle infield; will hopefully be in the Big Leagues by July
Khris Davis 2 Khrush Will either homer or strikeout
Boog Powell 3 Boog Traveling man should be in centerfield for years to come
Jed Lowrie 8 Low Seasoned vet who helps the Vets, and usually ends up at/on second base
Marcus Semien 10 Mahkus Local boy who may boot one (or three) at short; but will always be hustling
Bruce Maxwell 13 Baby Prince No longer kneels; may be in jail
Emilio Pagan 15 N/A 7-1 K/BB ratio
Josh Phlegley 19 PTBNL Mr. Indiana can hit even without a spleen
Mark Canha 20 N/A Local boy who loves to eat (@bigleaguefoodie)
Matt Joyce 23 DJ SS Will walk or homer
Stephen Piscotty 25 Momo Local boy comes home to rake in front of mom
Matt Chapman 26 Chappy Dazzling on defense and can hit bombs
Matt Olson 28 Oly 1 homerun every 8 at bats
Liam Hendriks 31 Slydah What’s Australian for strikeout?
Yusmeiro Petit 36 Yus Throws nothing but strikes
Blake Treinen 39 B-Lockay Ace closer
Chris Hatcher 44 Hatch Catcher-cum-pitcher
Kendall Graveman 49 Digger Engineer who puts on a clinic every 5th day
Andrew Triggs 60 Triggonometry Scholar who is calculating on the mound

 

PLAY BALL!!

Hall Worthy: You Decide

 

My father has his own blog. In it, he writes his thoughts, feelings, and opinions, and concludes with “that is my take – you decide.” I have always thought this a clever writing tool, as you make the reader an active participant. So, as with apples and trees, I want to let you decide.

In 2012, said father, my son, and I were lucky enough to be invited on the field at Fenway Park for batting practice. Alas, it was the visiting team’s BP, but a blast nonetheless. As we stood behind the ropes and my son begged for balls, and my father reveled in his surroundings, taking a trip down memory lane to when he was younger than my son, sitting in the cheap seats at “America’s Most Beloved Ballpark,” I found myself mesmerized by the goings-on at shortstop.

If you have ever been at the yard early enough to catch batting practice, you are treated to a coordinated symphony of activity. Hitters, obviously, are hitting. But for a few moments every afternoon, they are Little Leaguers, subject to the clarion call of: “balls up.” Some pitchers dot the outfield and shag flyballs in the merriment of times gone by; while other pitchers use the dwindling light to get in sprints along the warning track. Fringe players and stars alike take a moment to check in with reporters, front office personnel, and the occasional fan. And stationed on either side of the batting cage is a coach hitting fungoes to players at second base and shortstop, respectively. Yes, even the big leaguers have to take infield practice.

On this late afternoon in July, Toronto was in town. This Blue Jays team was somewhat non-descript, hovering around .500 at that point, eventually finishing the season in fourth place, twenty-two games behind the Yankees. Yunel Escobar started 145 games at shortstop for the Jays that year, hitting .253 with a swarthy .644 OPS. But it was not Escobar who caught and held my eye. No, it was – at that time – the 45-year old backup shortstop, with nearly 3,000 games under his belt.

Watching Omar Vizquel during batting practice was, in a word, sublime. I gladly would have forfeited the game, and paid for my ticket just to watch Vizquel field grounders for three hours. He grabbed balls between his legs, he took throws behind his back, he made catches over his shoulder, he stood at short facing left field and still made plays. On a few occasions – and this is not hyperbole – he threw his glove in the air, knocking down line drives headed for the outfield. Try that some time. It was a wonder to watch, so watch I did. When my son wanted to fetch an autograph, I let him roam free. When my father wanted to look around, I did not join him. This was a once-in-a-lifetime (it turns out Omar participated in BP approximately 2,968 times in his career) opportunity to watch genius in action. Sure, it was batting practice and not a live game, but no matter. Sure, there were no stakes so he could be free to try any stunt he wanted, but who cares. It is why, in 2015, the Golden State Warriors opened the arena hours early so fans could watch Stephen Curry get ready to play. The pregame is often more enjoyable than the real thing.

For me, an unapologetic baseball fan, who loves Web Gems more than “chicks dig the long ball,” this was watching Picasso paint, Brando emote, MLK preach, Jordan dunk. This was more than worth the price of admission.

In a few days the 2018 Baseball Hall of Fame class will be unveiled. This is Vizquel’s first year of eligibility. Spoiler alert: he will not be enshrined this year. But the larger question is whether he ever will be? The interwebs are filled with articles citing the pros and cons of his qualifications, and I am truly on the fence. If there was a Hall of Fame for pregame mastery, Omar is a first-ballot inductee. Unfortunately, the BBWAA limits its vote to in-game results.

Unlike my father, I have not proffered an opinion, just an appreciation of the player. You decide!

PLAY BALL!!

Happy Wife: Free Agency is a Family Matter

 

I have always been intrigued by the athlete’s wife. Before anyone paints me a misogynist, as of this morning, there are no women playing any of the four major sports, and also as of this morning, there are no openly gay players on any of those teams (we can be certain there are some closeted gay players, but I digress), so this discourse is reserved for the wives.

You always hear about players, in the off-season, going to a celebrity golf tournament in Lake Tahoe, or a “boys trip” to Las Vegas, or a booze cruise off South Beach. And every time I wonder: “What do their wives think?” If my job required that I be gone – corporeally and/or mentally – for six months of the year, and then no sooner than I got home I told my wife I was leaving for the weekend with my teammates or buddies, I am pretty sure she would have an abreaction. Suffice it to say, it wouldn’t go over so well.

But such, I guess, is the life of the athlete’s wife. Which leads me to latest curiosity: where are we going to live; where are the kids going to school; where are we spending our spring?

As of this writing, there are at least nine high-priced free agents still awaiting new contracts. I won’t get into the lower-tier players, as for some/most of them, they do not have a Chinese menu of team options. But for the likes of Jake Arrieta, Eric Hosmer, J.D. Martinez, and Yu Darvish, there are options aplenty. And, as some point, they will need to make a decision.

Many of these players, like Jake Arrieta, have wives and kids. The Arrietas have made Chicago their home since 2013. Jake rejected the Cubs’ qualifying offer, so, ostensibly, they will be moving. But where?

The rumor is that Arrieta is looking for a long-term deal valued at somewhere in the neighborhood of $200 million.  The conventional wisdom holds that the deal will be somewhere around $150-$175 million. At some level, the difference between $175 and $200 million may be less important to Jake than a happy wife and a stable life. For reference, Jake has made nearly $32 million in his career, and he will make an additional nine figures whenever and wherever he signs. And while it is easy for me to be blasé about $25 or so million, it is really easy for him to be as well. Any way you shake it, he will make generational, legacy, eff you money. The same is true for J.D. Martinez, Yu Darvish, and the others.

So the question then becomes where do Jake and his family want to spend that money? Where do they want to make a home? Which city has the best schools, the best golf courses, the best night life? Where do their friends live? Their extended families? In a life centered around the husband – his career, his training, his travel, his schedule – it seems to me (again, maybe it is just me) that the “where” question is one the wife gets to answer (or at least have a vociferous voice in deciding).

If Brittany Arietta were my wife, I am pretty sure she would be asking me, on a daily basis, what the hell is happening. Which means I, in turn, would be asking Scott Boras, on a daily basis, what the hell is happening. And I am pretty certain my wife would want more than five weeks’ notice to know if we are heading east or west for the spring, and east or west for the summer and the next five, six, or seven years.

But, again, this draws me back to my fascination with the athlete’s wife. This topic is ripe for – due for – a book, one that I am not qualified to write. My short analysis is that this is what they signed up for. With the trappings come the shortcomings; travel (and moving on short notice) is just part of the package. But what I would give to be a fly on the wall in the Arrieta’s kitchen – I want to know how his other half lives.

78 days until we hear:

PLAY BALL!!

 

Roy Halladay: 1997-2017

I have suffered a great deal of loss in my years. I have attended more funerals, and delivered more eulogies, than most people do in a lifetime. And when someone dies, we, as a society, have an immediate reflex to turn the deceased into a saint, a hero, a flawless soul who graced this mortal coil for too short a period. In those moments of despair, we often overlook the faults, imperfections, peccadilloes, that made the person whole, made them human, made them them.

I have never subscribed to this theory of post-mortem hagiography. Maybe I am just a “warts and all” type of guy. Maybe I am just an unrepentant pessimist. Or maybe I am just honest. With all of that said, feel free to deify me upon my interment.

I have given this idea a great deal of thought while reading so many glowing obituaries and memorials and tributes to Roy Halladay, who died tragically in a plane accident on November 7th. To read the words written by those who knew him well, by those who him a little, by those who rooted for him, and those who just watched him from afar, you get the sense that this man was really as great as he seemed.

Halladay’s statistics speak for themselves, and even absent an untimely death, it is safe to say that they are clearing a spot for his plaque in Cooperstown some time after 2019. Doc’s intensity was well-known to baseball fans in two countries – his refusal to speak to teammates on pitch days; his glaring at batters to get back in the box; his 5am Spring Training arrivals. It wasn’t just teammates, rivals loved watching him pitch.

“I can’t believe it. So many times we competed against each other and even while competing, I wanted to see you! My condolences to his family” — via Twitter, @45PedroMartinez

But there are so many other attributes that are either overlooked or unknown. There was the mentorship that happened in the clubhouse, but was not publicized. There was the quiet donations, including a police dog to the very sheriff’s office that led Halladay’s recovery effort. There was (and will continue to be) the Halladay Family Foundation that aides children’s charities, hunger relief, and animal causes. There was the Little League coaching that spread to both dugouts, as Roy was loathe to horde his knowledge and deny other children the experience and expertise he had gained over a lifetime on the diamond. There was the love of flying that endeared him to his new “team” in the aviation community. There was his being a role model for scores of pitchers, including the man who saved the final game of the World Series just over a week ago. And there was the multiple nominations for the Roberto Clemente Award, given to an MLB player for sportsmanship and community involvement, an award named for a man who died, ironically/coincidentally/cosmically, too young in a plane accident.

Roy Halladay, coming off a season with a 10.64 ERA, was a dark horse to become his generation’s best pitcher. He was the rare bird who lived up to the words written about him by professional scriveners. He was a hard-working Phillie and a free-flying Blue Jay, an inspiration to all.

R.I.P. Doc, the world of baseball, and the world in general, was a better place for having you.

PLAY BALL!!

Game 5: A Long Day’s Journey Into Morning

At about 11pm Eastern time on Saturday night, as the Dodgers wrapped up Game 4, my wife asked me the following question: “Do you want to go to the game tomorrow night?”

I dismissed the idea out of hand; but she was already fingers-deep into Travelocity, attempting to change flights out of Florida and into Texas. Before I could even ponder the imponderable, she had a plane ticket and a hotel room on hold. Her next question was the big one: “Can you get a ticket?” I explained to her that in today’s world, you can always get a ticket. As the old adage goes, “it’s just a question of price.”

After querying friends and family, I elected to sleep on the time-consuming and expensive decision. I woke up Sunday morning wholly ambivalent; I cannot recall the last time I was so torn. Mark Twain once opined: “Twenty years from now, you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do.” Twain sat on my shoulder and whispered in my ear. The idea that I might miss something magical (I was thinking a Kershaw no-hitter), and regret it forever, was too much to bear. So, as Mr. Clemens implored, I threw off the bowlines and sailed away from the safe harbor of Palm Beach airport.

When I arrived in Charlotte to switch planes, I learned my 4:50pm flight to Houston (which would have gotten me there in time for the national anthem) was delayed until 7pm.

Crestfallen. That is the only word I can use. Despondent, crushed, hopeless? Those work as well. I was trapped in North Carolina with a stupidly-priced ticket burning a hole in my pocket, and no way to get deep in the heart of Texas. 7pm became 7:15pm, which became 7:25pm, which became an 8pm take-off. Doing the math – which I had been doing for three hours – I knew I would arrive at the park, at best, in the 6th inning, but if Kershaw and Keuchel duplicated Game 1, I would get there in time to help clean the stands.

I considered bagging the whole plan and grabbing the next flight to L.A., but I had come this far (and didn’t want to spend more money changing another flight). Like it or not, this was my journey; destiny my guide.

The 2 hour and 37 minute flight to Houston came in 11 minutes early – minor miracle. Channeling my inner Ezekial Elliott, I charged to the front and was the first to deplane at 9:29pm. Channeling my inner Jerry Maguire, I sprinted through George Bush Intercontinental Airport, literally threw my suitcase into a cab and told the cabby – in a cliché – “there is something extra if you get me downtown in twenty minutes.” I was standing in the Crawford Boxes at 10:04pm – it was the top of the sixth.

I had missed the first five innings. I had missed the Dodgers blow 4-0 and 7-4 leads. I had missed Bellinger’s three-run homer and Altuve’s counter-punch. I had missed Kershaw and Keuchel. I was not about to miss another pitch.

Before the bottom of the sixth, I walked down the third baseline and found a family leaving Section 116 (mind you, it was nearly 10:30pm on a school night). They gave me a seat in Row 20, and I did not move for more than two hours. No bathroom breaks; no beer runs; no seventh-inning-stretch ice cream. Hell, I barely sat down. The Astros fans in Row 19 decided this was a “stand all game” situation, so I followed suit.

What I witnessed, endured, and withstood for next five innings was unlike anything I have ever experienced. If you are like me, you have obligations outside of sports. You have wives/husbands, kids, a job. You cannot devote your life to a sporting event. How many times have you wished a game would just end because you have a meeting early the next morning? Or the anticipation of post-game traffic fills you with so much dread that it interferes with your enjoyment of the game? But on this night, 1,500 miles from home, with no wife and no kids to attend to, a hotel room across the street, my only concern being a flight more than ten hours away, I was all-in. When Chris Taylor came to bat with two outs in the top of the 10th and the tying run on second, I wanted the base hit because I was rooting for the Dodgers; I wanted the base hit because a three-run ninth to tie the game would be epic; but mostly, I wanted the base hit because I simply didn’t want this game to end. I. Could. Not. Get. Enough!

Many writers, all more skilled than I, have written about this game. You all watched it. You know the highs and lows, the ins and outs, the excitement and disappointment, and all the moments in between. But being there was something else. It was an emotional roller coaster with no end in sight. One of the beauties of baseball is the lack of a clock, so there are no constraints on the potential end point. This game could still be going, with Bob Knepper pitching against Tom Niedenfuer. In the stadium, we weren’t privy to the statistical oddity we were witnessing, we just had to intuit it. We didn’t have the replays and the commentary available to those watching at home, so we relied on one another to talk ourselves through what just happened. Did that actually happen? It was a communal experience, and I wasn’t even a real member of the community.

As good as the coverage and analysis has been, there are certain things you cannot appreciate watching the game on television. An in-person observer’s account:

  • Angela Matthews, a 10-year veteran of the Texas Air National Guard sang “God Bless America” as part of the 7th inning stretch. She was joined by 43,000 back-up vocalists, who made this rendition one of the coolest I have ever heard. Houstonians and Angelenos joined together as Americans for three minutes of beautiful harmony in the midst of a gut-wrenching battle of wills.
  • From my angle, George Springer’s homerun on the first pitch of the bottom of the 7th was still rising as it left the yard. It was gone instantaneously, and landed – as many have pointed out – with an explosion on the train tracks above the left field seats. It seems implausible you could hit a ball harder.
  • I have never seen a ball hit higher than Carlos Correa’s homerun three batters later. Off the bat, I was excited to finally see a ball hit the roof. It went so high, and hung in the air so long, that I had time to track the ball, then track Kiké Hernández tracking the ball, then track the ball again, then watch Kiké drift back to a few feet in front of the left field wall, and then watch the ball drop into the second row of the Crawford Boxes as if discarded by a wayward seagull. StatCast tells us that the ball went 169 feet in the air and stayed there for 6.8 seconds. It was unreal.

  • At one point, an overzealous fan in American flag boxers (and not much else) sprinted onto the field. He juked and jived, pissed off Houston’s finest, and ultimately found himself hogtied with multiple knees in his back. Bummer he missed the rest of this game to win a sophomoric bet.
  • With two out in the bottom of the 9th, Asia’s public enemy number one hit a long drive to left center. Off the bat, I was certain this was a walk-off homerun. This was Gibby, Kirby Puckett, David Freese, and a handful (13) of others who ended a World Series game with a dinger. As sure as I was that Cody Bellinger had ended Game 2, there was no doubt that the guy who should have been suspended just ended Game 5. The ball hung in the air for what seemed like forever, only to touch down in the one place – the only place – in the entire ballpark where it was not a round-tripper. While that ball traveled nearly 400 feet, 43,000 people held their collective breath. It was an odd sensation. Somehow the ball hit just below and just to the left of that all-determining yellow line. Karma? Gurriel was left in scoring position and we had free baseball.
  • When little-known Derek Fisher slid home with the game-winning run following Alex Bregman’s 10th inning single, the roar in Minute Maid Park was extraordinary. Equal parts exultation and exhalation, the Houston Hopeful were going home Monday morning one win away from a World Series title. I am told you could get a feel for the crowd noise on television; I cannot imagine that is even half true. It was thunderous, raucous, cacophonous; and it stayed that way for a long time.

This game had ties in the 4th, 5th, and shockingly, the 9th inning. Three 3-run leads were blown. There were 11 runs scored from the 7th inning on. The Dodgers scored three runs (to tie the game) in the top of the 9th, each time with two strikes. So many crazy, insane, incomprehensible things happened in this game that we can hardly remember the merely extraordinary. In time, we will remember, and we will look back with awe.

My Sunday started in Florida, and ended on Monday morning in Texas. In between I experienced more emotions than I can recount. Upon leaving the park well after 1am local time, I called my wife – the instigator of this odyssey – and she asked me: “Was it worth it?”

If you love baseball as much as I do, and if you have read this far I am assuming you do. And if so, then such a question needs no response!

PLAY BALL!!

Addendum: The foregoing was written in the haze of Game 5. In that time, Game 6 was played. Dave Roberts did all sorts of weird things, and they all seemed to work. Joc Pederson continued to only get extra-base hits. And the Dodgers beat Justin Verlander. By 2017 standards, this game was somewhat quotidian. As such, Game 7 stands to be one for the ages. As I write these words, I feel tonight much like I did early Monday morning: unsure how I will be able to fall asleep! An incredible season has but one game left, winner take all.

A Star Was Born: Kiké Hernández Goes Hollywood and Honors Puerto Rico

In the Summer of 2012, a few years before Sports Illustrated christened the Houston Astros the 2017 World Series champions, my son’s travel baseball team ventured to Lancaster, California to watch the Single-A Jethawks play.

The purpose of the visit was for each player on my son’s team to take the field for the national anthem (no kneeling) with his Jethawk counterpart, get a ball signed, and then head to the stands to take in a night of mediocre Minor League baseball.

When the kids met on the field with the head of Public Relations, they were told exactly what to do. A moment later, the Jethawks’ unassuming second baseman gathered the kids and told them, “as soon as the anthem is over, sprint to centerfield and give the player a high-five”. The P.R. woman balked – loudly. She implored the kids to follow her plan and come off the field immediately. The second baseman gave the kids a cockeyed grin, raised an eyebrow, and without saying a word, enticed them to follow his plan.

As you might imagine, the kids listened to the player, gave high-fives in centerfield, and hustled to the stands. The P.R. woman was only mildly annoyed, the boys had a laugh, and everyone had a story to tell.

Two years later, my son stopped me as I walked through the living room. “Dad, remember that guy in Lancaster who told us to go to centerfield? He’s playing second base for the Astros today.” “Really? What’s his name? How do you remember him?”, I asked. “His name is Enrique Hernández, and I just remember him”, he replied. I guess that second baseman was pretty memorable.

I didn’t give any of it much thought at the time. It is pretty rare for a Single-A player to make it to the “Show”, so that was different. But, why would I care about a scrub replacement middle infielder for the Houston Astros, a team that would go on to lose 92 games?

A month later, Hernández was traded to the Marlins, and I was certain I would never hear his name again. But that off-season, he was traded to my hometown team, the Los Angeles Dodgers. Kiké, as he is known, hit .307 in 76 games for the 2015 Bums. But, more importantly, he became the team cheerleader, the head of the Rally Banana brigade. The team and the city embraced this slightly off-kilter utility player, and a love affair was born.

Fast-forward to 2017. Kiké is a staple of the Dodgers lineup, playing eight different positions over 140 games. But Hernández, a native of Puerto Rico, was only batting .125 in the first six games of the playoffs against the Diamondbacks and the Cubs. So Dodger Owner and Chairman Mark Walter gave Kiké a little incentive before Game 5 of the NLCS: Get on base twice, and Walter would donate $1,000,000 to Puerto Rico hurricane relief. Well, with one out in the third inning, Kiké had left the yard twice and Puerto Rico had $1M coming its way. But neither Walter nor Hernández was done. The owner got word down to the Dodgers dugout that if Kiké could go “big fly” one more time, Walter would add another million to the donation.*

So when Hernández hit his third homerun of the game in the top of the 9th, and he jumped around the bases like one of those kids he instructed to run to centerfield five years earlier, very few people watching the game knew the reason for his excitement.

In many ways this has been a magical year for the Dodgers, with 104 wins and clinching the pennant while losing only a single game. They did it with the deepest lineup in baseball, with a group of players that never questioned their role or their number of at bats. They did it with their best players spending a considerable amount of time on the DL (their best position player wasn’t even on the NLCS roster). And they ultimately did it in the defending champion’s ballpark.

But, it has also been a tragic year for many people in many places around the globe. So how special is it that the Dodgers are heading back to the World Series for the first time in 29 years, on the bat of a player who has “Pray for Puerto Rico” written on his cap, and who through his play and the through the generosity of his boss, will bring desperately needed support to an island in horrific despair. It is nothing short of remarkable that the Banana Boy has become a local and national hero.

As I look back on that night in Lancaster half a decade ago, I guess I should have known that the kid with the twinkle in his eye, the kid who made an immediate connection with everyone he met, the kid who played the game with equal parts skill and heart, would become a star in Hollywood. Whatever happens over these next several days, in the face of all conventional wisdom, Kiké Hernández is now etched into Dodger lore.

PLAY BALL!!

*If you are feeling charitable, and want to contribute to the island where, as of this writing, 80% of the population is without electricity and 27% is without water, please visit this site: https://www.youcaring.com/peopleofpuertorico-957793.

Absolution or Ignominy

Some moments are indelible.  When they happen, we know we have witnessed history.  And no matter what happens after, those moments will be lodged in our memory, forevermore.

“The Giants win the Pennant…the Giants win the Pennant…the Giants win the Pennant” is arguably the most famous moment in baseball history.  And yet, the memory of that moment is no way diminished – in any manner – by the fact that the Giants lost the Series, the Giants lost the Series, the Giants lost the Series.

Regardless of the outcome of the 1956 World Series, no baseball fan can forget Yogi Berra leaping into Don Larsen’s arms after the only perfect game in World Series history.

New York Yankees' catcher Yogi Berra leaps into the arms of pitcher Don Larsen after Larsen struck out the last Brooklyn Dodgers' batter to complete his perfect game during the fifth game of the World Series, Oct. 8, 1956. Racing up in the background is Joe Collins. (AP Photo)

Has there ever been a better match-up than Bob Welch v. Reggie Jackson in Game 2 of the 1978 World Series?  I have written about that match-up many times, and we all know the outcome, which is not diminished in any way by the fact that Reggie took Welch deep in Game 6 as the Yankees finished off the Dodgers winning their 22nd world title.

I would argue that the outcome of the 1988 World Series is wholly irrelevant to our reverie for Kirk Gibson’s Game 1 heroics.

And, as of Sunday night, regardless of who wins the 2017 NLCS, I don’t anyone in Los Angeles will ever forget Justin Turner taking John Lackey deep to walk-off Game 2.

But there are other moments that stick in our craw because of the ultimate outcome of the game/series.  In short, some people are granted absolution and some people are granted ignominy due to matters wholly outside their control.  I was thinking about a handful of these (I am certain there are many more) after watching the playoffs this week.  It makes me think that some people have horseshoes, and some people have bad pennies.

To wit:

If Rick Sutcliffe was able to retire Alan Wiggins, Tony Gwynn, and/or Steve Garvey, do North Siders forgive a meager grounder through Bull Durham’s legs in the bottom of the 7th inning of Game 5 of the 1984 NLCS?  Does the Curse of the Billy Goat end thirty-two years earlier?

If Todd Worrell could have extricated himself from a runner on first, no out situation in the bottom of the 9th inning of Game 6 of the 1985 World Series, and then didn’t give up a single (a single?!) to Steve Balboni; and if Darrell Porter didn’t allow a passed ball, and if Dane Iorg hadn’t singled; and if the Cardinals hadn’t been blown out in Game 7, would Don Denkinger still be persona non grata in St. Louis?

If Alex Gonzalez turns a routine double play on Miguel Cabrera’s ground ball, and the Cubs get out of the 8th inning of Game 6 of the 2003 NLCS leading 3-1, would anyone ever learn or know the name “Bartman”?  Would we all now laugh at a grown man’s temper tantrum?  Would the Lovable Losers have found yet another way to rip the hearts out of their fans, resigning them to “wait til next year”.

If the Red Sox could have pushed across a single run in the 9th, or the 10th, or the 11th inning of Game 7 of the 2003 ALCS, does Grady Little lose his job for keeping Pedro Martinez in the game an inning and many batters too long?  Would Aaron “Bleeping” Boone roll off the tongue of New Englanders?

If the Rangers could have eked out a Game 7 victory in the 2011 World Series, how would we remember David Freese or Nelson Cruz?  Would Game 6 just be a blip on the radar, only important to Cardinals’ fans and David Freese’s friends and relatives?  That said, I believe Joe Buck’s “We will see you…tomorrow night” call would still be Hall worthy.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4GQlkLSyCTA

 

Most flagrantly, if the Red Sox had not blown a 3-0 sixth inning lead in Game 7 of the 1986 World Series, and gone on to win their first championship in 68 years, would Bill Buckner have been vilified on the Back Bay for nearly two decades; the subject of an E:60 documentary; parodied on Curb Your Enthusiasm; and forced to move to Idaho?  Or would that play just been a clip on the highlight reel “Reversing the Curse” – the moment (in hindsight) when it all could have slipped away?

And, of course, we never would have even had “a little roller up along first” if Doug DeCinces’ flyball had reached the seats or Bobby Grich’s liner had fallen in the bottom of the 9th inning of Game 5 of the 1986 ALCS; or if the Angels could have won either Game 6 or Game 7 in Boston.  If any of that happens, maybe Donnie Moore doesn’t take his life less than three years later.

If Jason Kipnis’ line drive down the right field line in the bottom of the 9th inning of Game 7 of last year’s World Series not drifted foul, do we spend the entire off-season dissecting every decision Joe Maddon made, second-guessing him through Christmas and into Spring Training?  Does he lose his job like Grady Little?  Jason Kipnis would have become the modern-day Bill Mazeroski / Joe Carter, as beloved in Cleveland as LeBron.  One wonders if the Cuyahoga catches fire again?

Similarly, if Jayson Werth’s flyball down the left field line in the bottom of the 9th inning of Game 5 of this year’s NLDS doesn’t curve foul; or if Bryce Harper could have channeled his inner Michael A. Taylor and tied the game with one mammoth swing, do we spend this off-season castigating Maddon for trying to get seven outs from Wade Davis?  Those things didn’t happen, so Broad Street Joe gets off Scot free and lives to fight another day/series.

With the Yankees winning three games in four days against the best team in the American League, against the prohibitive favorite to win the pennant, I wonder if anyone will member Joe Girardi failing to challenge Lonnie Chisenhall’s foul tip that wasn’t?  Will the hit-by-pitch that wasn’t, which led to a Francisco Lindor grand slam, which led to a Jay Bruce homerun, which led to an Indians 9-8 victory in Game 2, be lost to the scrap heap of history now that the Baby Bombers find themselves in the ALCS?  Only time will tell.  But for now, Girardi keeps his job, Yankee fans are allowed to forget, and time marches on.

Who will be granted absolution?  Who will live with ignominy?  We potentially have fourteen games among four teams over two series to find out.

PLAY BALL!!

Narrative Lost

Sometimes the horse gets out of the barn, the toothpaste gets out of the tube, the water goes under the (Golden Gate) bridge. Sometimes the words you say are not the words the listener hears. Sometimes people have the best of intentions, and then other people co-opt those intentions. And sometimes, because of that co-opting, the original message gets lost in the noise that said message created. We live in cacophonous times.

Normally I write about baseball and how it relates to life. And because a little-known Oakland A’s catcher, the bi-racial son of a career military officer (who Jeff Passan wrote about wonderfully), elected to “take a knee” during the national anthem last week, I have been given an opening to write about this topic. But because it is my want, I will focus on its genesis.

Back on August 14, 2016, when Barack Obama was still President (an important note), before the San Francisco 49ers’ first pre-season game, Colin Kaepernick decided to sit during the national anthem. He sat again the following week. No one seemed to notice. It wasn’t until after the third pre-season game, on August 26th, when a reporter’s curiosity was piqued, that Kaepernick addressed the issue. He released a statement that he was sitting because of the oppression of people of color and ongoing issues of police brutality. Two days later he met with the media and told them:

“I’m going to continue to stand with the people that are being oppressed. To me, this is something that has to change. When there’s significant change and I feel that flag represents what it’s supposed to represent, and this country is representing people the way that it’s supposed to, I’ll stand.

This stand wasn’t for me. This is because I’m seeing things happen to people that don’t have a voice, people that don’t have a platform to talk and have their voices heard, and effect change. So I’m in the position where I can do that and I’m going to do that for people that can’t.

It’s something that can unify this team. It’s something that can unify this country. If we have these real conversations that are uncomfortable for a lot of people. If we have these conversations, there’s a better understanding of where both sides are coming from.

I have great respect for the men and women that have fought for this country. I have family, I have friends that have gone and fought for this country. And they fight for freedom, they fight for the people, they fight for liberty and justice, for everyone. That’s not happening. People are dying in vain because this country isn’t holding their end of the bargain up, as far as giving freedom and justice, liberty to everybody. That’s something that’s not happening. I’ve seen videos, I’ve seen circumstances where men and women that have been in the military have come back and been treated unjustly by the country they fought have for, and have been murdered by the country they fought for, on our land. That’s not right.”

There it is, folks. That is why Colin Kaepernick sat and then kneeled. Anyone can now lay claim to any interpretation they want to invent; they can ascribe any meaning to this act they want to inject into the public conscience and political sphere; they can paint Colin Kaepernick as the poster boy for whichever side they want to take.

But these are his own words. More than thirteen months ago, long before Trump, long before Charlottesville, long before Alabama, and before the NFL, corporate sponsors, and fans in the stands had their say, Colin had his. But, as we know, we don’t always get to control the narrative. The claim was that Kaepernick had a bad season (even though his 2016 stats pretty closely resemble his 2012 stats, when he led the Niners to the Super Bowl, but I digress), and no team wanted a washed-up quarterback who comes, standard, with a political headache. For purposes hereof, we can put aside Kaepernick’s qualifications to play in the NFL today. The fact is, he is unemployed, and others have taken up his cause.

Or have they?

In Week 1 of the current NFL season, four players either knelt or sat during the national anthem; the same four did so in Week 2.

And then, on September 22nd, President Donald Trump went to a campaign rally in Huntsville, Alabama, and described football players who kneel during the national anthem as “sons-of-bitches,” and called for them to be fired. For purposes hereof, we can put aside the First Amendment and whether or not such a firing would be a violation thereof.

Trump’s speech was between Weeks 2 and 3. After Trump spoke, more than 200 players kneeled. What were they kneeling for? Did they even know? Do we?

Do the fans who booed their favorite players and their cherished teams, do the announcers who broadcast and highlight the protests, do the pundits who landed – firmly – on one side of the issue or the other, even know the why of what is happening on the gridiron? The obvious answer, of course, is “no.”

The players have taken a knee, locked arms, and raised their fists; but they have not spoken out. So, because nature abhors a vacuum, social commentators, thought-leaders, craven politicians, and bombastic demagogues all felt compelled to offer their own explanations.  The upshot: the rallying cry of “stand up nation” is that the players are disrespecting the military, the flag, and the country. Reasonable minds can differ – and have, vociferously – as to whether or not kneeling is disrespectful to any of the above. But that discussion wholly misses the point. No one is kneeling to intentionally disrespect the military, the flag, or the country.

However, some, nay many (from 4 to over 200), may be kneeling to disrespect the President of the United States who has chosen through words and (lack of) action, to divide this country. People have taken to calling him the “Divider in Chief,” and I don’t think the President would dispute or condemn that appellation. Sadly, this is just where we are.

Unfortunately, in all the noise, the message – Kap’s original message – is now lost. To the extent this was ever about the military, the flag, or our country, it was about love of country, what the flag should represent, and the ideals that members of our military shed their blood for. The act of kneeling was not intended to be disrespectful, it was a yearning for our better selves. Ironically, Kap knelt to Make America Great.

But, again, that message has been muddled and muddied. So players, and owners, and league officials began meeting to try to find a way forward – not necessarily a way through or a way out – but just forward, without alienating a large portion of the fanbase or a large number of sponsors. They all felt the need to put this genie back in the bottle, but could not come up with a magic elixir.

If the players intend to continue kneeling, incurring the wrath of the boo-birds, and risking their careers and potentially their lives, without offering more than a well-written Op-Ed in the New York Times, this will end badly, if it can ever end.

In moments like this, I like to reach for the sharpest instrument in the tool box: Occam’s Razor.  The easiest solution is just to tell people why; answers their questions; appeal to their humanity; ask them to respect you, even if they don’t respect your actions.

Will this solve the problem, absolutely not.  But it will cut out much of the noise; it will mitigate people’s attempts to co-opt the message; it will provide much-needed context. The logical next question is how? Here is how:

Before each Week 5 game, the captains of both teams come to mid-field prior to the singing of the national anthem. They will deliver a statement written/approved by/with the NFL Players Association and the Commissioner’s Office. The same message will be read at 14 stadiums before 14 games (four teams have byes), in front of an average live audience of 70,000, plus millions more at home. It won’t take but a minute or two. If it were up to me, I would either read Kaepernick’s original words (as set forth above) or the statement put out by the Indianapolis Colts earlier this week:

“Recently, there have been several misperceptions regarding a personal choice made by members of our team to bring awareness to prevailing issues facing our nation. To be clear – those of us who kneeled did not intend to disrespect our flag, our national anthem, or those who serve our country. We all have family and friends who are servicemen and women. We appreciate and respect the incredible sacrifices they make.

But as NFL players, we have a platform. And as Americans, we have a responsibility to speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves. Our intention was to raise awareness and to continue critical conversations about real equality, the injustices against black and brown people, police brutality, respect, unity, and equal opportunity. Our players are hurting, our people are hurting, our neighborhoods are hurting, and kneeling was a direct response to that hurt.

But what makes football so special is the way it brings people together – fans, players, coaches, all of us. We represent different races, backgrounds, and beliefs, but we come together for a common goal. That togetherness seen on the field and in the stands when we play should resonate even when we leave the stadium.

In that same spirit, as unified Americans, we will respect all forms of peaceful protests, as they are protected under the First Amendment of the U.S. Constitution. Some of our players may kneel, while others may stand. But this is just the beginning. There is much work to do, and it will take all of us.

Kneeling for JUSTICE. Standing for UNITY. Fighting for EQUALITY. Showing RESPECT.”

Fans may still boo. Sponsors may still flee. But if the players state their case, in these fora, no one can honestly refute the ultimate goal. No one can honestly ascribe a different meaning to the player’s actions. No one can honestly deny the sincerity of their cause.

We are in a era of social turmoil not seen in at least a generation. But we will not get through this if we cannot speak, and cannot be heard. Every Sunday there is a captive audience – let the players use it to heal, whether or not they kneel.

PLAY BALL!!

Clayton’s Dad

Clayton Kershaw was born my sophomore year of high school. For reasons that we need not get into here, I cannot possibly be his father. However, when he takes the mound — and especially when he takes the mound late in the game — and especially when he takes the mound late in a post-season game — I may as well be.

The nerves I feel for Clayton are not dissimilar to those I feel when my own son toes the rubber for his JV team or when my daughter is astride the balance beam. My hope for them to do well is only surpassed by my desire that they not be in that  moment at all. I sometimes wish I had taught them that life can be a spectator sport.

I am, by nature, a pessimistic fan. I expect the worst to happen, and am only relieved when it doesn’t. I guess this is the product of a lifetime of Red Sox fandom and having the Arizona Wildcats as my alma mater.

I have no doubt, at 730pm Friday night, when Clayton Kershaw takes the field, in the words of Vin Scully, “in the loneliest place in the world, the pitcher’s mound at Dodger Stadium,” I will be biting my nails to the nub.

It will be for the same reason that when Clayton gave up a lead-off double to David Freese in the bottom of the fifth inning of Game 2 of the 2013 NLCS, with the score 0-0, I got a pit in my belly. This “dad” knew something wasn’t right. Runner on second with no outs!? When Kersh struck out Matt Adams, it looked like he had a way out. But then there was an A.J. Ellis passed ball, and the air got a little cooler. A harmless (had the runner been on second) flyball made the score 1-0, which is where it stood when the 27th out was recorded.

Who can forget October 3, 2014. Kershaw gave up solo homers to the second and eighteenth batters he faced; he retired all 16 in between (including seven Ks). The sixth inning ended with the Dodgers up 6-2. “Pull Kershaw,” this dad yelled from my kitchen, where I was helping prepare the Sandy Koufax-approved Erev Yom Kippur meal. Preserve the beauty of this performance and allow the bullpen to get the last nine outs. Alas, it wasn’t meant to be. We all remember the disaster that was that fateful seventh inning; the inning that, in many respects, defines Kershaw’s post-season career: 1B, 1B, 1B, 1B, K, 1B, K, 2B, BB, HR, 5-3. The top of the seventh ended with the Dodgers trailing 10-6, with Dodgers eventually losing 10-9.

But Kershaw had a chance to atone not four days later in St. Louis, and he was ready: K, K, K / BB, DP, K / 3, 5-3, K / 7, 1B, 4-3,  K / 8, 5-3, BB, 2-1 / K, K, K. Six innings, twenty batters faced, one hit, nine Ks, one BB. To this dad, it certainly seemed like he earned a hot shower and a cold beer. Yet again, it wasn’t meant to be. Kershaw trotted out for the seventh, and the pit starting forming in my belly. Matt Holliday (he of the 295 career homeruns to that point) led off with an infield single. By the time Jhonny Peralta knocked a clean single to center, I had a full-blown stomachache. Then three pitches later, Matt Adams hit a 3-R bomb to right. Game, set, match, and season over; reputation cemented.

Kershaw had to wait another 367 days to avenge those two Cardinals games. In Game 1 of the 2015 NLDS, Kershaw had made one bad pitch (a homer to Daniel Murphy to lead off the fourth), but was otherwise cruising into the seventh (23 batters faced, 4 hits, 1 walk, and 11 Ks). But then he walked Lucas Duda to open the inning; and we all know about leadoff walks (I know that the actual statistics show a walk isn’t any likelier to score than a hit, but it certainly feels that way). A ground out and then another walk, and my Spidey senses were on high alert.

Why couldn’t Mattingly have pulled him after six? Kershaw didn’t need to be out there for another trip through the order. Hadn’t he learned anything from the year before? Once again, I was no longer a baseball fan, I was a dad watching his son implode – in slow motion. In my alternative universe, this is when I would have excused myself from the stands and taken that long walk behind the bleachers, down beyond the dugout to watch this nightmare unfold in private – away from the prying eyes of the other parents, and where the coach wouldn’t hear me cursing him for keeping my kid on the hill too long.

A Jacob deGrom sacrifice bunt followed by yet another walk, and Kershaw’s night was over. Sacks full with Pedro Baez in to save the day…fat chance. David Wright singled in two, and my boy took the loss. In this alternate universe, I prepared for our long drive home.

It happened again a few weeks ago, in Philadelphia. Kershaw had retired 15 of the first 17 batters he faced, and had a 2-0 lead going into the sixth. But then Ty Kelly lead off with a walk (see above for that pit and that irrationally useless research). A pop-out (phew); single (uh-oh); K (nice); BB (uh-oh, again). This is when the baseball fan in me stepped back and said: “In 103 career chances, Kershaw has allowed five bases loaded doubles, and six bases loaded walks. But he has never allowed a bases loaded homerun.” And then my inner monologue went to Aaron Altherr – a career .234 hitter with a total of 25 big league dingers – and I just knew Kershaw could retire the side and turn a 2-0 lead over to the bullpen. But, the dad in me was still nervous. Father knows best.

When Kershaw hung a 1-1 slider and Altherr hit the ball 418 feet, and four runs scored, and the Dodgers now trailed 4-2, and Kershaw had been out there a few batters too long once again, and all the other parents in the stands were consoling me, I just knew it would be another long drive home.

I don’t know why I have such a filial connection to Clayton Kershaw. I certainly don’t feel this way about Tom Brady, or Andrew McCutchen, or Steph Curry. I want them to do well, but I am not heartsick about the prospect of them not. I don’t secretly hope Brady hands the ball off, or McCutchen draws a walk, or Curry passes up the big shot – I want them in there and I want them to succeed.

Maybe it is because I believe – in my soul – that Kershaw has been the victim of bad luck, and a player of such great quality (both on and off the field) deserves better. Maybe it is because I want the best pitcher alive to always be the best pitcher alive. Maybe it is just because I am a fan, which is short for “fanatic”. I have no idea.

But whatever the answer, I sit in the stands or on my couch holding the theoretical pillow, hoping to provide a soft landing for a grown man; a man with a wife and two kids; a professional athlete making more than $30 million per year. Which begs the question: What is wrong with me?

I guess that’s what makes sports great – we love the game, and we love the players that we root for/idolize/lionize – literally – beyond reason.

And so, when David Peralta or A.J. Pollock digs in for that first pitch of the NLDS on Friday night, rest assured that my heart will be in my throat.

PLAY BALL!!

THE JOY OF OWNERSHIP

So you want to own a baseball team?  Who doesn’t?  We sit in the stands, we sit on the couch, we think we have all the answers.

  • More cogent player personnel decisions, check.
  • A more efficient parking system at the stadium, check.
  • Cheaper beer, of course.
  • A better variety of food, done.
  • Fire that damn manager already, check, check, and check!

How hard can it be? Anyone who knows baseball could do it, right?  Maybe? It certainly would be fun to find out.

Well, a small-business owner in the leafy hamlet of Oneonta, New York got the opportunity and jumped at it. Four years ago, the Oneonta Outlaws went up for sale, and Gary Laing, a life-long resident of the City of the Hills, didn’t miss his chance. After a brief conversation with his wife, Karen, he plunked down the purchase price (amount, undisclosed) and along with a silent partner – a dear friend who Gary first met playing at Oneonta Little League – became the proud owner of an amateur baseball team.

But we are getting ahead of ourselves, as this story needs to have history in order to have context.

Oneonta, New York has been the home to some form of organized baseball going back nearly 100 years. The Utica Utes (of the NY-Penn League) first came in 1924, changed their name to the Indians, and folded after one season. The team came back in 1940, and won championships in 1941 and 1942. The League was shuttered for three years due to that pesky World War; but when play resumed, the renamed Oneonta Red Sox won championships in 1948 and 1951 (take that, Harry Frazee). And then the League folded (okay, maybe curses are real).

In 1966, the Red Sox came back to Oneonta for a single season. In 1967, Sam Nader bought the team and renamed them the Oneonta Yankees. And that, my friends, is where the legend truly begins.

The O-Yanks would be an institution in town for three decades, winning 11 titles (apples and trees?). Don Mattingly, Bernie Williams, Andy Pettite, and Jorge Posada took their hacks at Damaschke Field; and future Hall of Famer John Elway roamed the outfield in Oneonta before scrambling on the gridiron in Denver.

Blog_Elway

The Boss was known to set up shop in a box down the first base line, carefully observing his future Bronx Bombers. Hell, back in 1920, the Sultan of Swat – playing with the Babe Ruth All-Stars – smacked a homerun over the right field fence at Neahwa Park (now known as Damaschke Field, the home of the Outlaws).  [Ed. Note: In the 5th inning of that game, the Babe broke a bone in his wrist sliding into first base.]

Man, if those baselines could talk . . .

But all good things must come to an end, and in 1999, the O-Yanks moved to Staten Island. The Tigers quickly moved to town. The O-Tigers played in Oneonta until 2009, and then left for Connecticut. Alas, Oneonta was not without baseball for long.

In 2010, Keith Rogers and Dan Scaring brought the Saratoga Phillies to Oneonta, renamed them the Outlaws, and set sail. After installing local legend Joe Hughes as the manager, the team won a championship in 2011.

Prior to the 2013 season, Gary Laing heard a rumor, made a few calls, and soon thereafter, a life-long dream came true. Growing up poor in Oneonta in the ‘60s, often without enough food to eat, Gary would shag foul balls for Sam Nader’s O-Yanks at Damaschke, bringing them back in return for free hot dogs. Never did Gary think that one day he would be the one giving out hot dogs to little kids who shagged balls at that same park, hit by players on his team.

Gary was born and raised in town, graduated from Oneonta High School (one year ahead of Joe Hughes), and never left. He started a local business 1991, built it into something very successful, and then decided to buy a baseball team.

Granted, it’s not a Major League team, and his day-to-day decisions are vastly different than those required by Hal Steinbrenner or Peter Angelos; but he deals with real baseball issues every day, real baseball economics, and real baseball fans.

A few weeks ago, I was fortunate enough to spend some time with Gary and Karen. The term “Salt of the Earth” was invented for these two. They, along with their young sons Chris and Josh, run the team – from concessions to ad sales to being a host family for the team’s manager.

The Outlaws are members of the Perfect Game Collegiate Baseball League, where college players from around the country come for a summer of fun, fans, and a whole lot of baseball. The PGCBL is made up of 13 teams in Upstate New York – from Jamestown to Glen Falls, from the Adirondacks to Saugerties.  (If you have never spent the summer in Upstate New York, get thee to the airport – it is spectacular.)

To get around the state, players are ferried in chartered buses. To save money on accommodations, teams typically do not stay overnight in any city/town/village/hamlet. Rather, when the game ends, players take a shower, get a small meal (provided by the home team directly from the concession stand), and back on the bus they go.

“Host” families take in a player or two for the summer in return for a small stipend and season tickets to the team’s roughly 25 home dates. And yet, there is never a shortage of families willing to open up their home, set an extra seat at their table, and add another stop to their carpool. The term “host” is often quickly dropped from the description, and each spring families travel around the country to see “their boys” play college ball.

But while the players and their families are having an experience they will never forget, the owner is trying to figure out how to pay the bills. Sure, when compared to the Cubs, a PGCBL team has considerably fewer expenses (both in quantity and in cost), but also considerably fewer revenue sources.

Want to own a team? Let’s take a look:

  • First, you have to buy the team. Out of deference to Gary, the community, and the league, this amount has not been disclosed.  But it does cost something.
  • A teams needs a place to play. Ideally, the team owns the stadium. More likely, they rent it from the local municipality or college. Either way, this is the single biggest annual expenditure.
  • In order to draw the most fans, games need to be played at night. Lights and electricity are not free, adding another line item to the budget.
  • Players need equipment. Granted, most of the kids bring their own gear; but very few of them have a collection of wood bats that are used in the PGCBL, so the team must provide. Add helmets, catcher’s gear, and a whole lot of baseballs, and the costs add up.
  • These games need umpires as well. The thirteen teams pool their money to ensure three umpires per game.
  • If you are new to a league, you must pay an admission fee. That amount varies from league to league and year to year.
  • In order to get to the games against the twelve other teams, the aforementioned buses must be procured. Drivers and gas cost real money.
  • As I stated above, the team provides each host family with a stipend (which cannot possibly cover the actual cost). Some teams provide apartments for the players – a choice that is fraught with danger if one thinks about the demographic being left unsupervised for long stretches of time. And some teams work out deals with local colleges to provide dorm rooms. Any way you shake it, it costs the team money to house their players.
  • If you have ever raised a teenager, or even been in contact with a 20-year old young man, you know that they can figuratively eat you out of house and home. The teams cannot possibly keep an accurate count of the number of PB&J sandwiches they provide each season, but the number is well into four figures. Add to that food for the visiting team (see above), and in most cases, a post-game meal of burgers/dogs/fries for your team, and a club’s grocery bill gets big, quick.
  • At the yard, teams pay an official scorekeeper, a public address announcer, potentially a radio play-by-play guy/gal, and concessionaires. The Outlaws enlist a pitcher not scheduled to throw to serve as the official ticket-taker.
  • Lest we forget, you need a manager and at least two (and sometimes 3 or 4) coaches to keep this band of roving youth in line and learning. Those gents get paid real (albeit small) salaries.
  • All teams have a General Manager who handles player procurement, travel, league business, and the like.  He (or she) gets paid for that work (a far cry, of course, from Andrew Friedman or Theo Epstein money, but it’s a paycheck nonetheless).
  • Some teams employee ad sales executives to get the most out of their billboards, fencing, signage, programs, etc.  Yet even more salaries.
  • And there are, of course, a myriad of other small, incidental expenses that are incurred in running any business.

In short, it takes a field of green to field a team.

So how does an owner balance the books? How are revenues generated?

  • Ticket sales. While the largest stadium in the league holds 8,000, the average yard holds about 3,000, which is more than a team can expect on any given night. Approximately 2,000 patrons come through the proverbial turnstiles each game, at ticket prices ranging from $2-$8 (average: $4-$5). Teams do sell season tickets to their most faithful, which is great way to ensure a certain level of income.
  • If a team controls the facility (either through ownership or a long-term lease), they can augment revenue by selling signage and sponsorships, as well as renting the facility for various events (e.g., rodeos, concerts, birthday parties, clinics, camps, weddings, high schools and other leagues – all of these are real-life examples).
  • Community members (think local companies) occasionally rent the entire stadium for a single game to invite their special guests. Season ticket holders can, of course, still attend.
  • And the most surefire way to try to stay in the black is what all of the teams do: charge the players to play. Oh, you thought that pay-to-play ended with Little League? Guess again. Players have to pony up anywhere from $500 to $2,000 to have the right to play for a PGCBL club. The price depends on a number of factors, with other revenue sources being the number one determinant. A team in a larger community with more third party revenue can afford to charge less; with the inverse being true as well. And, fortunately or unfortunately, the amount of the player fee is often the number one consideration of which team a recruited player selects. In this way, the PGCBL is no different than MLB: large market teams have a competitive advantage over small market teams.

Most teams run either right at break even, or at a slight deficit. This is not a money-making proposition – this is a labor of love.

So there it is. There are 41 summer collegiate baseball leagues all across this great country, accounting for approximately 376 teams (it changes season-by-season).

Find one for sale. Buy it. And soon you, too, will be putting your baseball knowledge, your business acumen, and your marriage to the test. Gary Laing will tell you that there is nothing he would rather do and no place he would rather do it. Ownership has its privileges, including incredible heartbreak and immense joy.

One last thing: If you find such a team and are looking for a partner, give me a call.

PLAY BALL!!