The tragic and shocking news of Oscar Taveras’s passing on Sunday cast a pall over Game 5 of the World Series. Buster Posey, the potential new face of baseball had this to say: “My first thought was, ‘This game is not that important.’ I mean, we make so much about the World Series and it’s fun, it’s a fun game that we get to play, but life is much more important. Something like that will bring you back down to earth really quickly.”
We put so much value on sports, we figuratively live and die with our teams. Kids and adults alike shed tears when the ball doesn’t bounce “our” way. And yet, at the end of the day, it is just a game.
Roberto Clemente, one of the greatest players of all time, died in an aviation accident at the age of 38, while en route to deliver aid to earthquake victims in Nicaragua.
Thurman Munson, the heart and soul and captain of the ‘70s Yankees, died when his Cessna crashed, at the age of 32.
Darryl Kile, a 20-game winner for the Cardinals, was found dead in his hotel room from a sudden heart attack, at the age of 33.
Nick Adenhart, the 22-year phenom for the Angels, dead at the hands of a drunk driver.
Tim Crews, veteran starting pitcher, died in a boating accident at 31. His 27-year old teammate, Steve Olin, was also killed in the accident.
Josh Hancock, a pitcher on the 2006 World Series champion Cardinals, killed in a drunk driving accident at age 29.
Longtime major league pitcher, Cory Lidle, was 34 and pitching for the Yankees when his plane crashed into a building in New York.
Donnie Moore took his life in 1989. We all thought it was because no one him taught him “it’s only just a game”, but his demons ran considerably deeper.
The eight names above are part of a list of 41 players who, since 1964, died while playing Major League baseball.
Contained in this list are so many life lessons. Drunk driving; drug use; the need to take care of your body and mind; and, universally, the unpredictability of life.
What we impart to our children, on the field, in the classroom, and around the house, needs to include that last lesson. Life is short; enjoy every moment. I can speak with first-hand knowledge of how precious the moments are, and how you regret them when they are gone. Play hard, play to win, but, most importantly, play. Smile, laugh, enjoy yourself. You never know when those moments will be no more.
As baseball fans, we talk about the hit-and-run, and the suicide squeeze, and gunning him down, and do-or-die moments, and yet none of those actually ring true. Life is precious, games are games, and perspective is necessary. So, no matter who you root for, come Tuesday (or Wednesday) night, when people are rioting and looting in San Francisco and/or Kansas City, try to remember, and try to teach our kids, it’s only just a game.
Over the past few years, I have seen my son strike out looking with runners on base in late innings situations. And each time I have the same response: “that just can’t happen”.
I coach my son’s travel team, and I find myself saying, on a weekly basis, after one pratfall or another, “that just can’t happen”.
And yet, time and again, it happens.
I think we sometimes (read: all the time) forget that (a) we are dealing with kids and (b) the fact that they are kids is wholly and totally irrelevant. I was reminded of this – yet again – as I watched the Dodgers lose to the Cardinals – yet again.
It seems that the Cardinals rarely have a “that can’t happen” moment, while the Dodgers had a few too many. But it isn’t just the Dodgers.
And, when I reference “that just can’t happen” plays, I don’t mean bloopers. I mean plays that, if your head was in the game, if you kept your focus, if you played like you were taught, and/or if you understood the magnitude of the moment, the play would never have happened.
My first memory of a “that just can’t happen” moment hails from the 1988 NLCS (although I am sure if I really search my memory banks, I could probably come up with an earlier example). Two years ago this Sunday, Game 7 of the NLCS, Dodger Stadium, top of the 9th inning, two outs, and a 3-2 count (before you scroll down, do you remember what happened?).
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Howard Johnson strikes out looking to end the 1988 NLCS:
Two years later, a somewhat meaningless game early in the season, the Mets strike again. David Cone decides it makes more sense to have his voice heard than concern himself with the runners on base:
I am sure the ‘90s are chalk full of examples, but I was too busy in college and law school to plop myself in front of SportsCenter every night to catalogue them. Worry not, the most recent decade does not want for examples of “that just can’t happen” moments:
2006 NLCS, Game 7, Mets trail the Cardinals 3-1, the bases are loaded with a 3-2 count and 2 outs in the bottom fo the 9th . Does it get any more perfect? Oh, and at the plate is a guy who hit 41 HRs and knocked in 116 during the season. So, naturally . . .
But wait, there’s more. 2010 NLCS, Phillies trail the Giants 3-2 with 2 on and 2 out in the bottom of the 9th inning, a guy who had 229 homeruns over the course of the past 5 seasons at the plate:
League Championship Series, that is chump change. Let’s up the ante. 2012 World Series, Tigers trail the Giants three games to none, down a run in the bottom of the 10th inning, THE TRIPLE CROWN WINNER at the plate:
The following season. A lovely Sunday afternoon at Chavez Ravine. Juan Uribe holding third after a sacrifice fly that moved all the runners up, when Evan Longoria does his best Little League or Bill Veeck impersonation, and catches the portly third baseman off guard:
Here is a really painful one. Game 4 of the 2013 World Series, Cardinals trail the Red Sox 4-2 in the bottom of the 9th. With one out, Allen Craig singles to right, bringing the tying run to the plate. After an out is recorded, the Cardinals’ last hope is potential future Hall of Famer Carlos Beltran – he of the career .333 post-season batting average and 16 post-season homeruns; the guy looking for redemption for his ʞ in 2006. Before Beltran could even dig in, let alone swing his lofty bat, Wong got caught leaning:
This one hits a little too close to home, as I was coaching a game a few years ago that we lost when our pitcher could not execute an intentional walk with the winning run on 3rd base and two outs. However, in this case, it worked out well, as the Nationals ended up recording the out when (a) Buster Posey was late breaking to the plate (borderline “that just can’t happen”) and (b) Wilson Ramos makes a terrific recovery and throw. To set the stage, Game 4 of the 2014 NLDS, the Giants have just taken a 3-2 in the bottom of the 7th inning (on a wild pitch, no less), and the Nationals were intentionally walking Pablo Sandoval to set up the double-play:
And lastly, to the chagrin of Dodgers fans all over the Southland; a play that has been overlooked due to a knock, a bloop, a hanging curveball, and a legacy tainted. But, lest there be any doubt, this play will loom large for years to come. Game 4 of the 2014 NLDS, the Dodgers plate two runs in the top of the 6th to break a scoreless tie. With two outs, Andre Ethier leads from 3rd and Juan Uribe scoots off 1st. Seth Maness bounces a pitch that looks to get past Yadier Molina. If nothing else, the Dodgers will have two runners in scoring position with A.J. Ellis (he of the .538 average in the series) at the plate. Well, if nothing else, unless (a) Ethier strays too far from the bag, and (b) Ethier decides to keep his uniform pristine. Get dirty, get safe. Ethier chooses not to; Molina guns to Matt Carpenter (damn that guy!); Carpenter tags Ethier on the forearm (the forearm, really!?); rally over; inning over; a few minutes later, season over.
The moral of the story: it’s not worth pulling our hair out when our kids do stupid shit on the baseball field. All told, the stories above include players who made a combined $80M in salaries in the years those plays occurred.
It seems that money can’t buy happiness, and it sure as hell can’t always buy competence.
The cycle of life. Everything that’s old is new again. The more things change, the more they stay the same. Every dog has its day.
I awoke this morning and went deep into my closet to pull out my Guess flap-pocket jeans. They were right next to the double-collared Izod shirt and white Reebok “trainers” (the ones with the Velcro straps across the top).
Sitting on my desk, below the pennants I got at every Dodger game (when such pedestrian souvenirs were available), was my tape recorder – the one with the handle that slides in when not being used – which currently holds my Bar Mitzvah practice tape. Man, I hated that tape.
I walked out the door, got on the bus, and headed for 6th, 7th, or 8th grade. I cannot remember which. I just remember feeling a bit awkward, and not knowing – with any certainty – what my friends were thinking or which girl I liked was willing “to go” with me. The one thing I did know, for sure, was that I had my Sony Watchman in my backpack and I was going to surreptitiously watch a playoff game between periods and at lunch.
Yes, this morning we are back in the early to mid ’80s. Why do the names Reagan, Oliver, and Fawn mean so much to me?
The Royals vs. the Orioles for the right to play in the World Series. Where did the time go?
Quick, how many players from those teams can you recall right now? Go (don’t scroll down yet).
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My list:
Royals: Willie Wilson, Willie Aikens, Frank White, George Brett, Jamie Quirk, John Wathan, Onix Concepcion, Steve Balboni, Buddy Biancalana, Dane (not Garth) Iorg, Lonnie Smith (after his Cardinals years), Hal McRae
Orioles: Al Bumbry, Ken Singleton, Jim Palmer, Storm Davis, Rick Dempsey, Eddie Murray, Cal Ripken, Lenn Sakata, “Disco” Danny Ford (pre-Angels), John Lowenstein, Gary (not Ron) Roenicke
How weird is it that our kids are going through, and dealing with, the same things that we were the last time these two teams were relevant. We all love to live in the world of nostalgia, but this TRULY brings it home.
How many of you can remember, with perfect clarity, when Don Denkinger became persona non grata in St. Louis and a hero in Kansas City?
Do you remember when we all thought Cal Ripken would be playing in Octobers for years to come?
Growing up, Rick Dempsey lived down the street, and he would always drive around in that tan Chevy Camaro, license plate: 83WSMVP. Yeah, those early ’80s baseball teams were my childhood.
So, last night, watching the hometown Angels lose out to the upstart Royals, I was not nearly as pained as my son. I took heart in being young again.
When, earlier in the day, the Orioles powered their way through Motown, I was hit with a double-dose. Although the Tigers have won and been relevant recently, to me it will always be 1984, with Kirk Gibson hitting a ball into the upper deck of “Old” Tiger Stadium off Goose Gossage.
It has been many years. We’ve learned a little and lived a lot, but, boy-oh-boy, sometimes I truly wish I was still 12 years old.
This weekend, if even for just a few brief moments, I was a kid again!
Yesterday was the tipping point. Actually, Tuesday night got me to the edge, and Wednesday my colleagues pushed me over the edge. I had to start writing.
Bill Simmons started his “Boston Sports Guy” blog in the 90s to give a “regular fan’s perspective” on sports. He has never avoided his biases nor held his tongue (or his fingers), and as recently as last week, that got him in a load of trouble. But now Bill Simmons (love him or hate him) is the most the successful sportswriter in America. He is friends with many of the people he writes about; he has multiple forums to express his opinions within the ESPN empire; he is no longer just a “regular fan”.
When it comes to baseball, I don’t think I am a regular fan either. I am a little obsessed. Not 24/7, studying the Sabermetrics, memorizing FIP and BABIP. But definitely one who enjoys the sport maybe a little too much. What I have found over the past few years, however, is there are many people just like me. People who played baseball growing up; who maybe coach it now; they may play some occasional softball; who watch Sunday Night Baseball and Baseball Tonight; people tuned into the MLB Network and read Buster Olney, and to whom the names Keith Law and Tim Kurkjian and Greg Amsinger are not foreign. People who want nothing more than to visit Studio 42. Guys who like to sit around and just discuss baseball. And it doesn’t have to be MLB; it can be college; or the minors; or, probably more often than not, Little League baseball. There is a whole universe of people like me out there who simply cannot get enough.
The non-baseball lovers don’t understand it. “The game is too boring”, they say; they would rather watch football or basketball. To them I say, “you are right”, baseball is boring. But when you love something as much as we do, we can overlook its shortcomings. We can find ways to fill those long pauses such that time doesn’t just stand still.
I have a friend who used to be a non-believer (he may be converted by now), who used to say that the most exciting thing in baseball is the home run, and that, in and of itself, is not that exciting. I would strenuously disagree with him – the home run is not the most exciting thing in baseball. The most exciting thing in baseball is the game-saving catch; the dive to preserve the no-hitter;
the play at the plate (with or without the enforcement of Rule 7.13) (and, by the way, if that reference doesn’t make sense to you, this blog may not be for you); the 3-2 change-up; the 10-pitch at bat with the game on the line; “a slow roller up along first . . .” (again, if you don’t get that reference, this blog may not be for you). The home run is all fine and dandy – and chicks love the long ball – but that is not what the purists, the true lovers of the game, find to be the most exciting.
A good friend of mine – a non-Time Warner subscriber – recently told me the story of being able to watch the last few Dodger games of the season. His wife remarked to him that it was such a pleasure to have the voice of Vin Scully back in the house.
That is a baseball fan. That is to whom this blog is directed. Someone – like me – who felt nothing but sheer joy hearing Vin Scully interviewed by local radio hacks on my drive home, just so I could hear his voice regaling us with stories of “time everlasting” and “seasons gone by” and “Sandy” and “Mr. Rickey” and on and on. I am not embarrassed to admit that I will often queue up the DVD of “For Love of the Game” just to hear Vin Scully talk about Billy Chapel “pushing that sun back into the sky to give us one more day or summer. (Note: I got chills writing those words.). If you don’t get that reference, and don’t know that line, this blog may not be for you.
Tuesday night could have been a throw-away game. With due respect to my dear friend and die-hard Royals fan, what was essentially a play-in game between the Royals (they of the light hitting and small ball) and the hapless A’s (who were just lucky the season didn’t have 163 or 164 games, or else they surely would have played themselves out of the post-season) on a Tuesday night – in, of all places, Kansas City.
But as these things are wont to do, magic happened. We may all live another 50 years and not see more than a couple of games (baseball or otherwise) with as much tension and excitement as the Wild Card game of September 30, 2014. There is no need to rehash what happened, as, if you are reading this and have read this far, you watched the game (or at least seen the highlights 10 times). But what makes it so fascinating, what makes us want to discuss it ad nauseum, were all the small things. In no particular order:
Two years ago the Royals traded away their best prospect, a power-hitting outfielder who would go on to win the Rookie of the Year, for a big-game pitcher: Big Game James Shields. And there he was, on the mound for the biggest game of the year, with the lead. In the fifth inning, the Royals intrepid manager – no in-game Kasparov – decided to pull Shields with 2 runners on and having only thrown 88 pitches. One has to ask the question: Why? Why take out a guy you brought to your organization to pitch this game. Sure Ned Yost has a bullpen full of flame-throwers, but none with the “Big Game” moniker, none with the experience of Shields, and none with the feel of the game. And, sure as day follows night, three pitches later Brandon Moss launched a 98MPH fastball out to dead center. Goodbye baseball; goodbye lead; goodbye Ned Yost (or so we thought).
More interesting and curious items from an incredible – if not beautiful – game. In the same way that the Royals brought Shields in to pitch the big one, before the July 31st trade deadline, the A’s traded away their best power hitter (an almost unheard of move) to bring in Jon Lester from Boston. Why? Because Billy Beane felt he needed a proven, Big Game pitcher. That was all well and good until the 8th, with the A’s comfortably ahead 7-3. Query: Why keep Lester out there that long when you have a bullpen full of arms who can get the last 6 outs and get the A’s to Anaheim? But, you guessed it, nothing like that happened. Bob Melvin stuck with Lester – even after all the obvious signs of the wheels coming off were apparent: a walk and an error by the sure-handed short stop. The baseball gods had spoken. Bing, bang, boom, the score was 7-6, 1 out, runners in scoring position.
A micro microcosm of the A’s season – had a lead, couldn’t hold it. But wait, the Royals could not convert – 7 sliders and 6 horrible swings later – and the A’s were out of it. The entire East Bay sighed in relief; and 40,000+ fans collectively screamed “FUCK” (just not loud enough for the kids to hear). Query: I know it is easy for me to say sitting 1600 miles away on my couch, but how do professional hitters continue to chase the same shitty slider low and away. Miss one, okay; two, maybe; a third, come on. But if that happens, how does the next guy – ostensibly watching from the on-deck circle (doing his homework, as it is said) – do the exact same thing? And I thought being a Little League manager was frustrating!
So, rather than cursing them, the baseball gods gave the A’s a reprieve. But three small outs to go. And then but two outs to go. And here is when the classic begins. The Royals did what they do – a dink single, followed by a perfect sacrifice. Jarrod Dyson, the speedster was taking his lead from 2nd. Did anyone else notice – the camera angle was perfect – that Dyson did not get deep on his lead off 2nd? We teach our kids to get deep so that they have a better angle around third. But Dyson went straight off the base. I noticed, but apparently the A’s did not. With the brass of a gunslinger, Dyson took off for 3rd with a left-handed runner up.
Ballsy move. Sac fly. Free baseball.
Down 8-7 in the 12th, the A’s were again two outs away. NEVER count down outs. Eric Hosmer crushed a ball to deep left center. For those of you who didn’t watch the game but only saw the highlights, the first of two very interesting pieces of information to address here:
Coco Crisp started the game in center, with Sam Fuld in left. Crisp left the game with a hamstring injury, forcing Melvin to move Fuld to center and bring Johnny Gomes in to play left. Was it a lack of communication between two players not accustomed to being in the outfield together? Was it possible for Coco Crisp – who made the amazing catch in the triangle to end the 2007 ALCS for the Red Sox – to make a leaping catch and save the game? Did it not matter one way or the other as Hosmer’s ball was simply uncatchable? We will never know.
In any event, Hosmer ends up on third, the tying run just 90 feet away, with one down. All the Royals needed was a little flyball, but that was too much to ask. Rather, they got a high bouncer. Hosmer read it perfectly (you cannot teach that – it has to be instinct) and dove home safely to tie the game. But now the winning run was on first. The second interesting antidote:
2. It is well known that Jon Lester has a hard time holding runners on. In fact, among 498 pitchers with at least 15 innings pitched this year, Jon Lester was the only one who didn’t attempt any pickoff throws. To combat this, the A’s started Geovany Soto behind the plate – as he is better at throwing out base stealers. So what do you know, with runners on 1st and 3rd with two out in the first inning, Lester attempts a pick-off throw (his first of the year). Billy Butler got caught in a run-down, but when Steven Vogt threw home to get the runner breaking from third, Soto’s thumb got jammed. The A’s got the final out of the inning, but lost their good-throwing catcher.
Derek Norris moved behind the plate in the second inning, and the Royals promptly stole 6 bases over the next 11 innings. None more important than Christian Colon’s steal in the 12th. After knocking in Hosmer with the infield single, the A’s knew Colon would be looking to go. They read it perfectly and called a pitch-out. But Derek Norris, nobody’s Johnny Bench, fumbled the pitch, and now the winning run was in scoring position.
So up comes Salvador Perez. He of the 0-5 and the very ugly strike out with the tying run on third in the 8th. Five of the last six pitches Perez saw were strikes – and they were all sliders low and away. So why not go there again? They do, but somehow Perez gets decent wood on it, shoots it up the third baseline, Donaldson reaches with every ounce of his being, and the rest is history.
We can – and probably will – talk about this game for years to come. But the great news is that we have 4 series about to start. We have an entire month of October to create new memories and countless talking points. Wainwright and Kershaw haven’t even toed the rubber; Trout and Cabrera haven’t even dug in. Verlander, Scherzer, Yadi, Adam Jones, the possibilities are endless.
There is so much more to come. I could not be more excited.
And if you have read this far, I am pretty sure you are too.
PLAY BALL!
p.s. Future versions of this blog may not (or may) be this long!
