Dan Freedman – Page 4

In Boston, Brock Holt Is A Legend On and Off The Field

In the history of Major League Baseball, there have been nearly 21,000 players. Of those, 278 are enshrined in the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum (which will increase to 283 this coming weekend), and scores more currently playing will be there some day.

That leaves many, many players who have come and gone; gotten their proverbial “cup of coffee,” and then moved on to selling insurance or teaching middle school or coaching. Some players make an appearance, and we have no recollection of them ever being there. You might find an old baseball card and be reminded of seeing them play a game in Milwaukee in 1987, but nothing else comes to mind (looking at you, Steve Kiefer). For others, despite uninspired career statistics, they leave a mark – they are fondly remembered by the fans of the teams for which they played.

One such player is Brock Holt, the “Brockstar.” Holt is from Fort Worth, Texas, graduating from Stephenville High School in 2006. Undrafted, and with no formal collegiate offers, Holt attended Navarro College in Corsicana, Texas, about 80 miles southeast of his hometown. After two years there, he transferred to Rice University in Houston, putting up great stats, hitting .348 with 12 home runs, 67 runs scored, and 11 stolen bases — all in just 59 games. He was named to the All-NCAA Regional Team and the All-Silver Glove Trophy Series team.

His one-year success at Rice led Holt to be selected by the Pittsburgh Pirates in the 9^th round of the 2009 draft. He spent parts of four seasons in the Pirates’ minor league system before being called up the “bigs” when rosters expanded on September 1, 2012. He immediately saw action, walking and scoring a run in his first major league game.

The next day he was Pittsburgh’s lead-off hitter, playing second base. After a strike out looking and a line out, he recorded his first big league hit — a single to center off Yovani Gallardo. Before the day was over, he would have his second hit and first run batted in.

Two days after that, Holt became only the second Pirate to ever have a four-hit game within his first four major league games (Jack Merson did it in 1951, but you knew that already).

When the season ended, the Pirates traded Holt (and Joel Hanrahan) to the Boston Red Sox in return for Jerry Sands, Stolmy Pimentel, Mark Melancon, and Iván DeJesús Jr. After starting the season at Triple-A Pawtucket, Holt got called to the big club to face the Angels right before the All-Star break. He ultimately played in 26 games, but was not on the post-season roster for the team that won its third World Series in ten years.

2014 was Holt’s breakout season, playing in 106 games and finishing 8^th in Rookie of the Year voting. He built on that foundation with a strong 2015, making the All-Star team while accruing 2.8 bWAR (which would turn out to be a career-high).

A concussion derailed his 2016 season, limiting him to 94 games. But, in a sign of things to come, Holt hit .400 in the Division Series, which Boston lost to Cleveland.

Concussion symptoms and vertigo slowed his 2017 season, and he only played in 64 games. In 2018, Holt played six different positions (missing only pitcher, catcher, and center field). He hit .277, and was a spark plug for a team that won yet another World Series.

Holt may have reached folklore status with fans in New England in Game 3 of the 2018 American League Division Series against the New York Yankees. Becoming the first major league player to ever hit for the cycle in the post-season, he thumped the hated rivals, going 4-for-6 with five RBI. He saved the best for last, slamming a two-run dinger into the stands in right field in the top of the ninth to finish off a 16-1 boat race in the Bronx. In many ways, that game was the apex of Brock Holt’s major league career.

A scratched cornea and shoulder impingement limited his 2019 — his final year before free agency — to 87 games. He signed a one-year contract with Milwaukee that off-season, but was designated for assignment after just 16 games, after slashing .100/.222/.100. The Washington Nationals gave him a look in 20 games, where his slash line improved to a meager .262/.314/.354.

In a full-circle moment, Holt signed a minor league contract with the Texas Rangers prior to the 2021 season. In 76 games, he slashed .209/.281/.298, hitting just two home runs. On August 7^th, he made his third career pitching appearance, retiring all three Athletics batters he faced.

During Spring Training of 2022, Holt signed a minor league deal with the Braves, but just eleven days later he requested his release. He officially retired from baseball in October of 2022.

Despite the late-career journey, Holt will always be remembered as a member of the Red Sox. As the club’s Jimmy Fund captain for five seasons, he and his wife Lakyn became the face of that charitable organization raising money for and the spirits of people getting treatment at the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute. And nearly two years after his retirement, Holt was named the co-chair of The Jimmy Fund, serving alongside broadcaster Tom Caron.

Two weeks ago, Holt found himself back at Fenway Park, this time wearing a totally different uniform. He was a special guest hitter of the Savannah Bananas, and participated in the Banana’s traditional “Dance Her Home” routine, once again entertaining 37,000 Boston faithful.

Some players come and go, and barely leave a mark. Others, like Brock Holt, live on in the hearts and the minds of a fanbase for years to come.

PLAY BALL!!

40 Years After the “Rick Camp Game”

July 4th marked the 40th anniversary of what has colloquially become known as the “Rick Camp Game.” But, as you will see, it was a whole lot more than that.

As is typical for a 4th of July game, this battle between the visiting New York Mets and the hometown Atlanta Braves, was scheduled to begin around 7:30 p.m., with a fireworks show planned upon its conclusion.

Rain in the Atlanta area pushed the first pitch back about 90 minutes, which may have been a sign of things to come. The Mets started Dwight Gooden, who was off from the start, while the Braves countered with Rick Mahler. Gooden couldn’t get through the third inning, and Mahler couldn’t get through the fourth, which may have been a sign of things to come.

Both teams scored in the first inning, and the Mets led 6-4 after six. The Mets extended their lead by scoring one run in the top of the eighth, but the Braves roared back with four in the bottom half — three on a Dale Murphy bases-clearing triple —to take the lead, 8-7. At this point, Atlanta and their faithful were just three outs away from a come-from-behind win and a spectacular fireworks display. But the Mets had other ideas.

With future Hall of Famer Bruce Sutter on the mound looking for his 15th save of the season (and 275th of his career), third baseman Ray Knight struck out. Two outs away. But three consecutive singles by Howard Johnson, Danny Heep, and Lenny Dykstra brought in the tying run. It may have been a sign of things to come.

The teams went scoreless in innings ten through twelve. In the top of the 13th, after a Ray Knight single, HoJo his a two-run homer to stake the Mets to a 10-8 lead. But, in the bottom half, Rafael Ramirez led off with a single, and after two outs (meaning the Mets were just one out away from ending this game and giving the fans at least 50% of what they came for), Terry Harper hit a game-tying two-run dinger. After thirteen innings, the score stood 10-10.

The 14th through 17th innings were uneventful, although the Bravos did get two runners on with two outs in the 16th. Alas, a Paul Runge fly out ended the threat. On they went.

Johnson led off the 18th with a single, and moved to third on a sacrifice bunt plus a throwing error. Dykstra followed with a sac fly to make it 11-10 in favor of the Mets.

In the bottom of the 18th, Gerald Perry grounded back to the box, and Harper grounded to first unassisted. The Braves, now completely out of position players, had no choice but to send pitcher Rick Camp to the plate. Atlanta was again down to its last out. And this time they had a player with a career .060 batting average and 83 strikeouts in 167 at-bats, with nary a single home run to his name. So, what did Camp do? To the Mets? To the long-suffering fans? You already know the answer. He hit an 0-2 curveball over the wall in left field to tie the game. Prior to the second pitch of the at-bat, Pete van Wieren said to his broadcast partner:

“Ernie, if he hits a home run to tie this game, this game will be certified as absolutely the nuttiest in the history of baseball.”

Well, consider it certified.

The jog around the bases may have tired Camp out, as he allowed a Gary Carter single to start the 19th, and then, after a sacrifice and an intentional walk, Knight doubled in the Mets’ 12th run. Another intentional walk preceded another Danny Heep single, which ultimately cleared the bases due to a Claudell Washington throwing error. Two batters later, Wally Backman’s singled plated Heep, extending the Mets lead to 16-11. Ironically, Keith Hernandez, who hit for the cycle in the game (it took him 12 innings and seven plate appearances to pull it off), grounded out to end the threat.

Even trailing by five; even though it was well past 3 o’clock in the morning, the Braves were not yet done. After a ground out, Hernandez committed the rare error, allowing Washington to get to second. A Ramirez fly out got the Mets — once again — one out away. But then Ron Darling walked Dale Murphy, and then walked Gerald Perry, before a Terry Harper single combined with a Howard Johnson error allowed two runs to score. The Braves were then just one batter away from bringing the tying run up to bat. Unfortunately, Rick Camp didn’t have any additional magic in his bat, and he struck out struck out to end the game.

What may be the most shocking tidbit from this game is that the Braves gave the remaining fans exactly what they were promised: a fireworks show. At just about 4 a.m. it commenced, scaring local residents who thought that war with Russia had begun.

Let’s Give Some Love To The Career of Gary Sheffield

I played first base from the time I first held a mitt until my freshman year of college. And in all those years, there was never a time when I was holding a runner on first and a left-handed batter came to the plate, that I didn’t get just a little bit nervous. Less than ninety feet separated me from a ball smashed off a bat that, because of the angle, you really couldn’t pick up immediately. It did not matter the level of competition — high school, American Legion, collegiate fall ball — it was still a scary prospect.

And that was at first base, which is most definitively not the “hot corner.” That designation is reserved for the other side of the diamond. That is where careers are made. Just ask Brooks Robinson and Mike Schmidt; Graig Nettles and Chipper Jones; Adrian Beltre and Nolan Arenado. There are more names you could add to this list who dug their spikes into the dirt — and sometimes on the grass — and dared sluggers to get one past them.

Considering my trepidation at first base, I have often wondered what third baseman were thinking when Dick Allen or Dave Winfield or Frank Thomas came to the plate. Today, that guy would be Giancarlo Stanton, with his severely closed stance and a career average exit velocity of nearly 94 MPH.

But when I was growing up, the guy who instilled the most fear, the guy who wiggled his bat above head in a taunt of the damage he was about to inflict, the guy who smashed 467 doubles and 509 home runs, and who won five Silver Slugger Awards, was Gary Sheffield. If someone had ever asked me to play third base when Gary Sheffield came to bat, I would don catcher’s gear; and I would play deep, like outfield grass deep. Imagine having Sheffield at the plate with the infield in? Better yet, don’t imagine that…that is the stuff of nightmares.

It’s unfortunate that Sheffield’s career ended before Statcast began measuring exit velocities, because there is no doubt he would he would be amongst the hardest hitters in the history of the game. But Sheffield was more than just a violent swinger — he was a complete hitter.

In 1992, his fourth full season in the big leagues, he won a batting title with San Diego, hitting .330. That .330 also included 34 doubles and 33 home runs, with 323 total bases for the season. That garnered him his first All-Star appearance, his first Silver Slugger, and third place in MVP voting (behind some guy named Bonds and Terry Pendleton).

Three years later, in 1995, he slashed .324/.467/.587, for a 177 OPS+.

The next year — 1996 — he was even better. He slashed .314/.465/.624, for a 1.090 OPS (which led the league), and a 189 OPS+ (which also led the league). He was again an All-Star and a Silver Slugger, but came in sixth in MVP voting. That was the last season that any black ink (leading the league in a category) appears on Sheffield’s Baseball Reference page.

But, rest assured, the next thirteen seasons of his career were nothing to sneeze at. Playing until his age-40 season, all he did over those years was slash .292/.400/.521, for a .921 OPS and a 141 OPS+. The man could flat out hit.

Unfortunately, Sheffield’s seasonal and thus career bWAR calculation was hampered by his woeful defense. He started his career as a shortstop, soon moved to third base, and then retreated to the outfield starting in his seventh full season. How about this for an ignominious stat: In each of his 22 years in the game, Sheffield never had a positive dWAR. It didn’t matter what position he was playing; his worst season was -2.9, playing third base in 1993, and his best was -0.2, playing third in 1990.

But Sheffield didn’t earn more than $168 million over the course of his career for his fielding gloves, just his batting gloves.

His career .907 OPS is 65^th all-time. His 140 OPS+ informs us that over all those seasons, he was 40% better than the average major league hitter. He hit 509 home runs, and yet never struck out more than 83 times in a single campaign. In fact, he has considerably more walks (1,475) than strike outs (1,171).

Sheffield petered out on Hall of Fame voting last year, earning just 64% of the vote, 11% shy of induction in his final year on the writers’ ballot. His candidacy is a Rorschach test for baseball fans.

Bill James’ Hall of Fame Monitor gives him a score of 158, where a likely HOFer scores 100.

By James’ Hall of Fame Standards, he scores a 61, which is above the 50 for the average Hall of Fame inductee.

But Jay Jaffee’s JAWS index shows Sheffield below Hall of Fame average in career bWAR (60.5 vs. 69.7); 7-year peak bWAR (38 vs. 42.2); 5-year peak bWAR (49.3 vs. 56); and bWAR/162 (3.8 vs. 4.9).

However, when you check Baseball Reference’s Similarity Scores, of the ten players listed as the players whose careers most closely resembled Sheffield’s, only Carlos Beltrán isn’t already in the Hall.

Sheffield’s career is weighted down by his lousy defense and the fact that his name appeared in the Mitchell Report, the 2007 investigation into steroids in major league baseball. Sheffield has freely admitted that he utilized “the cream” while recovering from knee surgery, but adamantly denied that he ever used steroids. He also admits to buying vitamins from BALCO, the lab at the heart of the steroids scandal, but calls any other allegations of illegal drug use “fabricated.” Sheffield, in fact, was one of the first players to speak out publicly about steroid use in baseball, appearing on HBO’s real sports alleging that each team has six or seven players “juicing.”

Unfortunately, what’s done is done. Sheffield’s only hope for Hall of Fame admittance now rests with the Contemporary Baseball Era Committee, which meets again in December of this year.

But regardless of that outcome of that vote, or any votes in the future, it is important that we, as baseball fans, fondly remember the career of Gary Sheffield.

The Savannah Bananas Are Something Totally Different

The Savannah Bananas are not for everyone. The Savannah Bananas are for everyone. Of course there is an inherent contradiction in those two statements, but they remain true.

For certain baseball die-hards, those who lament the “Manfred Man” and the pitch clock and the ban on shifts, they will not like Banana Ball. But what you see when you go to a Savannah Bananas baseball game is something that can (and is) enjoyed by people of all ages, stripes, and backgrounds. I recently told a colleague – a massive baseball fan – that I went to a Bananas game, and he asked, “What is that?” And that is when I realized that despite their massive and still-growing success, not everyone knows about the Savannah Bananas. Allow me to provide a brief introductory course.

It all started in 2016 as a collegiate summer baseball team in the Coastal Plain League. Lynn Moses, a local Savannah resident, won the “name the team contest” and was honored with season tickets. The Bananas won the Pettit Cup (the CPL championship) in their inaugural season, and was named the league’s organization of the year in both 2016 and 2017.

Owners Jesse and Emily Cole, master marketers, wanted to change the summer baseball paradigm. So, in 2018, the team created the alternative “Banana Ball” rules (more about those below) and first used them during an intra-squad game. The fans seemed to love it, so in June of 2020, they played their first official game using the rules. After that, Banana Ball was played in their home park, Grayson Stadium, and customary baseball rules were used on the road. After the 2022 season, the Coles decided that playing two different types of baseball was not tenable, so they formed another squad – the Party Animals – to be their main opponent, and left the Coastal Plain League.

It is important to stop here to clarify a myth. When people ask about the Savannah Bananas, the most ready comparison is the Harlem Globetrotters. And, in some ways, that is apt. So, by transitive property, the Party Animals would be the Washington Generals. But, under even the most basic level of scrutiny, it is obvious that one thing is not like the other. For starters, the Bananas don’t win every game. The Party Animals (and now the additional opponents, the Firefighters, the Visitors, and the Texas Tailgaters) come to play. In fact, the Bananas recently had a seven-game losing streak against the Firefighters. And while the Generals are often the butt of the Globetrotters’ jokes, the Bananas’ opponents give as good as they get, and are never played for fools.

You see, despite some of the naysayers, at its core, Banana Ball is real baseball. The pitchers pitch – and they throw relatively hard; the batters bat – and they hit the ball a long way; the fielders field – they just do it with a little more flair. No game, score, or winner, is ever preordained. The final tally presents a winner, and oftentimes that is not the Bananas.

Here is a quick breakdown of the Banana Ball rules, which make this game different than “typical” baseball:

Games are won by points, not runs. Score more runs in an inning, you win a point. Except in the final inning (more about that below), when every run counts as a point.
Each game is subject to a strict two-hour time limit. Jesse comes onto the field to announce the start of the clock, and then we can watch the countdown on the scoreboard. No new inning can start after 1:50; but once an inning starts, it is played to its completion.
Batters cannot step out of the batter’s box; doing so results in an automatic strike.
There is no bunting; doing so results in an automatic ejection.
Batters can attempt to steal first base on a wild pitch/passed ball.
Walks are referred to as “sprints”. After ball four, the batter takes off and runs the bases and goes as far as he can until each defensive player has touched the ball.
There are no mound visits.
Any foul ball caught cleanly by a fan results in the batter being out.
“The Golden Batter Rule”: One time per game, a team may send any hitter in the lineup to bat in any spot. (Jayson Stark wrote about the possibility of this in MLB earlier this season.)
In the last inning, each run is counted as a point, so the goal is to score as much as possible.
In the case of a tie, there is a “showdown tiebreaker.” Each team’s half-inning during the showdown ends with any out or with any run scored by the batter. If the batter puts the ball in play, he must attempt to score. A batter who draws a walk goes to second base. Any home run during the showdown ends the game. Here is the defensive arrangement for each showdown round:
- Round 1: Pitcher, catcher, one fielder.
- Round 2: Pitcher and catcher only. Yes, that means that the pitcher must chase down any hit ball.
- Round 3 (and beyond): Pitcher, catcher, and single fielder, but the round begins with the bases loaded.

Beyond the difference in rules, a Bananas game is an all-out party. Music plays from minutes before the first pitch and continues until the final out is recorded. Players (and coaches) break out into dance routines every so often. The home plate umpire doesn’t just call balls and strikes, he dances like Frank Drebin. When a player hits a home run, it is not uncommon for him to surf on his teammates from third to home (you’ve got to see it to understand it). “Stilts,” a player standing nearly 11-feet tall often takes the mound and sometimes comes to bat. There are celebrity guest pitchers and batters (Patrick Renna, the “Bambino” from The Sandlot, pinch hit at a recent game in Anaheim).

But the game is just part of the party. Hours before the national anthem, the players are in the parking lot signing autographs for adoring fans (each player and coach comes armed with his/her own Sharpie). A couple of hours before the first pitch, the players and coaches participate in a parade around the outside of the stadium with the team’s band playing around them. Players play catch (both baseball and football) with fans – and not just in the lower bowl, the get all the way to the upper deck. There is a banana throwing contest from the farther reaches of the ballpark. The “Man-Nanas,” a group of former professional wrestlers entertain the crowd moments before the game begins. And, just to make sure everyone understands what they are about to see, the “Chief Potassium Enthusiast,” Matt Graifer, a former professional wrestling announcer, wearing a bright yellow sport coat and bow tie, stands atop the dugout and explains all of the rules to the fans.

If this sounds like a lot, it is. If it sounds a bit unhinged, it is. If it sounds like a darn good time, it is. But despite the fact that many Bananas game are broadcast on television, this is something that needs to be seen in-person to be truly appreciated. But don’t try to buy tickets directly from the team’s website – every game this summer is sold out, and there is a three million person wait list (not a joke or a typo). But, that is what is the secondary market is for.

PLAY (BANANA) BALL!!

In Celebration of Carlos Delgado’s Career

Over a 17-year career, former Toronto Blue Jay, Florida Marlin, and New York Met Carlos Delgado slashed .280/.383/.546/.929, which totals a 138 OPS+. Over those years, he won three Silver Slugger awards, was named to two All-Star teams* and was in the Top-10 in MVP voting four times.

*In retrospect, only two is a crime.

In 2000 and 2001, the first baseman played in all 162 games.

The 2003 season may have been the pinnacle of his career: 161 games played; .302/.426/.593/1.019 (an OPS that led the league); 161 OPS+; 42 home runs (just below his career high of 44 in 1999); 81 extra base hits; and a league-leading 145 RBI. That year he was an All-Star for the second time, won his third Silver Slugger award, and came in second in MVP voting. Interestingly, he lost the MVP race to Alex Rodriguez who scored seven more runs, hit five more dingers, but had a lower OPS (.995 vs. 1.019). Rodriguez tallied 8.4 bWAR (Delgado only had 5.9), which was buoyed by the then-Rangers’ shortstop’s 1.7 dWAR (compared to Delgado’s -1.4 dWAR at first base).

Delgado played twelve of his 17 seasons in Canada, so he didn’t become a household name. It wasn’t until he landed in New York, and then played ten postseason games with the Mets in 2006, that casual fans learned about him. Over two playoff series, he slashed .351/.442/.757/1.199, with four home runs and 11 RBI. New York lost the NLCS to the eventual World Series champion St. Louis Cardinals, and, unfortunately, the Puerto Rican star never saw any further postseason action.

Signed by the Blue Jays in 1988 as an amateur free agent, Delgado made his major league debut in 1993, playing the final two games of the season, going 0-for-1 with a walk. He got his first big league hit in his first at-bat of the 1994 season, a single off Jack McDowell. He didn’t become an everyday player until 1996, when he logged 138 games and hit 25 homers. And then he became an institution north of the border. From 1997 through 2004, he never hit less than 30 dingers for the Jays.

Delgado entered free agency after the 2004 season, and signed with the (then) Florida Marlins. The following year Florida traded him to the Mets (despite his 32 home runs and 99 RBI) for three players who never amounted to anything in the big leagues. The Marlins have become synonymous with fire sales and making bad trades, and this one joins the ignominious list.

In four seasons in New York, Delgado had a 122 OPS+, with 104 home runs and 207 extra base hits. He batted only .267 (below his career mark), but his on-base percentage was still .351. And there was that 2006 playoff run.

He again became a free agent after the 2009 season, and remained unsigned until the Red Sox took a flier on him in August of 2010; but, he never played in Boston. In April, 2011, while at home in Puerto Rico, Delgado formally announced his retirement from baseball.

Eligible for the Hall of Fame in 2015, Delgado was only named on 3.8% of the ballots, and thus was not eligible for further consideration (a player needs at least 5% of the vote to remain on the ballot the next year).

By all practical considerations, Delgado is not a Hall of Famer. He only led the league in any category eight times, while the typical HOFer does that 27 times. By Baseball Reference’s “Hall of Fame Standards,” where 50 is an average Hall of Famer, Delgado scores a 44. And by Jay Jaffe’s JAWS analysis, Delgado falls short in (a) total bWAR, (b) 7-year peak, (c) bWAR over 162 games, and (d) total JAWS score.

However, that is nothing to be ashamed of. Delgado had an incredible career. He made more than $146 million. He is safely ensconced in the “Hall of Very Good,” and in 2013 he became the 10th player inducted into the Blue Jays’ Level of Excellence, which honors tremendous individual achievement.

The most important thing is that we as fans don’t forget Delgado’s career. Sometimes we get so fixated on the flashy and the fabulous, that we lose track of the solid and steady.

PLAY BALL!!

Note: A version of this article first appeared in the IBWAA’s “Here’s the Pitch” newsletter on June 3, 2025.

Baseball Is A Game Built on Fathers and Sons

A version of this article first appeared in the May 13th edition of the IBWAA “Here’s The Pitch” newsletter.

In the last two weeks, two former big leaguers sat in the stands and watched their sons come through in the clutch.

In the sixth inning of a 1-1 game two Saturdays ago, Minnesota Twins infielder Kody Clemens, playing his first game at Fenway Park, smacked as two-run home run into the bullpen to give the visiting team a lead they would not relinquish. Kody did this in front of his proud dad (and mom) in the ballpark where that dad made his major league debut and starred for thirteen seasons.

Similarly, two Sundays ago in Milwaukee, Brewers right fielder Daz Cameron had a key run-scoring single in the sixth inning to help knock out Cubs’ ace Shota Imanaga, helping his club as they eventually completed a 4-0 victory. Daz did this with his father, Mike, sitting in the stands at the aptly named American Family Field. Cameron père played in Milwaukee for two of his 17 years in the majors.

There have been more than 250 father and son combinations in MLB history. We know the big ones, like the Ken Griffeys as well as the Cal Ripkens, not to mention the Jose Cruzes, Fernando Tatises and Vladimir Guerreros. But, more than just providing DNA and/or coaching progeny to help them reach the highest level of baseball, at its most basic level, the sport is simply about fathers and sons.

This past weekend I watched my son walk across the stage and receive his college diploma (well, he walked across a stage to receive a certificate, and the diploma will come in the mail). I have provided my baseball-loving son my DNA, and like Roger Clemens and Mike Cameron, watched games at Fenway and American Family Field. However, in my case, my son was sitting next to me, and not standing in the batter’s box.

My son and I have visited a dozens of ballparks and seen countless games. Those are some of our best times together. But just because he has grown up and finished college, that doesn’t mean anything has to change. Heck, I took my dad to Wrigley Field just a couple of years ago, so there is no reason that baseball will not continue to be a form of connective tissue in our future.

If you are reading this newsletter, you don’t need me to tell you what Field of Dreams was all about. A kid just wanted to have a catch with his dad; and he literally moved the earth to do it. There is a reason these stories resonate with us. There is a reason why we get misty when we watch a parent (not always a father) cheering on his (or her) son as he takes the field for the first time. Who didn’t get the “feels” when the camera caught Matt Gorski’s family celebrating his hitting a home run in his first major league at-bat just a few weeks ago?

Sunday was Mother’s Day, so we cannot give mom short shrift. Cubs’ sensation Pete Crow-Armstrong was just discussing with a Cubs’ beat reporter how much it meant to him to have him mom at Coors Field when he entered his first game as a pinch runner. It is now widely believed that Abner Doublebay didn’t actually invent baseball, so that fact that he didn’t have any children is perfectly on-brand. (Alexander Cartwright, who maybe did invent baseball, had three boys.) From its inception, this has been a game of fathers and sons.

It was Freddie Freeman jumping into the netting to high-five his dad after hitting the triumphant walk-off grand slam in Game 1 of last season’s World Series. It was Max Muncy giving his father credit for getting his career back on track by throwing batting practice to him at a local high school. There is Doug Glanville candidly discussing how his career faltered when his father got sick and eventually passed away. The stories are legion.

And although my son stopped playing baseball his junior year of high school, he (and I) have never let go of the game. It is our generational lingua franca. Nearly four years ago I wrote about a pre-college trip where we traveled through the Midwest to watch baseball. I wrote about how East Ninth Street in Cleveland was a Rubicon. We went from “let’s go” to “letting go,” as he was about to embark on college, and I was about to let my first born out into the great wide world.

Well, Camp Randall Stadium in Madison, Wisconsin represented another Rubicon this past weekend. He completed what he set out to accomplish less than four years ago. Our time apart gave us space, but did not create distance. And now that he truly faces the real world, with a potential job even farther away, with adulting in the offing, baseball (among many topics) remains.

As Terence Mann says in that seminal film: “The one constant through all the years…has been baseball.” ‘Twas ever thus.

PLAY BALL!!

Hitting a Home Run In Your First MLB At-Bat Is Exciting, Not Indicative of Anything

Two weeks ago, Matt Gorski of the Pittsburgh Pirates hit his first major league home run in his first major league at-bat, on the first pitch he saw. With that swing, Gorski became the 136^th member of this not-so-exclusive club – the first MLB at-bat homer club. And he joined an inclusive subset of that club, becoming just the 31^st player to do so on the first pitch.

Interestingly, of the 136 times this has happened, 90 have done it in the last 50 years. From 1895–1974, only 46 players hit a home run in their first big league at-bat, with Joe Harrington of the Boston Beaneaters being the first, on September 10, 1895. There is really no rhyme nor reason as to who does this. Aaron Judge did it, but so did James Outman (just called up from Triple-A).

Luke Stuart did the deed in 1921, and that was his only hit in the majors. Keith McDonald did it for the Cardinals on July 4, 2000, and never hit another home run. Hoyt Wilhelm, known for his knuckleball – which was good enough to get him into the Hall of Fame – hit a home run in first at-bat, never hit another, and finished his career with a .088 batting average.

My personal favorite happened on April 8, 1986, when rookie sensation Will Clark took future Hall of Famer Nolan Ryan out to dead center in the Astrodome in his first big league at-bat. Historically, the Astrodome was a pitcher’s park, with bad lighting and dead air that did not allow the ball to carry. To hit a dinger to dead center off Nolan Ryan was quite the feat. Clark has discussed how the wily veteran, known for his “Ryan Express” fastball, started him with a curve. “Welcome to the big leagues, rook!”

On June 12, 2010, Daniel Nava made his major league debut with the Boston Red Sox with the bases loaded. He deposited Joe Blanton’s first offering into the bullpen for a grand slam.

This phenomenon is becoming almost old hat. Since the start of the 2020 season, it has happened 16 times. Noted first-timers include:

Akil Badoo (Tigers, 2021). Badoo also did it on the first pitch, and used that as a jumping off point for the best year of his now four-year career.

Christopher Morel (Cubs, 2022). Morel, now with the Rays, has fallen off the last two seasons since his trade to the American League.

Brett Baty (Mets, 2022). Baty has not hit enough to become the everyday third baseman the Mets had hoped for, and after that first dinger, he has hit only 15 more.

Spencer Steer (Reds, 2022). The Reds have high hopes for Steer, who hit 23 home runs in 2023 and then another 20 in 2024. A shoulder injury has slowed him this year.

Josh Jung (Rangers, 2022). Injuries have derailed a strong start to Jung’s career. He played in only 46 games last season, and a finger laceration has sidelined him again this year.

Davis Schneider (Blue Jays, 2023). Schneider came to the big leagues like a house on fire, accumulating 1.8 bWAR in just 35 games, while hitting seven more home runs after that initial blast. Since then, the results have been considerably more muted.

Jasson Domínguez (Yankees, 2023). “The Martian” was supposed to be a savior for the Yankees, but he has not yet lived up to the hype. He has two home runs this season in 98 at-bats, and has only hit seven since his initial shot.

Jhonkensy Noel (Guardians, 2024). “Big Christmas” hit one of the biggest and loudest home runs of the post season last year (see below), which was on top of the inaugural dinger. This year has only hit two, while slashing .164/.186/.269.

Hitting a home run in your first major league at-bat is, more than anything, a fluke. It does not bode anything for the rest of your career. But it does provide an incredible moment for the player and his family if they were able to make it to the yard in time for the game. And really, at the end of the day, aren’t those special moments one of the main reasons why we love the game?

PLAY BALL!

Aaron Judge, The 2024 World Series, and Sliding Doors

My wife is always giving me hard time about playing the sliding doors game. She thinks it’s a waste of time. I had a colleague who once gave me a t-shirt that reads: “What if there were no hypothetical questions?”. And one my favorite books is Mike Pesca’s anthology, “Upon Further Review: The Greatest What-Ifs In Sports History.” (As an aside, if you haven’t done so already, be sure to pick up a copy. The Muhammad Ali and Tom Brady stories alone are worth the cover price.)

Last week I streamed “Fight For Glory,” the three-part Apple TV documentary about the 2024 World Series. It is an incredible watch, as the cameras and microphones were able to see and hear so much that we as viewers of just the Fox telecast could not. Having cameras in Freddie Freeman’s house, being with his family, and then in the training room with him prior to a game, gives us fans an entirely different vantage point and appreciation for what he went through to become a World Series hero.

The documentary does a fantastic job of interweaving actual game footage and various broadcast feeds. And whether it was Joe Buck on Fox, or Michael Kay and Suzyn Waldman on WFAN, or Steven Nelson and Rick Monday AM570, there was one consistent theme we heard over and over as the World Series progressed: “If and when Aaron Judge gets hot, he can carry this team to a championship.” As the documentary makes clear, each broadcaster said this nearly every time Judge came to the plate over the first four games.

As a reminder, through the first four games (well, through his first three at bats of Game 4), the eventual AL MVP was 1-for-13 with seven strikeouts and seven runners left on base. In the first three games of the Series, Judge swung and missed 18 times.

In the bottom of the eighth inning of Game 4, Judge laced a 107.8 MPH single to left. That at bat, that swing, that hit, felt different. He would end game 1-for-3, but he had to be feeling good about coming to the plate four times and not swinging through any pitches.

Judge’s first at bat of Game 5 resulted in a 108.9 MPH missile to right center for his first home run of the Fall Classic. On the Fox call, Joe Davis proclaimed: “Sleeping giant has awoken.”

Two at bats later he hit a ball 101 MPH to deep left for a fly out. Then in the eighth, he hit a 100 MPH double to left. At that point, it was clear to everyone watching that Judge was locked in and doing damage. Unfortunately for Yankees fans, Judge never got another at bat in the series. As we all know, the Dodgers came back to win Game 5 and with it, the World Series.

But what if the Yankees had not lost Game 5. What if they had not choked away a no-hitter and a 5-0 lead? What if they had held on to their 6-5 advantage late in the game? What if the series went back to Los Angeles, with Yankees having won three straight and having all the momentum and with the Dodgers on the ropes? Well, we will never know.

The Dodgers never had to throw another pitch to the six-time All-Star, two-time MVP, American League single-season home run champ, the man who had hit 196 home runs the previous four seasons combined, while still batting .300 with a 1.056 OPS and a 191 OPS+. In a different universe, there would have been two more World Series games. How would Judge have fared? It is impossible to know for sure, but we can speculate based on his next two official games.

On Opening Day (which would have been Game 6), Judge went 1-for-4 with a double, striking out twice. The next day, the Yankees second game of the 2025 season (what would have been Game 7), Judge went ham. How about 4-for-6 with three homers, eight RBI, and 14 total bases. What would that have looked like in Chavez Ravine, on the biggest stage, in a deciding game, on national television?

Just for kicks, Judge hit a home run the following day as well, while walking three times and scoring four runs.

Would the Judge of early 2025 (.417/.481/1.167 with five home runs through his first six games) have been who the Dodgers would have contended with in the final two games of the World Series? Probably not. But they would have had to contend with the guy whose previous seven World Series at bats went like this:

92.8 MPH fly out
107.8 MPH single
108.9 MPH home run
Walk
100.9 MPH fly out
Walk
100.1 MPH double

Does anyone think that the shaky Dodgers rotation and/or bullpen wanted to face that version of Aaron Judge with the title on the line? Does anyone think that Judge wouldn’t have had at least a couple of memorable at bats in Games 6 and/or 7? Does anyone think that the Dodgers weren’t thanking their lucky stars that they came home with the Commissioner’s Trophy rather than trying to figure out how to get the suddenly red hot Aaron Judge out eight or ten more times?

Sliding doors. They are fun to think about.

PLAY BALL!!

Opening Day Performances May or May Not Be a Sign of Long-Term Success

Last Thursday was MLB’s Opening Day. A day of renewal, as teams start the season with a clean slate and great hope for the future. The same is true for the players. While they all start with a .000 batting average, that can only go up from there.

Some players get their seasons off to brilliant starts, having Opening Days for the ages. This year was no exception, two players remarkable games:

Kyle Manzardo of the Cleveland Guardians walked in his first at bat of the year. In the top of the fourth, he tripled and ultimately scored. In the sixth inning, he hit a solo home run. After striking out looking in the eighth, Manzardo took advantage of extra innings, hitting a two-run double in the top of the tenth to ultimately win the game for the Guardians. When all was said and done, Manzardo was a single shy of the cycle—which would have been only the second Opening Day cycle in MLB history (more about that below)—with four RBI.

MacKenzie Gore of the Washington Nations threw six innings, allowing just one hit, while striking out 13 Phillies. Gore matched Bob Gibson (more about that below) as the only pitchers in AL/NL history with that many strikeouts and no walks in a scoreless outing on Opening Day.

While those were quite the performances for one guy who with 156 previous big league at bats and only 15 runs batted in before Thursday afternoon, and one guy who only has 73 big league starts to his credit, they pale compared to some of the greatest Opening Days of all time. Here are just a few, starting with the pitchers:

Walter Johnson, pitching for the Senators in 1926 tossed 15 innings, giving up no runs while striking out nine against three walks in the their 1-0 win over the Athletics (then in Philadelphia).

Bob Feller, throwing for the then-Indians in 1940 what is still the only AL/NL Opening Day no-hitter. He struck out eight but issued five walks.

In the first of his nine straight Opening Day starts in 1967, Bob Gibson threw a complete-game shutout against the Giants, allowing just five hits and striking out 13 without issuing a single walk. Pretty good company for Mr. Gore.

Future Hall of Famer Clayton Kershaw fell short of Feller and Gibson in 2013, allowing four hits, but he handed out no walks while striking out only seven. Kershaw also added his own home run. (At the plate, Feller went 0-for-3 in his gem; Gibson, alas, went 0-for-4.)

Now, for the hitters, including a few from Detroit:

In 1937, Gee Walker of Tigers hit for the cycle and went 4-for-4 while also scoring twice in the Detroit’s 4-3 win over Cleveland.

On Opening Day in 1986, future October hero Kirk Gibson went 4-for-4 without cycling: he hit two home runs and drove five home, helping push the Tigers past the Red Sox, 6-5.

On that same day, Jim Presley of the Mariners went 3-for-4 with two home runs and 6 RBIs in a ten-inning, 8-4 win over the Angels.

Coming off a 47-homer season in 1987, George Bell rang in 1988 with three dingers against the Royals in a 5-3 Blue Jays win.

On Dwight Gooden’s final Opening Day as a Met, Karl (“Tuffy”) Rhodes hit three homers off Doc at Wrigley Field. The bad news: it was not enough, as the Cubs fell to the Mets, 12-8.

In 1999, Dodgers’ outfielder Raúl Mondesi tried his best to match the best previous Opening Days: going 4-for-5 with two homers and six RBIs, plus a walk. That helped the Dodgers to an 8-6 win over the Diamondbacks.

Corey Patterson of the Cubs went 4-for-6 with two homers and seven RBIs as his Cubs drubbed the Mets, 15-2 in 2003.

Another Tiger, Dmitri Young went wild in 2005, hitting three home runs with five RBI in a 4-for-4 day (plus a hit-by-pitch) as Detroit throttled Kansas City, 11-2.

The Royals were victimized yet again in 2018 as Matt Davidson crushed three homers in the White Sox’s 14-7 win over the Royals.

Most recently, in 2023, Adley Rutschman went a cool 5-for-5 with a home run, a walk, and four RBIs, as the Orioles edged the Red Sox, 10-9.

Baseball analysts are always quick to downplay “small sample size” assessments, so there is no need to extrapolate anything from any of the above games. Johnson, Feller, Bob Gibson, and (eventually) Kershaw are Hall of Famers, so their Opening Day success is not shocking.

But Walker went on to slash .335/.380/.499 in 1937 for the second-highest OPS of his career, making his only All-Star team. Kirk Gibson’s 1986 turned out to be relatively pedestrian, but Presley’s was the second-best season of his career.

Bell’s 1988, Rhodes’ 1994, Mondesi’s 1999, Young’s 2005, and Davidson’s 2018 were all middle-of-the-road. Patterson’s 2003 was his best. And Rutschman ended 2023 as a Top-10 Most Valuable Player Award vote-getter while winning a Silver Slugger Award.

Long story short, it is best simply to appreciate these great Opening Day performances, as there are absolutely no conclusions that can be drawn from them. After that one great game, there are still 161 to go.

PLAY BALL!!

A version of this story appeared in the April 2nd edition of IBWAA’s “Here’s the Pitch” newsletter.

Charlie Grimm, a Glove, Wrigley Field, and Generations of Baseball Love

Today would be my late wife’s 54^th birthday. In addition to giving me nine wonderful years of marriage and three beautiful children, she gave me her dad, Marty.

Marty was an interesting man. He never met an illness he didn’t have or couldn’t diagnose (with the help of the Physicians’ Desk Reference that he kept handy), or a line he couldn’t beat. He grew up in Chicago as a Cubs fan, and then joined the Army. Shipped off to Germany during the Korean War, he never saw military action. Rather, he whiled away his time playing baseball with his fellow recruits. Marty loved baseball.

His passion for the game was fueled by his father, Irwin, who also grew up in Chicago, and was even closer to baseball. Irwin was a concessionaire at Wrigley Field. Sometimes he sold sodas and hot dogs, other times he took tickets. But regardless of the job, the Friendly Confines were his home away from home, and his workplace.

One day in the late 1920s, Irwin was leaving the ballpark after another afternoon game on the North Side (they were all afternoon games then, as Major League Baseball’s first night game didn’t take place until May 24, 1935, at Crosley Field in Cincinnati; and the Cubs’ first night game didn’t happen until 53 years later, in 1988). As he was about to step onto Addison Street, Irwin heard a voice behind him.

“Hey [in the retelling of the story, it is unknown if he was called by his name], “hang on a minute.” Jogging towards the Wrigley Field employee and not yet father of two was Cubs’ first baseman Charlie Grimm, known affectionately as “Jolly Cholly.” Grimm must have seen Irwin tossing peanuts with his left hand, or handing out sodas with his “southpaw,” or maybe he just had an inkling – lefties tend to be able to spot each other in the wild. When Grimm caught up to Irwin, he handed the man his first baseman’s mitt, telling him not to worry, he had others.

Irwin brought that glove home and put it away. Maybe, one day, he could share it with a son. A few years later, his wish was granted. Marty was born in 1933, and when he was old enough to fit the glove on his hand, Irwin bestowed the mitt upon his boy. As a youngster, Marty used that glove in the street and on ballfields all over Chicago. He eventually moved on to a Spalding, which he brought with him to Europe in his duffel bag along with his shaving kit and dog tags.

Marty held onto Grimm’s old mitt, first leaving it in his childhood closet, then in the home he shared with his wife (my mother-in-law), and then in his apartment as he crested into old age. Marty, like his father, had wished for a boy to play catch with. However, he was blessed with two girls.

Of his girls, one couldn’t tell an inside pitch from a soccer pitch, and had no interest in sports. The other, whom I would eventually marry, liked sports just fine, but never those played with a ball and glove. So Marty would play tennis and shoot the occasional hoop with his daughter, but he had no one to play ball with.

And then he met me. My then-girlfriend and her father weren’t especially close, but she did introduce me to him shortly after we started dating. One time, early in our courtship, we visited him at his apartment.

After a perfunctory greeting, he said to me, “Wait here.” After a few minutes and the sound of boxes and papers shuffling in the other room, he appeared with an old baseball mitt. It was in horrible shape. Dried out and stiff, with an aged Spalding ball in the pocket. He immediately said, “Let’s play catch.” I didn’t have a glove, but wasn’t too worried about his velocity hurting my bare hand, so we went to the parking lot to toss that old ball into that old glove.

While flipping that actual horsehide back and forth, we were chatting, as two are wont to do. That day he told me the story of Charlie Grimm and his father and Wrigley Field and how he had always wanted to pass the glove down to his own son. He spoke nearly as lovingly about “Jolly Cholly” as he did his own dad.

While it was clear to me that I had won this man over (the same was not yet true of his daughter), he most certainly didn’t offer the glove to me.

Over the years Marty and I would share our love of baseball, watching on television and comparing players and eras. I took him to a handful of Angels games (he lived in Orange County and rooted for his new hometown team). He was always good for a story or two and a beer or three. We truly enjoyed each other’s company.

Time passed, his daughter and I got married and had a boy of our own. And then Marty got sick. Truth be told, with so much going on in that stage of our lives, I had completed forgotten about the glove.

A few weeks before our son turned three, Marty passed away. My wife was a busy litigation attorney, and I was between jobs, so it was my responsibility to clean out his apartment. Marty was a pack rat. I found yellowed newspapers, decades old cups that McDonald’s gave away as part of Happy Meals in the ‘70s; and that dog-eared copy the Physicians’ Desk Reference.

Marty smoked and didn’t like the cool air, so the apartment had a must that was hard to bear. But I worked quickly, trying to make sure I grabbed anything and everything that had meaning. I found a cache of photographic slides (kids, ask your grandparents) from his time in Europe during the war, and an old jewelry box with some incredible heirlooms. There were Cubs and Bulls jerseys, and his letterman jacket.

I stumbled across some old scrapbooks and pictures from his childhood. And just when I thought I had gotten everything of value, everything I could fit in his trunk and mine, I gave the apartment one more look over. I went to his closet and pushed over a pile of clothes. And laying in the corner, abandoned and forgotten (first my him, and then almost by me), was Charlie Grimm’s first baseman’s mitt, with that Spalding still in the pocket.

In that moment, I knew why people go to flea markets and thrift stores, why people stop at antique shops on the side of the road or wake up early to attend estate sales. You simply never know what you might find.

I grabbed the glove and put it on the front seat of my car. This was a wonderful find, and it would get the appropriate treatment. I took it home and oiled her up. When the first cycle still left the glove dry, I did it again. And then I took the ball and glove to a local trophy store and asked them to make a special case and nameplate for both. This treasure went from Charlie Grimm to Irwin Osheroff to Marty Osheroff to me. And it was not going to be lost or mistreated while I cared for it before passing it on to my son. The watchmaker Patek Philippe has a slogan: “You never actually own a Patek Philippe. You merely look after it for the next generation.” This baseball mitt is my Patek Philippe.

_{Charlie’s mitt and ball currently live in my office, but won’t be there forever.}

As luck would have it, my son loves baseball as much as his grandfather (both of his grandfathers, actually). And it turns out that my son, like his father and his maternal grandfather, throws from the left side. As the years went on, I became an even bigger fan of baseball, and then a baseball writer. My fandom and my travels have allowed me to visit nearly every major league ballpark. Call it coincidence, chance, fortune, or fate, but my favorite of all, in fact, my favorite place to be, is Wrigley Field. It is my happy place.

Wrigley Field is where I dragged my family on our first trip to Chicago; my girls on the next; my youngest daughter on Father’s Day a few years ago because, well, it was Father’s Day.

The Friendly Confines is where I took my stepson and his father as the former was recovering from cancer treatment, as there is nothing like a Sunday in the North Side sun to brighten your spirits.

_{The road to Wellville goes through Wrigley Field}

It is where I took my father (and son and daughter) on a blustery day in 2023 just so we could truly experience the winds off Lake Michigan.

_{Coldest game I have ever attended – couldn’t have been more fun!}

One night a few summers ago I forwent the actual ballpark, and had dinner right on Clark Street just so I could experience the sounds of the game smack in the heart of Wrigleyville. Wrigley Field calls to me like Charlie Grimm called to Irwin Osheroff; I find myself drawn to the corner of Clark and Addison time and time again.

Does my love of Chicago, and that park, trace back to Charlie Grimm? Did his beneficence to my grand father-in-law eventually, somehow, trickle down to me. Is my ardor an (in)direct result of some cosmic event that none of us is smart enough to understand? Who’s to say?

What I do know is that my late wife introduced me to her father, who told me the story of his father, and the kindness of an average big league first baseman who went out of his way to give a gift that has passed through generations, with yet more to go.

So, thank you “Jolly Cholly,” you had no way of knowing the long-term impact your small gesture would have on multiple families; thank you Irwin, for being the type of person that Charlie Grimm felt compelled to bestow such a special gift upon; thank you Marty, for indirectly bequeathing your birthright to me; and thank you Samantha, for giving me the son to whom this beautiful piece of leather will eventually pass. And, also, Happy Birthday!

PLAY BALL!!

This article first appeared in the March 7, 2025 edition of IBWAA’s Here’s the Pitch newsletter.