Category: Little Things

Bring Socialism to the Ballpark

Color me a socialist. Not in the political sense, but in the idea that people who come to sporting events should, by and large, be treated equally and fairly.

It truly bothers me when – at the ballpark – the rich only get richer. I certainly understand that the more you pay for your ticket, the better your seat, and thus the better your view. 

Where my hide starts to get chapped is when the more you pay for your ticket, the better concessions that are available to you. For this thought exercise, I am putting aside the various and sundry stadium clubs that have premier seating and premier services, and thus premier food and beverage. I am talking about sitting in what used to be referred to as “box” seats as opposed to reserved, loge, or the bleachers. It should not be that hard to make sure that the same food is available to all fans, regardless of the price they paid for admission.

Where this bee really gets into my bonnet is with balls thrown into the stands by the players. Sure, you pay more for a ticket, you are closer to the action, and you are more likely to catch a foul ball. That is just how it works.

And that is pretty democratic – no one controls how many or how far foul balls will be hit, and thus many times per game a ball reaches the upper deck where a fan with a lower-cost ticket has a chance of in-game glory and long-term bragging rights; not to mention an incredible souvenir. 

But over the past five to 10 years, we have seen a proliferation of players throwing balls into the stands after the mid-inning toss-around and after the third out is recorded. And nearly every one of these balls ends up in the seats closest to the action, where the rich fans get richer.

I have given this a ton of thought, and was heartened when Steve Ballmer, the exuberant owner of the Los Angeles Clippers, announced that at the team’s new arena there will be T-shirt cannons that reach the upper decks. The T-shirt cannon is the basketball corollary to the between-innings ball toss into the stands. These predominantly go to fans in the most expensive seats. Well, not at the Intuit Dome, and, if I had my way, not at your local ballpark, either. 

A couple of weeks ago, I was lucky enough to be invited to sit in the Dodgers’ Dugout Club. This is the premier seating I referenced above. I was sitting close enough to hear the players chat on their way to and from the field. After the last out of the top of the third inning, the Dodgers tossed the ball around the infield and it ended up in the glove of second baseman Gavin Lux. True to form, Lux tossed the ball into the stands. But, he didn’t just lob it into the luxury seats. He gave it a heave and sent it up to the loge level, where eager fans were shocked and excited to be getting the ball. I remarked to the people I was sitting with that the kid from Wisconsin gets it. With his Midwestern values, Lux understands the importance of hard work and the need for everyone to have a chance to be rewarded. I wish more players did this. 

However, I am not naïve enough to believe that players will suddenly start chucking balls to the farthest reaches of the stands. That is why I previously recommended to the Dodgers’ chief marketing officer that at least a few times each game, a player should toss the ball to an usher (rather than the fans in general) and that usher should deliver the ball to a fan in another section. I cannot state with any authority that the ball would mean more to the kid in the upper deck than the kid in the lower bowl, but I can state that it would somewhat level the non-playing field for fans. Just because your parents cannot afford four tickets at $150 each doesn’t mean you automatically lose the chance to go home happy with a game-used souvenir.  

It is the small things that teams can do to grow the game. Give that kid in the far reaches a ball, and she is a fan for life. Her family tells that story to their friends and neighbors, and they are more likely to shell out for tickets, parking, hot dogs, peanuts, and beer. Attendance would increase. Equally as important, fan engagement would increase. Fan excitement would increase. And, if those things continue to occur, team values would increase, which, let’s face it, is what owners truly care about. 

One more minor suggestion: A premier seat owner knows they will not be using their tickets on Tuesday night. They call the team and inform them that the seats will be empty. In return for opening up the seats, the seat owner is given a credit to be used for future tickets or concessions. The team then sends an usher to the upper deck and presents a family with a special surprise: You all get to sit in the unoccupied premier seats for the duration of the game, and you get all of the goodies that go along with that. Heck, the team can even mention the name of the premier seat owner who bequeathed the seats to this unsuspecting family. 

With electronic ticketing and so much information known about attendees, this is low-hanging fruit. It would not take very much to make this happen every night. The marketing boon derived from changing a family’s game-viewing is nearly unquantifiable. Some team – maybe the Yankees, who always seem to have tons of seats open in their most expensive section – needs to institute this plan. And soon. Attendance may be up in MLB this year, but if the sport we love is going to continue to be relevant for future generations, we need to use every tool available to create fans for life. 

Crash Davis says that strikeouts are fascist. I think seats and souvenirs need to be socialist. In today’s game, we cannot do much about the former; but teams certainly can fulfill the dream of the latter.

PLAY BALL!!

Broadcast Blues (2024 Version)

I have a buddy from high school (and college) whose son is a budding baseball broadcaster. He went to school at Mizzou and learned the ropes. He has spent summers calling collegiate league games and has honed his craft with the hope of making a career of it. I have listened to many of his calls. He’s great. Green, inexperienced, maybe a little too excitable, but great nonetheless. 

When my son was younger, I coached his travel ball team. One of his teammates went on to play in college, but has since hung up his spikes and grabbed a mic. He, too, is hoping to make it as a broadcaster. I recently watched an interview he did with former big league pitcher Jake Peavy, and he more than held his own. With more reps and given the right opportunity, I see success in his future.

I relate these two stories because these are just two of the hundreds, if not thousands, of prospective baseball broadcasters climbing into dilapidated press boxes all over our great country, calling our great game, to anyone within earshot or with a radio/internet connection. The Newhouse School at Syracuse has a program for this. So does the Cronkite School at Arizona State University, just to name two. We are developing broadcasters at a faster clip than we can use them. But use them we must.

Unfortunately, the old boy’s network keeps serving us, the baseball viewer/listener, crap. Tune into a game on any day on any network, and you are certain to hear dead air, trite analysis, inane observations, homerism, and just plain boring game-calling. I have written about this again and again.

To be sure, there are still great booths out there. The Mets’ triumvirate of Gary Cohen, Ron Darling, and Keith Hernandez is terrific. Jon Miller, Duane Kuiper, and Mike Krukow calling games in San Francisco is an embarrassment of riches. Jason Benetti got out of the south side of Chicago just in time, and is now making fans in the Motor City excited to tune in even when Tarik Skubal isn’t pitching.

But, just as often, you find yourself disappointed. A few Saturday afternoons ago, I was watching FOX’s Game of the Week. Mind you, this was a nationally televised game. This, in fact, was the only game on FOX that weekend. It was a matchup of heated rivals who, at the time, were close in the standings, and thus the game had real meaning.

For purposes of this article, I will not divulge the teams or the broadcasters to protect the (not so) innocent. At first, I thought I was being overly critical of the announcers. Sure, their banter caused them to miss a pitch or two, but at least they were trying to make it interesting. Okay, maybe it is not that important to tell us when a runner is going – especially when the result was a foul ball.

But after less than an inning and about ten annoying happenstances like those listed above, I began a running tally. It was astonishing. And, once you start hearing them, you can no longer not hear them. Now I was stuck.

After a while, the list grew too long and my fingers got too tired. The pace of their errors, misstatements, missed calls, and genuine failure to care about the quality of their broadcast exceeded my ability to document them. But, just to provide a glimpse into my perturbation, here are a few examples:

Since the beginning of last season, there has been a pitch clock. Everyone reading this knows that. But not everyone watching FOX on a Saturday afternoon does. And even those who do don’t necessarily understand the intricacies or the strategies around avoiding violations. And if you watched the game that day, you still wouldn’t. A pitcher stepped off the rubber with less than a second to go. No mention of the impending clock or the reason for the step off. Just another break in the action to continue their banter.

Another rule implemented last season was the limit on the number of disengagements allowed per at-bat. In this game, with a speedy runner on first, the pitcher had two disengagements (in this case, two tosses to first). Most seasoned fans were then saying to themselves, “the runner now has the upper hand because any throw over must result in an out, or it’s a balk.” But not everyone tuning in to the Game of the Week is a seasoned fan. And now that the cat and mouse game had higher stakes, it was incumbent on the announcers to make us aware and explain the situation. Did they do that? No and yes. No, they did not … at first. The moment passed and the runner ultimately made his way to second base on a groundout. Two or three pitches later, they brought up the potential for a stolen base after the pitcher threw over twice. But that was too little, too late.

At one point, the broadcasters were so busy chatting amongst themselves, they literally did not reference any of the first seven pitches of an at-bat. With each pitch my anticipation grew higher – would this be the one? After three balls, two called strikes, and two foul balls, the lead announcers finally told the viewers it was a full count. Nothing more.

Keeping with a theme, after the pitcher had walked two batters and was struggling with his command, on a very close 3-2 pitch, the batter took ball four. There was no mention of either a good or bad call or a good eye. They simply said, quite matter-of-factly, “that is his third walk of the inning.” 

My favorite moment may have come a little earlier in the game. There was a duck snort behind second base. Three fielders converged, and it fell for the third hit of the inning, plating a runner. As the ball was descending, the color guy said it was the center fielder’s ball. And then he misstated who was playing center field. After the ball fell and the run scored and the pitcher expressed his frustration, the color guy continued to misstate the name of the player who should have caught the ball. Now, mind you, this was in the third inning; there had been no defensive replacements; the same guys who took the field after the anthem were still out there. But, for whatever reason, he just kept at it with the wrong name. Inexcusable. 

I could go on and on (and on). Suffice it to say that if this broadcast was a final exam at the Newhouse School, these guys would have received Ds. They probably would not have failed, as they did get the score and the innings correct. But the bar has to be higher than that. We, as fans, deserve better than that. And better is available. 

There are great announcers pouring out of college and shouting out of press boxes from coast to coast. Minor Leagues, summer leagues, collegiate leagues, bush leagues, and beyond, have men and women dying for the chance to tell us how that 1-1 pitch in the ninth inning of a one-run game was pivotal to the at-bat. How the umpire calling it a ball changed the rubric and the leverage towards the batter. But, on this Saturday, all we got was, “ball two,” with no context, no analysis, no excitement. Nothing to make the game more interesting to the viewers who don’t eat this game for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

It was recently announced that Nic Cage is going to play John Madden in a movie about the broadcaster. Madden “cracked” and “boomed” his way into the public conscience and made football more exciting and more interesting to the average viewer. We have a steady supply of young broadcasters who are capable of doing the same for baseball. And yet, we are repeatedly stuck with guys who – because of their names and/or their longevity – have neither the want nor the ability to do so.

That needs to change.

PLAY BALL!

Dave Roberts’ Savvy Strategy Pays Off

If you are a regular listener to the Effectively Wild podcast, or if you are a fan of college baseball, you know there is one strategy that is available to major league managers, but that is rarely utilized.

There are multiple (potential) reasons this strategy is avoided: To avoid embarrassment; to give pitchers “clean” batters”; because it might be viewed as “bush”; or, more likely, because no one else does it.

So what is this unsung tactic, this trick of the trade that is shunned in the big leagues? That would be the mid-batter pitching change. Ask yourself the last time you saw one (absent an injury).

And yet, Dave Roberts, the manager of the Los Angeles Dodgers, used it to brilliant effect a few weeks ago in a game against the rival Diamondbacks. Here is the scenario:

Top of the 7th inning, and the Dodgers already trail 8-4. If the club has any chance of coming back in their final three at bats, they need to keep the D’Backs at bay.

Unfortunately, Yohan Ramírez walked Eugenio Suárez to start the inning. He then allowed a single to Gabriel Moreno. After a pop-out, left-handed hitting Corbin Carroll came to the plate. Ramírez got ahead of Carroll 1-2, and then threw a sweeper to the backstop, pushing the count to 2-2 and sending the runners to second and third, still with only one out. Carroll had seen six pitches and fouled off three of them. Dave Roberts had seen enough.

With a 2-2 count and rights against a lefty, Roberts could have chosen to walk Carroll to load the bases, and kept his right-handed pitcher in to face the right-handed Ketel Marte who was waiting in the on deck circle. Rather than do that, Roberts surveyed the chess board and elected to bring in left-handed Anthony Banda.

The gambit worked. After seeing so many pitches from the righty, Banda struck out Carroll with his first pitch – an 85 MPH slider in the dirt. Banda then intentionally walked the right-handed Marte to load the bases for the left-hand hitting Joc Pederson. But the Diamondbacks have a savvy manager of their own, so Torey Lovullo countered by pinch-hitting with the right-handed Randal Grichuk. Because Banda had only faced two batters, he was required to remain in the game. Banda induced Grichuk to ground out to third to end the inning, leaving the bases loaded and the score at 8-4.

Now, in the end, all of these machinations were for naught, as Arizona tacked on four additional runs in the eighth and ninth innings, and won the game 12-4. But the final score is of little significance to the in-game brilliance and moxie of Dave Roberts. Oft-criticized for his game management, Roberts had a perfect handle on the rhythm of the game and the strengths of his personnel. He understood the situation and the significance of the timing, and didn’t hesitate to try something unorthodox to help his team win.

After the game, Lovullo was asked about the move. He acknowledged that he had never seen it before, but said he might consider using it in the future. College coaches have been doing it for ages. Ben Lindbergh of Effectively Wild has been clamoring for it for years. And Dave Roberts finally introduced it at the highest level. Whether others will join in is anyone’s guess. But, now that the Dodgers have broken the seal, there is a non-zero chance that this is not the last time you see a pitcher walking off the mound while a batter remains standing in the batter’s box.

PLAY BALL!!

Web Gems & Premier Plays Induce Strong Feelings

In the interest of full candor, I have an addiction. I am addicted to great defensive plays. Sure, most of us are. We baseball fans delight in watching highlights of a home run robbery or a player diving into the stands to make a great catch. But my compulsion runs deeper.

For instance, I can tell you – within a minute or two – when Baseball Tonight’s Web Gems, the ESPN Top 10, and MLB Network’s Capital One Premier Plays, will appear on my screen. And I plan my viewing of other programs around this schedule. Every day I receive MLB’s Morning Lineup newsletter. I skim the stories and then click on the link for Top Plays. I do this EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. In fact, when I once realized that I had missed some, I went back and watched Top Plays from weeks before.

I believe this inclination follows on from my own baseball career, as I was always better with the glove than the bat. Watching a batter hit a ball a country mile is very cool; but watching a defender cover a ridiculous amount of ground, leave his feet, jump up, and throw a laser across the diamond, is just something special.

However, because I watch replays of anywhere from 10 to 30 great plays every day from April through October, I often feel sympathy for some of the hitters who are denied the fruit of their labor because their counterpart has done something mind-boggling. To that end, I mentally put these gems into six different categories:

1.            Robbery of an Underserved Hit (Outfield Edition): There are a surprising number of these. A batter hits a flair behind the infield, and the right fielder comes racing in to make a sliding catch. Or a shortstop ranges well behind third, up the line, to take a duck snort hit away from a batter who got jammed on a cutter. I love this version, as the batter has no valid justification to hang his head. He shouldn’t have been rewarded for this particular swing of the bat, so the fielder making a Web Gem makes this a simple transaction in my mind.

2.           Robbery of an Undeserved Hit (Infield Edition): Like it’s outfield cousin, this one involves a swinging bunt or a slow roller. Here the batter deserves slightly more credit, as he at least busts down the line to beat it out. Whatever the negative feelings are for his soft hit are made up for by his hustle for an infield single. But time and again we see Matt Chapman (or his ilk) attack the ball, barehand it, and throw on the run to beat the batter by a step. I also love when a shortstop charges behind the mound and throws on the run. But my favorite version of this is the ‘tweener between first and second, because now you have three players in action, with either the first baseman or the second baseman fielding off-balance, and then throwing to a moving target – the pitcher – covering, catching, and stepping on the bag while a runner bears down on him from behind. The beauty of these plays, when combined with weak exit velocity, allows me to feel like the ledger is even.

3.          Great Catch In Foul Territory: This one stings just a little more. The batter fought off a tough pitch, and in some ballparks he would be rewarded with another swing or two. But, the third baseman somehow heads straight back and makes an over-the-shoulder catch on top of or behind the tarp, robbing the player of his at bat. Or a second baseman ranges deep behind first and makes a sliding catch in foul territory. These plays have gotten even more interesting in the past few years with the advent of netting down the baselines. Now we have outfielders acting like Spiderman, diving into the net to make the catch. Again, my heart goes out to the batter, but these plays sure are great to watch.

4.         Robbery of a Sure Hit: We all love this one. A batter smacks a ball into deep left center; it has double written all over it. And then, seemingly out of nowhere, the center fielder appears on our screen, leaps with an outstretched glove, and makes an impossible catch possible, as he rolls over and shows the world that he has the ball. Or a batter smacks a surefire single up the middle, only to have the short stop range too far to his left, dive, leap up, and make the throw to record the out. There is the scorched line drive that the third baseman dives for and takes out of the air with his glove actually behind him. Or maybe the worst version (from the hitter’s perspective): the stab of a line drive to first base that is turned into an unassisted double play. Two outs on one swing with a 100+ exit velocity may seem like the worst, but then there is…

5.           Home Run Robbery: This is the coup de grâce. A pitcher throws a ball 90+ MPH, the batter, in his 0.45 seconds to react, engages his swing and squares the ball up (he may or may not “barrel” it), and hits it 350+ feet. From the moment it leaves the bat, the hitter feels confident that he may have gotten – if not all – enough of it to take a slow trot around the bases. Meanwhile, the outfielder is ranging back, his feet hitting the soft dirt of the warning track, his non-glove hand feeling for the wall, and then he leaps. At that moment, it is truly a leap of faith. Faith that he has timed it right; faith that he has measured it right; faith that the wall will not inflict injury when he makes contact; faith that an overzealous fan will not obstruct his momentum or his potential catch (see, Hample, Zack). And then he does it. He reaches over the wall and takes a souvenir away; takes a run (maybe more) away; takes the fans’ breath away. Ask any outfielder, and they will tell you that this is the pinnacle of their profession, this is what they all hope and practice for, and you can see it on their face when they actually pull it off. And you can feel the batter’s pain. He is usually somewhere between first and second base when he realizes that his moment has quickly, and inexorably, become someone else’s moment. They typically drop their head. But, every-so-often, the batter will doff his helmet to the fielder, a show of mutual respect. I simply love that.

6.         Robbery of a Needed Hit: For years I thought the robbed home run was the greatest indignity for a batter. But, as I have grown older, and watched more and more baseball, I have come to learn that there is an even worse fate. Some batters are in a slump – they simply cannot buy a hit. Some guys are fighting for playing time, and need to make the most of every at bat. Some guys have been victimized by a slick fielder earlier in the game, and need to even things out. Now, to be clear, “Undeserved Hits” don’t fall into this category. To get my sympathy, they have to be sure hits. And the play has to befall a guy who can’t afford it. Chris Taylor, barely hitting .100, cannot have Francisco Lindor go into short left and make a jump-throw to first. Zack Gelof, hitting below the Mendoza line, with three dingers in 143 at bats, cannot have Jose Siri take a home run away from him. Every time I watch Web Gems, or MLB’s Top Plays, I keep a steady eye on the batter. It is rare, but also so very sad, when the same batter appears more than once in the same highlight package. I don’t care if you are Luis Arraez, Aaron Judge, or Randy Arozarena (the current holder of the worst batting average in baseball), having two righteous hits taken from you in one game is too much to bear.

Baseball is a marathon, and things tend to even out – for every snagged line drive there is a Baltimore Chop for a single; for every diving play in the outfield, there is a squib over the first baseman’s head. But, baseball is also a game of confidence. And it is easy to go into a downward spiral when nothing seems to fall – even well-hit baseballs. Hitting is hard enough with pitchers throwing at insane speeds, with unseen movement, from crazy arm angles. When a batter does well enough to do well enough, but repeatedly gets thwarted by the best defense on offer, it just doesn’t seem fair.

Not every series of Web Gems or Top Plays contains all six categories, but they usually check at least four of the boxes. To wit, last Sunday’s and last Friday’s editions:

PLAY BALL!!

Living My Dream

My nephew is living my dream. Unlike me, who – many, many years ago – had to walk on, he was recruited to play Division I baseball. He did a workout for the coaches, and joined the team. It wasn’t that easy – most things never are. He – like me – had to endure tryouts in the fall to see who would actually make the club. But, unlike me, when all of the players were culled and all the cuts were made, when the final spring roster was determined, when the coaches decided who they wanted to wear the swanky new uniforms and get the team-issued mitts, my nephew’s name was on the list. Alas, when that final cut happened more than 30 years ago, my name was not.

None of this brings even an ounce of jealousy or envy. My nephew worked hard for this (way harder than I ever did); he earned it; he passed up other opportunities and took risks and they paid off. Kudos to him all around. And now he is living the life of a collegiate athlete, with the early morning wake-ups and the long days and the missed classes due to team travel. And he seems to be loving it.

Recently I went to see him play a game at Pepperdine University in Malibu. If you have never seen a game at the Eddy D. Field Baseball Stadium, which sits on a mountain above the Pacific Ocean, get thee there quickly. There may be no better place to watch a ballgame in the U.S. of A. To get to the field, I needed to travel on Malibu Canyon Road and then turn right onto Pacific Coast Highway. At that intersection, just a few hundred yards to the west, is a single set of baseball fields that may offer an even nicer view than the one at Pepperdine. At that corner sits the perfectly named Bluffs Park, the home of Malibu Little League. On the right day, you can hear the waves crashing while shagging balls in the outfield at Bluffs Park. Here you feel like you could actually hit a ball into the ocean (Note: You can’t).

As I made the right turn, and saw the baseball complex out of the corner of my eye, a chill went up my spine. You see, it was there, on the Pony diamond, in midst of all that beauty, where I had the worst game of my entire baseball career (and that is saying something). It was a Saturday afternoon; I was 12 years old. We were playing a scrimmage against a team from Malibu Little League, and were happy to be the visitors at their incredible facility.

Now here it is important to note that from the time I picked up a bat until the final time I slammed one down at Sancet Stadium in Tucson, Ariz., I could always hit the baseball. I was a contact hitter – I didn’t hit for much power, but I did hit for average. On days that I wasn’t feeling it, I could work a walk like Juan Soto. I never struck out much. To me, the only thing worse than making an error in the field was the slow walk back to the dugout after swinging through (or, G-d forbid, looking at) strike three. (Note: In the ‘80s and ‘90s, strikeouts were frowned upon, not something simply to be expected as one of the three true outcomes. In fact, the year this story occurred, MLB players suffered nearly 50% less strikeouts than they did in 2023.)

But this day in Malibu, with the breeze blowing in and the sun shining bright, was something special. On this Saturday, I came to the plate four times, which is not bad for a seven-inning game. I saw 14 pitches over those four at-bats. Last season, the MLB average was 3.91 pitches per plate appearance, so my 3.5/PA wasn’t too shabby. The difference is that I struck out four times, with my 29” aluminum bat never making contact with that 5 oz. piece of leather. Breaking it down, I struck out on three pitches twice, and on four pitches twice. I batted four times and accomplished a golden sombrero needing only two pitches over the minimum to get there. Suffice it to say, there was no ice cream for me afterwards. 

The game was so awful, my performance so dreadful, that I actually shook it off pretty quickly. I couldn’t do much more than laugh. One of my coaches said to me, “It’s just one of those days.” In the moment, I sincerely hoped that the plural would never be necessary. And lucky for me, it never was. But that day, nearly 40 years on, still lingers, still sits like a pit in my stomach, and still brought a shiver when I passed that infernal baseball diamond on my way to watch my nephew do great things.

Baseball is the best sport. It sticks with you. It brings you joy and pain. I recently started playing in a Sunday softball league, and I was astonished by my muscle memory. Having spent the better part of my childhood fielding grounders and chasing fly balls, my body intuitively knew where to go and how to react and when to bend. Drop-stepping and making a play on a fly ball to left field at 52 years of age nearly brought more joy than striking out four times on 14 pitches brought pain, if that makes sense. The game, once ingrained, never leaves you.

My nephew is having a terrific year. He cracked the starting lineup a few weeks back, is hitting over .300, and was nominated for the WCC Freshman of the Week at the end of April. He will have good days and bad days ahead, but hopefully he never experiences a day like I had in 1984 at Bluffs Park. But even if he does, he can hang his hat (rather than his head) on the fact that he is a legitimate Division I college baseball player, he is living his dream. And, in so many ways, he is living mine.

Passing the Torch

This article first appeared in the IBWAA Here’s The Pitch newsletter on April 11, 2024

I have written many times in this space about my family connection to baseball. My grandfather, the stalwart Max, lived in Boston and was a Royal Rooter. My father, Saul, grew up in Beantown, sneaking into Fenway (but no hot dogs on Yom Kippur), and cheering on Ted Williams. I was born and raised in Los Angeles, but the love of the Red Sox was passed straight down to me. Joe Posnanski and others have said that your baseball fandom is formed between ages 12 and 14. Well, I was fourteen in 1986, so heartache and heart break were injected into my early teen veins, never to be metabolized. For my first child, I was lucky enough to be bequeathed a son, and into his hands went a glove and a soft Red Sox baseball. The fourth generation of fan was created.

While my love for the BoSox has never waned, the four championships in 14 years lessened the urgency. Moreover, age softens everything, including your edges. As an avid baseball fan, and as an observer and writer about the sport, I have slowly taken a more 35,000 foot view – enjoying all aspects of the game, respecting players of every team (I’m not ashamed to say that I got a little dusty when the previously-hated Derek Jeter hit a walk-off single in his final Yankee Stadium at-bat), appreciating the finer points and constant evolution, but also calling out the game when it fails its players and its fans (e.g., the Cubs desire for a ring allowing them to justify trading for Aroldis Chapman; anything related to John Fisher; the Dodgers putting more value of analytics than morality in signing Trevor Bauer; etc.). Truth be told, I like my current perch better than my youthful exuberance and constant frustration.

But my son, my 21-year old progeny, is now truly coming into his own as a baseball fan. And I am here for all parts of it. There is nothing better than the nature vs. nurture argument. And, as I laid out above, nature came out of the gate with a three furlong lead. But nurture slowly gained ground. Maybe it was the behind-the-scenes tour of Fenway at age six; or the Home Run Derby and All-Star Game at age seven; or Wrigley Field at age ten; or going to the World Series at fifteen. Who knows? But he’s got the baseball bug, and got it good.

So a couple of weeks ago I was visiting him in Washington, D.C. where he is interning for the semester. He – not me – asked if I could extend my stay for an additional day to go to the Nationals’ opening day. Alas, I could not. But he could; and he did. He got himself a ticket, hopped on the Metro, and took in the game all by himself; just as I have done on so many occasions. I was standing at my desk that Monday afternoon, literally minding my own business, when a text popped up on my phone. It was a picture of Nationals Park taken from the 400 level, with a two-word caption: “So back.”

Jake’s view from the 400 Level at Nat’s Park

As a parent, all you really want is for your children to be happy (and safe). You want them to find their passions and explore them. And if those passions line up with your own, all the better. My son beat me to the ballpark this season (but only by a few days). While there twinge of envy, there was more than a dollop of pride. You get to a point in life where you pass the torch. I am not quite yet ready to do so – nor is he, as he still wants me to buy tickets, hot dogs, and beer – but it is so good to know that when I am, he will be ready. He is already checking train schedules for Baltimore and Philly – just like his father has done.

Soon my son will graduate college and become a bona fide adult. And at some point he may have a son of his own. At this point I feel perfectly confident that he will carry the torch, teach the game to his kid, and then, when the time is right, he will pass it along to the next generation.

PLAY BALL!!

The Swallow Before the Choke

We are deep into Spring Training, which got me thinking about a trip to Arizona we made about six years ago. While visiting Sloane Park in Mesa, I was lucky enough to meet Bill Buckner. Billy Buck, he of the 2,715 hits and career .289 batting average, but also he of the “slow roller up along first.” As a lifelong Red Sox fan, it was an honor to meet Buckner and have an ever-so-brief conversation with him about his career and the exemplary example he set for athletes dealing with adversity. I was deeply saddened when he passed away the following year.

The author and the consummate professional.

In the aftermath of the 1986 World Series, but contrary to reported stories, and despite haranguing from irredeemable baseball fans, Buckner did not flee Boston. Rather, he moved his family to Idaho, where he had previously purchased a ranch, and began buying real estate. However, Buckner will always be remembered for the most ignominious “meg” in the history of Major League Baseball. 

The whole Buckner saga never sat right with me, as (1) I am not sure Buckner, even if he fielded the ball cleanly, with his addled ankles and sore feet, beats the speedy Mookie Wilson to first base, and (2) even if he does get there in time, that just pushes the game to the 11th inning. There were no guarantees from there. In short, I never believed that Buckner lost that game for the Red Sox. But the “goat” label stuck to Buckner nonetheless.

There have been many goats in baseball history – guys who make the wrong play at the wrong time, and ostensibly cost their team the game. And because baseball (as well as life) is about sequencing, it is often the last guy standing that gets the condemnation. However, before that goat ever has a chance to “blow” the game, some other player or players need to make some mistakes. I call this “the swallow before the choke.” And, fortunately for the swallower, history often forgets their names, their failures, and their role in the gut-punching final moment. Those players need to bear some of the brunt and share the blame.

Let’s take a look at a few:

2003 NLCS: Game 6 / Top of the 8th Inning

Steve Bartman may be the biggest goat never to don an MLB uniform. His attempt to catch Luis Castillo’s foul ball, which resulted in Moises Alou not catching the foul pop for the second out of the inning, opened the floodgates for the Marlins. Putting aside whether or not Alou would have actually caught the ball, there is still a ton of blame to go around. For our purposes, the swallows are Mark Prior and Álex González. 

Prior had already given up a one-out double to Juan Pierre, so the inning wasn’t clean. Further, not only was he not able to recover after the “Bartman Incident,” his ball four to Castillo went to the backstop, allowing Pierre to take third. Prior then gave up a single to Ivan Rodriguez on an 0-2 count. But, even at that point, the Cubs still led 3-1. Enter Alex González.

Prior induced Miguel Cabrera to bounce into a tailor-made 6-4-3 double play to put the Cubs three outs away from the World Series. But, as we know, González booted the grounder, loading the bases for Derrek Lee. Lee – who became the Cubs’ first baseman the following season – promptly doubled home the tying runs (off Prior, natch). Kyle Farnsworth then came into the game to intentionally walk Mike Lowell, give up a sacrifice fly to Jeff Conine, intentionally walk Todd Hollandsworth, and then give up a three-run double to Mike Mordecai. Pierre batted again, and singled to cap off the scoring, and the Marlins ultimately won the game, 8-3.  Bartman needed a police escort out of the stadium, and was forced to move out of state; documentaries have been made about him. But other than an amazing reference to González in this season’s finale of television’s “The Bear,” it would seem that González and Prior have escaped the ignominy of that fateful eighth inning.

1951 Final Game of the Season / Bottom of the 9th Inning

Ralph Branca’s name will always live in infamy in baseball circles. Despite a 12-year career that saw him win 88 games, make three All-Star teams, and finish with a 3.79 ERA and a 105 ERA+, Branca is known for one pitch, swung at by one batter, ending one pennant chase.

Ironically, the Dodgers and Giants never should have been playing in that three-game playoff, as the Dodgers were 11.5 games ahead of the Giants on August 11, and still up 4.5 games on September 20, with ten to play. There are any number of reasons that the Dodgers should have won the pennant in 154 games*, saving Branca from his vilification.

*Note: MLB did not expand to 162 games until 1961.

Very few people remember that Don Newcombe took a 4-1 Dodgers lead into that fateful ninth inning. Newcombe gave up two singles to start the frame, got a pop-out, and then surrendered a double to Whitey Lockman. Branca came in from the bullpen (pitching on one day’s rest) up two, with the tying runs in scoring position. Bobby Thomson hit his second pitch over the wall in left for the “Shot Heard Round the World.” Branca threw the final pitch, but Newcombe threw many before him, and the Dodgers as a whole wrapped their hands around their collective throats.

1986 ALCS: Game 5 / Top of the 9th Inning

Much has been written about Boston’s incredible comeback against the then-California Angels with two outs in the top of the ninth inning of Game 5 of the 1986 ALCS. And many people have mourned the sad tale of Donnie Moore, who gave up Dave Henderson’s two-run home run, and the lead, in that ninth inning. But, many people forget two important facts about that game (aside from Reggie Jackson putting his glasses away and hugging Gene Mauch with one out to go, and putting aside the police on horseback lining the field, both of which tempted Moira, the Greek God of Fate):

(1) After Mike Witt gave up Don Baylor’s two-run homer to make it a 5-4 game, Gary Lucas came in to face Rich Gedman. Lucas promptly hit Gedman in the head with his first pitch, putting the tying run on base and bringing the lead run to the plate; and

(2) The Angels tied the game in the bottom of the ninth

In fact, even after giving up four runs and the lead in the top of the ninth, the Angels were in prime position to win this game a half an inning later. They went single, sacrifice, single, single, intentional walk. With the game now tied at six, the Angels had the bases loaded with one out, and Doug DeCinces and Bobby Grich coming up. 

DeCinces hit 26 homers in 1986, and also had four sacrifice flies. But on this occasion, all he could muster was a weak fly to right field, not deep enough to score Rob Wilfong from third. Grich, in his final season, only played 98 games, but still managed an OPS+ of 109. In the sixth inning, Grinch hit a two-run home run to give the Angels a 3-2 lead. But, with two outs in the bottom of the ninth, with the bases loaded and the pennant on the line, Grich hit a soft liner back to Steve Crawford on the mound to end the threat.

Had either DeCinces or Grich knocked in the winning run, the Angels would have gone to their first World Series; Henderson’s home run would have become merely a footnote; and Donnie Moore would never have been required to pitch the 10th and 11th innings. 

2011 World Series: Game 6 / Bottom of the 9th Inning

Buster Olney (and others) have called this the greatest baseball game of all time. It ended with David Freese’s walk-off home run in the bottom of the 11th. But it was the bottom of the ninth where fate laid its hand.

We all remember how feeble Texas Rangers right fielder Nelson Cruz looked going back to the wall on Freese’s opposite-field line drive with two outs, two strikes, and two on. We all want to blame Cruz for costing the Rangers the World Series. Sure, had Cruz looked more like Steven Kwan than Michelle Kwan on that play, the Rangers may very well have won their first World Series title 12 years earlier. 

But, if Neftali Feliz hadn’t given up a first-pitch double to Albert Pujols with one out, or hadn’t immediately walked Lance Berkman on four straight pitches, then there wouldn’t have been the tying runs on base for Freese to drive in. Feliz owes a ton of gratitude to Cruz for making people forget.

1986 World Series: Game 6 / Bottom of the 10th Inning

There is simply no need to go into further detail about the bottom of the 10th inning of Game 6 of the 1986 World Series, as Buckner carried the weight of Calvin Schiraldi and Bob Stanley for nearly 20 years – at least until the Red Sox reversed the “Curse of the Bambino” in 2004. In the hearts of many in New England and around the world, Buckner was the reason that the Red Sox lost that game and lost the World Series. The facts, however, tell a different story. 

Recency bias works in both the positive and the negative. We remember the last thing we saw, good or bad. We tend to forget the moments leading up to the final moment. We burn in effigy the player we deem to be the “goat.” But history has shown us, time and again, that there is nearly always some other player or players swallowing hard before the final choke.

PLAY BALL!!

Francisco Lindor Is Primed To Be Even Better

*A version of this article first appeared in the IBWAA “Here’s the Pitch” Newsletter on February 16, 2024.

Please don’t allow us to forget about or overlook the splendor and greatness of Francisco Lindor.

When Lindor was in Cleveland, his brilliance was appreciated. In fact, he was beloved, but always with the jaundiced eye of: “This small market team will never be able to afford this magnificent player long-term.” And that turned out to be correct.

Before the 2021 season, then Guardians sent Lindor (with Carlos Carrasco) to the Mets for Amed Rosario, Andres Gimenez, and two prospects. And in typical big-market fashion, the Mets immediately signed Lindor to a 10/$341 million contract.

Under the white hot lights of the Big Apple and the pressure a $341 million contract thrusts upon a player, Lindor hit under .200 over the first two months of the 2021 season. The fans in Queens didn’t totally sour on him by Memorial Day, but it certainly wasn’t a great first impression. And New York fans are a difficult lot to win over, or win back, if you make a poor first impression.

And then, while batting .158, slugging .200, with one home run under his belt in his first 26 games with the Mets, Lindor grabbed second baseman Jeff McNeil by the throat in an altercation behind the dugout.

While this kerfuffle played out in the New York tabloids, the story changed from a fight to a mild argument to a simple disagreement over whether they saw a rat or a raccoon in the bowls of CitiField. Regardless of the actual story (one which we may never know), it was a bad look for the $300 million guy with the sub-Mendoza batting average.

Lindor tried to redeem himself over the course of the rest of the season, but he didn’t exactly set the world on fire. Playing around an oblique injury that thwarted him in parts of July and August, Lindor hit .252 with 16 home runs after May. “Mr. Smile” ended 2021 with an OPS+ of 100, and his worst career statistics in nearly every offensive category.

2022 was much closer to a standard Lindor season. He hit .270, tallied 26 dingers, drove in 107 runs, and had a 125 OPS+. He even came in ninth in MVP voting.

But to the fans and the media, the first two months of 2021 (on the field and just off of it), and his $34 million salary, still loomed large. So heading into 2023, Lindor had a target on his back, justified or not. Lindor, with his huge smile and flashy batting gloves, seemed made for New York, but to the victor goes the spoils, and you must perform to get the love. According to Mets fans, he had not yet performed.

If Lindor hoped to get that giant apple-shaped monkey off his back early in 2023, he didn’t do himself any favors. He came out of the gate hitting .218 in March/April, but did slug four home runs. May and June weren’t much better: .227 and .230, respectively. He did hit 6 dingers each month, and was trending in the right direction. In mid-June, Lindor’s wife, Katia, gave birth to their second daughter. And the sleep deprivation did him some good. In the twelve games after becoming a “girl dad” twice over, Lindor hit .310, belted four home runs, and had an OPS of 1.035.

In July, he hit another five round-trippers, with an OPS of .923. In August, he kept it going, collecting 32 more hits, nine for extra bases, with a .371 OBP. And then in September (of a wasted season for the club), Lindor continued to build. Seven home runs, eleven extra base hits, 19 RBI, and an OPS of .868.

When the season was done, Lindor had made the Flushing fans smile with 31 homers, 98 RBI, a 120 OPS+, and his first time joining the 30/30 club (actually 31/31). All of which led to Lindor winning the Silver Slugger award for the third time (but his first in New York). From the time of his second child’s birth, only four players had more bWAR than Lindor, and all of the other players laced them up in Los Angeles and Atlanta.

With the exception of a few bumps in the road, if you looked closely and in the aggregate, the Lindor that we all knew and loved has been there all along. It is just that sequencing in sports matters, and that may have allowed the fans in New York to miss it.

So, now Lindor enters Year Three of his massive contract in a good place, ostensibly physically as well as mentally. The team – despite a rough 2023 – is built to win, with a strong rotation and depth at nearly every position. It is all set up for the All-Star shortstop to have another MVP-caliber season, the type that the Mets faithful all anticipated when the club acquired him and then signed him to the largest deal in franchise history. The Lindor of old has been there all along, but now is the time for him to take it to the next level.

PLAY BALL!!

The Baseball Diaries

I recently read “Faithful,” by Stewart O’Nan and Stephen King. Sure, I am nearly two decades late to the party; and sure, you might revoke my membership in the Red Sox fan club for waiting so long to read this charming tome, but what can you do?

For those of you who have not read the book, here is a very brief summary: O’Nan (a Pirates fan living in the Boston area) and King (a lifelong Red Sox fan) decided to watch and chronicle every game of the 2004 Red Sox season. They did this coming off the soul-crushing end to 2003, with Grady Little and Aaron (“Fu%&*ng”) Boone. There was simply no way for the writers to know what 2004 had in store; that 2004 would see the Red Sox win the Wild Card, then come back from 0-3 in the ALCS against the hated Yankees, and then sweep the Cardinals for Boston’s first World Series title in 86 years. In the spring of 2004, they were just two baseball fans who were gluttons for punishment; two men who embarked on a journey that neither will ever forget.

All of which got me thinking: If you were a writer, or a baseball fan, or maybe both, which team would you follow for the 2024 season on the off-chance the you could catch lightning in a bottle and witness a season for the ages? It turns out that there are a few extremely worthy candidates.

Cleveland Guardians

Any list wherein one might potentially witness history has to start in Cleveland. This past season marked 75 years since this organization won the World Series. They have been to the Fall Classic four times in that span, most recently in the epic 2016 clash with the Cubs. The Guardians are a perennial threat to win the weak AL Central, and have a good chance to do so in 2024, even though both ESPN and MLB.com have the Tigers finishing ahead of them.

But, like O’Nan and King, if you could hang with this club for 162 games, and they were to win it all, then that book could easily be a best-seller. Plus, watching José Ramirez man third base all summer would be nothing short of delightful.

Seattle Mariners

There are teams with longer dry spell than the Mariners, but none that offer more potential intrigue. Seattle ended a 21-year playoff drought in 2022, but not only have they never won the World Series, in their 47 years, they have never even been there. The Mariners’ President of Baseball Operations, Jerry Dipoto, has never met a trade he wouldn’t do, or an hour of the day he wouldn’t do it.

So, despite the club’s miserly ways (and the fact that they already inferred that they are out on Shohei Ohtani), you can count of Trader Jerry making things interesting and doing everything possible to keep the team in contention. Plus, there are considerably worse places to spend 81 days over the summer than T-Mobile Park.

Baltimore Orioles

The O’s got to the playoffs a year ahead of schedule, and then got thumped by the eventual World Series champion Texas Rangers. But few teams in baseball have a better, more exciting core of young players than the Orioles. Their largesse is such that they may trade a few of their prospects for pitching, as they simply don’t have enough room on the roster, or the infield, to play them all.

The team revolves around their catcher, Adley Rutschman, whose best comp is Buster Posey. Rookie of the Year Gunnar Henderson plays short, but will probably move to third to make way for phenom Jackson Holliday. Colton Cowser, Heston Kjerstad, and Joey Ortiz are on their way. Ryan Mountcastle and Cedric Mullins are veteran anchors in the lineup, and if the team gets some additional pitching, they will be extremely dangerous in 2024. Plus, like T-Mobile, who could balk at spending every night this coming summer at Camden Yards?

New York Mets

The Mets’ World Series title drought is nine years shorter than the Mariners’ existence, but in New York, you need to calculate the same like dog years. As such, it essentially has been forever since the Mets paraded down the Canyon of Heroes. When billionaire Steve Cohen bought the Mets in November, 2020, he claimed that it would be “slightly disappointing” if the team did not with the World Series in three to five years. Well, this will be his fourth year of ownership, and last season was an unmitigated disaster.

With new President of Baseball Operations, David Stearns, and with new manager, Carlos Mendoza (stolen straight from bench of the crosstown rivals), and with Max Scherzer and Justin Verlander mostly off the books, the Mets have even more of Steve’s money to throw at free agents and/or salaries to absorb in trades. The team has already been active (Luis Severino, Joey Wendle), and are rumored to be in on Japanese pitching star Yoshinobu Yamamoto. If the Mets were to take down the Braves and the Phillies, win the NL pennant, and then bring another championship to Queens, the book could join a long list of great ones written about The Miracle Mets.

Cincinnati Reds

Like the Orioles, the Reds broke out a year early, and also employ too many great young players for their limited roster. Yes, the team appears to have lost lifelong Red, the legendary Joey Votto, but that just opened up first base for another young stud. The Reds play in the feeble NL Central, where 83 wins was enough for second place, and the low 90’s should win the division. Hunter Greene and Andrew Abbott will anchor a starting rotation that could use one more solid arm; and Alexis Díaz may be every bit the closer that his brother is.

The excitement with this team starts with wunderkind Elly De La Cruz, who made his presence known with a vengeance last season, and then spreads to the likes of Spencer Steer (23 homers in his rookie campaign, arguably their best player), Christian Encarnacion-Strand (13 home runs in 222 at bats), Matt McLain (5’9”, .864 OPS in his rookie year), and TJ Friedl (who hit 18 home runs in 488 at bats, while playing a great center field). It does get a touch swampy at Great America Ballpark during the summer, but the breeze created by these swingers and De La Cruz’s sprinting around the base paths should make it more than tolerable. This team hasn’t won a World Series since my freshman year of college. If they did so this year, while you were chronicling it, you would have quite the tale to tell.

There are, of course, many other teams worthy of your daily diary (the Tigers stand to be much-improved; any team that lands Ohtani; maybe even the woebegone Padres). Just know that whoever you choose, it is a massive commitment, with no guaranty of a 2004 Red Sox anxiety-inducing, brink-facing, record-breaking payoff at the end. Regardless, it sounds like a hell of a lot of fun.

PLAY BALL!!

The A’s Fans Deserve Better: Sell the Team

*This article first appeared in today’s edition of the IBWAA Here’s the Pitch newsletter.*

I visited Tropicana Field last year. And, as a glutton for punishment, I gave into to my son’s wish to visit an equally squalid ballpark: The Oakland Coliseum. This wouldn’t check any stadium off my list, but it did seem like a fun day trip.

I first visited what was then the Oakland-Alameda Coliseum in the late ‘80s. Even back then the park left a lot to be desired, but (a) the team on the field was something to behold (winning the AL West four of five seasons between 1988–1992; Mark McGwire, Jose Canseco, Dave Stewart, Dennis Eckersley, etc.), and (b) we had nothing of great import to compare it to (Fenway hadn’t yet been remodeled; Wrigley had recently installed lights but not clean restrooms; Pittsburgh, Cincinnati, and Philadelphia all played in the exact same multi-purpose cement stadium; a single Giants game was a four-season experience, requiring sunscreen and a parka; etc.). Ignorance, in 1989, was bliss.

Commissioner Rob Manfred has repeatedly stated that MLB will not consider expansion until the stadium issues in Tampa Bay and Oakland are resolved. It seems the Rays have landed on a new park plan and design (here’s to hoping it will be a massive improvement), while the A’s have all but started packing their bags for Vegas. So, before they leave The Town, my son wanted to see The Coliseum in all of its lack of grace and never-present glory.

Now, I will not get into the many and varied ways that a move to Sin City is a horrible idea and is not in keeping with what A’s ownership claims they actually want to do with the team, their ballpark, and the surrounding environs. What I will get into is the current state of where the A’s – for the time being – still call home.

Like I stated, it’s been more than 30 years since I last saw a game in Oakland. Suffice it to say, time has not been kind to the ballpark. We flew up on a Saturday afternoon, and went through the gates as soon as they opened so that we would have plenty of time to observe the stadium from every angle. We circled the park at the lowest and the highest points; we walked the concourse from the 100 to the 300 level. We climbed to the tippy top and got a view of San Francisco and a vertigo-inducing view of the field below. We stood in the bleachers amongst the “Sell the Team” signs and the drums. We found ourselves in dark hallways and bright bleachers. In short, we took it all in.

If there is one word I would use to describe the park, it would have to be: “janky.” The stadium itself is just horrible. Now, here is where I need to state – without equivocation – two undeniable facts:

(1)  The A’s fans are amazing. They are spirited, excited, and into their team. I did not witness any of the deplorable behavior that I have heard tale about at Raiders games. The tailgate, and tailgaters, were epic. The dancing to live music before the game was intoxicating. And the fans’ absolute unity in their love of their team and their antipathy toward the current ownership is impressive. These fans deserve more; they deserve better.

(2)  The field itself is beautiful. From nearly any location inside the park, you can look out and take in the vast expanse of the field itself (but don’t let your eyes wonder), and it is impressive. Maybe the splendor was enhanced by this being a gorgeous afternoon in The Bay, with a blue sky above. But, regardless, the groundskeepers in Oakland deserve a raise.

The Coliseum grounds crew may be the most professional part of the organization.

Now, back to the park. Boy oh boy. Where to start? How about at the beginning? We took the BART to the yard, and walked across the bridge to get in. With the chain link fence on the outside and massive cement exterior walls, it was hard to know whether we were heading into a ballpark or a maximum-security prison.

Once inside, the concourses were narrow but fine. The concessions on offer were actually pretty good (and, when compared to Dodger Stadium, downright plentiful); however, you need to go to the deepest recesses of the outfield to find decent ice cream (but I digress).

When we arrived, the A’s were taking batting practice (this was about 2½ hours before first pitch). Some of the ushers were great (one even gave a ball to my son). But others acted as if we were trying to get onto the floor for the Showtime Lakers. At one point I asked an usher: “If your team is averaging 8,500 fans per game [about 18% of capacity], why do you care where the fans – who actually show up – go or sit?” The answer was less than satisfying. According to a few diehard fans I chatted with, this has been a theme for a while.

As we walked through the aisles, we noticed three things we had never seen in a major league park:

(1)  Duct tape holding various items in place. This includes wires, cables, and seats. Everywhere you looked you caught sight of grey tape in places where cement or bolts or paint would otherwise be.

(2)  Rusted, broken, and discolored seats. And it was not just one or two; it was more like one or two per section. When walking through the aisles, we had to maneuver around seats that could no longer be folded up. The seats lay there, open and faded, as if to say, “We have seen some things, but we are going down with this rusted ship.”

The seats – like the team – have seen better days.

(3) A scoreboard missing signage on one side, and on the other side, a panel wherein the former name (O.co) could still be seen through a bad paint job.

Either John Fisher is too cheap to fix the scoreboard, or no one is willing to advertise there.

It’s truly hard to square the circle of the Oakland A’s. A team with a storied history in three different cities, potentially on its way to a fourth. The team spent 54 years in Philadelphia, but has now spent 55 in Oakland, and will most likely be there for at least a few more. They won five World Series in Philadelphia and four in Northern California – and whether or not they move, it will be at least a few more years before they win another.

But, regardless, the fans of Oakland have lost their football team (to Las Vegas, natch) and their basketball team (across the bay to San Francisco) – they deserve better. According to reports, only about $30 million separated the team and the City of Oakland when John Fisher abruptly informed the Mayor they accepted a proposal from Las Vegas. While $30 million may seem like a lot, it is only one quarter of one percent of the $12 billion dollar intended project. And the team has already gone back on the deal they originally closed in Las Vegas, opting for a much smaller plot of land and considerably less state money. None of this makes any sense.

It is not too late for Oakland. Commissioner Manfred expects the final owners’ vote to approve the move will happen in November. There is no reason that 22 owners need to assent to the relocation. The owners could hear the rallying cry from the fans who have made themselves heard time and again and reject the move; or they could listen to the admonition of now-retired A’s pitcher Trevor May, who had the following to say as part of his retirement announcement:

“Sell the team, dude. Sell it man. Let someone who actually takes pride in the things they own, own something. There’s actually people who give a shit about the game. Let them do it.”

Here’s to hoping that in Oakland, for years to come, they will be saying:

PLAY BALL!!