Category: Little Things

For years I thought I was alone. No one else, I could imagine, spent as much time as I did analyzing players’ uniforms and gear. From double-flap helmets giving way to single flaps only once they reach the majors, to Starter jackets for pitchers on the base paths, to the mock turtleneck undershirts that were all the rage in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s. I would tune-in to games, read magazines, and watch the highlights, all in an effort to take in the small details that mattered to no one…except me.

But in the past decade or so, that all changed. Like manna from heaven, websites were created and information began to flow. I learned that I was not alone. I realized that there are other weird, fanatical people like me. People who know – and want to know – if Player X was wearing a different color belt or wristbands with his picture on them; people who know – or want to know – if Player Y was using a different model glove or wearing a magnetic necklace.

The granddaddy of sports uniform minutiae is Uni Watch (www.uni-watch.com), founded in 1999 as a column in The Village Voice. Over the years the site grew in size and stature. And if ever a topic was made for the interactive experience of the web, Uni-Watch was it. Paul Lukas – the founder and writer – is a uniform expert, and writes about the most minute detail of everything from European soccer to college football, and anything and any sport in between. When I first encountered Uni-Watch and started reading Paul’s blog, I focused mostly on the baseball research, but I was just happy to know that there were hundreds of thousands (millions?) of people like me enamored with this ephemera.

For players’ equipment, there is no better authority than What Pros Wear (www.whatproswear.com). Mike Carozza started the site in 2012 because he wanted to wear Ken Griffey Jr.’s glove and couldn’t find a good source of information on “what pros wear.” So he decided to become that source; he wanted people like him to know who was wearing what, and where they could buy it. The site was made for me – or people like me…and Mike. And when I discovered it, I could not believe that such a thing existed. It was like Mike had been reading my mind and watching me scan SI’s pre-season preview for new looks, or like he saw me freeze-framing the television so I could determine if Salvador Perez was actually wearing his tried and true All-Star gear but just with the Rawlings label stitched on. You were wondering the same thing, right?

While I have been fixated on all equipment and uniform traits for years – I am a sucker for actual stirrups – my first, true, and everlasting love is batting gloves. I have been a batting glove-aholic for as long as I can remember. I could never – ahem, can never – walk into a sporting goods store without making a beeline to the baseball section. I find the aisle with the batting gloves and check out what they have on offer; and often find myself trying on the latest models (remember when stores had sample gloves on an extendable cord for just this purpose). This adoration goes back to my youth.

When I first started playing baseball, I always got a new pair before the season. At that time, Saranac was the lead manufacturer, first with their wristband-loop Velcro closure (think Dusty Baker), and then with their “Triangle” logo Velcro closure. I cherished that soft leather, and how they felt right out of the package. The batting gloves of the ‘70s and early ‘80s, which – fun fact – were the progeny of golf gloves, weren’t the most comfortable and took some time to break in. Then, around 1985, I discovered the world of Franklin. And my whole world changed.

When you opened a new pair of Franklins, the first thing I did (do) is take a whiff. Nothing compares to the musk of the Pittards leather that Franklin still uses to make their gloves. And that concept of taking time to break in? That went away the first time I donned a pair of gloves with Franklin’s unique tri-curve design. As Mike Schmidt, the first MLB endorser of Franklin would attest, Franklins were part of your hand from the get.

It is truly hard to explain my deep fascination with this company and their inimitable product (more on that below), so I won’t really try. Suffice to say that I have made note of every design change Franklin has produced over the past 35 years; I have clocked every additional colorway added to their arsenal; I have observed which players are added to their roster nearly every season (can we attribute Aaron Judge’s early-season success to his new partnership with Franklin?), and those, like my beloved Will Clark, who left the Franklin family for Easton and then to Nike (or Ken Griffey, Jr., who skipped the stop at Easton and went directly from Franklin to Nike; or Ronald Acuña, Jr., who had some of the best batting glove game in the game, but switched from Franklin to Nike this season; I could do this all day).

When I was in high school, and Franklin’s commercial colorways were not widely available (the local sporting goods store carried all black, all white, royal/white, red/white), I would use a Sharpie and a highlighter to create my own. But in 1988, long before the internet and PayPal and Zelle, I took it upon myself to call the 800-directory (extra points and a prostate exam if you remember using that) to get the phone number of Franklin Sports in Stoughton, Massachusetts. Armed with a number, I cold-called the company and asked if I could order batting gloves directly. Either out of pity, or with a prescient eye towards eventual direct-to-consumer sales, they faxed (!) me an order form. I stewed on the various options for days – a whole world had now opened to me, and seemingly, me alone. I offered this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to my teammates, but they could not be bothered. I begged my mom to front the money, as she needed to write a check that I mailed back east. A few weeks later a package appeared in our mailbox – a few pairs of never-seen-before-in-person batting gloves. Forget Christmas or Hanukkah, this was a brand new holiday!

As luck would have it, I was in Boston with my family last month when Franklin was having a warehouse sale. Their headquarters was about fifteen minutes from where were staying, so we HAD to go. We pulled off the highway, and there it was – just a series of buildings, but awe-inspiring nonetheless. We parked and headed in. Take one guess where I went first? They had hundreds of pairs of batting gloves that just needed to be seen, touched, tried on. No one in the immediate family plays baseball anymore, but my nephew does. So for him, we shopped. We also grabbed a volleyball, some hockey pucks, and a t-shirt. And that was when the connection was made.

An innocuous question about having any more shirts in my size led to a conversation about the above-referenced faxed order more than three decades ago. And that conversation introduced me to the literal Franklin family – Larry (the founder’s son) and his son Adam. Once Adam discovered my fascination and historical knowledge, he brought me to the Taj Mahal, the Sistine Chapel, the Mecca of batting gloves. My family and I were given entrée into a room at the back of the Franklin facility where all MLB players’ batting gloves are housed. In this room, from floor to ceiling, were cubbies with thousands of pairs of gloves. As a show of my insanity, I started rattling off players just by the model, design, and colorway. After nearly forty years of obsessing about batting gloves, I was welcomed into the inner-sanctum.

Adam showed us where the latest designs and improvements are made. He showed us concepts and products that even the big leaguers don’t yet know about (I can tell you what colors certain teams’ not-yet-released City Connect uniforms will be because I have seen their accessorized batting gloves), and he gave us a behind-the-scenes look at the goody box of gloves each Franklin-wearing player gets for each season’s special occasion games. As I said to my kids, this was Dad’s Disneyland.

Kids today don’t just get to mimic their favorite player’s batting stance or pitching motion. Now they can wear all of their gear and use all of their equipment. The information is there for everyone to find, fixate on, and potentially buy. Swing by your local Little League and you will see kids with Evoshield elbow protectors; stop by your local high school and see players diving back into first with running mitts. As for me, well I spend my free time playing with the Franklin batting glove customization tool (www.https://franklinsports.com/custom).

When I was a kid, I would have sooner believed that you could hang a television on the wall and watch first-run movies in your living room, or that you could store all of your albums and cassettes on a device the size of a deck of cards, or that you could do your research project on a Commodore 64, than I would have believed that you would always know exactly what every baseball player was wearing and what gear he was using, or that you could create your own custom batting gloves and have them shipped directly to your home just a few weeks later. People always talk about the good ol’ days. Forget that. With Uni-Watch, What Pros Wear, Franklin Sports, and, hell, your local Dick’s Sporting Goods, we are way better off today. Head on over, and…

PLAY BALL!!

There is a belief that your baseball fandom hits its stride between the ages of 12 and 14. That certainly holds true for me. And luckily for me, as a bats-left/throws-left first baseman, I hit my fandom stride in what I would call the “Silver Age” of first basemen. Why not the Golden Age? Because as good as the collection of first-sackers listed below are, I’m not sure they live up to an era that had Lou Gehrig, Jimmy Foxx, and Hank Greenberg.

Here is a non-comprehensive list of the veritable super-stars who held runners on base in the eighties:

Pete Rose: 4,256 hits; played for 24 years. Only not a Hall of Famer due to that pesky gambling thing.

Rod Carew: Retired in 1985 after more than 3,000 hits, with 13 seasons of 150 hits or more (four with 200 or more); 7 batting titles including four in row (1972-1975). Inducted into the Hall of Fame in 1991.

Eddie Murray: Between 1977 and 1995, had only one season with less than a 105 OPS+, and had a 103 OPS+ in his 21st year. He got a plaque in Cooperstown in 2003.

Jack Clark: You rarely hear his name any more, but from 1978 through 1991, his lowest OPS+ was 125, with five seasons above 150. Plus, he crushed the souls of Los Angelenos in the 1985 playoffs.

Wally Joyner: I already dedicated a whole article to him here.

Mark McGwire: Even before his goatee and biceps grew, he set a major league rookie record with 49 HRs in 1987. Would be in the Hall of Fame today but for Andro, Deca-Durabolin, and Winstrol.

Mark Grace: No batting gloves, no matter. 2,445 hits, lifetime .303 hitter, career OBP of .383. And how about this line for the 1989 playoffs: .647/.682/1.118/1.799.

There are four very obvious names not listed above, all of whom hold a very special place in my heart; all of whom were cornerstones of ‘80s baseball:

My inaugural first-baseman’s mitt was a Rawlings Keith Hernandez model.

Before the Batting Stance Guy ever struck his first pose, I closed my stance and dropped the head of the bat over my shoulder – and even removed my batting gloves – just like Will Clark.

My first baseball coach was a diehard Yankee fan. The only thing we could agree on was that Don Mattingly was the best hitter in the league.

Steve Garvey defied what I looked for in a first baseman – he batted and threw (I use that word loosely) right-handed – but he was my hometown guy; and he played every…single…day; and he could stretch like a Russian ballerina, and picked every errant Bill Russell throw.

These guys were not only good, they were great. As such, each year, when Hall of Fame balloting comes around, all four get a ton of attention. There are some who will swear that if Player X is in the Hall of Fame, so too should Garvey. Others will say that Mattingly was well on his way, but a bad back thwarted his potential enshrinement. Some claim that cocaine slowed Hernandez down. As for Will, well, he’ll always be a Hall of Famer…in my heart, if not in my head.

But the truth is, despite their greatness for periods of time, and despite my unrequited love, none of these four guys had Hall of Fame careers. Sure, that can be a subjective analysis (ahem, Harold Baines, ahem), but the facts and the stats bear this out.

Each player included at www.baseballreference.com has a “Hall of Fame Statistics” section, which lists the following:

Black Ink: This is how many times the player led the league in “important” stats. Accordingly, you get four points for leading in HRs, RBI, and/or batting average; three points for runs, hits, and/or slugging; two points for doubles, walks, and/or stolen bases; one point for games, at bats, and/or triples. The average Black Ink points for a Hall of Fame first baseman is 27.

Gray Ink: This is the same as Black Ink, but the player need only be in the top ten of the league. The average Gray Ink points for a Hall of Fame first baseman is 144.

Hall of Fame Standards: This is a considerably more complicated math problem, with 17 different inputs. You can read more about it here. The average Hall of Fame Standard point total for a Hall of Famer is 50 (with 100 being the max).

WAR: This is also known as bWAR, and it is Baseball Reference’s calculation to determine how much better a player is than a player that would typically be available to replace that player. I will save you the headache of explaining how they do this.

JAWS: This is the preeminent tool for determining if a player is Hall-worthy. The sabermetrician Jay Jaffe first developed this system in 2004, comparing players at each position with players already enshrined, using advanced metrics to account for the wide variations in offensive levels throughout the game’s history. The JAWS score is a player’s career WAR averaged with his seven-year peak (not necessarily consecutive).

With that as the backdrop, let’s dig into the numbers.

	Black Ink	Gray Ink	HOF	WAR	7-Year Peak WAR	JAWS
Average HOF First Baseman	27	144	50	65.5	42.1	53.8
Steve Garvey	12	142	32	38	28.7	33.4
Keith Hernandez	14	118	32	60.3	41.2	50.8
Don Mattingly	23	111	34	42.4	35.7	39.1
Will Clark	13	94	42	56.5	36.1	46.3

As you can see from the above metrics, none of these guys meet the criteria necessary to have plaques in Cooperstown. And despite the oft-heard “Garvey was a Hall of Famer” (on the field and in the bedroom), it appears that Keith Hernandez has the strongest case to ultimately be enshrined. His WAR is only 8% lower than the average; his 7-Year Peak WAR is within the margin of error; and his JAWS score should be close enough for government work (especially for a guy who played and now broadcasts in New York).

What is incredible about these numbers is that you would have sworn that for at least a seven-year window, both Don Mattingly and Will Clark were the best hitters in the world. And yet, the statistics belie that memory. I guess that is just nostalgia of my youth. Chuck Klosterman, the best-selling author who always has an interesting way of looking at things, recently said the following: “Nostalgia is looking at the past through the lens of your own personal experience and therefore changing the meaning of that memory based on the way you want to feel about your relationship to your own life.”

In my own life, I want Garvey, Hernandez, Mattingly, and Clark to be inducted into the Hall of Fame. In real life, they were good; they were, in-fact, great. They were part of the Silver-Era of first basemen. But try as I might, I cannot conjure them into being Hall of Famers. And, you know what, my memories will suffice.

Garvey’s chiseled jaw and dimpled chin perfectly placed on his front shoulder awaiting the pitch.

Hernandez’s mad-dash charge of a bunt.

Donny Baseball’s six grand slams in 1987.

Will the Thrill’s bat drop/arm cock as he launched another one into the upper deck at Candlestick.

Who needs plaques when I have those images burned into my brain.

PLAY BALL!!

Forget the “banging scheme” or the alleged buzzers or the “it’s my time gestures”, forget Ken Lay and Enron Field, forget Yuli Gurriel’s racist dugout impressions. I am rooting for the Braves in this World Series because I see myself in that team. I was an 88-win student in high school, in college, and in law school. I started slow – albeit better than .500 (or C-level) for more than the first half – but was never in the upper echelon. No one ever looked at my report cards and thought “potential pennant winner” or “one game from capturing the World Series”. No, they saw a student who did fine, even well sometimes. Sure, I was someone who would easily graduate each institution, and find gainful employment, but I was no juggernaut; I wasn’t a 95-game winner (let alone a 107-game winner). I played in the right division and did enough to make it to the next round. And then I flourished; took what I had learned, added a few new skillsets, and rode those to new heights. I allowed my performance on the field (or, more accurately, in the workplace) to speak for more than my middling 88-win academic credentials.

It is easy to root for the sensation, the 2001 Mariners and their 116 wins. Or the Yankees or Dodgers nearly every year. And, of course, I cheered on my beloved Red Sox when they won 108 games in 2018. But it isn’t the same as rooting for the almost dregs, like the 2006 Cardinals. It would be generous to say that that Cardinals team limped in the playoffs and then caught fire. On September 19, 2006, the Red Birds throttled the Brewers 12-2, to move eleven games over .500. They then went 3-9 over their last twelve, which included a seven-game losing streak, to finish 83-78. But that team was more than their GPA. They went on to beat the Padres three games to one in the NLDS, and the 97-win Mets in seven games in the NLCS. That 83-win team then beat the 95-win Tigers in five to capture another World Series. Not bad for a B-student team and their .516 winning percentage.

As has been written in various and sundry places, this year’s Braves took longer to reach .500 than any other World Series team ever. But the team they were is not the team they are. As has been reported ad nauseum, president of baseball operations Alex Anthopoulos reworked the Braves outfield after losing Marcel Ozuna to bad sliding and bad life decisions, and Ronald Acuña, Jr. to a torn ACL. Over the course of two weeks, Anthopoulos acquired Joc Pederson from the Cubs, Adam Duvall from the Marlins, Jorge Soler from the Royals, and NLCS hero Eddie Rosario from the Guardians née Indians. From July 31^st to the end of the season, the Braves had the best record in baseball (37-19). But unlike the 2006 Cardinals, the Hammers (one can hope, right?) went 12-2 heading into the playoffs. With that momentum, they beat the Brewers in four and the heavily-favored Dodgers in six, and then jumped out to a 3-1 lead against (say it again) the heavily-favored Astros. And yet, as of this writing, the Braves remain one win away from getting that piece of metal for the first time since 1995.

Sure, listening to the Atlanta (suburbs) crowd drone on with their tomahawk chant is annoying at best and incredibly offensive at worst, and watching the former president sit in one of the Braves’ luxury boxes was somewhat disconcerting. But those are not reason enough not to cheer for the team who overcame mediocrity to get to the precipice of glory. Root for Pederson’s pearls and Rosario’s beard; root for Brian Snitker’s 41 years in/with the organization and Freddie Freeman’s, well, everything. Root for the team whose Game 4 starter had never started a MLB game before that night, got only one out, and yet still won. Root for the Astros to lose a second World Series in three years in their home park. Root for the B-student to achieve success, because we can’t all be valedictorian, we can’t all go to Harvard, we can’t all win 95 games. Sometimes, we need to do just enough, get hot, and ride the wave.

PLAY BALL!!

I guess it’s that time of the year. The leaves turn, the temperatures drop, the intensity heightens, and everyone becomes an expert. Fans have watched their team play for six months, they know their favorite roster backwards and forwards; they even know their opponents strengths and weaknesses. So, from the comfort of their couch, the typical fan –with beer in one hand and remote in the other – grunts, groans, and generally grumbles about the pre-game and in-game decision-making processes.

Take my son, for instance. Sitting behind the Red Sox dugout last Friday night in Houston, my son could not and would not stop lamenting Alex Cora’s decision to use Hirokazu Sawamura in the eighth inning of Game of the ALCS. In retrospect, and in terms of outcome, my son was correct. But, as I explained to him as we walked out of the ballpark, we simply had NO idea what Cora or pitching coach Dave Bush or anyone else in that dugout was considering when that decision was made. As a side note, I told him that one of the downsides of attending the game is that we miss out on the analysis you get from Ken Rosenthal and Ron Darling and Frenchy Francoeur, which is all that more important in the playoffs.

My final comment, as he hung his head and headed to the hotel, was that, at that moment, Cora had managed this team for 168 games, and was 15-5 as a post-season skipper. So, for some reason, I tend to trust his knowledge of the Red Sox pitching staff more than my own, and more than that of my 18-year-old son. He reluctantly mumbled his agreement.

And then there is (at least in my world) the much-maligned Dave Roberts. Depending on who I am talking to, or when, Roberts is either a front-office puppet or an over-manager who makes too many bad decisions. Try as I might, I have been unable to square that circle. To that end, I cannot recall how many texts I received last week when the Dodgers announced Corey Knebel as the NLDS Game 5 starter. “Roberts is screwing up again” my father wrote to me shortly after the lineup was released. My best friend sent an SOS text asking for an explanation. I tried to calmly explain to both – and others – that this was not just Dave Roberts’ call. He didn’t wake up Thursday morning, throw a thumb to the wind, and decide Knebel was his guy. I knew, in my soul, and as someone who follows baseball closely, that this was a whole-of-organization determination. And, much to my chagrin, Buster Olney didn’t help matters on Friday morning’s Baseball Tonight podcast, stating that if the Dodgers had lost, or if Knebel had given up a bunch of runs, Roberts would have had a lot to answer for. Thankfully, his guest, Karl Ravech, quickly made my point, and explained to both Buster and the listening audience that this wasn’t a one-man show.

And thank goodness for Andy McCullough of The Athletic. On Friday morning, he published a behind-the-scenes account of how and why the Dodgers decided to go with the opener in Game 5. I sent the article to my dad under the heading “As I was saying…” My father read it, and wrote me back: “After reading the backstory on the pitching strategy, it was genius. Wow!”

The point is, we – as fans – in the grand scheme of things, don’t know shit. We have more information at our fingertips than at any time in history. We subscribe to FanGraphs and check Baseball Reference each morning. We read Jayson Stark’s Weird & Wild column religiously, and listen to Buster and umpteen other baseball podcasts. We have fantasy teams and keeper leagues, and follow the goings-on in the Arizona Fall League. And yet, we have no idea who’s arm is dead, or who didn’t sleep the night before because his baby is sick, or who looked awkward walking back from the clubhouse. We don’t have a fraction of the analytics, advanced statistics, and player-by-player match-up information that each team loads onto those dugout iPads. We don’t know what Dave Roberts or Alex Cora or Brian Snitker or Dusty Baker know. We haven’t experienced what they have experienced. So, arm-chair Connie Mack, slow your roll.

All of that said, it doesn’t mean that managers can’t be and shouldn’t be second (and third) guessed. They can and they should. In fact, that is part of what makes being a fan so much fun. Managers make decisions nearly every night that confound not just us fans, but their front offices as well. And they don’t always do a very good job of explaining themselves. But the system is pretty much self-correcting: make too many of those bad calls, and they become former managers.

Tim Kurkjian has oftentimes repeated the advice that Buck Showalter once told him: a bad outcome doesn’t necessarily mean a bad process; and a good outcome doesn’t necessarily mean a good process. So, it might make sense to be a bit more judicious in our criticisms. We should probably give managers – especially those who have (repeatedly) made it to the final four – the benefit of the doubt before we chuck them under the team bus.

For instance, I have to believe there is some explanation as to why Roberts pulled Brusdar Graterol after nine (100 MPH) pitches to bring in Kenley Jansen to face Eddie Rosario in the ninth inning of Game 2. Brian Anderson opined on the telecast that he didn’t want to be like the aforementioned Buck Showalter, losing a playoff game with his closer in the pen. Fair enough, but from my couch, it seemed like a shaky move. And until Roberts tells me more, until he explains what he and his coaches saw and knew, until he conveys what information was contained on that iPad, you can bet I will second-guess that decision. And if/when he does, I will go back to thinking that the guy who has won six division titles, two pennants, and one ring is pretty good at his job.

Second guess with impunity, but do so with humility.

PLAY BALL!!

Lost in the hullabaloo of huge walk-off home runs are the little things immediately preceding that make them possible. Watching the Dodgers-Cardinals game last week, I had an incredible flashback that I don’t believe was discussed on the broadcast.

Ranked the No. 1 sports moment in the history of Los Angeles sports, Kirk Gibson’s walk-off two-run home run against the Oakland A’s in the opener of the 1988 World Series was truly something to behold. And when reliving the event with the nearly ten minute clip on YouTube (as I have done countless times), we almost forget the five-pitch walk Mike Davis earned before Gibby hobbled his way out of the dugout.

Mike Davis is a footnote in baseball lore. He played 10 seasons in the big leagues, eight with his opponent that night, the A’s. In 1988 with the Dodgers, he walked only 25 times in 310 plate appearances. As such, he certainly wasn’t the ideal choice when needing a baserunner in the bottom of the ninth. In fact, it bears asking if he was actually a better option than Alfredo Griffin (for whom he pinch hit), with his .199 batting average and .259 on-base percentage.

Davis has a pretty brutal ’88 season, and the Dodgers limited him to 103 plate appearances in the second half. At season’s end, he sported a .196 batting average, and a .260 OBP with just nine walks after May. But manager Tommy Lasorda called his number in the ninth inning of Game 1 of the World Series, with the directive to find a way on base so someone, anyone, could try to drive him in. Davis worked a five-pitch walk off Dennis Eckersley, a pitcher who issued a mere 11 walks in 72 2/3 innings that season.

But Davis wasn’t done. With the crowd going wild and Gibson fouling off pitches like the battered horse that he was, Davis swiped second base. This was important for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which was that now any Texas Leaguer, duck fart, or blooper over short would have at least tied the game (note, in Gibson’s condition, any ground ball in the infield – and maybe a shallow grounder to the outfield – would have resulted in an out at first to end the game). Also, in the years before multiple sets of signs, and quarterback-type wristbands, and back-pocket information cards, and center-field cameras relayed to dugout monitors, it was still to the batter’s advantage to have a runner on second base.

Of course, it is well-documented that the Dodgers had a pre-series scouting report that Eck would go to the backdoor slider on a 3-2 count, so it is unknown how helpful Davis’ positioning at second base may have been. Regardless, Davis was inexplicably on base representing the tying run when there was “a fly ball to right field…”

Which brings me to last Wednesday night, in that same ballpark. Mike Davis was never the caliber of player that Cody Bellinger is. Cody has won Rookie of the Year and MVP awards. He is a two-time All-Star who has hit 47 dingers in a single season. But 2021 has been, in a word, a disaster for Cody. He played in 95 games, struck out three times as often as he walked, and had a .240 OBP. If not for the injury to Max Muncy on the last day of the year, it is highly likely that Bellinger wouldn’t have even been in the lineup in the Wild Card Game against the Cardinals. And yet, there he was.

So with the stage set for Albert Pujols to hit a pinch-hit, walk-off homer against his former club, he merely lined out to center. When Steven Souza Jr. did the same, it was up to Bellinger to keep this contest from going to extra innings. In August of this year, Bellinger had two walks in 93 plate appearances. He improved that a bit in September and October, with five in 59. But he hadn’t walked twice in a game since June 24, and seeing how he had already received a free pass in the third inning, another one didn’t seem likely.

Shockingly, after swinging through a 2-1 sinker, Bellinger took two sinkers just off the plate to earn the walk. There wasn’t a Dodgers fan in attendance, nor one watching on television, who wasn’t certain that Belly would swing through at least one of those pitches — but he didn’t.

Like Mike Davis, Bellinger found a way to get on. And then, like Davis, he stole second base.

Bellinger had previously swiped two bags in a game three times in his career: once in 2017, once in 2018, and then last September. But here he stole his second base of the night, and he did it with two outs in the bottom of the ninth inning of a win-or-go-home game in October. And in doing so, like Davis, he put himself in scoring position (this time for a chance to win, rather than just tie).

We will all remember Chris Taylor’s line shot into the left-field pavilion to propel the Dodgers to the next round of the playoffs. It wasn’t Gibby. But it may have scooted in front of Muncy and Justin Turner in the annals of celebrated Dodger moments. CT3 walked off the Cardinals and gave the Dodgers the Wild Card Game victory. But lest we forget, as so many have since 1988, it was the little noted two-out walk, and the subsequent stolen base, that truly set the stage. A tip of the cap to Davis and Bellinger, whose keen eyes and fleet feet paved the way for legends to be born.

PLAY BALL!!

 

When I was in my last year of law school, I visited a head hunter because, after almost three years of schooling and nearly six figures of debt, I decided I didn’t want to be a lawyer; and hell, “you can do anything with a law degree.” The recruiter and I bandied about a bunch of ideas, but, surprisingly, one that did not come up was MLB general manager. It should have, as according to Alex Anthopoulos — the general manager of the Atlanta Braves — one of the main responsibilities of that job is to worry about what will happen next. And, as a lifelong Boston Red Sox fan, that is my metaphysical condition from April through October (if we are lucky). 2021 has been no different.

Going into spring, I was care and worry free. ESPN predicted the Red Sox would win 79 games; SI: 80; PECOTA: 85. As of this writing, the Red Sox have already won 88 games, with nine still to go. They have surpassed all expectations, and thus increased my anxiety level many-fold. And regardless of their over-performance (at least against preseason predictions), this team consistently seems to underperform. As such, they trigger my general manager tendencies, and cause me to worry.

The BoSox spent 85 days in first place, but fell out on July 30th. Five weeks later, on September 7th, they were 10 games back of the Rays. In those 38 days, the team went 16-20, which wasn’t horrible, but neither was it great. And, truth be told, despite their record and their position in the standings, they are not very good. According to FanGraphs, their Pythagorean Record would have them at 84 wins, and their Base Runs record would have them at 81. All better than expected, but still not a team worthy of World Series aspirations.

As a team, the Red Sox are hitting .262; .269 with runners in scoring position, and .294 with the bases loaded. And yet, it feels like they never capitalize on those situations (including again last night). By comparison, the Rays are hitting .241 as a team; .250 with runners in scoring position, but .390 with the bases loaded. And that may be why the Rays have scored 17 more runs than the BoSox (811-794).

And if you have watched the Red Sox lately, you can’t miss another glaring difference: defense. Here, as above, the stats don’t even begin to tell the whole story. Boston leads the A.L. with 103 errors (by comparison, the Rays rank 8th with only 78). The Red Sox have given up 77 unearned runs, while the Rays have only given up 58. But it’s not just the errors and the unearned runs, it’s the plays that should be made, but are not. If you watched Tampa Bay’s 11-10 come-from-behind win in Boston on Sept. 6, you will know exactly what I am talking about.

Yet, the season has but nine days to go, and the Red Sox are in pole position for the Wild Card. Assuming you can get past the unclutch hitting and the woeful defense, you then have to contend with a deadly virus. Kiké Hernandez went down with COVID-19 on Aug. 27th, and the team suffered no fewer than 12 player cases (plus two staffers), including ace Chris Sale (who, we have learned, is not vaccinated — see the great piece by Steve Buckley in The Athletic). 

It would have been considerably easier if they had tanked during that period, ending their season — and my worries — once and for all. But the team went 10-9 and kept themselves in contention, adding to my angst.

So now, after getting past their pandemic woes, we fans must steel ourselves for nine innings of high leverage baseball with this pitching staff. At this point, the best outcome is hosting the Wild Card game against (most likely) either the New York Yankees or the Toronto Blue Jays. And, at this point, the best outcome is the Red Sox are able to line up Sale to pitch that game. But, since coming back from Tommy John surgery on Aug. 14th, he has gone 5, 5, 5 1/3, 6, 3 2/3, 5, and 5 innings. 

Which means that even if Sale gets the ball to start the Wild Card game, the shaky bullpen will be there to try to finish it. Do you really trust Adam Ottavino and/or Matt Barnes and/or Hansel Robles to get through either the Bronx Bombing Beef Boys or the Canadian Clubbers of Springer, Semien, Vladito, Bichette, and Teoscar Hernández — even if it is only one time through the order? As a lifelong Boston fan, I most certainly do not.

Oh, and if Sale and the bullpen are able to walk between the raindrops and make it to the ALDS, they will have to face the Rays in a best of seven. In short, I won’t be booking any flights to Boston for late October this year.

But my sincere hope is that it just doesn’t end too badly. I have seen this movie too many times. I was just a hair too young to remember Bucky Dent, but I do remember 1986 (which, conveniently, was the main focus of ESPN’s four-part documentary released last week). I will never forgive Grady Little or Aaron “Bleeping” Boone. None of us will ever forget 2011. There have been too many bad moments, too many bad months, too many bad streaks, too many bad hops and bad breaks to think anything other than bad news is on the horizon. When the end comes, just make it painless…

It is in these moments of heightened tension that I envy my son. Because, even with 2011, he has really only known Red Sox success. He has witnessed four World Series titles in his 18 short years. To him, the Red Sox are winners, not chokers; there is no curse or jinx or hex on his favorite team, just glory every three or four years.

That is why my son had no compunction about mocking the Yankees after they acquired Anthony Rizzo and Joey Gallo, saying, with absolute earnestness and confidence, that “it won’t mean anything when the Yankees don’t make the playoffs.” At which point I told him to go outside, turn around three times, and spit. In my heart, I know he didn’t stave off the wrath of the baseball gods. In fact, if history and thaumaturgy are any guide, it will be Rizzo and Gallo who hit the game-tying and game-winning home runs in the Wild Card game.

But, no matter. Whether it is the Yankees, the Jays, or the A’s, I will not — and never will — feel one bit confident that the Red Sox — this, or any other version — will come through. It is part of being a Red Sox fan; it is in our DNA. We live our lives waiting for the other sock to drop.

PLAY BALL!!