Somebody get hold of the Guinness people. Surely another world record has been set. The validity is beyond doubt, because the TV folks have footage of this historic event. How else would an idiot like me know about such a thing?
That would be a single fan in Wrigley Field, home of the Chicago Cubs, catching/retrieving not one, but four, count em FOUR foul balls during the course of a game. That's one lucky guy, the fact he's a Cubs' fan notwithstanding. Ahem.
To likely no one's great surprise, the stat monsters crunched the numbers on the chances of this happening. According to them.....
The average major league baseball stadium has 30,000 people in attendance at any given game.
During the course of any such game, an average of 27 baseballs are hit into the stands. Yes, there are people that actually keep track of such things, another believe it or not. Are you listening, Ripley?
Therefore, the chances of any one fan nabbing a baseball that flies into the stands are roughly 1100 to one. Not good.
Going a step further (you knew they would), it was calculated that the odds of the same person in the seats nabbing four baseballs in one game were approximately 1,000,000,000,000 to one.
Or, put another way, about the same chances as the Detroit Lions winning the Super Bowl any year soon. Nyuk, nyuk.
Hi Deb. Was good to see you again. And if you're reading this where I think you might be reading it, tell Lynn I said to speed it up. She'll understand. I hope.
Monday, July 15, 2013
Sunday, July 14, 2013
The US Senior Open (and more dumb commercials)
Wow. Turns out, some of those old coots on the geezer tour can still play some serious golf. Seeing as how yours truly is older than several of them, I think I can get away with such a crack.
And what a show they put on during the final round. The eventual champion, Kenny Perry, was 10 shots out of the lead a couple days ago, only to wind up winning the tournament by 5 strokes. A 15 shot swing? Now THAT'S called blistering the field over the weekend. Perry carded a 30 on the front nine. I've shot higher than that at putt-putt courses. And this wasn't your run-of-the-mill municipal or county course either. It was a US Open set-up -- difficult to say the least. Granted, it likely wasn't as tough as "regular" US Open courses, but still -- 500 yard par 4s? A par 5 that was over 600 yards? Golfers hitting their approach shots into greens that at times were 5-6 stories higher (or lower) than where they stood? Not exactly a piece of cake.
[And now a commercial break. An insurance company sang their tag line once again. "We are farmers". Well gee, that's great. I'll give them a call if I'm ever in the market for a few bushels of corn or a truckload of sugar beets. But what, pray tell, does being farmers have to do with insurance?]
At one point, Perry rattled off 4 birdies in a row. Not to be outdone, Corey Pavin reeled off 5 in a row to equal the all-time record of consecutive birdies at a US Open. But Perry wouldn't wilt. He was just too good and wound up posting a final round 65, to follow up his blistering 63 the day before. The dude's almost 53 years old and he's still averaging 300 yards off the tee, finessing his irons, and can putt as true as ever? That's impressive stuff.
[Another insurance commercial I've never understood. If I'm going to cough up a couple grand every year in insurance premiums, then they have to do better than just giving me "a piece of the rock". Merely a PIECE of an unknown rock? That's nowhere near good enough. For what I've shelled out over the years, I ought to have my likeness carved on Mt. Rushmore by now. And who cares about rocks anyway? If something bad happens, I want quick service and a check to cover it. What is it with these people?]
Nevertheless, hats off to Kenny Perry, a worthy 2013 US Senior Open champion, which also marks him capturing his second major of the year. Despite his rather unorthodox swing, somehow he just makes it work, and good for him.
[And now I'm outta here, before I see that duck, lizard, or goofy girl selling insurance policies out of shoeboxes at a sanitarium again.]
Idle parting thought: In a recent Sports Illustrated article, Dennis Rodman said that out of the Top 10 most recognizable people in the world -- he'd check in at #5. According to the Worm, only God, Jesus, Muhammed Ali and Barack Obama would be ahead of him. Yet kudos to the SI scribe (Franz Lidz) for noting that the Top 4 probably wouldn't show up in Times Square wearing a bra and sporting a blond mohawk either. Touche.
The scary part? Rodman just might be right. Is this a great planet or what?
And what a show they put on during the final round. The eventual champion, Kenny Perry, was 10 shots out of the lead a couple days ago, only to wind up winning the tournament by 5 strokes. A 15 shot swing? Now THAT'S called blistering the field over the weekend. Perry carded a 30 on the front nine. I've shot higher than that at putt-putt courses. And this wasn't your run-of-the-mill municipal or county course either. It was a US Open set-up -- difficult to say the least. Granted, it likely wasn't as tough as "regular" US Open courses, but still -- 500 yard par 4s? A par 5 that was over 600 yards? Golfers hitting their approach shots into greens that at times were 5-6 stories higher (or lower) than where they stood? Not exactly a piece of cake.
[And now a commercial break. An insurance company sang their tag line once again. "We are farmers". Well gee, that's great. I'll give them a call if I'm ever in the market for a few bushels of corn or a truckload of sugar beets. But what, pray tell, does being farmers have to do with insurance?]
At one point, Perry rattled off 4 birdies in a row. Not to be outdone, Corey Pavin reeled off 5 in a row to equal the all-time record of consecutive birdies at a US Open. But Perry wouldn't wilt. He was just too good and wound up posting a final round 65, to follow up his blistering 63 the day before. The dude's almost 53 years old and he's still averaging 300 yards off the tee, finessing his irons, and can putt as true as ever? That's impressive stuff.
[Another insurance commercial I've never understood. If I'm going to cough up a couple grand every year in insurance premiums, then they have to do better than just giving me "a piece of the rock". Merely a PIECE of an unknown rock? That's nowhere near good enough. For what I've shelled out over the years, I ought to have my likeness carved on Mt. Rushmore by now. And who cares about rocks anyway? If something bad happens, I want quick service and a check to cover it. What is it with these people?]
Nevertheless, hats off to Kenny Perry, a worthy 2013 US Senior Open champion, which also marks him capturing his second major of the year. Despite his rather unorthodox swing, somehow he just makes it work, and good for him.
[And now I'm outta here, before I see that duck, lizard, or goofy girl selling insurance policies out of shoeboxes at a sanitarium again.]
Idle parting thought: In a recent Sports Illustrated article, Dennis Rodman said that out of the Top 10 most recognizable people in the world -- he'd check in at #5. According to the Worm, only God, Jesus, Muhammed Ali and Barack Obama would be ahead of him. Yet kudos to the SI scribe (Franz Lidz) for noting that the Top 4 probably wouldn't show up in Times Square wearing a bra and sporting a blond mohawk either. Touche.
The scary part? Rodman just might be right. Is this a great planet or what?
Saturday, July 13, 2013
A truly indecent proposal
Warning: The following article contains an offensive attitude. If you're politically correct or otherwise just plain wimpy, the author (me) suggests you stop right here. Read on at your own peril but don't say I didn't warn you.
You know what's wrong with sports these days? They've taken all the fun out of it. By that, I mean there's not enough death and destruction going on like in the old days.
Consider hydroplane racing. In times of yore, the mortality rate was high amongst the boat drivers. It was edge-of-your-seat stuff to watch them speeding around with the driver's head sticking out of the top. Yet it seemed like it was only a matter of time before even the best of them would suffer a high-speed ker-splat on the water and die of various injuries. These days, the cockpits of those boats more closely resemble those of fighter planes. All enclosed, reinforced, 5-point harnesses, emergency air supply, high-tech communications, the works. Nobody gets killed anymore. Well, that's no fun.
After Dale Earnhart Sr. kissed the wall at Daytona and went to meet the real Intimidator in the sky, NASCAR seems to have morphed from the good-ole-boys duking it out, to the limp wrist circuit. How else to explain the shock-absorbing walls at all the tracks, restrictor plates at the super speedways to slow the cars down, the head/neck devices every driver must wear, and various other so-called safety features? The problem? There's still plenty of destruction, but not enough guys are getting killed. When that used to happen, it spiced it up a tad. Ya never know when a guy might be on his last lap -- literally. Gee, that was fun to watch.
Throw Indy cars into the mix and things are just way to safe these days. Race vehicles still get splattered, but the pilots don't. Again, that takes all the fun out of it. And they wonder why attendance has nosedived at all these venues? Maybe it's because they've all became too wimpy. Seeing fiberglass, carbon-fiber, and sheet metal getting obliterated is one thing -- but nothing gets a fan's juices flowing like the possibility of a bodybag.
For that matter -- if the fans in attendance want to truly interact -- then raising and reinforcing the protective fences between the track and the crowd is the WORST thing they can do. Get rid of them entirely. If fans in attendance want to watch a high-speed race close-up and in person -- then why should they be immune from whatever carnage might occur? Hey, if tires or any other parts of wrecked race cars come zooming into the stands at 150-200 MPH and decapitate a few folks -- then so what? Chalk it up to collateral damage and race on.
Look at the NFL. They're trying to eliminate helmet-to-helmet contact. Sure, concussions are a bad thing, but why should we care? After all, the players not only know this going in, but are willing to sacrifice their heads, bodies, and everything else to make an NFL roster. It's not our fault if some of them are crippled up and have the mentality of a green bean by the time they're 50. Nobody makes them do what they do. They want to. High reward, but also high risk. It goes with the territory.
Personally, I fondly remember what former Chicago Bear linebacker and NFL Hall of Famer Dick Butkus once said. The only thing better than hitting a guy hard enough to watch his helmet go rolling down the field would be if his head was still in it. Now THAT would have been interesting.
Recently, Detroit Tiger manager Jim Leyland stormed the field with yet another of his tirades because an opposing pitcher gave one of his hitters a little "chin music". After all the antics and false bravado charades typical of baseball in such a situation died down -- the game went on as usual.
But it could have been so much more exciting. The opposing pitcher still had a baseball -- right? So when the manager of the other team comes out on the field to dispute a call -- why not wind up and give a guy like Leyland a 95 MPH heater in his ribs or backside? Can you imagine what might have happened next? Me neither, but it sure would have been fun to watch.
NHL hockey? Too many guys still have all their front teeth, and not enough stitches are involved these days. Yes, it's faster, but it's also wimpier. Anymore, those guys take dives like soccer players. Jeez, how I long for the good old days when men were men and blood was on the ice.
Of course all the above was written with tongue firmly in cheek.
Maybe.
You know what's wrong with sports these days? They've taken all the fun out of it. By that, I mean there's not enough death and destruction going on like in the old days.
Consider hydroplane racing. In times of yore, the mortality rate was high amongst the boat drivers. It was edge-of-your-seat stuff to watch them speeding around with the driver's head sticking out of the top. Yet it seemed like it was only a matter of time before even the best of them would suffer a high-speed ker-splat on the water and die of various injuries. These days, the cockpits of those boats more closely resemble those of fighter planes. All enclosed, reinforced, 5-point harnesses, emergency air supply, high-tech communications, the works. Nobody gets killed anymore. Well, that's no fun.
After Dale Earnhart Sr. kissed the wall at Daytona and went to meet the real Intimidator in the sky, NASCAR seems to have morphed from the good-ole-boys duking it out, to the limp wrist circuit. How else to explain the shock-absorbing walls at all the tracks, restrictor plates at the super speedways to slow the cars down, the head/neck devices every driver must wear, and various other so-called safety features? The problem? There's still plenty of destruction, but not enough guys are getting killed. When that used to happen, it spiced it up a tad. Ya never know when a guy might be on his last lap -- literally. Gee, that was fun to watch.
Throw Indy cars into the mix and things are just way to safe these days. Race vehicles still get splattered, but the pilots don't. Again, that takes all the fun out of it. And they wonder why attendance has nosedived at all these venues? Maybe it's because they've all became too wimpy. Seeing fiberglass, carbon-fiber, and sheet metal getting obliterated is one thing -- but nothing gets a fan's juices flowing like the possibility of a bodybag.
For that matter -- if the fans in attendance want to truly interact -- then raising and reinforcing the protective fences between the track and the crowd is the WORST thing they can do. Get rid of them entirely. If fans in attendance want to watch a high-speed race close-up and in person -- then why should they be immune from whatever carnage might occur? Hey, if tires or any other parts of wrecked race cars come zooming into the stands at 150-200 MPH and decapitate a few folks -- then so what? Chalk it up to collateral damage and race on.
Look at the NFL. They're trying to eliminate helmet-to-helmet contact. Sure, concussions are a bad thing, but why should we care? After all, the players not only know this going in, but are willing to sacrifice their heads, bodies, and everything else to make an NFL roster. It's not our fault if some of them are crippled up and have the mentality of a green bean by the time they're 50. Nobody makes them do what they do. They want to. High reward, but also high risk. It goes with the territory.
Personally, I fondly remember what former Chicago Bear linebacker and NFL Hall of Famer Dick Butkus once said. The only thing better than hitting a guy hard enough to watch his helmet go rolling down the field would be if his head was still in it. Now THAT would have been interesting.
Recently, Detroit Tiger manager Jim Leyland stormed the field with yet another of his tirades because an opposing pitcher gave one of his hitters a little "chin music". After all the antics and false bravado charades typical of baseball in such a situation died down -- the game went on as usual.
But it could have been so much more exciting. The opposing pitcher still had a baseball -- right? So when the manager of the other team comes out on the field to dispute a call -- why not wind up and give a guy like Leyland a 95 MPH heater in his ribs or backside? Can you imagine what might have happened next? Me neither, but it sure would have been fun to watch.
NHL hockey? Too many guys still have all their front teeth, and not enough stitches are involved these days. Yes, it's faster, but it's also wimpier. Anymore, those guys take dives like soccer players. Jeez, how I long for the good old days when men were men and blood was on the ice.
Of course all the above was written with tongue firmly in cheek.
Maybe.
Friday, July 12, 2013
The Detroit Pistons. What's next?
One thing's for sure. The Detroit Pistons will look a lot different next year. They'll have a new head coach in Maurice Cheeks, and three new "draftees", notably first round pick Kentavius Caldwell Pope.
Whether any of the draftees actually makes the team remains to be seen, but it's a pretty safe bet at least Pope will stick, at least for a year or two. After all, even if it turns out he doesn't have what it takes to play with the big boys, no NBA team (and in this case -- Pistons Prez Joe Dumars) wants the egg on their face that would come with admitting their first round pick was a bust. Then again, Pope could become the next Dwyane Wade. Stranger things have happened. Hey, once upon a time, over lunch, the sports editor of this paper asked an idiot like yours truly to write for him -- and he was buying!!! So anything's possible.
Further, the above mentioned Joe D went out and snatched former Atlanta Hawk and free agent Josh Smith. This will likely give the Pistons some much-needed scoring help from the "wing". Plus Smith can be a force in the paint at times. Combine him with Detroit's young big men Greg Munroe and Andre Drummond, and this is a significant team upgrade.
In a surprise of sorts, the well-travelled Chauncey Billups is returning to the Pistons as well. Billups will be 37 before the next season gets underway. How much gas he still has left in his tank also remains to be seen, but this could well be a win-win-win situation. In the twilight of his career, Billups likely wanted to return to the team where he experienced his glory years, including winning an NBA title almost a decade ago. The Pistons only gave him a 2-year contract, which sounds prudent and, at that, they've only committed about $5 million to Billups. Sure, that's a ton of money to us normal folks, but it's a bargain basement price in the insane world of professional athlete contracts these days. Besides, Billups will likely contribute a few quality minutes here and there, and having him on the team to "coach up" young point guard Brandon Knight certainly can't hurt.
How all this will come together under new coach Cheeks would seem to be the big question. It would appear the Pistons will be better than they've been in recent years past, but that's not saying a whole lot -- because they've been terrible. So bad, in fact, that a great deal of their former loyal fan base has deserted them. Despite all their gimmicks and promotions, the only time the Pistons can come close to filling their own house (the Palace) is when a premier team comes to town. And those fans are there to see the OTHER guys. Who's kidding who?
Nevertheless, here's wishing Mo, Josh, Mr. Big Shot, the newbies, and the rest of the crew with another year of experience under their belts the best of luck.
If it all comes together right, the Pistons could make the playoffs.
But let's get real. Even if Cheeks gets things to mesh perfectly, and the players perform at their best all year long -- does anybody really seriously think the Pistons will be capable of competing with the current elite teams in the NBA?
I think not, but right now they have nowhere to go but up.
What they have done is a start. It certainly appears "on paper" that they will be better.
We'll see.
Yet in the improbable case they post a record similar to or even worse than last year -- I hope Joe D is either ready to retire or has his job resume in order.
Because if THAT happens -- well -- even nice guys and home town legends have been known to be kicked to the curb on occasion. Such is the cutthroat world of pro sports. It's a business, and even a fine man like Dumars doesn't get a pass forever.
Let's not forget that while Dumars should be given all due credit for building the Pistons into a perennial powerhouse a decade ago, he was also the same man in the same position as that same team has descended into bottom feeders over the last several years. It works both ways.
Idle thought: Why has Joe Dumars become so fat over the last few years? What's up with that? I've heard of eating bad contracts, but this is ridiculous.
Whether any of the draftees actually makes the team remains to be seen, but it's a pretty safe bet at least Pope will stick, at least for a year or two. After all, even if it turns out he doesn't have what it takes to play with the big boys, no NBA team (and in this case -- Pistons Prez Joe Dumars) wants the egg on their face that would come with admitting their first round pick was a bust. Then again, Pope could become the next Dwyane Wade. Stranger things have happened. Hey, once upon a time, over lunch, the sports editor of this paper asked an idiot like yours truly to write for him -- and he was buying!!! So anything's possible.
Further, the above mentioned Joe D went out and snatched former Atlanta Hawk and free agent Josh Smith. This will likely give the Pistons some much-needed scoring help from the "wing". Plus Smith can be a force in the paint at times. Combine him with Detroit's young big men Greg Munroe and Andre Drummond, and this is a significant team upgrade.
In a surprise of sorts, the well-travelled Chauncey Billups is returning to the Pistons as well. Billups will be 37 before the next season gets underway. How much gas he still has left in his tank also remains to be seen, but this could well be a win-win-win situation. In the twilight of his career, Billups likely wanted to return to the team where he experienced his glory years, including winning an NBA title almost a decade ago. The Pistons only gave him a 2-year contract, which sounds prudent and, at that, they've only committed about $5 million to Billups. Sure, that's a ton of money to us normal folks, but it's a bargain basement price in the insane world of professional athlete contracts these days. Besides, Billups will likely contribute a few quality minutes here and there, and having him on the team to "coach up" young point guard Brandon Knight certainly can't hurt.
How all this will come together under new coach Cheeks would seem to be the big question. It would appear the Pistons will be better than they've been in recent years past, but that's not saying a whole lot -- because they've been terrible. So bad, in fact, that a great deal of their former loyal fan base has deserted them. Despite all their gimmicks and promotions, the only time the Pistons can come close to filling their own house (the Palace) is when a premier team comes to town. And those fans are there to see the OTHER guys. Who's kidding who?
Nevertheless, here's wishing Mo, Josh, Mr. Big Shot, the newbies, and the rest of the crew with another year of experience under their belts the best of luck.
If it all comes together right, the Pistons could make the playoffs.
But let's get real. Even if Cheeks gets things to mesh perfectly, and the players perform at their best all year long -- does anybody really seriously think the Pistons will be capable of competing with the current elite teams in the NBA?
I think not, but right now they have nowhere to go but up.
What they have done is a start. It certainly appears "on paper" that they will be better.
We'll see.
Yet in the improbable case they post a record similar to or even worse than last year -- I hope Joe D is either ready to retire or has his job resume in order.
Because if THAT happens -- well -- even nice guys and home town legends have been known to be kicked to the curb on occasion. Such is the cutthroat world of pro sports. It's a business, and even a fine man like Dumars doesn't get a pass forever.
Let's not forget that while Dumars should be given all due credit for building the Pistons into a perennial powerhouse a decade ago, he was also the same man in the same position as that same team has descended into bottom feeders over the last several years. It works both ways.
Idle thought: Why has Joe Dumars become so fat over the last few years? What's up with that? I've heard of eating bad contracts, but this is ridiculous.
Jim Leyland goes berserk
In yesterday's game against the Chicago White Sox, Detroit Tigers' manager Jim Leyland did something yours truly has never seen before. And I've watched major league baseball for a very long time.
A little background. Likely to no one's great surprise, Tigers' super-slugger Miguel Cabrera hit yet another home run. The very next pitch to the very next batter -- one Prince Fielder -- was high and tight. A little chin music, as they say. Maybe it was intentional -- maybe not -- but even if so, such "ploys", if you will, have been a part of major league baseball since forever. Leyland gestured in protest from the dugout.
Well OK, you just knew a little pay-back was going to come around, because it's always worked that way as well. Sure enough, in the very next inning, the Tiger pitcher threw a ball behind a White Sox batter. And then the trouble started. The batter took a few steps towards the mound, both dugouts emptied, and even the guys in the bullpen came trotting into the potential fray.
After the original perceived wrong had been "avenged", the whole thing probably would have died down in a couple minutes, but evidently a blood vessel had popped somewhere between Jim Leyland's ears. Not only did he charge onto the field, but he launched into a tirade with the umpire crew over what had happened. Granted, this is nothing new for major league baseball managers. Over the years, we've seen many of them throw childish fits and engage in antics we would normally expect of a rich, spoiled, 7-year-old bratty kid on steroids being told "no". Or maybe a member of Congress. A parting shot about that later.
At any rate, whatever Leyland said got him ejected from the game. "Yer outta here", said an ump. After a while, Leyland finally stormed off the field.
At that point in time, by rule, Leyland's not even allowed to stay in his own dugout, let alone return to the field of play. It is mandatory that, once given the heave-ho and, having left the field of play, a manager (or player) must retire to the clubhouse/locker room located beneath the stands in the bowels of the stadium.
Yet a scant few minutes later, Leyland charged onto the field again to rant some more. And at THAT point in time -- he crossed a line. A big red one. Leyland was exhibiting not only a lack of personal control and professionalism, but utter contempt for the umpires and the game of baseball itself. Eventually, he left the field again.
Incredibly, a short while later, he did it yet a THIRD time. This sort of behavior is WAY over the line and borders on lunacy.
It's hard to say what, if anything, major league baseball will do after they've talked to the umps and reviewed the tapes of what happened, but if they don't smack Leyland hard for his actions, then they have nobody to blame but themselves when the next manager or player feels "enabled" to spit in the face of the game.
In my opinion, Leyland should be suspended for at least 10 games, with that portion of his salary donated to charity. Further, he should not be allowed any contact whatsoever with the Tigers during this period. In other words, no hanging out in the clubhouse, or anywhere else in the stadium(s). This would send a message to those that might consider trying such a stunt in the future. Respect the game, or pay a heavy price. If Commissioner Bud Selig and his henchmen REALLY wanted to send a strong message, as part of his punishment, they could ban Leyland from managing the All-Star game which is coming up soon. Now THAT would be an attention getter. Can you imagine how the media would run with that? It would be a feeding frenzy with Leyland being the bloody piece of meat in piranha infested waters -- but I betcha nobody else would try what he did again.
For that matter, it's about time major league baseball started reeling in these managers that occasionally make a mockery of the game with their childish hissy-fits. If a manager wishes to dispute a call on the field with un umpire, then fine. Dispute it, but do it like an adult -- not a berserk 3rd grader. The final ruling will likely be the same, but which do you think an umpire might be more receptive to? A raving lunatic in his face, or a thoughtful argument pointing out a perceived wrong?
If an attorney pulled such outrageous stunts in a courtroom, they'd quickly find their butts in jail for contempt of court. No judge wouldn't tolerate it. Nor should they. Is it asking too much for baseball people to adhere to the same standards of professionalism? It's bad enough they spit tobacco and bubble gum juice all over "turf" fields (somebody has to clean that up), and such things as sunflower seeds all over the dugouts. When frustrated, they can break bats, smash coolers, and chuck Gatorade every which way. I'm even OK with their age-old tradition of scratching their nether regions for some mysterious reason. But dammit -- there's certain lines that aren't supposed to be crossed. And Leyland trampled all over them. It's ironic that he purports to be an old-schooler, then turns around and disrespects the game in such a way.
Oh yeah. The Congress thing. While manning the podium at the US Senate, majority leader Harry Reid of Nevada issued a startling revelation to his "illustrious" Senate brethen. It might fairly be assumed a US Senator spends a lot of time in Washington DC in the course of their job. When referring to the major league baseball team that plays it's home games just down the road -- Reid thought they (the Washington Nationals) were called the National Mets.
And you wonder why this country has so many problems?
I think Reid should be suspended as well -- for felonious cluelessness. Lock him in a room with Leyland for a couple weeks. In the interest of fairness, throw speaker of the house John Boehner in there too. One TV. One remote. Close the door and let them all slug it out. Methinks when they emerged, maybe all three of them would have undergone an epiphany, and start acting right.
Couldn't hurt. Just a thought.
A little background. Likely to no one's great surprise, Tigers' super-slugger Miguel Cabrera hit yet another home run. The very next pitch to the very next batter -- one Prince Fielder -- was high and tight. A little chin music, as they say. Maybe it was intentional -- maybe not -- but even if so, such "ploys", if you will, have been a part of major league baseball since forever. Leyland gestured in protest from the dugout.
Well OK, you just knew a little pay-back was going to come around, because it's always worked that way as well. Sure enough, in the very next inning, the Tiger pitcher threw a ball behind a White Sox batter. And then the trouble started. The batter took a few steps towards the mound, both dugouts emptied, and even the guys in the bullpen came trotting into the potential fray.
After the original perceived wrong had been "avenged", the whole thing probably would have died down in a couple minutes, but evidently a blood vessel had popped somewhere between Jim Leyland's ears. Not only did he charge onto the field, but he launched into a tirade with the umpire crew over what had happened. Granted, this is nothing new for major league baseball managers. Over the years, we've seen many of them throw childish fits and engage in antics we would normally expect of a rich, spoiled, 7-year-old bratty kid on steroids being told "no". Or maybe a member of Congress. A parting shot about that later.
At any rate, whatever Leyland said got him ejected from the game. "Yer outta here", said an ump. After a while, Leyland finally stormed off the field.
At that point in time, by rule, Leyland's not even allowed to stay in his own dugout, let alone return to the field of play. It is mandatory that, once given the heave-ho and, having left the field of play, a manager (or player) must retire to the clubhouse/locker room located beneath the stands in the bowels of the stadium.
Yet a scant few minutes later, Leyland charged onto the field again to rant some more. And at THAT point in time -- he crossed a line. A big red one. Leyland was exhibiting not only a lack of personal control and professionalism, but utter contempt for the umpires and the game of baseball itself. Eventually, he left the field again.
Incredibly, a short while later, he did it yet a THIRD time. This sort of behavior is WAY over the line and borders on lunacy.
It's hard to say what, if anything, major league baseball will do after they've talked to the umps and reviewed the tapes of what happened, but if they don't smack Leyland hard for his actions, then they have nobody to blame but themselves when the next manager or player feels "enabled" to spit in the face of the game.
In my opinion, Leyland should be suspended for at least 10 games, with that portion of his salary donated to charity. Further, he should not be allowed any contact whatsoever with the Tigers during this period. In other words, no hanging out in the clubhouse, or anywhere else in the stadium(s). This would send a message to those that might consider trying such a stunt in the future. Respect the game, or pay a heavy price. If Commissioner Bud Selig and his henchmen REALLY wanted to send a strong message, as part of his punishment, they could ban Leyland from managing the All-Star game which is coming up soon. Now THAT would be an attention getter. Can you imagine how the media would run with that? It would be a feeding frenzy with Leyland being the bloody piece of meat in piranha infested waters -- but I betcha nobody else would try what he did again.
For that matter, it's about time major league baseball started reeling in these managers that occasionally make a mockery of the game with their childish hissy-fits. If a manager wishes to dispute a call on the field with un umpire, then fine. Dispute it, but do it like an adult -- not a berserk 3rd grader. The final ruling will likely be the same, but which do you think an umpire might be more receptive to? A raving lunatic in his face, or a thoughtful argument pointing out a perceived wrong?
If an attorney pulled such outrageous stunts in a courtroom, they'd quickly find their butts in jail for contempt of court. No judge wouldn't tolerate it. Nor should they. Is it asking too much for baseball people to adhere to the same standards of professionalism? It's bad enough they spit tobacco and bubble gum juice all over "turf" fields (somebody has to clean that up), and such things as sunflower seeds all over the dugouts. When frustrated, they can break bats, smash coolers, and chuck Gatorade every which way. I'm even OK with their age-old tradition of scratching their nether regions for some mysterious reason. But dammit -- there's certain lines that aren't supposed to be crossed. And Leyland trampled all over them. It's ironic that he purports to be an old-schooler, then turns around and disrespects the game in such a way.
Oh yeah. The Congress thing. While manning the podium at the US Senate, majority leader Harry Reid of Nevada issued a startling revelation to his "illustrious" Senate brethen. It might fairly be assumed a US Senator spends a lot of time in Washington DC in the course of their job. When referring to the major league baseball team that plays it's home games just down the road -- Reid thought they (the Washington Nationals) were called the National Mets.
And you wonder why this country has so many problems?
I think Reid should be suspended as well -- for felonious cluelessness. Lock him in a room with Leyland for a couple weeks. In the interest of fairness, throw speaker of the house John Boehner in there too. One TV. One remote. Close the door and let them all slug it out. Methinks when they emerged, maybe all three of them would have undergone an epiphany, and start acting right.
Couldn't hurt. Just a thought.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Major League Baseball's paranoia
And so the witch hunt continues. It's almost like the offices of Major League Baseball have sunk into their own version of the 1936 film Reefer Madness. That flick was originally intended to warn young people of the perils of cannabis (marijuana) use, but was so outrageously "over the line" with it's portrayals of how the "demon weed" would cause people to rape, loot, pillage, murder, and eventually go totally insane, that it eventually became a cult classic. Nowadays, people look back at it and laugh like they would watching a 3 Stooges routine.
Maybe someday our descendants will look back and laugh at what Major League Baseball is doing right now -- but for the time being, it is decidedly not funny. In fact, it appears to be nothing short of an all-out persecution, vendetta, inquisition, crusades, jihad, purge, ethnic cleansing, holy war -- take your pick.
In it's never-ending quest for blood, justice, payback (again take your pick) over the whole steroids and other PEDs fiasco a while back, MLB is trying suspend a whole slew of players for very long stretches of time. Their dirty laundry list consists of any players they can tie to the now defunct Biogenesis, a company that advertised itself as an "anti-aging clinic". And oh, by the way, allegedly did a little business on the side selling a few dubious goodies to professional athletes.
Evidently, while MLB has found a way to not only access the files of Biogenesis, it wouldn't be much of a stretch to assume Bud Selig's henchmen are also rooting around in emails, phone logs, texts, and have coerced such companies as FedEx and UPS to cough up their shipping records to various addresses they deem relevant.
And now -- surprise!! -- the players they want to implicate aren't willing to talk to MLB. Well, guess what? They'd be crazy if they did. MLB has assumed the role of prosecutors trying to revive "cold cases". Innocent or guilty -- what accused person in his/her right mind would sit down and have a chat with the people that are on a mission to destroy their lives over a "crime" they may or may not have committed several years ago?
What's even more outrageous is at the time some of these "offenses" allegedly occurred, there was no law on the books saying such things were illegal. Worse yet -- the league itself didn't even have rules against it. Yet now MLB wants to go back in time to punish those they have deemed "wrongdoers". Well gee. While they're at it -- why not dig up my dad and give him 40 lashes for the way he used to blister my behind when I got out of line? People frown at that sort of behavior too these days.
Methinks by continuing this steroid witchhunt, MLB is acting like the cops still trying to find Jimmy Hoffa. People need closure, they say. What they fail to realize in their one-track mindset is there will NEVER be closure as long as these zealots keep ripping the scabs off the wounds of the innocent people that are trying to put such things behind them and get on with lives, for no other reason than to say they "closed a case".
Like Hoffa, PEDs don't matter anymore. Despite all the huffing and puffing by some that apparently have nothing better to do -- we'll never know for sure the full extent of either. Why not just move on?
By most accounts, players are tested so often these days for "banned substances" that the chances of anyone being "dirty", at least for very long, is minimal, at best. They'll get busted.
So what's the point in going after ghosts of the past?
Oh wait. Of course. I almost forgot. MLB threw all it's mighty resources at the likes of Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens in two very high profile trials. These were their "poster children". The worst of the worst, they should be made examples of, and duly punished. Oops. Despite all the king's horses, and all the king's legal eagles, Selig's boys couldn't convict either one of them of any kind of substance abuse. Millions upon millions of baseball dollars were devoted to this mission, but in the end, they crashed and burned. The defendants walked.
But now yours truly suspects that, like a typical cop or prosecutor that has been frustrated with their initial efforts, MLB is pissed. No Viagra will be necessary for these guys. They've already got a raging, um, attitude going on. Somebody's going to get screwed somewhere.
To all of which I say -- settle down boys. Let it go. It's over. Or at least it will be if you'll quit with the Hoffa routine and let baseball fans return to the game they love.
Maybe someday our descendants will look back and laugh at what Major League Baseball is doing right now -- but for the time being, it is decidedly not funny. In fact, it appears to be nothing short of an all-out persecution, vendetta, inquisition, crusades, jihad, purge, ethnic cleansing, holy war -- take your pick.
In it's never-ending quest for blood, justice, payback (again take your pick) over the whole steroids and other PEDs fiasco a while back, MLB is trying suspend a whole slew of players for very long stretches of time. Their dirty laundry list consists of any players they can tie to the now defunct Biogenesis, a company that advertised itself as an "anti-aging clinic". And oh, by the way, allegedly did a little business on the side selling a few dubious goodies to professional athletes.
Evidently, while MLB has found a way to not only access the files of Biogenesis, it wouldn't be much of a stretch to assume Bud Selig's henchmen are also rooting around in emails, phone logs, texts, and have coerced such companies as FedEx and UPS to cough up their shipping records to various addresses they deem relevant.
And now -- surprise!! -- the players they want to implicate aren't willing to talk to MLB. Well, guess what? They'd be crazy if they did. MLB has assumed the role of prosecutors trying to revive "cold cases". Innocent or guilty -- what accused person in his/her right mind would sit down and have a chat with the people that are on a mission to destroy their lives over a "crime" they may or may not have committed several years ago?
What's even more outrageous is at the time some of these "offenses" allegedly occurred, there was no law on the books saying such things were illegal. Worse yet -- the league itself didn't even have rules against it. Yet now MLB wants to go back in time to punish those they have deemed "wrongdoers". Well gee. While they're at it -- why not dig up my dad and give him 40 lashes for the way he used to blister my behind when I got out of line? People frown at that sort of behavior too these days.
Methinks by continuing this steroid witchhunt, MLB is acting like the cops still trying to find Jimmy Hoffa. People need closure, they say. What they fail to realize in their one-track mindset is there will NEVER be closure as long as these zealots keep ripping the scabs off the wounds of the innocent people that are trying to put such things behind them and get on with lives, for no other reason than to say they "closed a case".
Like Hoffa, PEDs don't matter anymore. Despite all the huffing and puffing by some that apparently have nothing better to do -- we'll never know for sure the full extent of either. Why not just move on?
By most accounts, players are tested so often these days for "banned substances" that the chances of anyone being "dirty", at least for very long, is minimal, at best. They'll get busted.
So what's the point in going after ghosts of the past?
Oh wait. Of course. I almost forgot. MLB threw all it's mighty resources at the likes of Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens in two very high profile trials. These were their "poster children". The worst of the worst, they should be made examples of, and duly punished. Oops. Despite all the king's horses, and all the king's legal eagles, Selig's boys couldn't convict either one of them of any kind of substance abuse. Millions upon millions of baseball dollars were devoted to this mission, but in the end, they crashed and burned. The defendants walked.
But now yours truly suspects that, like a typical cop or prosecutor that has been frustrated with their initial efforts, MLB is pissed. No Viagra will be necessary for these guys. They've already got a raging, um, attitude going on. Somebody's going to get screwed somewhere.
To all of which I say -- settle down boys. Let it go. It's over. Or at least it will be if you'll quit with the Hoffa routine and let baseball fans return to the game they love.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
Alex Rios, hats, and Justin Verlander
The platinum sombrero. Ever heard that baseball term before? Me neither, but then I didn't know Miguel Cabrera had donated his entire Detroit Tigers contract to bring Twinkies back to the shelves. Just kidding about Cabrera, but yes, the iconic Hostess products will be coming our way again soon. Forget the wheel, sliced bread, automobile, and cellphones -- cupcakes, Twinkies, and Susie Qs are necessary for the human species to survive. I suppose hohos have their place, and might very well be delicious, but I've never personally sampled such a product. Ahem. Where was I?
Oh yeah. Alex Rios. Back in 2009, when Rios was still a Toronto Blue Jay, he came up to bat 5 times in a game against the Los Angeles Angels -- and struck out all five times. Evidently, this is known as the platinum sombrero. Why a precious metal would be associated with such a miserable performance is beyond me -- but there's a lot of things I don't understand about baseball. Like why does every home-plate umpire seem to have a different "strike-zone"? Shouldn't it be the same for everybody? And what's up with the foul poles being in fair territory? I dunno.
At any rate, Rios, now a member of the Chicago White Sox, obviously changed hats in last night's game against the Detroit Tigers. Everything Cy Young winner Justin Verlander threw up to the plate was getting rocketed all over the park by Rios. Indeed, Rios went 6 for 6 in his at-bats as the ChiSox were routing the Tigers. Wear a sombrero one day, and a crown another day. Funny how that works out in baseball sometimes.
At that, one is left to ponder the current Justin Verlander. Certainly the Fastball Flakes man is still a terrific pitcher, but with a 9-6 record this year, he hardly seems his former dominating self. Yours truly has a theory why this is happening.
Yes, Verlander can still bring the "heater" at close to 100 MPH whenever he feels like it, and hitters still have a hard time catching up with it. But let's not forget -- these are major league hitters were talking about, and if the only thing a pitcher has going is a fastball -- those hitters will adjust their timing, speed it up a tad, and they'll be all over it the second and third time through the batting order. A great pitcher needs other pitches to compliment his arsenal. Verlander had -- and has them -- hence his success in recent years.
In this day and age, pitchers do a lot of homework studying opposing batters' tendencies and trying to identify their weak spots. Conversely, no doubt hitters spend an equal amount of time watching tape of an opposing pitcher they're about to face. It works both ways.
And from what I've seen lately, it appears opposing hitters are sitting on Verlander's off-speed pitches. Sure, those pitches still dive into, or even out of the strike zone -- but if a guy's watched enough tape -- and that's what he's waiting on -- chances are good he's going to hit the ball hard somewhere.
Yes, once in a while, you'll see one of Verlander's 98-100 MPH fastballs go 400+ feet the other way for a home run -- but not too often. He's been mostly getting banged around with his breaking stuff. The other guys are looking for it because they know JV won't throw a fastball every time. And even if he did, as mentioned above, that wouldn't work for very long.
So what's the solution for Verlander? Beats the hell out of me. I'm still trying to get my mind around how his teammate and a former journeyman pitcher like Max Scherzer suddenly turned into Roger Clemens.
No wonder I like the NFL so much better. Like women -- I understand completely what is going on at all times.
Well -- maybe.
Sort of?
Once every 10 guesses?
Hmmm. Nevermind.
Oh yeah. Alex Rios. Back in 2009, when Rios was still a Toronto Blue Jay, he came up to bat 5 times in a game against the Los Angeles Angels -- and struck out all five times. Evidently, this is known as the platinum sombrero. Why a precious metal would be associated with such a miserable performance is beyond me -- but there's a lot of things I don't understand about baseball. Like why does every home-plate umpire seem to have a different "strike-zone"? Shouldn't it be the same for everybody? And what's up with the foul poles being in fair territory? I dunno.
At any rate, Rios, now a member of the Chicago White Sox, obviously changed hats in last night's game against the Detroit Tigers. Everything Cy Young winner Justin Verlander threw up to the plate was getting rocketed all over the park by Rios. Indeed, Rios went 6 for 6 in his at-bats as the ChiSox were routing the Tigers. Wear a sombrero one day, and a crown another day. Funny how that works out in baseball sometimes.
At that, one is left to ponder the current Justin Verlander. Certainly the Fastball Flakes man is still a terrific pitcher, but with a 9-6 record this year, he hardly seems his former dominating self. Yours truly has a theory why this is happening.
Yes, Verlander can still bring the "heater" at close to 100 MPH whenever he feels like it, and hitters still have a hard time catching up with it. But let's not forget -- these are major league hitters were talking about, and if the only thing a pitcher has going is a fastball -- those hitters will adjust their timing, speed it up a tad, and they'll be all over it the second and third time through the batting order. A great pitcher needs other pitches to compliment his arsenal. Verlander had -- and has them -- hence his success in recent years.
In this day and age, pitchers do a lot of homework studying opposing batters' tendencies and trying to identify their weak spots. Conversely, no doubt hitters spend an equal amount of time watching tape of an opposing pitcher they're about to face. It works both ways.
And from what I've seen lately, it appears opposing hitters are sitting on Verlander's off-speed pitches. Sure, those pitches still dive into, or even out of the strike zone -- but if a guy's watched enough tape -- and that's what he's waiting on -- chances are good he's going to hit the ball hard somewhere.
Yes, once in a while, you'll see one of Verlander's 98-100 MPH fastballs go 400+ feet the other way for a home run -- but not too often. He's been mostly getting banged around with his breaking stuff. The other guys are looking for it because they know JV won't throw a fastball every time. And even if he did, as mentioned above, that wouldn't work for very long.
So what's the solution for Verlander? Beats the hell out of me. I'm still trying to get my mind around how his teammate and a former journeyman pitcher like Max Scherzer suddenly turned into Roger Clemens.
No wonder I like the NFL so much better. Like women -- I understand completely what is going on at all times.
Well -- maybe.
Sort of?
Once every 10 guesses?
Hmmm. Nevermind.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)