Du retour d'une amante

Here's the funny thing: I used to hate the Boston Bruins. As a kid growing up just outside of Hartford, Connecticut, my dad used to take me to Hartford Whalers games. If you've any sort of NHL knowledge, you know that the Whalers were one of the truly terrible league expansion teams, a minor league club in a market that was much too small, with terrible management and an inability to push past the first round of the playoffs. Still, they were the lifeblood of Connecticut sports, the blue and green littered my youth. I still vividly remember trying to convince my folks that I could play youth hockey for real, despite my size; and I will never forget the day they traded Ron Francis to the Pittsburgh Penguins for a bag of pucks and a roll of tape. It was the only time outside of 9/11 that there was a moment of silence in the classroom. Peter Karmanos (may he burn in hell) held the carrot in front of the fans' collective mouths, promising to keep the team in Hartford if only he could bleed a few more full-season ticket plans out of them. I remember being in awe of the kid at my new middle school whose father was part of the coalition attempting to buy the Whalers and keep them local. But it didn't work out, as we all know, and the blue and green forever left the Civic Center, taking with it the true meaning of "Brass Bonanza" and the hearts of too many hockey fans.

The NHL did everything in its power to alienate me after that. With the Whalers now the Carolina Hurricanes, I had nobody to root for, and it was just as well. The league became, essentially, irrelevant with the infusion of expansion teams in born and bred hockey cities like Tampa Bay, Anaheim, Nashville and Phoenix. The strike two years ago was just proof positive that it was a screwed up sport on the decline, and that there was no reason to go back.

Until last week.

I hated the Bruins growing up a Whalers fan, but there was no way in hell I could allow myself to root for the Rangers or Islanders, so with the distancing of my Whaler allegiance, I adopted the Black and Gold as my own. Loosely, mind you, very loosely. Occasional games are fun to watch, but the Bruins under Jeremy Jacobs seemed destined to repeat the mistakes of their former rivals to the south. Joe Thornton, a lightning rod young center was sent packing to San José for the same bag of pucks and Marco Sturm, who would end up being the only part of the trade that would work out for the B's.

When Patrice Bergeron went down this October with a concussion, I figured that the season would be more or less the same as the rest, but something about Claude Julien's salt-of-the-earth Canadian face and X's and O's system kept the young Bruins pressing onward into the playoffs to face, of all teams, the Montreal Canadiens.

After a miserable opening period in Game 1, the Bruins put on quite the show, going toe-to-toe with the best offense in the east, and losing some hard-fought and unlucky games, eventually ending up down 3-1 at the Bell Centre. There they staged a massive third period rally to rattle rookie goalminder Casey Price and send the series back to the Hub with a 5-1 win. At the new Garden, the old denizens of NHL seasons past came out from their hazy, dust-covered shelters and filled as many seats as they could around the contingent from Canada, just in time to witness a stunning 5-4 victory to force a Game 7 back on the road...

...where, tonight, the Bruins were shut out, 5-0. I am by no means a diehard hockey fan, but for the last week I was unable to rip my eyes from the ice as I came to love Milan Lucic, Phil Kessel, and Zdano Chara. I was comforted by the paternal image of Claude Julien so cool behind the bench. I was able to deactivate my automatic translation of PK to "penalty kick" and activate the automatic response of "penalty kill". I dug up the definition of icing and remembered all the hand signals for the various penalties. I let myself be at ease, surrounded by French Canadian names so similar to my own, like Bégin, Bouillon, Julien, and Carbonneau, while waiting for the return of a savior named Bergeron. I found myself kneeling on the floor screaming at the television as the B's created a lot of traffic in the Habs' zone but couldn't find the net. I finally figured out why they were called The Habs.

It is truly unfortunate that the Bruins were unable to finish off Les Glorieux in a remarkable first round comeback, but somehow, it's OK. My love of hockey was never able to mature. I never learned the subtleties or the nuances of the game, grew to cling faster to my first love, baseball. But this week has brought me back to hockey in a way that so few other things could, so much so that I will be waiting for next season; and while my heart will forever hold tight to blue and green, it now finds itself wearing a sweater of black and gold.

Help A Friend

Got this in the HC inbox this evening:

LOST RED SOX HAT!
Hello my name is Chad Dolby from
New Jersey. On a cold Friday night
there was trouble in the Bronx Zoo. A
Red Sox fan had decided to wear his
Red Sox hat to Yankee Stadium. As usual
the crowd went wild with hate. His hat then
preceded to be thrown down level by level until
it somehow reached the concourse area, where
it was found by a friend of mine.
We are looking for the owner of this hat.
It was lost during a Tampa Bay Rays game
against the Yankees on 4/4/08 in Bronx, NY.
Any help from Red Sox Nation in finding
him would be great! It looked like his favorite hat.
Well-worn and probably precious.
I am a Met fan looking to heal open wounds
who was tossed in the middle of a heated rivalry.
If you could post the poster on your website that
would be great!
Thank you all very much for any help you may give
on this vital search.
~ Chad Dolby

It looks strangely like all those emails I get from the former wife of the late Zambian president looking to give me cash for Catholic charities due to a lack of heirs, so this could be a total hoax. If it is, it's something very dear to my heart. As a true believer in the existence of "The Hat" for each individual, I can certainly comprehend the desire to seek it's return. Plus, it makes Yankee fans sound like absolute jerks, a characterization that has been made numerous times by rooters of opposing clubs in the Bronx. If you know anything, give the guy a shout.

Manny-san

There are certainly downsides to this trip to Japan: the fact that it carries over into the regular season, that the games are hell to listen to, and the fact that you feel like you're living in some sort of alternate universe where you need to use complex fractions just to figure out a game's start time. Or maybe that's just me. Either way, despite the drawbacks to this trip, it's a blast to see the Sox heralded like conquering heroes from across the sea, and it's nice to see them engaged in a friendly contest, an exchange, it seems, between nations and cultures. Add to all the warm fuzzies an article by Amalie Benjamin revealing that Manny wants to finish his career in Boston and hit 7,000,000 home runs (or 700, I could be wrong), and it makes for a good read.

Manny's a funny guy. Not funny in the "ha ha, Manny just went into the scoreboard" kind of way, but funny in the way the fans perceive him. I've given my share of crap to a lot of players over my long 25 years, but I can't recall very many instances of giving it to Señor Ramírez. No, it's the Coco Crisps of the world that drive me to obscenity; all those I-like-to-talk-a-big-game-bug-swing-at-anything-thrown kind of players make me climb the walls. They don't (as Theo put it in the above article "understand it", the "it" being hitting, of course. They don't get their role on the team, they don't understand hitting as a philosophy. They don't learn from at-bat to at-bat, but rather go up their hacking, the embodiment of a single solitary link ignorant of the rest of the chain that surrounds it.

It's true that Manny's defense can be frequently below average and occasionally atrocious, that his effort in the field has him jogging after balls instead of sprinting. His time with the media in the last few seasons has been countable on one hand, and he's provided more conflicting copy than just about anybody currently on the team. What isn't true is that he's cheated the fans. When he stands and the box and strikes out, there's a knowledge that he's walking away from the plate having learned something, even if it's a small sort of something, that is going to help him the next time. When guys are all turned around, having confused their big fly swing with their Texas leaguer swing and have killed the thought of The Other Way swing, Manny has shown us how effective that little flick to the right can be, or how a clutch walk can turn the tide of an inning.

He's a goofy guy, no two ways about it, but I love Manny Ramirez. When he stops producing it will be absolutely tragic, and it will be sadder still when he inevitably leaves the Hub. But for all the haters of the world who jump on the Walter Reed bandwagon and scream bloody murder from the rooftops, I say, Leave the guy alone.

If You Read One Thing Today

Make sure you make it this three week old article from Slate.com. I know there's been a lot of rumor-milling, grandstanding, and just plain excessive coverage of the Clemens v. United States affair, but I hadn't really read a thoughtful, original piece on the whole affair until just this morning, and I think you'll agree with me.

But as always, you don't have to take my word for it.

"Bush Leaguer," Stephen Metcalf

All About the Benjamins

We're all abuzz about how calm camp is, if you can believe it, but this week Jonathan Papelbon decided that he would try his darnedest to provide copy by complaining about his sad, unfair contract. I have to say, the man has a point. Really, $425,550 is just so unfair.

Give me a break. Look, I realize that Papelbon, Pedroia, Buchholz, Youkilis, etc. are key to this team, but they're playing by the rules that their union agreed to. They aren't victims of a team's right to renew young players for the first handful of years, they're just part of the cycle. It's been depressing over the last few days to see all the articles reporting on how Prince Fielder and Nick Markakis are upset with their contracts. With all the steroid news finally in the background now that camps are open, picking at this stubborn scab just doesn't seem to be in anybody's interest.

The young players that have come up over the last several years have been a breath of fresh air for the game of baseball. When contracts appeared their most bloated and players their most distant, in came a class of rookies ready to just play baseball. They hit, ran, glove, threw, pitched and slugged their way into the hearts of fans everywhere. When they start using the press in that time-honored tradition as mouthpieces because they don't have the stones enough to just sit down with management, it turns me off completely. Even guys like Papelbon, whom I love to watch play.

Perhaps most surprising is that this contract nonsense (which has been settled, by the way, with Paps getting $775,000) comes on the heels of the team's visit to Walter Reed last week. All anyone could say was that the trip made it so obvious how lucky the players were to be allowed to have a game as their living. So many people would give anything for just a day in a ballplayer's hoes, and even more would give more for just a day of their pay. When you turn on the radio to hear stories of people scraping by below the poverty line followed by Papelbon's bitching about being a victim to poor salary, it just make me shake my head.

Jonathan Papelbon, grow up.

Rocket Crash Lands in Washington

(AP Photo/Pablo Martinez Monsivais)

Hoo, boy. If you stayed home to watch today's Congressional hearing you were in for a treat. We had everything from stupid questions and feigned indignation, to hubris uncovered and a body destroyed.

In short, we had what we always have when baseball comes in front of Congress.

There were a few new facts that came to light today. Among them, the fact that Roger Clemens' nanny corroborates McNamee's claim that Clemens was at Jose Canseco's gathering, that an independent expert examined the MRI of Clemens' buttocks and determined his abscess couldn't result from B12, and that you don't need to be much smarter than a 5th grader to be a congressperson. Most importantly, however, we learned that Andy Pettitte is a much more upstanding man than his friend. It was there, in the made-public sworn affidavit of Pettitte, that we find the most compelling evidence. Pettitte backs up McNamee's side of the story, and is such a God-fearing man that even Clemens himself has a hard time doing anything but claim that Pettitte "misremembers."

>Beyond this evidence is how strikingly arrogant Clemens is, and how visibly frustrated he becomes when placed in a situation where he is not in control. On repeated occasions he interrupted Rep. Waxman and other representatives to comment on his own, and was even allowed to speak entirely out of turn and independent of any line of questioning to make a statement regarding his wife. As Howard Bryant writes in this fine piece at ESPN.com, Clemens decided to point the finger at everybody around him: his trainer, his agents, his lawyers, the MLBPA, the commissioner's office, the faulty memories of his teammates, and even his wife. It was their fault that he is being investigated, their fault that he is being unfairly targeted on a national stage.

Please.

The funny thing about all this is that baseball will emerge unscathed. The Mitchell Report managed to withstand the criticism thrown its way, becoming an even stronger and more important document. So many players have gotten caught and come clean that there is a strange sense of absolution in a lot of ways. Once again, players like Andy Pettitte stand next to players like Roger Clemens and look to be made of much purer stuff. 

I've moved on. While I'm interested to see how the Clemens legal situation evolves over the coming months, I have no more interest in partaking of a league-wide witch hunt. Ex-players with blogs and microphones can spare me the clubhouse rhetoric and affected innocence; there has been enough evidence to convince anybody that there was a serious problem. Now we should all attempt to move on.

As camps open tomorrow and practice fields fill with young, impressionable minor leaguers, teams find themselves in a position to promote the right kind of development. Fans young and old now have a more precise lens with which to view their heroes, and such heroes will hopefully be chosen for the right reasons.

Unfortunately for Roger Clemens, he no longer gets to be one of them.

Conspiracy Theorists Abound

We've all looked at the results of the Mets-Twins trade this past week; we've seen the super-mega-excellent contract extension that Johan managed to land despite not being a free agent; finally, we've seen the miserable pack of prospects that Minnesota was able to drag in out of the cold. What we haven't seen is any sort of proof backing up the whispers of conspiracy being uttered across cyberspace. "The Mets gave up what? Minnesota got what? There must have been a wink-wink nudge-nudge deal between the Yankees and the Red Sox." That's right, folks, we're talking collusion and conspiracy.

I call BS.

Look, Minnesota really got a raw deal here. If I were a fan in the Twin Cities I would be screaming for blood. Unfortunately, there's nobody to blame here but Bill Smith and Carl Pohlad. Smith, in my opinion, misread the desire of the Sox and Yankees to have Santana in their rotation. At the Winter Meetings the iron was hottest with both teams ready to bring him in and move on with the offseason. As the days turned into weeks tuned into months, all of baseball began to look at the potential deals differently.

For the Big Two, the announcement of their luxury tax payments was likely the first push in the direction of not trading with Minnesota. The Twins tried to play chicken with both front offices and basically ask for Boston and New York's top five lists. There again, another push. If Minnesota was so convinced that the loss of Santana would be eventually made up for by these prospects, was it even worth getting rid of them in the first place? C.C. Sabathia, big hulk of a left-hander that he is, should be up on the free agent block next season. Even if he commands a contract in the same ballpark as Santana, it won't be accompanied by the loss of the cream of the farm system's crop.

I know that the union and a number of players and pundits got their backs up when Theo Epstein and Larry Beinfest had a GMs-only closed door meeting to discuss needs and wants in December, but since the initial barking their has been no bite in any form. To go further, both Theo and Brian Cashman are smart enough individuals to arrive at the decision to hold their cards instead of throwing them all away on one man. They don't need to talk to each other to make what were ultimately wise decisions.

Bill Smith screwed the pooch on this one. He waited too long and was unable get what he wanted. Come to think of it, Smith may even have been better waiting until midseason to try and trade Santana. At least then there would be teams in the position to say "OK, Santana will put us over the hump and in the best position to win." Instead he blew it, and can only hope that Delmon Young ends up a lifetime Twin and Hall of Famer.

Timing Is Everything

Isn't it interesting how one day after the Red Sox reveal that their uniforms will carry the EMC corporate logo for the opening series of the 2008 season in Japan, out comes a story describing how nearly all sources of revenue for the Olde Towne Team have dried up?

For so long, advertising has been verboten in the most sacred areas of the game. The ballpark walkways and scoreboards are alright, as are the programs and officially sponsored spray bottles, but when baseball tried to put movie advertisements on the bases to promote "Spider-Man", fans revolted and the gimmick never came to fruition. When ads were being discussed for the cleared sections of the ivy-lined outfield fence at Wrigley Field, the entire whole of Chicago's North Side worked up a frothy lather of outrage. So why is it deemed acceptable for the Sox to brand themselves with the mark of this sponsor overseas? Why, frankly, does it bother me as much as it does?

The world's biggest sport, soccer, has plastered its players with ads in abundance, so much so that a lot of teams have become more synonymous with the company emblem than with the team logo. That hasn't stopped the frenzy or tribal allegiances that soccer produces in its fan base. It makes sense for the team to maximize its advertising profits, even if it means using the logos to proclaim ownership over the players' bodies themselves. The Red Sox and every other team could certainly use the revenue, right? If it all goes to player development, then I should say "Go, team!", right? Only thing is we all know the money doesn't go straight to the players or farm system, so "Rah rah corporate logos!" will not be coming out of my mouth any time soon.

I think the root of my dislike stems from the fact that, unlike soccer (or any other sport for that matter), baseball has been recognized by government as more than just a game. That's why everybody gets so worked up about everything. Steroids, drug abuse, amphetamines, gambling, all of it has been attacked from the highest points of government. Of course, all of it is based on this completely false notion that baseball is something sacred and pure, but still, it's cute right?

That's why I don't like having corporate logos on the player uniforms or movie ads on the basepaths. I know it's imperfect, I know it's completely illogical, but when I turn on the TV at 6 AM on March 25 and see "EMC^2" on the shirts, I'm going to feel like I've just been turned out by baseball. Granted, only three games, but I'll feel used and just a little dirty.

Is the extra revenue worth more than that little bit of idealism?

Lowell and the Writers

Mike Lowell addressed the Boston chapter of the Baseball Writers' Association of America, and here's what he had to say in regards to a blood test for human growth hormone, something Houston Astro Lance Berkman came out 100% in favor

"If it's 99 percent accurate, that's going to be seven false positives," the Red Sox third baseman said Thursday before the annual dinner of the Boston chapter of the Baseball Writers' Association of America. "Ninety-three percent is 70 guys. That's almost three whole rosters.

"You're destroying someone's reputation. What if one of the false positives is Cal Ripken? Doesn't it put a black mark on his career?"

I have to admit, the guy's got a point. It was refreshing, in a way, to see someone like Berkman come out and unabashedly advocate a blood test to clear the sport's name, but leave it to a man like Lowell to be the cooler head prevailing. A blood test might work, sure, and it might not. The number of potential false positives is disheartening, to the point where it may not seem worth the effort. Yet, if handled correctly, a blood testing program could be incredibly beneficial.

Say they institute a test with the oversight of USADA and WADA. A positive test by a player could lead automatically to ameeting with both MLB and USADA, simultaneously. The player could then be given a chance to clear his name and explain his position. If it turns out to have been a true positive, the player, upon confession, could return to play without any penalty or stoppage of playing time on the condition that further positive tests would result in suspension. Players with false positives could be given a chance to disprove the test, with no immediate disciplinary action forthcoming. 

It isn't a perfect system, but at the moment it's better than the available options.

15 Minutes and a Congressional Hearing

Someone with no interest in the soapbox, that's what we need. And after today's congressional hearing with Bud Selig, Donald Fehr, George Mitchell and a room full of puffed-up elected officials, we need it more than ever. Today's hearing managed to do one thing, and that was get MLB and the MLBPA to accept at least partial blame. It's like getting caught in the act by your parents; you have to at least fess up, right?

But where do we go from here? The only thing, in my opinion (and this is my soapbox, so I'm not the man for the job) is to get the players behind reform. That's the only way anything will change. How do you get them behind reform? I dunno, but maybe it starts with (as Mitchell and el Señor Gammons have suggestedD) with an amnesty program. Come forward with your sins, say your ten Hail Mary's and five Our Father's and your transgressions will be forgiven, my son. We've already seen what the media has done to players who have come forward, and what they've done to those who've dug their heels in and denied three times before having their round in the spotlight. It makes more sense to promote healing than it does to promote fire and brimstone righteousness.

Yet that's what we got today, isn't it? He saids and she saids and "It is all under review, Congressman." It's somewhat entertaining to see the government take an interest in the national pastime. Makes it feel more, well, national. But in the end, Potomac meddling is just more spinning of the wheels. 

Isn't there anybody out there who hates soapboxes?

Demain, dès l'aube...

... we'll all be waiting for the delivery of the controversial Mitchell Report, several hundred pages of evidence accumulated over the last 20 months despite the stonewalling of the MLBPA and its minions. At 2 p.m. tomorrow it is expected that a list of somewhere between 50 and 80 players will be presented to the media, including some of the game's top names. Reports out of ESPN.com have the blame being spread evenly between Major League Baseball and the MLB Players' Association. Tell us something we don't know.

If Mitchell has managed to take full advantage of the reported independence of his investigation, this will truly be an impressive feat. From the get-go Mitchell was dogged by accusations of partiality due to his connection to the Red Sox and his supposed possession of Bud Selig's favor. Even more impressive would be if the reported recommendation of independent outsourcing of baseball's drug testing were to be taken into consideration or put into place at some point in future collective bargaining agreements.

Unfortunately, the likelihood of that happening is marginal. The MLBPA had nothing to do with Mitchell's appointment, or any part of the investigation, for that matter. Their primary interest being to protect the players' rights, the Players' Association would likely barricade any realistic route to legitimate testing. It's no stretch to imagine the commissioner's office attempting to push through independent testing, the MLBPA refusing and threatening a strike, and then MLB deciding to include some watered-down, pointless clause that keeps the peace, mollifies the most simple-minded proponents of testing, and makes sure the cash machine keeps moving.

In fact, the only guaranteed result of this whole fiasco is great headlines, as reporters and columnists everywhere will now have something to carry them through the Christmas lull and into the run-up to pitchers and catchers. The saddest part is that its all at that expense of the players whose names will be buried in the mud. Punishments will be handed down from on high for old offenses, and victims of the system will be tarred and feathered in all of our varied multimedia town squares.

Part of me can't wait to see the report, but there's definitely still a part of me that wants to bury my head in the sand and keep whatever false perception of the game's sanctity I still hold onto.

Caveat Emptor

Look, I know that Johan Santana appears to be on his way to the Hall of Fame. I know that he has two Cy Young awards and a changeup that defies the laws of physics on the way to the strike zone. I know he's 28 and likely to have a good chunk of miles left in his tank.

I'm just not sure I want him on my baseball team.

It's not that his skillset isn't desired. I mean, who wouldn't want somebody that talented to help anchor their rotation? But is a man that is likely to command more than $20 million per year over the course of five years worth a crop of your cheap young talent and the bulk of your coffers? Unfortunately, there's really no way to every be certain which direction is best.

On the one hand you could possibly have the best pitcher in the game complementing a 26-year-old 20 game winner and a Japanese phenom itching for some payback in his second go round. Thing is, one poor throw or one misstep and all of that money goes out the window, along with all the league-minimum prospects once under your control.

This thing is being talked about on every site imaginable, but count me into the group that isn't so sure breaking the bank for Johan is all it's cracked up to be.

The Last Word

Bill B. over at Crashburn Alley got into a rather heated exchange with columnist Bill Conlin of the Philadelphia Daily News over the legitimacy of Jimmy Rollins' National League MVP Award. Long story short:

1. Conlin makes unimpressive arguments defending Rollins against other candidates while simultaneously taking a swipe against bloggers and sabermetrics using incorrect information.

2. Crashburn Alley writes a polite response to Conlin.

3. Colin gets snippy.

4. Crashburn tactfully responds.

5. Conlin mentions that Hitler would've done everybody a favor and wiped out the bloggers that apparently pollute cyberspace.

It's really the sort of exchange that you should read for yourselves.

What a Baseball Fan Does on a Raw November Evening

Sitting around the Hot Stove, waiting for the first shots of Moving Day or the reports of rested pitchers tossing back and forth, every good baseball fan looks for a way to pass the time. Some of the less enlightened throw their passion towards other sports, like football and basketball. Anybody who devotedly follows the NHL is a sports purist in the highest sense of the term, and must be kept out of the company of the formerly mentioned misguided souls. For those of the single-minded nature, how can baseball possibly carry on through the colder months?

1. For the most passive sort of entertainment, you can't beat the package that XM Radio has thrown together. Their MLB Home Plate programming is outstanding in-season and out, covering every pitch as it happens and after the fact. They're at the World Series and winter meetings, and they're in both Arizona and Florida. Their on-air personalities take some getting used to, but are a refreshing change from the self-serving, inflammatory jockeys on the nationally syndicated networks. They just love baseball, and to be honest, they get by far the best guests because the guests know they're not going to be swirled in the scandal pool for 90% of an interview. It's a pleasure to listen to. (Oh yea, and their sponsors only take up 10 minutes of every hour of programming. Take a stopwatch to ESPN Radio or WEEI, and see what the comparison is.)

SITE:
MLB Home Plate

3. The next step would be catching up on all the baseball reading that hasn't been done over the summer. All of the sites listed to your right are highly recommended reads, but if you peruse the local bookstore you'll find some gems as well. Here are a few favorites, some of which you will undoubtedly recognize, others may be new. I'll only name the best, and the titles are linked.

FICTION
The Iowa Baseball Confederacy (W. P. Kinsella)
The Universal Baseball Association, Inc., J. Henry Waugh, Prop. (Robert Coover)

NONFICTION
Eight Men Out (Eliot Asinof)
Lardner on Baseball (Ring Lardner)
Spalding's World Tour (Mark Lamster)
In the Best Interests of Baseball? (Andrew Zimbalist)

3. Finally, if you're truly yearning for the thrill and unpredictable up and down excitement of the season, try a little offseason ball. Instead of fantasy, find yourself a copy of Out of the Park Baseball for your computer. You can sim entire seasons or the entire history of the game. Heck, you can create your own league, your own universe and get to be the general manager.

If you're into something a little less disengaged (read: don't like having a mouse click do it all for you), then find a dusty hobby shop and grab a copy of Strat-o-Matic Baseball. I did last fall, and that stuff is addictive, believe you me. It's got all the dice-rolling and number-crunching anyone could every want.

SITES:
Out of the Park Baseball 2007
Strat-o-Matic Baseball 2007

My perfect combination? Read Coover's Universal Baseball Association, grab a copy of Strat or OOTP, and create your own league. The Newton Highlanders are currently fighting for .500 in the inaugural season of the Massachusetts Baseball Society, a little-researched league that buzzed about in the middle of the 19th century.

Have fun.

(Image courtesy of the forum at www.baseball-fever.com)

Notes

Yetsterday bore the announcement of C.C. Sabathia as the American League Cy Young winner for 2007, an award that was hotly contested on the Junior Circuit. Sabathia, battery mate Fausto Carmona and our very own Josh Beckett were the top three possibilities for the award, though surprisingly Anaheim's John Lackey managed to end up in the top three for vote-getting. Look, I wanted Beckett to win just as anyone, but in the regular season Sabathia was an absolute war horse, going well beyond the extra mile to help his club out. Unfortunately for C.C., Beckett had to settle for the second place prize: a world championship.

With the free agent deadline having come an gone with Tuesday morning, talks between the Red Sox and Mike Lowell seemed to have gone as far as they can. My own personal expectation is that Lowell will sign elsewhere for his desired four years and $56 million, and though I'm disappointed at the likelihood of him playing 2008 in another uniform the last 3 seasons have demonstrated just how quickly a beloved player can go from fan favorite to fan forgotten.

Unlike the majority of the buzzers out there I'm not entirely convinced the Sox are interested in pursuing Alex Rodriguez, unless of course he's willing to play third base for less than the contract he opted out of. Look, he may well be the best offensive player of this era, but I find it hard to believe that one man is worth 1/5 of a team's payroll for any given year. Alex can't win the games all by himself, as the acquisition of Manny demonstrated in the early stages of his deal (read: pre-Ortiz). The biggest argument for ARod pursuit would be the desire to replace Ramirez's after this season with Rodriguez, and then maybe hang on to Coco Crisp as a left fielder with Ellsbury in center for an overall defensive upgrade without the offensive reduction.

I'd be very interested in seeing the Sox try and work something out via trade for their third base hole, though color me indifferent about Miguel Cabrera. Sure, he's a great player at the dish, but he's miserable defensively and has absolutely zero character pluses that anyone has seen. The last thing we'd need is for Miggy to be found chest-high in pizza boxes and women of the night at some 24-hour establishment of ill repute. Andy Laroche would be a fun guy to pursue, especially if LA insists on chasing ARod down the hall.

Fantasy pickups? How about Ryan Zimmerman as a possible trade possibility? Ignore the fact that he's the cornerstone of that Washington franchise, or that the Nationals' front office is notorious for overvaluing their players to the point of absurdity. Zimmerman would be a great player to watch develop in Fenway Park, and an infield of Zim, Lowrie, Pedroia and Youkilis in 2009 would be a blast to watch.

Sox Seek Score Settled in Seventh Game

At Game 6 last night, was without a doubt tons of fun. Schilling lived up to the badass aura he projected on SoSH Thursday night, the offense finally looked comfortable, and Jacoby Ellsbury finally started a game. Add to that the fact that Rafael Perez got knocked around again and a report out of San Francisco that the quirky delivery of Paul Byrd was fueled by $25,000 worth of human growth hormone from 2002-2005, and Game 6 satisfied all parties not from Cleveland.

One thing I'd like to address here for a moment is this concept being bantered about by all sorts of commentators on the sport is the notion of "the home grown team." Don't get me wrong, I love it. I love seeing Red Sox prospects come up and have huge success on the big stage, and I even love seeing mediocre farmhands get roster spots over "seasoned veterans" who get bargain contracts and playing time (even if they suck) over people who need it. But what I don't love is this labeling of Boston as the New Evil Empire because its not 98% farmhands.

First and foremost, if the Red Sox used the Cleveland model in the American League East they would get jack-diddly squat for results 9 times out of 10. The reason the Sox payroll has escalated to where it is now is because they compete with the highest payroll 19 times each season, plus the playoffs.

The American League Central was probably the best division in the AL this year, but before the White Sox shocked everybody it was a laugher division. That's the problem with the constant "home grown" theory, it rarely results in constant contention. The one notable exception to that is probably the Atlanta Braves, who through sheer genius and just plain luck have managed to keep their edge despite limited acquisition of big-ticket players.

If anyboody in the AL East wanted to immediately contend with the Torre Era Yankees, it required both the brains of a healthy farm system and the brawn of free-agent market capability. The Red Sox for most of the 1990's decided to gut their farm system in an attempt to lure the biggest names in trades, and for just as much time it wasn't very successful.

The point is that the Indians have hit a great streak in their development, but eventually they, like any other team that hopes to succeed, will find themselves forced to approach the free agent market with more than just a little interest in hopes of finding the solution to whatever problem may arise with the passing of years.

So what if the Sox aren't all home grown? Last time I checked, Grady Sizemore was drafted by the Expos.

In-game 2

After Pedroia's leadoff double here in the 7th (and the run that followed) made me want to address something: baseball commentators. Wait, tell me you've never heard this before. Ok, good.

I heard the other day an unnamed XM radio personality discussing the merits of Dustin Pedroia as a leadoff hitter. On the whole it was a positive assessment, but wrapped into it was the like "may strike out more than most leadoff guys". Really? That's weird. I could've sworn he had only 42 strikeouts for the entire season. That's 520 AB.

That's pretty freakin' good. Just thought I'd point that out.

In-game Venting

Time to lose some steam, all of it generated from Manny's last AB.

First of all, lets talk about the broadcasting. After saying on national television that Manny got jammed and calling it like a routine fly ball, Joe Buck and Tim McCarver proceed to rip Manny Ramirez for not standing on second base on what he thought was the third out.

I call some MAJOR B.S. I understand that everybody likes to have their jollies with the fact that Manny is a total goof, and that for the most part he fuels the fire. But if anyone, anyone, with that much access to the game attacks a player as prolific as Manny, they have to shut the fuck up. Manny is a goon, he may not talk to the media every game (though he has lately, and he's been dressing up), and he may not sprint to first every time he grounds out, but he's the smartest and hardest working player I, any other fan, and most every other player has ever seen. Buck and McCarver are beating a horse that's been dead since 2004.

(Game interruption: Coco can't even put down a bunt. Somebody please get his ass out of the lineup.)

This whole postseason has been beyond frustrating. The networks can't get their heads out of the endless circle-jerk that is their scheduling problems, the announcers, who are all talented in their own right, end up sounding like idiots on national TV and oh yea, the umpires have been AWFUL in every series.

This is just incredible. If Cleveland goes, I hope Colorado lays a huge steaming turd on their hopes with a 4 game sweep.

NOTE TO ALL READERS: The playoffs have been known to make everyone a little snippy. Sorry if I offend anyone.

Welcome to Cooperstown*

We've all heard the story about Marc Ecko putting the baseball that Barry Bonds rocketed into the San Francisco seats for the all-time home run record: Ecko won the auction on EBay, created a website, and allowed fans to vote on the fate of the ball. The options were to send the ball to the Hall of Fame, brand it with an asterisk and then send it to the Hall, or blast it into space.

Surprise, the branders have it. Even more of a surprise, Dale Petrosky and the Hall of Fame will accept and display it, asterisk and all.

I think this whole scenario is entirely appropriate. The entire steroids controversy stemmed from a desire to please fanse and draw them into the ballparks after the idiocy of the 1994 strike. It was fueled by the McGwire/Sosa chase for the single season record, and it burst into flame when men the size of mountains began collecting awards and record-breaking contracts. At its heart, though, are the fans. It's only fair that the lone third of the iron triangle of professional sports without any true power to affect change within the game take advantage of this situation.

The Hall of Fame is in no way associated with Major League Baseball as an organization, therefore there should be no shame in acceptinng the item. If anything, the purpose of the Hall is to enshrine all the evolutions of the game since its inception, meaning that the 756 ball should be the centerpiece for The Steroid Era exhibit.

Oh yea, and the whole thing pisses the heck out of Barry, who can do nothing but point out the money Ecko spent.

This is definitely a good thing.

A Bad Name

An interesting piece ran in the Globe this morning concerning those fans that players and radio hosts always talk about when something bad happens. We've all been there, standing at the ballpark waist-high in hyperactive kids collecting autographs like so many pieces of candy while we collect nothing more than dirty looks from the players and waste time to be social before the ball game absorbs all of our attention.

Now I'm not going to lie, I love collecting autographs as much as the next guy. It's always cool to say hello to a professional ballplayer, regardless of who he is, and they look great in the office. Problem is, too many times its not about the love of the game when fans and players meet.

If you've ever been to Cooperstown for Hall of Fame Weekend and the induction ceremony, you've seen more people line up to talk to former players than you thought could physically fit in one sleepy New York village. That means you've also see the seedy looking memorabilia dealers sauntering up and down the steamy sidewalks with boxes of cards, photographs, baseballs and bats waiting to be signed and sold.

Frankly, it's a little sad. Not sad that people make their living off memorabilia (it is oftentimes a legitimate enterprise, after all), but sad that there are some people that get so greedy that they box out the ones who just want to get close to a star for a second. There should be some sort of forum where dealers get the items they want while toeing it up with their competitors. That way there wouldn't be any need for hesitation on the part of that players when teenagers and even moms or dads line up and ask politely for an autograph.

Kevin Youkilis appropriately references the explosion of new technology as one of the biggest contributing factors in this privacy vacuum, and he's spot on. The article you're currently reading (as you're well aware) is part of this explosion, with the round-the-clock news coverage both on the air and online allowing for Average Joe Fan to start, say, his own sports blog to make his own informed opinion heard.

Et tu, Brute? thought the audience.

One of the thing that I personally have struggled with, and I'm sure there are countless other bloggers and internet authors out there who would echo the sentiment, is "what does it mean to be a fan in today's environment?" I can watch and listen to every major league game, and I can even fill the off days with minor league matches. In the winter I can listen to and talk baseball with my XM subscription, all the while feeling like I am more than the average fan because of the amount of information I may be able to spit up in a split second.

The truth is, I'm not. I'm just an average fan, just like the guys over at Dewey's House are fans, the pundits and Sons of Sam Horn are fans, and David Pinto at Baseball Musings is a fan. We all have given a piece of our soul to this team, and in that way we're all the same. Some might have already known that Terry Francona was the only Sox manager in history to lead the team to the postseason three times, and still others may have just learned it this morning. Either way you cut it, we're all fans. And as fans, we need to remember to keep our distance. I can never be a player or coach, and neither can a lot of the bloggers in the 'sphere.

The Red Sox may be as important a part of New England as autumn and lobster, but in the end they're just people, too. We have to remember that everything we do as fans impacts them not only as players, but also as people. It's sad to think that some people can't keep the fact that there is a separation between fan and athlete, and even sadder to think that such indiscretion can ruin the experience of those who have no such trouble.

You Know What? I Changed My Mind: This Is What You Look Forward To.

In the fall of my junior year at college I was exposed to two things that truly launched my obsession with the Red Sox: cable television and MLB GameDay. Though I had experienced the former occasionally, my family didn't subscribe to cable until I had left for school. When I reached campus I was able to watch the Sox daily. MLB GameDay was just something of which I was entirely ignorant. This fall reminds me of that fall.

This is what you look forward to as a baseball fan, isn't it? This is the month, these are the weeks when numbers mean everything, when a hanging breaking ball can turn the tide of a pennant race, when a routine play can hiccup only slightly and do the same. This is the time of year when caps are worn constantly, when family members stand still and routines upheld for hours at a time, so long as they're lucky. This is when true fans emerge from the summer daze and stand bright eyed in the autumn crisp, laying a weight so heavy upon the backs of mundane plays that they become providential, depending on the deep-seeded belief held by each individual.

That junior fall I became best friends with the library, not out of any great academic necessity but out of concern for my baseball team: when I was at the library, the Red Sox won. I'd bet that most of you readers don't know that the resurgence after being down 0-2 to Oakland was due to me, do you? I thought not.

In 2003 I locked myself in the library during every game after the first two losses. I was driven there by disgust, by a desperate need to spare myself pain and embarassment after a long season of stuggles. I tried as long as I could to avoid thinking about the games, but when all you have is the varied masterpieces of the French Renaissance to hold your attention a baseball game is far more inviting. In any case, I made a deal with myself in that I couldn't check the score until I had read a specific number of pages. At that point I would allow myself to at least to find the score online.

When I walked up to the computer the first time, I noted something funny: the Sox were doing ok. Quick check done, I returned diligently to my studies. Twenty minutes later I would do the same thing, only to notice the same result. The Sox were playing well. I decided at that point to see if my newfound routine would hold up to the test of a third go-round.

It did, and I continued to go back to the computers each night until the night of Game 7 in New York. On that night I watched the game with friends, and on that night we not only lost, we lost for good.

So why am I writing this, especially now that the Red Sox have clinched a playoff spot with their seat-of-their-pants win aat Tampa Bay this evening? Simply, because this fall I've kept my ear to the ground, I've found my routines, and I find myself thinking just how nice it is to even have a pennant race to look forward to. It's nice driving home from work or out to run an errand and just wanting to listen to the radio pundits because they would talk about all the newly-minted magic numbers. Because once again, this fall is like that fall.

Keep your ear to the ground.

And with one swing of the bat...

...the taut sphere rocketed towards the right center field stands where history, and hearts, were broken. Awash in a sea of flashbulbs and frenzied hometown cheers, the beleaguered outfielder found himself rounding the bases as the only man to reach what was once thought unreachable.

The commissioner was nowhere to be found. Absent, as well, was the man he overtook for the crown.

In the absences of Bud Selig and Hank Aaron can be found the most telling indication of how history will judge the new record holder. Selig is away from San Francisco preparing to meet with George Mitchell to discuss, of all things, the steroid investigation currently in progress. Aaron chose simply to stay home and leave a message.

Barry Bonds is now the only name atop the record list, but in the hearts of most baseball fans he will never be able to take the place of Aaron. That's not to say that he should be villified, dragged from his house into the village square and tarred and feathered. He is a dislikeable character, a prickly, spiny superstar who has spurned fans, players, and media alike over his 33 year career.

So Bonds broke the record. Fantastic. The Red Sox are on their way to a second consectutive loss in Anaheim and to further shrinkage of their AL East lead. The Cubs, despite losing Alfonso Soriano until Labor Day, are fighting for their first chance at the Series in nearly a century. (Actually, that's not new, is it?) Look, the record was such a big deal that nobody outside of the homer fans and Bonds himself was excited by it. If you look at the tape, his teammates walk to the plate, the Nationals look on without interest, and the game moved on quickly.

Starting tomorrow we'll all be drowning in commentary and an attempt to categorize what just happened. I'm not even sure how coherent this piece is. But the point is, move on.

And if I were the fan, I would put an asterisk on the ball and give it to the Hall of Fame myself, in person.

Heading into the Break

It seems appropriate that I check in just before all of baseball heads off to the All-Star Break. I'm getting married this weeekend, and my fiancée and I have been settling our new place, so the site has really taken a back seat. I thought I should at least put up a post before I hit the actual wedding and honeymoon.

So at the halfway mark the Red Sox are exactly where I left them last, up a ridiculous amount on the rest of the American League East and firing (for the most part) on all cylinders. With any luck this success will continue into the second half, but I'll feel much better about it if a few things fall into place. Here they are:

1. Curt Schilling: He's been out for some time now with his shoulder soreness, and his return needs to be complete to get the full boost to the rotation. The good news is that his injury was nothing too serious, so a little rest seems to be the right prescription. The bad news is that he's no spring chicken, and it's impossible to predict just how he'll come back.

2. The Offense: That's right, everybody, the Red Sox no longer lead the world in batting. In fact, we're pretty much average in just about every category. The blame falls most squarely onto the shoulders of Manny Ramirez and David Ortiz, the big boppers who are just not bopping. Ortiz gets a little break because of his quad and Manny because of his age, but in order for this lineup to strike fear into opposing pitchers they need to step it up. We all know about Julio Lugo and Coco Crisp sucking it up for the majority of the season, but I wouldn't blame them as much given the type of hitters they are.

3. Julian Tavarez. Invent your own commentary, though he's been passable, I suppose.

Otherwise things have been going well, and it's great to see farm products like Youkilis and Pedroia having such great success. Toss in visions of Jacoby Ellsbury in the outfield and the future seems to have a nice glow to it. Oh wait, one more thing.

Don't count out the Yankees. Ever. I'll see everybody after the honeymoon.

Gammons Tidbit

Inside Peter Gammons' latest Insider column on ESPN.com is found this interesting tidbit:

Someday, Gabe Kapler will manage the Boston Red Sox. He is starting in Greenville (South Atlantic League) on a five-year program to learn his trade and eventually get the Sox job when and if Terry Francona retires. This is what you need to know about Kapler. He approached one of his players, Zak Farkes, who happened to go to Harvard. "What is the best book you've read in the last year?" Kapler asked Farkes, knowing he is a voracious reader. Farkas identified the book, and Kapler told him he wanted to read it to better understand his player.

That, friends, is a man who's got something going for him upstairs.