I had planned, at the beginning of the season, to write a hopeful blurb about Cliff Lee. Last season, of course, he seemed to have an aversion to pitching in the seventh innings of games — so strong an aversion, in fact, that he consistently went out of his way to pitch horribly in the sixth inning of his starts. He'd roll through the early innings, look strong, then in the sixth inning, carnage.
My hope was that Lee had worked it out. One explanation I had read about Lee was that he wasn't getting the late movement on his pitches last year, that players were able to get a piece of him and foul him off repeatedly. This would drive up his pitch count, and the chickens would come home to roost in around the sixth inning. The fact that someone seemed to have an idea about why this was happening was, to me, encouraging.
It was also encouraging that Lee suffered the same spring-training strained oblique that heralded C.C.'s rise as a Number One Starter exactly a year ago.
Needless to say, I was really encouraged when Cliffie came off the DL and shut down the Angels in a complete game victory. Since then, though, Lee has has his ups and downs,
which brings us to the sixth inning of last night's ballgame. The wheels came off in classic Sixth Inning Style for Lee, and just to make sure the game went completely out of reach, Fernando "Three Mile" Cabrera came in an added his own meltdown. By the time rookie Jensen Lewis came in to record the inning's third out (and his first as a major leaguer — congrats to Jensen Lewis!), we were down 11-2. (The game was tied 2-2 when the inning started.)
It is worth noting that this is the same White Sox team that has scored the fewest runs in the American League this year.
During the middle of the sixth I told myself — grimly — that the Indians would lose this game 11-8. Turns out I wasn't far off — the Tribe did me two runs better, pulling to within 11-10 before Josh Barfield popped out to AJ Pierzynski to end the ninth, with a runner on second. From what I hear, Ass Jerk Pierzynski snarked at the Indians dugout after catching the ball — you know, because Sox won so decisively.
Lee, Cabrera, and Barfield are surely the game's goats — the pitchers for obvious reasons, and Barfield for his o-fer at the plate. It's one thing to go hitless when the team loses, but a first-pitch check-swing groundout with the bases loaded and nobody out in the 8th is inexcusable. The pop-up came off Bobby Jenks, who seemed to bring his A-game last night — but as Hegan noted in the broadcast, this was Barfield's chance for redemption, and he came up about 400 feet short.
Bright spots: these no-quit Indians don't, well, quit. Last night's gutty performance affirms the wisdom the front office's decision to extend Eric Wedge's contract earlier in the day. Jensen Lewis walked a few batters but recorded four outs, three by strikeout. Rafael Perez struck out the side in the top of the ninth. Looks like we've found ourselves a lefty reliever to complement Fultz if/when he gets back. I feel like — dare I even write it? — Hafner's pulling out of his slump. Sizemore climbed the wall in left center to steal at least a double from Paul Konerko. Replays seemed to confirm that Grady actually played it off the wall, but I say bright spot because it was still an amazing play — and also because it demonstrates that the Indians can actually get a break from the umpires at least once a year.
Finally, deserving his own paragraph, Franklin Gutierrez. All he did yesterday (to borrow an idiom from Hammy) was go 4 for 5, homer, double, and steal two bases. The second steal got him in scoring position with two down in the ninth: that's a big-time stolen base.
The starting pitching has been very inconsistent over the last two weeks, and we've been muddling through as a result. C.C. and the Boys need to pull it together real quick. We should be doing better than 2-2 at home after the break.
martes, 17 de julio de 2007
jueves, 12 de julio de 2007
Hafner Extended!
Pronk and the Indians agreed this week on a 4-year, $57 million contract extension that (barring trade) will keep him with the team until 2012. Some of the total contract amount will be added to Travis's 2007 and 2008 salaries under his current contract. So it's not strictly a $14.5 million-per-year deal — especially given that Hafner is way underpaid right now.
In the end, a very good deal, I think. I'm a bit unsettled, based on how he has performed this year. The Indians surely would be snookered if the Pronk Of Old never resurfaces. But really, Travis's track record speaks for itself, and two months of subpar performance at the plate don't really read like a trend when you look at his overall body of work.
Putting aside the obvious benefit of keeping a great hitter and an all-around good guy in the fold for five more years, the deal sends some messages:
First, it tells Hafner that, whatever adversity he has faced in this first half, the Indians stand behind him and believe he is a preeminent hitting talent substantially equivalent in value to David Ortiz.
Second, it tells the fan base that the team is committed to keeping these players around. So many of my friends and family who leaved and breathed Indians baseball in the '90s can't seem to reawaken their interest. When I ask them why they're not buying in, they don't deny that the team is good, or that the front office has hit upon a winning formula. Their beef is that players come and go, and before you know it, it's 25 strangers populating the clubhouse. But we've got some terrific players and human beings on this team right now — and they look to be around for years to come.
This is Tribe Juggernaut 2.0, people. Jump on the bandwagon, everybody! And Mr. Hafner, you are charged with leading us deep into the playoffs.
In the end, a very good deal, I think. I'm a bit unsettled, based on how he has performed this year. The Indians surely would be snookered if the Pronk Of Old never resurfaces. But really, Travis's track record speaks for itself, and two months of subpar performance at the plate don't really read like a trend when you look at his overall body of work.
Putting aside the obvious benefit of keeping a great hitter and an all-around good guy in the fold for five more years, the deal sends some messages:
First, it tells Hafner that, whatever adversity he has faced in this first half, the Indians stand behind him and believe he is a preeminent hitting talent substantially equivalent in value to David Ortiz.
Second, it tells the fan base that the team is committed to keeping these players around. So many of my friends and family who leaved and breathed Indians baseball in the '90s can't seem to reawaken their interest. When I ask them why they're not buying in, they don't deny that the team is good, or that the front office has hit upon a winning formula. Their beef is that players come and go, and before you know it, it's 25 strangers populating the clubhouse. But we've got some terrific players and human beings on this team right now — and they look to be around for years to come.
This is Tribe Juggernaut 2.0, people. Jump on the bandwagon, everybody! And Mr. Hafner, you are charged with leading us deep into the playoffs.
viernes, 29 de junio de 2007
My Heart Goes Out to Ben Francisco . . .
. . . on the day of his first major league hit and home run. And the homer was a game-winner, putting an end to a dramatic 2-1 contest with Tampa Bay in the bottom of the ninth.
As Hammy just shouted, "HOW ABOUT THAT!?!"
Is it fair to say that the Jacobs Field Magic is back?
As I type these words, Hamilton says, "Welcome to the good old days. They're back at Jacobs Field."
Great performance from Westbrook. He slipped free of a dicey first inning and never looked back. Back from his injury, Jake is an altogether different pitcher than we saw in April. If Lee can keep it going and Carmona can recover from Wednesday's rough outing, this is a terrific rotation.
Four of five at home, and we're back alone in first!
As Hammy just shouted, "HOW ABOUT THAT!?!"
Is it fair to say that the Jacobs Field Magic is back?
As I type these words, Hamilton says, "Welcome to the good old days. They're back at Jacobs Field."
Great performance from Westbrook. He slipped free of a dicey first inning and never looked back. Back from his injury, Jake is an altogether different pitcher than we saw in April. If Lee can keep it going and Carmona can recover from Wednesday's rough outing, this is a terrific rotation.
Four of five at home, and we're back alone in first!
On One Hand/On the Other
On one hand:
I was convinced the AL Central race was over on Sunday, after Detroit finished its cakewalks about negligible NL East opponents and we barely salvaged one game against the godawful Nationals. Detroit was looking too good, the overtake was overdue, hello wildcard race. Well, guess what? We've taken 3 of 4 from Oakland — always a June juggernaut, and the Rangers made the Tigers look decidedly mortal. What a difference three days make.
On the other:
We're still down a half-game, and I'd have preferred the Texas/Detroit game not be rained out yesterday. Better to play that game while the Tigers were reeling.
On one hand:
This is Franklin Gutierrez's time to shine, and he's doing it. After all this time, I have to say I'm a believer. Kelly Shoppach, too. Who knew he'd be the best player involved in the Coco Crisp trade?
On the other:
How far do we go with an outfield of Sizemore, Gutierrez, and Michaels? How do we get Kelly his ABs, given the logjam of Martinez, Shoppach, Hafner, and Garko out here in C/1B/DH-Land?
On one hand:
Things are looking up for Pronk. A couple of home runs, a rocket of a game-tying double on Tuesday night — and from what I'm hearing on the radio, a lot of hard-hit balls on which Oakland's fielders have just made great plays.
On the other:
Over the past six weeks we've seen more than a few false starts for Hafner. And the minute I declare he's out of his slump, he goes 0 for his next 10. And I'm starting to get suspicious re exactly how "loud" Pronk's outs really are. Hammy's an enthusiastic guy, and Hafner seems to have an awful lot of woulda coulda shoulda base hits, when Hamilton's doing the play-by-play.
On one hand:
CC has been absolutely dominating. Once Danny Haren regresses to the mean, Sabathia has to be the Cy Young candidate. I don't want to hear about Josh Beckett. These days it's a rare occasion when CC doesn't go nine.
On the other:
Heretofore reliable Paul Byrd's ERA has been climbing. And what in the name of all that's holy happened to Carmona last night? I worry — not so much about Byrd (though I've come to the realization that he's not going to return to sub-4.00-ERA form), but about Carmona: his shattered psyche was exposed for all the world to see last year. I don't want to see the blood-and-guts of it again. Hopefully the last two months have given him the confidence just to shake off this last performance. He has to know he has the stuff not only to win in the bigs, but to dominate.
On one hand:
Rafaels Betancourt and Perez. Can you dig it? Some kind of nickname is in order. Daffy Raffys? The Catast-Raffys?
On the other:
We need one more arm. Just one more arm in the 'pen. And please God, let it come from within the system. I couldn't stand to see us get in a bidding war for the likes of Akinori Otsuka — even if he does come with the double-bonus of Detroit not getting him.
That's all I've got.
I was convinced the AL Central race was over on Sunday, after Detroit finished its cakewalks about negligible NL East opponents and we barely salvaged one game against the godawful Nationals. Detroit was looking too good, the overtake was overdue, hello wildcard race. Well, guess what? We've taken 3 of 4 from Oakland — always a June juggernaut, and the Rangers made the Tigers look decidedly mortal. What a difference three days make.
On the other:
We're still down a half-game, and I'd have preferred the Texas/Detroit game not be rained out yesterday. Better to play that game while the Tigers were reeling.
On one hand:
This is Franklin Gutierrez's time to shine, and he's doing it. After all this time, I have to say I'm a believer. Kelly Shoppach, too. Who knew he'd be the best player involved in the Coco Crisp trade?
On the other:
How far do we go with an outfield of Sizemore, Gutierrez, and Michaels? How do we get Kelly his ABs, given the logjam of Martinez, Shoppach, Hafner, and Garko out here in C/1B/DH-Land?
On one hand:
Things are looking up for Pronk. A couple of home runs, a rocket of a game-tying double on Tuesday night — and from what I'm hearing on the radio, a lot of hard-hit balls on which Oakland's fielders have just made great plays.
On the other:
Over the past six weeks we've seen more than a few false starts for Hafner. And the minute I declare he's out of his slump, he goes 0 for his next 10. And I'm starting to get suspicious re exactly how "loud" Pronk's outs really are. Hammy's an enthusiastic guy, and Hafner seems to have an awful lot of woulda coulda shoulda base hits, when Hamilton's doing the play-by-play.
On one hand:
CC has been absolutely dominating. Once Danny Haren regresses to the mean, Sabathia has to be the Cy Young candidate. I don't want to hear about Josh Beckett. These days it's a rare occasion when CC doesn't go nine.
On the other:
Heretofore reliable Paul Byrd's ERA has been climbing. And what in the name of all that's holy happened to Carmona last night? I worry — not so much about Byrd (though I've come to the realization that he's not going to return to sub-4.00-ERA form), but about Carmona: his shattered psyche was exposed for all the world to see last year. I don't want to see the blood-and-guts of it again. Hopefully the last two months have given him the confidence just to shake off this last performance. He has to know he has the stuff not only to win in the bigs, but to dominate.
On one hand:
Rafaels Betancourt and Perez. Can you dig it? Some kind of nickname is in order. Daffy Raffys? The Catast-Raffys?
On the other:
We need one more arm. Just one more arm in the 'pen. And please God, let it come from within the system. I couldn't stand to see us get in a bidding war for the likes of Akinori Otsuka — even if he does come with the double-bonus of Detroit not getting him.
That's all I've got.
jueves, 28 de junio de 2007
Segregation 5, Brown 4/Cleveland 4, Oakland 3
I love these day games, but today was difficult. The Supreme Court cases on race in K-12 school assignments came out today. 185 pages of opinion, the upshot being that Brown v. Board of Education has been reduced to an empty husk, by five justices who, licking their chops, did nothing but cite Brown v. Board of Education in the process.
Humph.
In any event, I was up to my neck in those 185 pages — a work fire drill culminating in a meeting at 2:00 with my boss, to discuss the holdings.
I had radio coverage of the game on at work today, but I had to leave the office for that 2:00 meeting — in the bottom of the seventh, with two men on and a pitching change in the works. I wanted to wait to see what we did, but I had to go. When I got back the door to my office was closed, and I knew we had tied or taken the lead. Why? My deductive powers: the only reason someone might have closed my door, with me not inside, was that some noise was emanating from my office. What noise could that have been, other than Hammy screaming at the top of his lungs about something good happening? And so I was right. I sat down, brought up the Gameday screen, and we were up 4-3 in the ninth.
So notwithstanding our Supreme Court's precipitious descent into outright fascism this week, the day wasn't all bad.
Humph.
In any event, I was up to my neck in those 185 pages — a work fire drill culminating in a meeting at 2:00 with my boss, to discuss the holdings.
I had radio coverage of the game on at work today, but I had to leave the office for that 2:00 meeting — in the bottom of the seventh, with two men on and a pitching change in the works. I wanted to wait to see what we did, but I had to go. When I got back the door to my office was closed, and I knew we had tied or taken the lead. Why? My deductive powers: the only reason someone might have closed my door, with me not inside, was that some noise was emanating from my office. What noise could that have been, other than Hammy screaming at the top of his lungs about something good happening? And so I was right. I sat down, brought up the Gameday screen, and we were up 4-3 in the ninth.
So notwithstanding our Supreme Court's precipitious descent into outright fascism this week, the day wasn't all bad.
lunes, 11 de junio de 2007
Seven-Run Comeback — Ugh!
Back from a seven-run deficit to tie the game! So why am I annoyed?
Because it's the bottom of the eighth, one man down, Dellucci and Martinez are on first and third (respectively), Blake doubles down the left-field line, and Dellucci gets thrown out at the plate "by eight feet," according to Hammy.
Skinner apparently waved him home. "He took a chance," Hegan said. WHY? You keep him on third, and you can take the lead with a sac fly or a well-placed groundout. Not to mention the extra out to play with.
Seattle intentionally walks Hafner, walks Peralta to load the bases, and Garko strikes out.
Ugh.
Because it's the bottom of the eighth, one man down, Dellucci and Martinez are on first and third (respectively), Blake doubles down the left-field line, and Dellucci gets thrown out at the plate "by eight feet," according to Hammy.
Skinner apparently waved him home. "He took a chance," Hegan said. WHY? You keep him on third, and you can take the lead with a sac fly or a well-placed groundout. Not to mention the extra out to play with.
Seattle intentionally walks Hafner, walks Peralta to load the bases, and Garko strikes out.
Ugh.
sábado, 9 de junio de 2007
Fireworks in Cincinnati
Well, Sizemore, Peralta, and Dellucci have hit bombs tonight, to counter Conine, Hamilton, and Griffey. And all that wasn't enough pyrotechnics, someone is setting off fireworks.
Tom Hamilton, deadpanning: "Somebody in Kentucky just passed their ACT."
Great stuff.
Tom Hamilton, deadpanning: "Somebody in Kentucky just passed their ACT."
Great stuff.
Catching Up
I have about a month of material to catch up on here. Haven't had much time to post, with work heating up, always The Boy to attend to, and now we're putting the house up for sale — and we spent the last two months looking for a newer, bigger place.
So here's The Month in Review — in montage form:
*Sowers wins a game — against the Royals. Hooray. Not sure if he's suffering from Second Time Around Syndrome. Jeremy's pitching tonight. The Reds owned him earlier in the month, and he's out there again against Cincy tonight.
*As Hafner continues to struggle, Victor Martinez starts to make a case for the AL Most Valuable Player Award. Not that he has a prayer of winning it, with Magglio Ordonez hitting .363, on pace for 80+ doubles and 150 RBI.
[Sowers just gave up a two-run homer to Jeff Conine — yes, that's Jeff Conine hitting cleanup for the Reds. He had two homers on the year before this series. He's doubled that output in two days. "A costly two-out mistake," is how Hammy just described it.]
*Memorial Day weekend saw the Indians complete a three-game road sweep of the Tigers, to open up a decent-sized lead in the AL Central. Since then, the Indians' play has been largely uninspired — lost two of three to Boston on the road (excusable) and took two of three from Kansas City at home (ho hum). We seem to be in a pattern right now wherein we get three good starts from Byrd, Sabathia, and Carmona, only to have the "crafty lefties," Lee and Sowers, dissipate the momentum. Granted, if the Good Three hold serve, we play .600 ball. Thing is, perfection is too much to expect from them over the course of the year — and .600 ball may not be enough to win the division. In short, Lee and Sowers need to pull themselves together. By which I mean "not downright suck every time out."
*Between the Boston and KC series was a four-game set at home against Detroit. The series opened with two wins, and in the second the Tribe came back from four runs down twice — the second time in the bottom of the ninth, to win the game. A spectacular finish that I would have missed, had not The Boy made some noise and kept me awake. So God bless him: if he hadn't called for that bottle I'd have packed up the ol' bluetooth headset in frustration. Midway through that series, we were up 4.5 games, did not appear capable of losing to Detroit, and looked poised to go for the throat over the next two days. But oh yeah: Lee and Sowers were due to pitch those games. So never mind.
*There are questions in the bullpen. Rafael Betancourt isn't one of them — unless your question is "can you believe we've finally got a bad-ass setup man?" Something happened to Fernando Cabrera. He's completely lost it. There was a stretch of appearances where he didn't even record an out. Hard to believe a guy could be so dominating over the first month, then have it all turn off like someone flipped a switch. If we get anywhere this year, Cabrera plays a big part in it. So he needs to right the ship. Roberto Hernandez is coming apart, and time appears to have run out on Tom Mastny, who looked like a reliable arm until this last week. You wonder when the Indians will call up Matt Miller, who has been lights out in Buffalo. It must be a roster situation: they can't send down Cabrera, because he's out of options.
[Sowers just dealt another home run ball — this one to Josh Hamilton. You've got to feel right now that if Adam Miller weren't hurt, and Westbrook's' injury so slow in rehabbing, Jeremy would have "shuffled off" a week or so ago.]
*Jhonny Peralta is the Real Deal. And you have to love Casey Blake. No one has ever confused Blake with Brooks Robinson or Alex Rodriguez, and he has had long stretches of "anti-clutch" hitting. But boy, has he been terrific at third base for us, and batting second. He has made the most of his opportunity in Cleveland, and he's just a very good Major League Baseball player.
*Saw two of the Fenway games — a loss and a win. They dominated the celebrated Matsuzaka in the win. It was a rather enjoyable night.
MY ASSESSMENT, AT THIS POINT: This is a good team with significant flaws that are starting to catch up with it. The starting pitching we've discussed. I would take Sabathia, Byrd, and Carmona 1-2-3 against anyone in the playoffs. There are holes to fill in relief. Watching the Boston games illustrated what a luxury it is to have more than one lefty in the 'pen. Pronk didn't have a prayer against the sidewinder Lopez, and Okajima is almost unhittable. You can get by with Borowski and Betancourt if the starters go seven or eight innings. But that's a big if. We need the Good Cabrera and another reliable arm at least (Mastny? Miller?). The lineup is solid, and it could be tops in baseball — Detroit be damned — if Pronk ever puts it together. Grady, too, has been inconsistent. He's showing a great eye at the plate, good home-run power, and speed on the basepaths, but still hitting right around .280.
BEST-CASE SCENARIO: Hafner and Sizemore catch fire, Westbrook and Matt Miller return to stabilize the rotation and bullpen, and the Indians break away over the next two months.
[Indians load up the bases with nobody out and the heart of the order — Hafner, Martinez, and Nixon — due up in the top of the third. As Pronk comes to the plate, Hammy says, "This is a grand slam waiting to happen." Hafner lines out to left ("sharply," in the view of the folks at MLB.com, if you're looking for sunshine), and in the end we get one run on a sac fly. Nice.]
WORST-CASE SCENARIO: One of the Big Three starters loses time to injury, the bullpen implodes, Shapiro is forced into another Giles-for-Rincon-style move to try to hold things together, and things don't hold together.
So here's The Month in Review — in montage form:
*Sowers wins a game — against the Royals. Hooray. Not sure if he's suffering from Second Time Around Syndrome. Jeremy's pitching tonight. The Reds owned him earlier in the month, and he's out there again against Cincy tonight.
*As Hafner continues to struggle, Victor Martinez starts to make a case for the AL Most Valuable Player Award. Not that he has a prayer of winning it, with Magglio Ordonez hitting .363, on pace for 80+ doubles and 150 RBI.
[Sowers just gave up a two-run homer to Jeff Conine — yes, that's Jeff Conine hitting cleanup for the Reds. He had two homers on the year before this series. He's doubled that output in two days. "A costly two-out mistake," is how Hammy just described it.]
*Memorial Day weekend saw the Indians complete a three-game road sweep of the Tigers, to open up a decent-sized lead in the AL Central. Since then, the Indians' play has been largely uninspired — lost two of three to Boston on the road (excusable) and took two of three from Kansas City at home (ho hum). We seem to be in a pattern right now wherein we get three good starts from Byrd, Sabathia, and Carmona, only to have the "crafty lefties," Lee and Sowers, dissipate the momentum. Granted, if the Good Three hold serve, we play .600 ball. Thing is, perfection is too much to expect from them over the course of the year — and .600 ball may not be enough to win the division. In short, Lee and Sowers need to pull themselves together. By which I mean "not downright suck every time out."
*Between the Boston and KC series was a four-game set at home against Detroit. The series opened with two wins, and in the second the Tribe came back from four runs down twice — the second time in the bottom of the ninth, to win the game. A spectacular finish that I would have missed, had not The Boy made some noise and kept me awake. So God bless him: if he hadn't called for that bottle I'd have packed up the ol' bluetooth headset in frustration. Midway through that series, we were up 4.5 games, did not appear capable of losing to Detroit, and looked poised to go for the throat over the next two days. But oh yeah: Lee and Sowers were due to pitch those games. So never mind.
*There are questions in the bullpen. Rafael Betancourt isn't one of them — unless your question is "can you believe we've finally got a bad-ass setup man?" Something happened to Fernando Cabrera. He's completely lost it. There was a stretch of appearances where he didn't even record an out. Hard to believe a guy could be so dominating over the first month, then have it all turn off like someone flipped a switch. If we get anywhere this year, Cabrera plays a big part in it. So he needs to right the ship. Roberto Hernandez is coming apart, and time appears to have run out on Tom Mastny, who looked like a reliable arm until this last week. You wonder when the Indians will call up Matt Miller, who has been lights out in Buffalo. It must be a roster situation: they can't send down Cabrera, because he's out of options.
[Sowers just dealt another home run ball — this one to Josh Hamilton. You've got to feel right now that if Adam Miller weren't hurt, and Westbrook's' injury so slow in rehabbing, Jeremy would have "shuffled off" a week or so ago.]
*Jhonny Peralta is the Real Deal. And you have to love Casey Blake. No one has ever confused Blake with Brooks Robinson or Alex Rodriguez, and he has had long stretches of "anti-clutch" hitting. But boy, has he been terrific at third base for us, and batting second. He has made the most of his opportunity in Cleveland, and he's just a very good Major League Baseball player.
*Saw two of the Fenway games — a loss and a win. They dominated the celebrated Matsuzaka in the win. It was a rather enjoyable night.
MY ASSESSMENT, AT THIS POINT: This is a good team with significant flaws that are starting to catch up with it. The starting pitching we've discussed. I would take Sabathia, Byrd, and Carmona 1-2-3 against anyone in the playoffs. There are holes to fill in relief. Watching the Boston games illustrated what a luxury it is to have more than one lefty in the 'pen. Pronk didn't have a prayer against the sidewinder Lopez, and Okajima is almost unhittable. You can get by with Borowski and Betancourt if the starters go seven or eight innings. But that's a big if. We need the Good Cabrera and another reliable arm at least (Mastny? Miller?). The lineup is solid, and it could be tops in baseball — Detroit be damned — if Pronk ever puts it together. Grady, too, has been inconsistent. He's showing a great eye at the plate, good home-run power, and speed on the basepaths, but still hitting right around .280.
BEST-CASE SCENARIO: Hafner and Sizemore catch fire, Westbrook and Matt Miller return to stabilize the rotation and bullpen, and the Indians break away over the next two months.
[Indians load up the bases with nobody out and the heart of the order — Hafner, Martinez, and Nixon — due up in the top of the third. As Pronk comes to the plate, Hammy says, "This is a grand slam waiting to happen." Hafner lines out to left ("sharply," in the view of the folks at MLB.com, if you're looking for sunshine), and in the end we get one run on a sac fly. Nice.]
WORST-CASE SCENARIO: One of the Big Three starters loses time to injury, the bullpen implodes, Shapiro is forced into another Giles-for-Rincon-style move to try to hold things together, and things don't hold together.
lunes, 21 de mayo de 2007
Oooooohhhhh
Been far too long since I last posted — I've got a lot going on. I'll endeavor to catch up on all Tribe happenings soon. In the meantime, let me just say I hope we win in a rout tonight. More than usual.
Way more than usual. I hope we frickin' demoralize these Mariners.
Way more than usual. I hope we frickin' demoralize these Mariners.
jueves, 3 de mayo de 2007
Indians 7, Blue Jays 6
I was planning to write about Jhonny Peralta today, but I'm going to have to push that back. Last night's game deserves its own post.
It's the bottom of the eleventh, and the Indians are running out of time. The bullpen is empty. Westbrook left the game in the second inning with abdominal tightness — it seems Cliff Lee's injury is contagious, and he should have been in quarantine. The rest of the night has been more of a parade than a baseball game, relief pitchers marching in through the outfield, over the mound, into the clubhouse.
First Fernando Cabrera, then Jason Davis, then Aaron Fultz, then Roberto Hernandez, then Rafael Betancourt, then Joe Borowski, and finally Tom Mastny in the top of the 11th. And Mastny threw two innings the night before — so his availability is limited. If this game goes on much longer, Casey Blake might have to take the mound.
Dellucci bloops a leadoff single into center. Vernon Wells, playing deep, comes tearing in to make the play and overshoots his dive. The ball glances off his wrist.
With Dellucci at first, and recently hobbled, I'm thinking this might be the time to get Ben Francisco into the game. Francisco's got some speed, and he's in town by virtue of the roster move that sent Fausto Carmona back to Buffalo. The Westbrook injury probably means Fausto will be recalled, so why not bring in Francisco as a pinch runner before he catches the next bus/train/flight out of town? Put some pressure on the pitcher.
Wedge doesn't make this move, and I'm muttering about it in my bed. I should explain how I listen to these games. For the most part, during the evening, I have the radio broadcast playing over the computer in our study. The Wife bought me bluetooth headphones for Christmas two years ago. The idea was that I could put them on, move freely around the house, and listen to the game — without subjecting her to Hammy's periodic enthusiasms. So when she goes to sleep, usually at around 9:30 or 10:00, I put on the headphones. Once I'm ready for bed, I curl up beside her with the headphones on. For most of the night the game is background noise for me — I drop in and out, and my attention to it isn't consistent. I'm not listening in earnest.
Once I'm in bed, I'm listening in earnest. I should add here that The Wife, despite her best efforts, did not purchase complete peace with these headphones. The headphones confirm the bluetooth connection to the computer by flashing a blue light at regular intervals — something like every seven seconds. I try to screen out the flashes with a wall of pillows — I do my best here, I swear — but I worry that she dreams of police chases every night around this time. But listening to the late innings of an Indians game, in the dark, in bed, with no distractions, is my wife's gift to me, and I owe her for it, because I enjoy it so much. I lie there and, like a nine-year-old, I try to visualize the scene exactly as Hamilton and Hegan describe it.
Right now I'm wondering, under my breath, with my ears flashing blue light, why Francisco hasn't subbed out Dellucci. I'm waiting for Hamilton to announce the introduction of a pinch runner, but he doesn't. So it goes. Now Hafner's at the plate. Hammy and Hegan make a point of describing the Jays' defensive positioning: it's the usual shift with everybody in the infield on the right side, except for Troy Glaus, the Jay's third baseman, who is positioned where a shortstop would be if he were cheating toward second. The outfield is playing deep again — a ball over their heads wins the game — and around toward right field.
Hegan points out that Hafner, before stepping into the batter's box, is surveying the field, taking note of exactly where the Jays' players are. He also notes that Glaus will be taking the throw in the event Dellucci tries to steal second base.
Pronk works the count full, and Wedge sends Dellucci on the pitch. The pitch is low and outside — Hamilton will later observe that it almost bounced before Hafner hit it — but Travis reaches out and flicks the ball right down the third base line. There isn't a Blue Jays player within the same zip code as this ball.
Dellucci scores from first on Pronk's double. BALLGAME. I pump my fist, whisper a celebratory "YES!" to myself, then get up out of bed to see the game-winning hit on Sportscenter. God bless David Dellucci: he was running like hell.
And I'm wondering if, at some point, I need to add a "Great Ways to Win a Ballgame" department to this blog.
It's the bottom of the eleventh, and the Indians are running out of time. The bullpen is empty. Westbrook left the game in the second inning with abdominal tightness — it seems Cliff Lee's injury is contagious, and he should have been in quarantine. The rest of the night has been more of a parade than a baseball game, relief pitchers marching in through the outfield, over the mound, into the clubhouse.
First Fernando Cabrera, then Jason Davis, then Aaron Fultz, then Roberto Hernandez, then Rafael Betancourt, then Joe Borowski, and finally Tom Mastny in the top of the 11th. And Mastny threw two innings the night before — so his availability is limited. If this game goes on much longer, Casey Blake might have to take the mound.
Dellucci bloops a leadoff single into center. Vernon Wells, playing deep, comes tearing in to make the play and overshoots his dive. The ball glances off his wrist.
With Dellucci at first, and recently hobbled, I'm thinking this might be the time to get Ben Francisco into the game. Francisco's got some speed, and he's in town by virtue of the roster move that sent Fausto Carmona back to Buffalo. The Westbrook injury probably means Fausto will be recalled, so why not bring in Francisco as a pinch runner before he catches the next bus/train/flight out of town? Put some pressure on the pitcher.
Wedge doesn't make this move, and I'm muttering about it in my bed. I should explain how I listen to these games. For the most part, during the evening, I have the radio broadcast playing over the computer in our study. The Wife bought me bluetooth headphones for Christmas two years ago. The idea was that I could put them on, move freely around the house, and listen to the game — without subjecting her to Hammy's periodic enthusiasms. So when she goes to sleep, usually at around 9:30 or 10:00, I put on the headphones. Once I'm ready for bed, I curl up beside her with the headphones on. For most of the night the game is background noise for me — I drop in and out, and my attention to it isn't consistent. I'm not listening in earnest.
Once I'm in bed, I'm listening in earnest. I should add here that The Wife, despite her best efforts, did not purchase complete peace with these headphones. The headphones confirm the bluetooth connection to the computer by flashing a blue light at regular intervals — something like every seven seconds. I try to screen out the flashes with a wall of pillows — I do my best here, I swear — but I worry that she dreams of police chases every night around this time. But listening to the late innings of an Indians game, in the dark, in bed, with no distractions, is my wife's gift to me, and I owe her for it, because I enjoy it so much. I lie there and, like a nine-year-old, I try to visualize the scene exactly as Hamilton and Hegan describe it.
Right now I'm wondering, under my breath, with my ears flashing blue light, why Francisco hasn't subbed out Dellucci. I'm waiting for Hamilton to announce the introduction of a pinch runner, but he doesn't. So it goes. Now Hafner's at the plate. Hammy and Hegan make a point of describing the Jays' defensive positioning: it's the usual shift with everybody in the infield on the right side, except for Troy Glaus, the Jay's third baseman, who is positioned where a shortstop would be if he were cheating toward second. The outfield is playing deep again — a ball over their heads wins the game — and around toward right field.
Hegan points out that Hafner, before stepping into the batter's box, is surveying the field, taking note of exactly where the Jays' players are. He also notes that Glaus will be taking the throw in the event Dellucci tries to steal second base.
Pronk works the count full, and Wedge sends Dellucci on the pitch. The pitch is low and outside — Hamilton will later observe that it almost bounced before Hafner hit it — but Travis reaches out and flicks the ball right down the third base line. There isn't a Blue Jays player within the same zip code as this ball.
Dellucci scores from first on Pronk's double. BALLGAME. I pump my fist, whisper a celebratory "YES!" to myself, then get up out of bed to see the game-winning hit on Sportscenter. God bless David Dellucci: he was running like hell.
And I'm wondering if, at some point, I need to add a "Great Ways to Win a Ballgame" department to this blog.
martes, 1 de mayo de 2007
Sabathia
I was wondering if C.C. was tipping his pitches. His last inning against Texas last week (6 ER) and the first inning tonight (3 HR) have been out of character. There was a period in July '05 when Sabathia's ERA spiked — teams suddenly unloading on him. He lost four consecutive games (1, 2, 3, 4), gave up 32 hits and 20 earned runs in 17 and 2/3 innings, and a number of Tribe fans (myself included) were starting to wonder if our beloved Carsten Charles would ever break through as a Number One Guy. Ultimately C.C figured it out and righted the ship .
From the way the Jays were teeing off in the top of the first, I wondered if C.C. had slipped back into an old, ugly habit. But it looks like The Big Fella has settled down now, and the Indians have fought back for four runs to take the lead.
Let's hope everything holds together.
From the way the Jays were teeing off in the top of the first, I wondered if C.C. had slipped back into an old, ugly habit. But it looks like The Big Fella has settled down now, and the Indians have fought back for four runs to take the lead.
Let's hope everything holds together.
sábado, 28 de abril de 2007
I'm Not Feeling Good About This One
What? WHAT?
I haven't been following this game very closely — was bathing and getting The Boy ready for bed, and after that spending time with The Wife, with the ballgame playing in the background.
I just heard that the Orioles, after waiting three innings to complain that their player crossed the plate before Miguel Tejada was doubled at first for the third out of the third inning, were finally awarded the run.
And now Fultz just gave up the lead, on Patterson's two-out, two-run double in the 8th. Two runs charged to Cabrera by the way — his first of the season.
I've traced the disaster that was the 2006 season back to an early game against the O's in Camden Yards, when the Indians blew a 7-3 lead in the bottom of the fifth, during which time Rafael Betancourt and Matt Miller both left the game with injuries and Jason Johnson had a diabetic attack in the dugout. All this happened after The Wife took down my framed Cleveland Indians 100th anniversary poster from the wall of our studay — and before I could get the poster tacked back up. The Indians were hot at the time, and they never really got their swagger back after that 18-9 loss.
I assure you, nothing occurred in our apartment to precipitate tonight's bizarre events.
I hear Wedge is playing this game under protest. If MLB upholds the protest, that will be one more home game to reschedule.
While I've been typing, the boys made a quick three outs in the bottom of the eighth.
What a bunch of crap. It sounds like the umpires were clearly in the wrong — twice. First, the run should have counted. Second, according to the rules, as Hammy and Hegan (admittedly, our guys) just represented them, Sam Perlozzo waived his right to complain when the first pitch of the following inning was thrown. I bet they're hoping Cleveland does something in the ninth to bail them out.
I haven't been following this game very closely — was bathing and getting The Boy ready for bed, and after that spending time with The Wife, with the ballgame playing in the background.
I just heard that the Orioles, after waiting three innings to complain that their player crossed the plate before Miguel Tejada was doubled at first for the third out of the third inning, were finally awarded the run.
And now Fultz just gave up the lead, on Patterson's two-out, two-run double in the 8th. Two runs charged to Cabrera by the way — his first of the season.
I've traced the disaster that was the 2006 season back to an early game against the O's in Camden Yards, when the Indians blew a 7-3 lead in the bottom of the fifth, during which time Rafael Betancourt and Matt Miller both left the game with injuries and Jason Johnson had a diabetic attack in the dugout. All this happened after The Wife took down my framed Cleveland Indians 100th anniversary poster from the wall of our studay — and before I could get the poster tacked back up. The Indians were hot at the time, and they never really got their swagger back after that 18-9 loss.
I assure you, nothing occurred in our apartment to precipitate tonight's bizarre events.
I hear Wedge is playing this game under protest. If MLB upholds the protest, that will be one more home game to reschedule.
While I've been typing, the boys made a quick three outs in the bottom of the eighth.
What a bunch of crap. It sounds like the umpires were clearly in the wrong — twice. First, the run should have counted. Second, according to the rules, as Hammy and Hegan (admittedly, our guys) just represented them, Sam Perlozzo waived his right to complain when the first pitch of the following inning was thrown. I bet they're hoping Cleveland does something in the ninth to bail them out.
"AND HE WAS FLYING!"
A game-winning, three-run, inside-the-park home run for Grady Sizemore. That's four hyphens, if you're counting.
And JoBo — yes, I'm acceding to the syllabonym, in just this one case — strikes out the side to end the game.
You'd like to see a blowout now and then, but I'm encouraged by this team's ability to find ways to win the close ones. Last night they were handcuffed by Steve Trachsel, but they weaseled and cajoled just enough pitches out of him to get him pulled in the sixth. In comes Jeremy Guthrie, who may be a double-agent. No room on our roster for the former first-round pick, so we send him out into the field to serve up big innings for us? You're an evil genius, Mark Shapiro.
And JoBo — yes, I'm acceding to the syllabonym, in just this one case — strikes out the side to end the game.
You'd like to see a blowout now and then, but I'm encouraged by this team's ability to find ways to win the close ones. Last night they were handcuffed by Steve Trachsel, but they weaseled and cajoled just enough pitches out of him to get him pulled in the sixth. In comes Jeremy Guthrie, who may be a double-agent. No room on our roster for the former first-round pick, so we send him out into the field to serve up big innings for us? You're an evil genius, Mark Shapiro.
jueves, 26 de abril de 2007
Feathers!
Well, that's five wins in a row now, and six of seven since I last posted on the debacle in Yankee Stadium. Looks like the demoralizing carryover we all worried about, coming out of New York, didn't happen. I think the credit for that starts with Eric Wedge. The team has surely handled adversity to this point — they've been jobbed out of a five-inning win, had a four-game series canceled and a home series transfered to another park, and they had their butts handed to them in excruciating style in the Bronx.
What's that? We're now in first place? Way to keep your eyes on the prize, boys.
When I was in the Indian Guides — yes, I was in the Indian Guides — the kids were awarded feathers of various colors for their accomplishments. Sort of like merit badges or Buckeye leaves. I'm going to seize on that model and distribute some feathers to players who made notable contributions over the last week.
Feathers are awarded as follows:
*to Travis Hafner (of course), Red Feather, as in "red hot" — for being consistently exceptional at the plate through the road trip. Maybe there's something to the blather about contract talks being a "distraction" during the season. Talks suspended, and Pronk takes off. Coincidence? Dunno.
*to the bullpen generally, Blue Feather, for freezing out opponents and keeping the team in a lot of close games down the stretch. Today's win over Texas was the rare game in which a starter handed the ball over with a significant lead. These have for the most part been nailbiter games, and for the most part the 'pen has come through. Betancourt? Solid. Borowski? 8 for 9 in save opps: can't complain. Hernandez? Big strikeout with men on last night.
*to Fernando Cabrera, Multicolored Peacock Feather, for finally emerging in style, as many of us were expecting he would last year. I didn't get to listen to him pitch last night — sorry, boys, I went to bed — but it was the same, old same-old: plenty of Ks and no runs. Hammy said today that he's earning some consideration as a back-end reliever. That's an understatement.
*to Shin-Soo Choo, White Feather, for making the most of the callup and infusing some life into the bottom of the order. I've always been a big Choo fan, and he's given me no reason to backtrack over the past few days. I appreciate that he doesn't have any "big tools," but he surely does a lot of things well. Gunning down Kenny Lofton at the plate on a sacrifice fly today was huge. Lofton ain't what he once was, but he's still got 9 steals this year in limited duty. Throwing him out is no mean feat.
*from Fausto Carmona — in this case Feathers come off, along with Tar — for making us forget last year. Carmona drew matchups with the mighty Yankees (yeah, we lost the game, but we lost in spite of Fausto) and Johan Santana, and he shrugged off the pressure and got to work getting batters out. Having a sixth starter who can come in and throw quality starts is a luxury. Fausto could have a big future with this team.
Put those feathers in your caps, boys, and let's get back to work tomorrow.
What's that? We're now in first place? Way to keep your eyes on the prize, boys.
When I was in the Indian Guides — yes, I was in the Indian Guides — the kids were awarded feathers of various colors for their accomplishments. Sort of like merit badges or Buckeye leaves. I'm going to seize on that model and distribute some feathers to players who made notable contributions over the last week.
Feathers are awarded as follows:
*to Travis Hafner (of course), Red Feather, as in "red hot" — for being consistently exceptional at the plate through the road trip. Maybe there's something to the blather about contract talks being a "distraction" during the season. Talks suspended, and Pronk takes off. Coincidence? Dunno.
*to the bullpen generally, Blue Feather, for freezing out opponents and keeping the team in a lot of close games down the stretch. Today's win over Texas was the rare game in which a starter handed the ball over with a significant lead. These have for the most part been nailbiter games, and for the most part the 'pen has come through. Betancourt? Solid. Borowski? 8 for 9 in save opps: can't complain. Hernandez? Big strikeout with men on last night.
*to Fernando Cabrera, Multicolored Peacock Feather, for finally emerging in style, as many of us were expecting he would last year. I didn't get to listen to him pitch last night — sorry, boys, I went to bed — but it was the same, old same-old: plenty of Ks and no runs. Hammy said today that he's earning some consideration as a back-end reliever. That's an understatement.
*to Shin-Soo Choo, White Feather, for making the most of the callup and infusing some life into the bottom of the order. I've always been a big Choo fan, and he's given me no reason to backtrack over the past few days. I appreciate that he doesn't have any "big tools," but he surely does a lot of things well. Gunning down Kenny Lofton at the plate on a sacrifice fly today was huge. Lofton ain't what he once was, but he's still got 9 steals this year in limited duty. Throwing him out is no mean feat.
*from Fausto Carmona — in this case Feathers come off, along with Tar — for making us forget last year. Carmona drew matchups with the mighty Yankees (yeah, we lost the game, but we lost in spite of Fausto) and Johan Santana, and he shrugged off the pressure and got to work getting batters out. Having a sixth starter who can come in and throw quality starts is a luxury. Fausto could have a big future with this team.
Put those feathers in your caps, boys, and let's get back to work tomorrow.
jueves, 19 de abril de 2007
Swept/Terrible Ways to Lose a Ballgame, Part II
Up four runs, with the closer on the mound and two out and nobody on in the bottom of the ninth . . .
New York's #8 hitter Josh Phelps homers to right field. Jorge Posada singles on a two-strike pitch. Top of the order now, and Posada takes second on defensive indifference; Borowski ultimately issues a walk to Johnny Damon. Derek Jeter singles home Posada on a two-strike pitch. Abreu singles home Damon on a two-strike pitch. Runners advance on a wild pitch, and Alex Rodriguez — to this point 0 for 4 — hits a walk-off three-run home run over the center field wall.
Two outs and six earned runs — and just when we were starting to get comfortable with Borowski.
A stellar effort by Fausto Carmona, wasted. A three-hit afternoon by Travis Hafner wasted. Victor Martinez's clutch three-run homer to take the lead? Wasted.
The two previous games in this series were disasters in their own right, with Westbrook and Sowers absolutely gagging in the early innings, and Our Boys poorly positioned to recover. We were never in those games. I got to watch the Sowers fiasco on ESPN2 last night, and while Jeremy's abbreviated performance was troubling, the offense's failure to deliver even a glimmer of a comeback was downright painful.
Win three consecutive series to start the season, and then — pow! — just like that you're knocked back to .500.
Hammy's just disgusted, and I am, too. The Yankees were starting rookies Chase Wright, Kei Igawa, and Russell Halsey in this series, and I was feeling good about our prospects.
Ugh.
New York's #8 hitter Josh Phelps homers to right field. Jorge Posada singles on a two-strike pitch. Top of the order now, and Posada takes second on defensive indifference; Borowski ultimately issues a walk to Johnny Damon. Derek Jeter singles home Posada on a two-strike pitch. Abreu singles home Damon on a two-strike pitch. Runners advance on a wild pitch, and Alex Rodriguez — to this point 0 for 4 — hits a walk-off three-run home run over the center field wall.
Two outs and six earned runs — and just when we were starting to get comfortable with Borowski.
A stellar effort by Fausto Carmona, wasted. A three-hit afternoon by Travis Hafner wasted. Victor Martinez's clutch three-run homer to take the lead? Wasted.
The two previous games in this series were disasters in their own right, with Westbrook and Sowers absolutely gagging in the early innings, and Our Boys poorly positioned to recover. We were never in those games. I got to watch the Sowers fiasco on ESPN2 last night, and while Jeremy's abbreviated performance was troubling, the offense's failure to deliver even a glimmer of a comeback was downright painful.
Win three consecutive series to start the season, and then — pow! — just like that you're knocked back to .500.
Hammy's just disgusted, and I am, too. The Yankees were starting rookies Chase Wright, Kei Igawa, and Russell Halsey in this series, and I was feeling good about our prospects.
Ugh.
sábado, 14 de abril de 2007
Westbrook Signs!
Looks like a three-year extension totaling $33 million, with some of the dollars front-loaded into Jake's 2007 salary. This, to me, is win-win. Jake gets paid on a level with the crazy deal the Royals gave Gil Meche, and the Indians lock up a #2/#3 starter. It sounds like both sides just wanted to get this done, and they both made the appropriate concessions to get to yes.
Westbrook doesn't set the world on fire, but he's a legit and consistent major league pitcher. Start-in and start-out, he keeps you in games. <knock wood>And he stays healthy, too.</knock wood> Westbrook is the Charlie Nagy of the "oughts" Indians. He's the Ronco Showtime Rotisserie Oven of the Indians' Pitchin' Kitchen: "set it and forget it through 2010.
I suppose I could talk about what this means for the Sabathia negotiations — based on Westie's paycheck, clearly C.C. is entitled to something north of $13 or $14 million — but right now let's just celebrate the fact that we'll have Jake at the Jake for the next four seasons.
Westbrook doesn't set the world on fire, but he's a legit and consistent major league pitcher. Start-in and start-out, he keeps you in games. <knock wood>And he stays healthy, too.</knock wood> Westbrook is the Charlie Nagy of the "oughts" Indians. He's the Ronco Showtime Rotisserie Oven of the Indians' Pitchin' Kitchen: "set it and forget it through 2010.
I suppose I could talk about what this means for the Sabathia negotiations — based on Westie's paycheck, clearly C.C. is entitled to something north of $13 or $14 million — but right now let's just celebrate the fact that we'll have Jake at the Jake for the next four seasons.
martes, 10 de abril de 2007
On the Road to Milwaukee
Well, I think I've probably already said everything I need to say about the scheduling nonsense. Maybe an "I told you so" is in order to the umpiring crew: because they bit on the Hargrove Filibuster Ploy, we have to make up 4 games instead of 3 and 1/2. MLB should require the same crew to come back and call those games, but I don't quite think Selig and the boys have the sense of justice that I do.
Now it seems we're required to abandon the frozen tundra of Jacobs Field to go play our home games in wait for it
Milwaukee.
You've got to be kidding me. I wonder what compensation plan MLB has ready to offer the Indians for lost gate revenue. I just heard on the radio this morning that a spokeswoman for the leagues was complaining of the difficulty accommodating every team's interests in scheduling. Tampa Bay, for example, doesn't want to have too many April games. Cry me a river. If, as seems to be true, MLB has to inflict a significant measure of injustice on somebody in order to draft a 162-game unbalanced schedule for 30 baseball teams — well, you'd think a principle of seniority would be applied. Maybe Tampa Bay should get shafted, if the choice is between scheduling early-season games in the Devil Ray's dome in Florida vs. assigning the Indians their longest homestand of the year in the lion days of April.
Ugh.
Now it seems we're required to abandon the frozen tundra of Jacobs Field to go play our home games in wait for it
Milwaukee.
You've got to be kidding me. I wonder what compensation plan MLB has ready to offer the Indians for lost gate revenue. I just heard on the radio this morning that a spokeswoman for the leagues was complaining of the difficulty accommodating every team's interests in scheduling. Tampa Bay, for example, doesn't want to have too many April games. Cry me a river. If, as seems to be true, MLB has to inflict a significant measure of injustice on somebody in order to draft a 162-game unbalanced schedule for 30 baseball teams — well, you'd think a principle of seniority would be applied. Maybe Tampa Bay should get shafted, if the choice is between scheduling early-season games in the Devil Ray's dome in Florida vs. assigning the Indians their longest homestand of the year in the lion days of April.
Ugh.
sábado, 7 de abril de 2007
Home Opener Travesty/Abomination
Let this post's subject line be a clear indicator: I'm in a mood this morning. The reasons for my outrage are abundant. Here's what I'm carrying around with me right now:
We all share and generally accept the view that certain minimum weather conditions are required to support a competitive baseball game. Although there may be room for argument at the margins, no reasonable person disputes that, unlike, say, football, games can and should be called, delayed, rescheduled when the weather is serving up something outside the scope of what's acceptable.
But here's the kicker: Major League Baseball insists on scheduling games, in the first instance, in certain ballparks at certain times of year where the likelihood of unacceptable, unplayable weather is quite high. We all understand why they do this — at least in part: the owners (and players) are greedy bastards. They could shorten the season to 154 games. It wouldn't be inconsistent with the traditions of baseball. Baseball played a 154-game schedule for over 50 years. But season-shortening isn't a possibility, because the owners aren't willing to sacrifice the gate and TV revenue they get from those additional 8 games. Even keeping the schedule at 162 games, baseball could at least compress the season calendar by scheduling doubleheaders, but again, financial considerations preclude this. Admitting fans to two games for the price of one? You'd suggest less of an imposition if you called on Jerry Reinsdorf to set himself on fire.
So games must be played in early April — and postseason games in late October, because of the owners' greed. Fine. We've been living with owner greed for a long time. But now let's consider why early April games are scheduled in northern, open-air parks where the weather is most likely to prove more hospitable to the Iditarod than a baseball game. This I can't explain, unless I point my Stupid Stupid Stupid Finger at the Commissioner's Office. There are, in the American League, seven teams that play in locales demonstrably more attractive and hopeful in April than the other seven: the Rangers, Angels, Mariners, A's, Twins, Blue Jays, and Devil Rays all play their games in moderate climates, under domes or retractable roofs, or (in the case of Tampa Bay) both. Why not start the season with moderate to lengthy homestands in these teams' parks? This would carry you at least into mid-April, at which point you could mix in cities like Batimore and Kansas City that offer a greater likelihood of moderate weather than Boston, New York, Cleveland, Chicago, and Detroit.
But noooooooooooooo! Baseball has to slap ballgames down in these northern parks, with thirty-degree temperatures and snow. For no frickin' apparent reason.
Which brings us to yesterday's home opener. Played (or at least started) after the grounds crew pushed away 4 to 6 inches of snow from the field, delayed twice to accommodate sudden-onset snow squalls, and finally canceled, with two outs and two strikes on the losing team in the fifth inning, and rescheduled to be played in its entirety the next day. And in the course of all this, the Indians grounds crew worked itself to exhaustion, Tribe fans sat for hours enduring bitter cold (only to be told by the umpires that their team's 4-0 lead had been wiped away, and they should come back tomorrow), and Victor Martinez — who if you hadn't noticed had been on an absolute tear to start the season — has been lost to a muscle pull directly attributable to the poor playing conditions.
Nice one, MLB. Nice one, umpires.
I don't fault Hargrove, henceforward "the Human Snow Delay," for going out there, one strike away from the game becoming "official," and stalling for time while the snow situation intensified. That's his job. I fault the umpires for failing to instruct him to get his once-beloved butt back into the dugout, so Paul Byrd (who was working on a no-hitter, by the way) would have the opportunity at least to complete the at-bat to Lopez. And I fault them for calling the game just as the storm cell cleared the area, so that — once the field was cleared — the game could have been played to its nine-inning conclusion.
To be fair, I'll admit that the Indians did gain from the weather conditions. Their four runs were all unearned, following directly from Adrian Beltre's three surely weather-related errors. And if the wheels had not come off for Byrd in the fifth, and he hadn't walked three batters, the inning might have been over and the game official before that last squall kicked up and Grover could throw down his trump card. So fine — the situation is only extremely unjust to the Indians, rather than grossly unjust.
This is Seattle's only series at Jacobs Field this year — another problem to hang on the neck of MLB's schedulers (at some later date I'll post my thoughts on the absurd unbalanced schedule) — so now the teams have to come up with 36 innings in three days, under conditions not much improved from yesterday's. Good luck figuring that out, umps. One wonders how we'll handle the catching situation with Victor out: will Garko go behind the plate? Will we have to make a roster move to call up another catcher? Who do you option to the minors? We'll need every pitcher in the bullpen, along with at least one spot starter to pitch one of the games today. I suppose it will be a position player. Ugh.
I hope the rest of the weekend plays out as follows:
*We sweep today's doubleheader, winning both games by ten or more runs.
*Jose Lopez gets plunked at least twice by Indians pitchers.
*Monday's game is canceled due to inclement weather, and the Mariners have to fly out to Cleveland on an off-day to make it up.
All of that taken together, to me, would amount to something approximating justice. It won't heal Victor's leg, but it would go a long way to closing this great, gaping hole in my soul.
We all share and generally accept the view that certain minimum weather conditions are required to support a competitive baseball game. Although there may be room for argument at the margins, no reasonable person disputes that, unlike, say, football, games can and should be called, delayed, rescheduled when the weather is serving up something outside the scope of what's acceptable.
But here's the kicker: Major League Baseball insists on scheduling games, in the first instance, in certain ballparks at certain times of year where the likelihood of unacceptable, unplayable weather is quite high. We all understand why they do this — at least in part: the owners (and players) are greedy bastards. They could shorten the season to 154 games. It wouldn't be inconsistent with the traditions of baseball. Baseball played a 154-game schedule for over 50 years. But season-shortening isn't a possibility, because the owners aren't willing to sacrifice the gate and TV revenue they get from those additional 8 games. Even keeping the schedule at 162 games, baseball could at least compress the season calendar by scheduling doubleheaders, but again, financial considerations preclude this. Admitting fans to two games for the price of one? You'd suggest less of an imposition if you called on Jerry Reinsdorf to set himself on fire.
So games must be played in early April — and postseason games in late October, because of the owners' greed. Fine. We've been living with owner greed for a long time. But now let's consider why early April games are scheduled in northern, open-air parks where the weather is most likely to prove more hospitable to the Iditarod than a baseball game. This I can't explain, unless I point my Stupid Stupid Stupid Finger at the Commissioner's Office. There are, in the American League, seven teams that play in locales demonstrably more attractive and hopeful in April than the other seven: the Rangers, Angels, Mariners, A's, Twins, Blue Jays, and Devil Rays all play their games in moderate climates, under domes or retractable roofs, or (in the case of Tampa Bay) both. Why not start the season with moderate to lengthy homestands in these teams' parks? This would carry you at least into mid-April, at which point you could mix in cities like Batimore and Kansas City that offer a greater likelihood of moderate weather than Boston, New York, Cleveland, Chicago, and Detroit.
But noooooooooooooo! Baseball has to slap ballgames down in these northern parks, with thirty-degree temperatures and snow. For no frickin' apparent reason.
Which brings us to yesterday's home opener. Played (or at least started) after the grounds crew pushed away 4 to 6 inches of snow from the field, delayed twice to accommodate sudden-onset snow squalls, and finally canceled, with two outs and two strikes on the losing team in the fifth inning, and rescheduled to be played in its entirety the next day. And in the course of all this, the Indians grounds crew worked itself to exhaustion, Tribe fans sat for hours enduring bitter cold (only to be told by the umpires that their team's 4-0 lead had been wiped away, and they should come back tomorrow), and Victor Martinez — who if you hadn't noticed had been on an absolute tear to start the season — has been lost to a muscle pull directly attributable to the poor playing conditions.
Nice one, MLB. Nice one, umpires.
I don't fault Hargrove, henceforward "the Human Snow Delay," for going out there, one strike away from the game becoming "official," and stalling for time while the snow situation intensified. That's his job. I fault the umpires for failing to instruct him to get his once-beloved butt back into the dugout, so Paul Byrd (who was working on a no-hitter, by the way) would have the opportunity at least to complete the at-bat to Lopez. And I fault them for calling the game just as the storm cell cleared the area, so that — once the field was cleared — the game could have been played to its nine-inning conclusion.
To be fair, I'll admit that the Indians did gain from the weather conditions. Their four runs were all unearned, following directly from Adrian Beltre's three surely weather-related errors. And if the wheels had not come off for Byrd in the fifth, and he hadn't walked three batters, the inning might have been over and the game official before that last squall kicked up and Grover could throw down his trump card. So fine — the situation is only extremely unjust to the Indians, rather than grossly unjust.
This is Seattle's only series at Jacobs Field this year — another problem to hang on the neck of MLB's schedulers (at some later date I'll post my thoughts on the absurd unbalanced schedule) — so now the teams have to come up with 36 innings in three days, under conditions not much improved from yesterday's. Good luck figuring that out, umps. One wonders how we'll handle the catching situation with Victor out: will Garko go behind the plate? Will we have to make a roster move to call up another catcher? Who do you option to the minors? We'll need every pitcher in the bullpen, along with at least one spot starter to pitch one of the games today. I suppose it will be a position player. Ugh.
I hope the rest of the weekend plays out as follows:
*We sweep today's doubleheader, winning both games by ten or more runs.
*Jose Lopez gets plunked at least twice by Indians pitchers.
*Monday's game is canceled due to inclement weather, and the Mariners have to fly out to Cleveland on an off-day to make it up.
All of that taken together, to me, would amount to something approximating justice. It won't heal Victor's leg, but it would go a long way to closing this great, gaping hole in my soul.
jueves, 5 de abril de 2007
Terrible Ways To Lose a Ballgame, Part I
Tie game on the road in the bottom of the ninth: two bloop singles, an errant pickoff throw into center field, an intentional walk, then a hit batter. Game over.
Ugh.
I realize that by appending the words "Part I" to the subject line, I've essentially created a "Department." I should be clear that I would be perfectly happy never to have to write a Part II, but let's be realistic. There are 162 games in a season, and we're bound to lose more than one in heartbreaking, abominable fashion. Here's hoping this won't be quite so frequent an occurrence as it was last year. The '06 Indians managed to lose games in such innovative and complicated ways that I was in the habit of describing their losses as "snowflake" losses — in that every one was unique, and each one left you feeling a little colder than the last.
Let's try to keep the snowflakes to a minimum, boys. It's bad enough that we had a winter storm here in Cambridge yesterday on April 4. After a long winter of discontent, Tribe fans everywhere — including those of us in New England — are entitled to some sunshine.
Shake it off, release Casey Blake, and move on.
Ugh.
I realize that by appending the words "Part I" to the subject line, I've essentially created a "Department." I should be clear that I would be perfectly happy never to have to write a Part II, but let's be realistic. There are 162 games in a season, and we're bound to lose more than one in heartbreaking, abominable fashion. Here's hoping this won't be quite so frequent an occurrence as it was last year. The '06 Indians managed to lose games in such innovative and complicated ways that I was in the habit of describing their losses as "snowflake" losses — in that every one was unique, and each one left you feeling a little colder than the last.
Let's try to keep the snowflakes to a minimum, boys. It's bad enough that we had a winter storm here in Cambridge yesterday on April 4. After a long winter of discontent, Tribe fans everywhere — including those of us in New England — are entitled to some sunshine.
Shake it off, release Casey Blake, and move on.
Michaels's Game-Ending Catch
Just saw the catch online. The Chicago announcers weren't nearly as enthusiastic about it, but there definitely was drama there.
Sorry for doubting you, Hammy.
Sorry for doubting you, Hammy.
Indians 8, White Sox 7
Well, that was a barnburner — so much so that I only dimly remember writing that last post about Marte.
At some point I'll have to log on MLB.com and check out Michaels's catch to end the game. The way Hammy called it, there was significant drama, but that's Tom Hamilton: he can order a chicken sandwich, and everyone within earshot would be on the verge of a coronary.
Sounds like home plate umpire Larry Vanover was nothing short of an abomination yesterday, but at least he was equitable about it. A certain awkward form of fairness emerges when the umpire screws both teams with balls-and-strikes calls.
Encouraging: Victor gets four hits and guns down Podsednik at second base. I've had a good feeling about Martinez this year, from the plate, at least. If he's going to throw out baserunners, it's a bonus. Wedge can get more comfortable with him back there, and a lineup with Victor (C) and Garko or Blake (1B) is stronger than one with Shoppach (C) and Victor (1B). I like Shoppach as a player, and I don't object to innings and games at first to keep Martinez fresh. But if Wedge tacks on more innings and games at first than he would otherwise intend, simply because Victor can't throw out any baserunners, we're not as strong a team — and we probably lost a few games in the interim with teams running all over us.
(By the way, if you ever see the nickname "V-Mart" written here, notify the authorities and have me hanged. Please note that I do reserve the right to use the name ironically.)
Discouraging: Blake in the 5-hole leaves nine men on base. Everyone is entitled to a lousy game, I try to remind myself. And we did win the game. But with a hitter of Garko's caliber languishing on the bench, all those LOBs are harder to forgive.
Somewhere between encouraging and discouraging: Joe Borowski — is he Bob Wickman Lite? Yeesh.
At some point I'll have to log on MLB.com and check out Michaels's catch to end the game. The way Hammy called it, there was significant drama, but that's Tom Hamilton: he can order a chicken sandwich, and everyone within earshot would be on the verge of a coronary.
Sounds like home plate umpire Larry Vanover was nothing short of an abomination yesterday, but at least he was equitable about it. A certain awkward form of fairness emerges when the umpire screws both teams with balls-and-strikes calls.
Encouraging: Victor gets four hits and guns down Podsednik at second base. I've had a good feeling about Martinez this year, from the plate, at least. If he's going to throw out baserunners, it's a bonus. Wedge can get more comfortable with him back there, and a lineup with Victor (C) and Garko or Blake (1B) is stronger than one with Shoppach (C) and Victor (1B). I like Shoppach as a player, and I don't object to innings and games at first to keep Martinez fresh. But if Wedge tacks on more innings and games at first than he would otherwise intend, simply because Victor can't throw out any baserunners, we're not as strong a team — and we probably lost a few games in the interim with teams running all over us.
(By the way, if you ever see the nickname "V-Mart" written here, notify the authorities and have me hanged. Please note that I do reserve the right to use the name ironically.)
Discouraging: Blake in the 5-hole leaves nine men on base. Everyone is entitled to a lousy game, I try to remind myself. And we did win the game. But with a hitter of Garko's caliber languishing on the bench, all those LOBs are harder to forgive.
Somewhere between encouraging and discouraging: Joe Borowski — is he Bob Wickman Lite? Yeesh.
miércoles, 4 de abril de 2007
lunes, 2 de abril de 2007
Indians 12, White Sox 5
I took a personal day today — back late from vacation on the West Coast, and it's Opening Day, for crying out loud! — and I was able to watch a lot of the game from the sports bar down the road. I was unpacking, getting things done around the house, and by the time I got settled in front of a television, the Tribe was up 5-0.
I've always known the Sports Depot to be hopping: it's where I go on Saturdays in the fall, when the godforsaken local networks spurn OSU football in favor of some lesser game involving Boston College. Without fail I find the place occupied by swarms of decked-out fan cliques: Buckeyes, Huskers, Gators, Vols, etc. On a Tuesday afternoon in April — with the Red Sox opener scheduled for later in the day — it's just a couple of locals playing Keno, and little old me.
The game was an Extra Innings broadcast on a satellite feed, where the Home Team calls the game. So it was the Comiskey Clowns, Hawk Harrelson and Darrin Jackson, at the mike. Fortunately, audio wasn't available — close-captioning wasn't working, either, as presumably most stenographers find transcribing the words of these yahoos beneath their dignity.
As the afternoon wore on, the bar filled up around me. Sox fans settling in to watch Curt Schilling get (ha-ha!) shelled. The local sports talk station, WEEI, ran a promotion at the bar. They passed out key rings and took people's names to enter into a drawing for "2 tickets to Dice-K's first start." The "Dice-K" phenomenon (nickname included) is already tiresome. Fans cheered when Trot Nixon came to the plate for Our Boys, and the on-screen graphic reported that he was 3 for 4 on the days. They jeered Alex Rodriguez's eighth-inning home run. In Boston sports bars there are always several television sets monitoring the progress of the Yankees. "Typical A-Rod," was the sentiment. "Homers when they're already ahead." I could have pointed out that the Devil Rays' offense is actually pretty good, and the game was still in doubt when Rodriguez homered. But whatever. It was enough that I could smell their fear. I felt no further need to coax more of it into the open air.
In point of fact, Sox fans should have focused their worry on the lone screen over the bar, tuned to Comcast Sports Central, where ominous happenings foretold the rise of a juggernaut in the American League Central. These '07 Indians were exploding all over the White Sox. Exploding. And all these Bostonians went along with their business, sipping their Sammies, shouting out answers to the WEEI PR guy's Red Sox trivia questions, directing insults at Melky Cabrera. They have no idea they're on line to collide with Mark Shapiro's asteroid.
Kind of sad, when you think about it. I'd have warned them, but who wants a Cassandra Complex? And besides, it'll be all the more enjoyable to see these yokels blindsided.
Some thoughts on what I saw — as it's not often I get to see a game, instead of just listening to it:
*Not sure if the game was pulled to widescreen, but C.C. still looks pretty big. Grizzly-bear big . . . I like to think it was widescreen. The Bud Light logo behind home plate looked a little stretched, too. I was glad to see Sabathia back on the mound after the line-drive incident last week (I first learned of this over lunch at the Cliff House in San Francisco; a television over the restaurant bar was on ESPN, and the news passed across the ticker at screen's bottom — I about lost it), glad to see him bear down in the sixth and work out of the bases-loaded jam.
*Liked what I saw of Peralta at the plate. Nice line drive up the middle in the second at-bat — not trying to do too much.
*Grady looks pretty locked-in to me, notwithstanding the horrific spring stats. This is a good thing, as I had picked him second overall in my fantasy draft, after Santana. (This elicited some chuckles from the other GMs at the time, along with a flurry of "NOT PUJOLS?" posts in the online chat. I'll explain the logic behind this selection in a later post.) The leadoff homer was encouraging, but even more so was Sizemore's long drive to deep right center off the lefthander. Caught by Ozuna for a long out, but I liked the swing he put on the ball. If Grady figures out lefties this year, we're talking AL MVP. Easy.
*Marte looks lost at the plate. Completely lost. Nice, soft hands in the field. Made all the plays, but my Gawd. You have to get some production at 3B. You like to think he'll settle in, now that the job's essentially his. In the meantime, yeesh.
*I didn't see the last of the ninth, as I was off to pick up The Boy at day care. I wasn't surprised to hear that the Sox tallied two in the last frame. Let's hope that's the classic "No Save Situation/Closer Don't Care" dynamic at work, and J-Bor was just working on his pitches.
All in all, a terrific start to the season. Projected final season record, at current pace: 162-0. Wahoo! ¡Honron! Let's play ball! Et cetera.
I've always known the Sports Depot to be hopping: it's where I go on Saturdays in the fall, when the godforsaken local networks spurn OSU football in favor of some lesser game involving Boston College. Without fail I find the place occupied by swarms of decked-out fan cliques: Buckeyes, Huskers, Gators, Vols, etc. On a Tuesday afternoon in April — with the Red Sox opener scheduled for later in the day — it's just a couple of locals playing Keno, and little old me.
The game was an Extra Innings broadcast on a satellite feed, where the Home Team calls the game. So it was the Comiskey Clowns, Hawk Harrelson and Darrin Jackson, at the mike. Fortunately, audio wasn't available — close-captioning wasn't working, either, as presumably most stenographers find transcribing the words of these yahoos beneath their dignity.
As the afternoon wore on, the bar filled up around me. Sox fans settling in to watch Curt Schilling get (ha-ha!) shelled. The local sports talk station, WEEI, ran a promotion at the bar. They passed out key rings and took people's names to enter into a drawing for "2 tickets to Dice-K's first start." The "Dice-K" phenomenon (nickname included) is already tiresome. Fans cheered when Trot Nixon came to the plate for Our Boys, and the on-screen graphic reported that he was 3 for 4 on the days. They jeered Alex Rodriguez's eighth-inning home run. In Boston sports bars there are always several television sets monitoring the progress of the Yankees. "Typical A-Rod," was the sentiment. "Homers when they're already ahead." I could have pointed out that the Devil Rays' offense is actually pretty good, and the game was still in doubt when Rodriguez homered. But whatever. It was enough that I could smell their fear. I felt no further need to coax more of it into the open air.
In point of fact, Sox fans should have focused their worry on the lone screen over the bar, tuned to Comcast Sports Central, where ominous happenings foretold the rise of a juggernaut in the American League Central. These '07 Indians were exploding all over the White Sox. Exploding. And all these Bostonians went along with their business, sipping their Sammies, shouting out answers to the WEEI PR guy's Red Sox trivia questions, directing insults at Melky Cabrera. They have no idea they're on line to collide with Mark Shapiro's asteroid.
Kind of sad, when you think about it. I'd have warned them, but who wants a Cassandra Complex? And besides, it'll be all the more enjoyable to see these yokels blindsided.
Some thoughts on what I saw — as it's not often I get to see a game, instead of just listening to it:
*Not sure if the game was pulled to widescreen, but C.C. still looks pretty big. Grizzly-bear big . . . I like to think it was widescreen. The Bud Light logo behind home plate looked a little stretched, too. I was glad to see Sabathia back on the mound after the line-drive incident last week (I first learned of this over lunch at the Cliff House in San Francisco; a television over the restaurant bar was on ESPN, and the news passed across the ticker at screen's bottom — I about lost it), glad to see him bear down in the sixth and work out of the bases-loaded jam.
*Liked what I saw of Peralta at the plate. Nice line drive up the middle in the second at-bat — not trying to do too much.
*Grady looks pretty locked-in to me, notwithstanding the horrific spring stats. This is a good thing, as I had picked him second overall in my fantasy draft, after Santana. (This elicited some chuckles from the other GMs at the time, along with a flurry of "NOT PUJOLS?" posts in the online chat. I'll explain the logic behind this selection in a later post.) The leadoff homer was encouraging, but even more so was Sizemore's long drive to deep right center off the lefthander. Caught by Ozuna for a long out, but I liked the swing he put on the ball. If Grady figures out lefties this year, we're talking AL MVP. Easy.
*Marte looks lost at the plate. Completely lost. Nice, soft hands in the field. Made all the plays, but my Gawd. You have to get some production at 3B. You like to think he'll settle in, now that the job's essentially his. In the meantime, yeesh.
*I didn't see the last of the ninth, as I was off to pick up The Boy at day care. I wasn't surprised to hear that the Sox tallied two in the last frame. Let's hope that's the classic "No Save Situation/Closer Don't Care" dynamic at work, and J-Bor was just working on his pitches.
All in all, a terrific start to the season. Projected final season record, at current pace: 162-0. Wahoo! ¡Honron! Let's play ball! Et cetera.
domingo, 25 de marzo de 2007
The Endorsements Keep Coming
Here's one from the Wall Street Journal: Indians over the Yankees in the ALCS, Indians over the Mets in the World Series.
This prediction can't be completely wrong, or they'd have had Peggy Noonan write it.
So take that, all you New Yawkers.
This prediction can't be completely wrong, or they'd have had Peggy Noonan write it.
So take that, all you New Yawkers.
jueves, 22 de marzo de 2007
Wise Men Come, Bringing Gifts
Further cause for optimism:
(1) Buster Olney promises a World Series title. That's right. You heard it first here. Well, maybe not first here. Buster's been on the radio saying this every day for the last three weeks. Until recently I've never given much thought to Buster Olney as a commentator. But I reviewed his credentials the other day and cannot but conclude that he is a genius. A true philosopher king.
(2) Sports Illustrated picks Cleveland to win the division. Now sure, the Tribe is only “7th” in the CNNSI’s “power rankings,” but since when does that mean anything? Last I checked, championships were decided on the field, and not on the basis of some popularity contest. If we can die by that principle (R.I.P., 2006 Buckeyes), we can live by it, too. The way I see it, the team that most successfully navigates the Sturm und Drang of this year’s AL Central race is the only team with the true grit, the battletestedness, the je ne sais quoi, mais c’est le sine qua non to take home the Commissioner’s Trophy.
SI sez that team is going to be the Indians. No, I don’t remember the April 6, 1987 cover of Sports Illustrated. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, and I wish you’d just leave me alone. GOOD DAY, SIR!
(3) Some guy named Dayn Perry at FoxSports.com has the Indians listed at #2 in his power poll. Now I know a minute ago I expressed some skepticism about power rankings. But let me return briefly — very briefly — to the Ohio State example. The team that ultimately diverted the Buckeye juggernaut and took home the Big Prize was —
Take a deep breath, Phutatorius. Inhale, pause, now say it:
— the Florida Gators.
Now exhale. You got through it. Remember, it was for the greater good. Now continue:
Does anyone remember what the Gators were ranked when they played Ohio State on January 8? Yep. That’s right: #2. Q.E.D.
And I should add, in support of Mr. Perry’s authority on this matter, that he wears smart-guy glasses. Perhaps still more importantly, he works for Fox. As we all know, News Corp. employs only the brightest, most thoughtful journalists. People of integrity. So the Great Dayn must know something, or Rupert Murdoch wouldn’t have hired him.
All right now, Phutatorius. It’s almost over. Insert your finger into your mouth, depress the back of your tongue. Now purge.
Taken together, I find these endorsements dispositive of the case. We’re winning it all. I’ll close with a brief note to the City of Cleveland: tickertape is cheapest in March. There are no professional sports championships on the immediate horizon. Buy now, because come October or even September, those confetti vendors will have you by the pelotas.
(1) Buster Olney promises a World Series title. That's right. You heard it first here. Well, maybe not first here. Buster's been on the radio saying this every day for the last three weeks. Until recently I've never given much thought to Buster Olney as a commentator. But I reviewed his credentials the other day and cannot but conclude that he is a genius. A true philosopher king.
(2) Sports Illustrated picks Cleveland to win the division. Now sure, the Tribe is only “7th” in the CNNSI’s “power rankings,” but since when does that mean anything? Last I checked, championships were decided on the field, and not on the basis of some popularity contest. If we can die by that principle (R.I.P., 2006 Buckeyes), we can live by it, too. The way I see it, the team that most successfully navigates the Sturm und Drang of this year’s AL Central race is the only team with the true grit, the battletestedness, the je ne sais quoi, mais c’est le sine qua non to take home the Commissioner’s Trophy.
SI sez that team is going to be the Indians. No, I don’t remember the April 6, 1987 cover of Sports Illustrated. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, and I wish you’d just leave me alone. GOOD DAY, SIR!
(3) Some guy named Dayn Perry at FoxSports.com has the Indians listed at #2 in his power poll. Now I know a minute ago I expressed some skepticism about power rankings. But let me return briefly — very briefly — to the Ohio State example. The team that ultimately diverted the Buckeye juggernaut and took home the Big Prize was —
Take a deep breath, Phutatorius. Inhale, pause, now say it:
— the Florida Gators.
Now exhale. You got through it. Remember, it was for the greater good. Now continue:
Does anyone remember what the Gators were ranked when they played Ohio State on January 8? Yep. That’s right: #2. Q.E.D.
And I should add, in support of Mr. Perry’s authority on this matter, that he wears smart-guy glasses. Perhaps still more importantly, he works for Fox. As we all know, News Corp. employs only the brightest, most thoughtful journalists. People of integrity. So the Great Dayn must know something, or Rupert Murdoch wouldn’t have hired him.
All right now, Phutatorius. It’s almost over. Insert your finger into your mouth, depress the back of your tongue. Now purge.
Taken together, I find these endorsements dispositive of the case. We’re winning it all. I’ll close with a brief note to the City of Cleveland: tickertape is cheapest in March. There are no professional sports championships on the immediate horizon. Buy now, because come October or even September, those confetti vendors will have you by the pelotas.
jueves, 8 de marzo de 2007
Kool-Aid Now! Save the Crow for Later . . .
It seems like every day The Plain Dealer runs another player-centered feature article, and every one tells you why that player is going to be a key contributor, if not League MVP or Cy Young Award winner.
And you know what? I'm buying in, baby! Let the crashing down to reality come when it comes — at worst, in April, and if we're strung along, in September or October. In the meantime, I don't have the time or inclination to plod around the landscape (virtual or actual) in search of "reality." I don't get how Paul Hoynes can write all these upbeat articles, then have us finishing fourth in the division. I dunno: maybe if Hoynsie were stationed in the other AL Central cities he'd be writing puff pieces even more glowing and even more positive about Matt Garza, Javier Vazquez, and Craig Monroe.
I'd like to see him try.
But rather than get too huffy about one man's predictions, let's instead bask in the sunshine of The Plain Dealer and Cleveland.com:
*The next Tom Glavine is Jeremy Sowers. He's left-handed, he's a rocket scientist, he's got his head on straight, and he's well-rested. Mark my words — Sowers will end the season with MLB's lowest K/win ratio (sorry, Chien-Ming Wang). I've got him at around 4.2 — 84 punchados and a big phat 20 decisiones positivas.
*Fausto Carmona has the mental makeup to shake off memories of his nasty, brutish, and thankfully short tenure as closer last year. (Mr. Satan? Doctor Fausto called. He wants to renegotiate his deal . . .) Taking a cue from Nietzsche — e.g., what doesn't kill you makes you stronger — Carl Willis says Carmona grew from the experience. Fausto's dominance in the Dominican this winter suggests he's on the way up. He'll crack the rotation sometime in '07 and catalyze our stretch-run blitz to the AL Central title.
*Questions about Jhonny Peralta's commitment have been put to rest. Not only did he postpone his honeymoon to practice taking ground balls, he had (as I've noted) Lasik done in the offseason. This year's Peralta sees and cares. No looking back for Jhonny — except to snare that sharp grounder in the deep hole. It's Fulfill Potential/Justify Contract Time.
*Shin-Soo Choo is not obviously angry about the Dellucci and Nixon signings. Big League Choo is honing his skills against left-handed pitching. He will get his opportunities, he'll make the most of them, and he'll force Wedge and the front office to accept that he's a superstar-in-waiting. Emphasize the "waiting" part.
*Not a feature story here, but I should note that the C-1B-DH logjam has been broken — or at least "wedged" open a little. Pronk is fit to play first base (occasionally). It's amazing what a little WD40 can do. It can loosen up an elbow and a lineup, too.
Things are looking up, folks! More as it comes.
And you know what? I'm buying in, baby! Let the crashing down to reality come when it comes — at worst, in April, and if we're strung along, in September or October. In the meantime, I don't have the time or inclination to plod around the landscape (virtual or actual) in search of "reality." I don't get how Paul Hoynes can write all these upbeat articles, then have us finishing fourth in the division. I dunno: maybe if Hoynsie were stationed in the other AL Central cities he'd be writing puff pieces even more glowing and even more positive about Matt Garza, Javier Vazquez, and Craig Monroe.
I'd like to see him try.
But rather than get too huffy about one man's predictions, let's instead bask in the sunshine of The Plain Dealer and Cleveland.com:
*The next Tom Glavine is Jeremy Sowers. He's left-handed, he's a rocket scientist, he's got his head on straight, and he's well-rested. Mark my words — Sowers will end the season with MLB's lowest K/win ratio (sorry, Chien-Ming Wang). I've got him at around 4.2 — 84 punchados and a big phat 20 decisiones positivas.
*Fausto Carmona has the mental makeup to shake off memories of his nasty, brutish, and thankfully short tenure as closer last year. (Mr. Satan? Doctor Fausto called. He wants to renegotiate his deal . . .) Taking a cue from Nietzsche — e.g., what doesn't kill you makes you stronger — Carl Willis says Carmona grew from the experience. Fausto's dominance in the Dominican this winter suggests he's on the way up. He'll crack the rotation sometime in '07 and catalyze our stretch-run blitz to the AL Central title.
*Questions about Jhonny Peralta's commitment have been put to rest. Not only did he postpone his honeymoon to practice taking ground balls, he had (as I've noted) Lasik done in the offseason. This year's Peralta sees and cares. No looking back for Jhonny — except to snare that sharp grounder in the deep hole. It's Fulfill Potential/Justify Contract Time.
*Shin-Soo Choo is not obviously angry about the Dellucci and Nixon signings. Big League Choo is honing his skills against left-handed pitching. He will get his opportunities, he'll make the most of them, and he'll force Wedge and the front office to accept that he's a superstar-in-waiting. Emphasize the "waiting" part.
*Not a feature story here, but I should note that the C-1B-DH logjam has been broken — or at least "wedged" open a little. Pronk is fit to play first base (occasionally). It's amazing what a little WD40 can do. It can loosen up an elbow and a lineup, too.
Things are looking up, folks! More as it comes.
jueves, 1 de marzo de 2007
Hammy!
The Indians started Grapefruit League play today, and it just occurred to me (belatedly) to tune in. There's nothing quite like hearing Tom Hamilton's voice after a long, cold winter.
Do I wish I were at Chain-O-Lakes Park today instead of at my desk here in Cambridge, Mass.?
Tribe up 7-1 in the sixth.
Elsewhere in Florida, it looks like Brandon Phillips homered for the Reds. That doesn't bother me quite as much, now that we have Barfield. Of course, I reserve the right to complain irrationally if Kouzmanoff clouts one for San Diego later today.
[Update: 12-1 now, still in the bottom of the sixth. Save some runs for April, fellas!]
Do I wish I were at Chain-O-Lakes Park today instead of at my desk here in Cambridge, Mass.?
Tribe up 7-1 in the sixth.
Elsewhere in Florida, it looks like Brandon Phillips homered for the Reds. That doesn't bother me quite as much, now that we have Barfield. Of course, I reserve the right to complain irrationally if Kouzmanoff clouts one for San Diego later today.
[Update: 12-1 now, still in the bottom of the sixth. Save some runs for April, fellas!]
jueves, 22 de febrero de 2007
My Credentials
You've asked — by email, by fax, satellite phone, voice mail, by telephone, telegraph and (somewhat inexplicably) by fortune cookie — about my credentials: What qualifies you, Phutatorius, to write this weblog?
Let me first tell you what I'm not. I am not a member of the Society for American Baseball Research. I am not a member of the Baseball Writers Association of America. I have no access to the press box or clubhouse at Jacobs Field. I can't claim a degree or career in journalism. My baseball playing days ended when I was eleven (and with a mammoth last-at-bat home run, I should add). Aside from my status as low-level Internet Personality, I don't even enjoy the privileges of celebrity that might allow me to gush non sequiturishly in public about my favorite team (Billy Crystal) or to wag my fanaticism at the world from agent-procured field box seats (Ben Affleck).
My credentials are these:
*I was born in 1973 in Warren, Ohio. That's Indians territory, but we're close enough to the PA border that there's a strong contingent of Pittsburgh fans in the area. My local paper, the Tribune Chronicle, gives equal time to Pittsburgh sports. Growing up when and where I did, I might have been tempted to abandon my beloved Tribe in favor of another "local" team with better fortunes, but I never did. Surely, my interest in the Indians waxed and waned in proportion to the team's promise (such that for much of the time I was just this side of apathetic about the Wahoo Wonders), but I never sold out. I never sold out. I just waited.
*My grandfather on my father's side was always a fan. He owned an Italian restaurant with a television hoisted up in the corner of the dining room. One of my enduring memories of Greenie is that he sat in the restaurant and watched the Indians play ball every night. If there was a game, it was on. It didn't matter where the Tribe stood in the AL East standings (usually fifth or lower). My grandfather named my uncle, his firstborn son, after Bob Feller. My dad's cousin emigrated from Italy to work in the restaurant. He was a bartender there. Despite all the local influences, Emil was a Yankee fan. Emil was at the game, cheering the away team, when Gil McDougald's liner hit Herb Score in the face. He said you could hear the crack distinctly — it echoed through the park.
*The Herb Score I knew decades later called the games on WWWE, AM radio that my dad would play in the garage on the weekends while he washed his car or hosed down the garage floor. I remember Pete Franklin talking Tribe on "3WE" in the car; he was forever on the edge of bursting a blood vessel. I didn't particularly like Pete Franklin. I was young and he scared me. Only now, as I find myself uttering strings of obscenities at the radio when CC or Westie issues a leadoff walk, do I understand Franklin's passion. Of course, Franklin would later ditch Cleveland for the bigger New York market, but that's another matter entirely.
*I saw Rick Manning record the final putout of Lenny Barker's perfect game. I watched that game with my dad on Channel 43, WUAB. Between innings, Channel 43 would run Superhost ads ("Saturday afternoon: Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla!") and maybe a few of those memorable "Garfield 1-2-3-2-3" spots, though the latter cropped up more commonly on Channel 5, WEWS.
*Sometime during the 1980s, the Indians went on an unexpected tear, winning nine or ten games in a row. My father took the family (my grandfather, too), to the stadium for a game against Kansas City. Dad had always said that for all the enduring hoopla over the Browns, Cleveland was really a baseball town. It just needed something, some sign of life in the Indians organization, to awaken it from its dormancy. There had to have been 50,000+ fans supporting the hometown team when we got there that night. The Royals beat us and ended the streak.
[Note: The usually reliable Retrosheet tells me that the Tribe actually won that game, and that there were only 23000+ fans in the park to see it. But this conflicts with my memory of the game, so I refuse to believe it. Retrosheet also reports that we lost nine of the next ten games — that I believe.]
*In 1992, the summer after my freshman year in college, I took a job as an intern in my father's office. A friend and co-worker approached me with a clipping from USA Today, touting the bright future of Indians minor-league prospect Manny Ramirez. "Remember that name," Sammy told me, and I did. But I was not always so well-informed. In one of my earliest forays on the Internet, I declared on an Indians bulletin board that the Tribe would rue the day it traded Felix Fermin to Seattle. "Gato's underrated," I wrote. "His numbers don't tell the whole story. He's a slick-fielding shortstop and he almost never strikes out. This Vizquel guy we're getting? He can't hit a lick."
*I bought a fitted Cleveland Indians home (red bill) cap, on the way to my first game at Jacobs Field in '94. When the MLBPA went on strike later that year, with the Tribe hot on the heels of the White Sox for the lead in the American League Central — the Indians' first real year of contention in my lifetime — I stuck a handful of safety pins in the Major League Baseball logo on that cap in protest. I tried organizing a fans' picket of the ballpark that August, but in the end I couldn't muster any interest. When the teams returned to play in 1995, I got in the habit of wearing the hat whenever the Indians were playing. One day my grandmother insisted that I take off the hat while we ate lunch. "It's impolite to wear a hat at the table," she told me. I obliged, and the Indians promptly fell behind the Blue Jays 8-0. I pleaded with my grandmother to let me put the hat back on. She finally relented, and the Indians mounted an historic comeback that culminated in Paul Sorrento's game-winning home run. That hat is twelve years old, and I still have it. It's natty, ratty, torn-up, and despite repeated launderings it smells a deep and disturbing kind of foul. It makes my scalp break out when I wear it, so I save its good karma for special occasions.
*My Grandpa Greenie had a stroke in the spring of 1992. He never fully recovered his faculties, and he died in December of '94. As a result he never got to experience the Indians' mid-90s resurgence, a fact that, along with the bitter postseason disappointments, will always make those years a little less than perfect for me and my family.
*I took the train up from NYC to Boston and personally witnessed the '95 Indians close out the Division Series against Boston at Fenway Park. A couple weeks later, my girlfriend had just dumped me, and I came home from a screening of Seven, probably the most gut-wrenching movie I had seen in years, to watch the Indians lose Game Six, and the Series, to the Braves. Talk about rock-bottom. Five years later I was married to that ex-girlfriend. She's the Love of My Life. Which just goes to show you can always bounce back.
*1997. What can you say about it? A team that barely surfaced above .500, then pulled together and made a truly inspiring run in the postseason. I traveled to Columbus to see friends and watch the Buckeyes rout Northwestern on the weekend of Games Six and Seven of the World Series. On the Monday morning after that brutal extra-inning concession to the Marlins, I bought a morning-edition copy of Sunday's Akron Beacon-Journal at the airport. The front-page headline — something like "Wright Leaves Game with 2-1 Lead" — reflected a moment in time when the paper had just gone to press and we were still closing in on victory. I kept that newspaper. It's packed away somewhere in a box in my closet.
*What else? Having lived in both New York and Boston, I've seen my share of road Indians triumphs and defeats. Sox fan hooligans chased me out of the park after a playoff win in '98. People grabbed and tore at my clothes (covered in Wahoos and Indians insignias) as I clawed my way to Commonwealth Avenue, where, sprinting to the T stop, I saw Ted Kennedy making his way into the Harvard Club. Rabid, violent Sox fans hurling beer and guttural epithets, Teddy Kennedy — this was the quintessential Boston experience. I only needed a plate of baked beans to top it all off.
*I skipped out of work one afternoon in 1997 to see Hideki Irabu pitch a matinee against Cleveland. Between innings I managed to get Marquis Grissom to throw a ball to me in the stands — by emphasizing that all the other fans clamoring for the ball were New Yorkers who were cursing him out every time he turned his back. Grissom threw the ball right into my hands — and I dropped it. Another fan ended up with the ball in the ensuing scramble.
*I am one of I imagine a terribly few people who can say he was in the crowd for a 21-1 loss to the Yankees and a 23-7 (playoff) loss to Boston. Thankfully I was in one of Fenway's signature "obstructed view" seats for the latter game. I also saw Russell Branyan hit his first major league home run at Yankee Stadium. I didn't believe at the time that this would be an historic event, the kind of "I was there" moment I could describe to my children when Branyan made the Hall of Fame. But I made note of the possibility.
*Every year I gut my bank account to buy tickets to the Cleveland series in Boston, where I live now. In recent years I've seen Pronk homer off Keith Foulke to win a game in the ninth, and I've seen Big Papi Ortiz clout a ball to deep center to take a save away from Fausto Carmona.
And this all adds up to what? Well, I guess it establishes that I'm a fan. That I have a time- and trial-tested enthusiasm and passion for the Cleveland Indians Baseball Club. And you can expect to see that in the inscriptions on this weblog. Will there be keen insights? Expertise? I make no promises on that score. I might accidentally hit upon a brilliant, expert observation or two, and I can say that there will doubtless be affectations of expertise on this page (be careful, reader!). More than anything, though, there will be passion. I'll be living and dying with this 2007 Indians team, just as I did in '06 and '05 and '04 and '03 and — you get the picture.
But enough about me. How 'bout 'dem Indians?
Let me first tell you what I'm not. I am not a member of the Society for American Baseball Research. I am not a member of the Baseball Writers Association of America. I have no access to the press box or clubhouse at Jacobs Field. I can't claim a degree or career in journalism. My baseball playing days ended when I was eleven (and with a mammoth last-at-bat home run, I should add). Aside from my status as low-level Internet Personality, I don't even enjoy the privileges of celebrity that might allow me to gush non sequiturishly in public about my favorite team (Billy Crystal) or to wag my fanaticism at the world from agent-procured field box seats (Ben Affleck).
My credentials are these:
*I was born in 1973 in Warren, Ohio. That's Indians territory, but we're close enough to the PA border that there's a strong contingent of Pittsburgh fans in the area. My local paper, the Tribune Chronicle, gives equal time to Pittsburgh sports. Growing up when and where I did, I might have been tempted to abandon my beloved Tribe in favor of another "local" team with better fortunes, but I never did. Surely, my interest in the Indians waxed and waned in proportion to the team's promise (such that for much of the time I was just this side of apathetic about the Wahoo Wonders), but I never sold out. I never sold out. I just waited.
*My grandfather on my father's side was always a fan. He owned an Italian restaurant with a television hoisted up in the corner of the dining room. One of my enduring memories of Greenie is that he sat in the restaurant and watched the Indians play ball every night. If there was a game, it was on. It didn't matter where the Tribe stood in the AL East standings (usually fifth or lower). My grandfather named my uncle, his firstborn son, after Bob Feller. My dad's cousin emigrated from Italy to work in the restaurant. He was a bartender there. Despite all the local influences, Emil was a Yankee fan. Emil was at the game, cheering the away team, when Gil McDougald's liner hit Herb Score in the face. He said you could hear the crack distinctly — it echoed through the park.
*The Herb Score I knew decades later called the games on WWWE, AM radio that my dad would play in the garage on the weekends while he washed his car or hosed down the garage floor. I remember Pete Franklin talking Tribe on "3WE" in the car; he was forever on the edge of bursting a blood vessel. I didn't particularly like Pete Franklin. I was young and he scared me. Only now, as I find myself uttering strings of obscenities at the radio when CC or Westie issues a leadoff walk, do I understand Franklin's passion. Of course, Franklin would later ditch Cleveland for the bigger New York market, but that's another matter entirely.
*I saw Rick Manning record the final putout of Lenny Barker's perfect game. I watched that game with my dad on Channel 43, WUAB. Between innings, Channel 43 would run Superhost ads ("Saturday afternoon: Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla!") and maybe a few of those memorable "Garfield 1-2-3-2-3" spots, though the latter cropped up more commonly on Channel 5, WEWS.
*Sometime during the 1980s, the Indians went on an unexpected tear, winning nine or ten games in a row. My father took the family (my grandfather, too), to the stadium for a game against Kansas City. Dad had always said that for all the enduring hoopla over the Browns, Cleveland was really a baseball town. It just needed something, some sign of life in the Indians organization, to awaken it from its dormancy. There had to have been 50,000+ fans supporting the hometown team when we got there that night. The Royals beat us and ended the streak.
[Note: The usually reliable Retrosheet tells me that the Tribe actually won that game, and that there were only 23000+ fans in the park to see it. But this conflicts with my memory of the game, so I refuse to believe it. Retrosheet also reports that we lost nine of the next ten games — that I believe.]
*In 1992, the summer after my freshman year in college, I took a job as an intern in my father's office. A friend and co-worker approached me with a clipping from USA Today, touting the bright future of Indians minor-league prospect Manny Ramirez. "Remember that name," Sammy told me, and I did. But I was not always so well-informed. In one of my earliest forays on the Internet, I declared on an Indians bulletin board that the Tribe would rue the day it traded Felix Fermin to Seattle. "Gato's underrated," I wrote. "His numbers don't tell the whole story. He's a slick-fielding shortstop and he almost never strikes out. This Vizquel guy we're getting? He can't hit a lick."
*I bought a fitted Cleveland Indians home (red bill) cap, on the way to my first game at Jacobs Field in '94. When the MLBPA went on strike later that year, with the Tribe hot on the heels of the White Sox for the lead in the American League Central — the Indians' first real year of contention in my lifetime — I stuck a handful of safety pins in the Major League Baseball logo on that cap in protest. I tried organizing a fans' picket of the ballpark that August, but in the end I couldn't muster any interest. When the teams returned to play in 1995, I got in the habit of wearing the hat whenever the Indians were playing. One day my grandmother insisted that I take off the hat while we ate lunch. "It's impolite to wear a hat at the table," she told me. I obliged, and the Indians promptly fell behind the Blue Jays 8-0. I pleaded with my grandmother to let me put the hat back on. She finally relented, and the Indians mounted an historic comeback that culminated in Paul Sorrento's game-winning home run. That hat is twelve years old, and I still have it. It's natty, ratty, torn-up, and despite repeated launderings it smells a deep and disturbing kind of foul. It makes my scalp break out when I wear it, so I save its good karma for special occasions.
*My Grandpa Greenie had a stroke in the spring of 1992. He never fully recovered his faculties, and he died in December of '94. As a result he never got to experience the Indians' mid-90s resurgence, a fact that, along with the bitter postseason disappointments, will always make those years a little less than perfect for me and my family.
*I took the train up from NYC to Boston and personally witnessed the '95 Indians close out the Division Series against Boston at Fenway Park. A couple weeks later, my girlfriend had just dumped me, and I came home from a screening of Seven, probably the most gut-wrenching movie I had seen in years, to watch the Indians lose Game Six, and the Series, to the Braves. Talk about rock-bottom. Five years later I was married to that ex-girlfriend. She's the Love of My Life. Which just goes to show you can always bounce back.
*1997. What can you say about it? A team that barely surfaced above .500, then pulled together and made a truly inspiring run in the postseason. I traveled to Columbus to see friends and watch the Buckeyes rout Northwestern on the weekend of Games Six and Seven of the World Series. On the Monday morning after that brutal extra-inning concession to the Marlins, I bought a morning-edition copy of Sunday's Akron Beacon-Journal at the airport. The front-page headline — something like "Wright Leaves Game with 2-1 Lead" — reflected a moment in time when the paper had just gone to press and we were still closing in on victory. I kept that newspaper. It's packed away somewhere in a box in my closet.
*What else? Having lived in both New York and Boston, I've seen my share of road Indians triumphs and defeats. Sox fan hooligans chased me out of the park after a playoff win in '98. People grabbed and tore at my clothes (covered in Wahoos and Indians insignias) as I clawed my way to Commonwealth Avenue, where, sprinting to the T stop, I saw Ted Kennedy making his way into the Harvard Club. Rabid, violent Sox fans hurling beer and guttural epithets, Teddy Kennedy — this was the quintessential Boston experience. I only needed a plate of baked beans to top it all off.
*I skipped out of work one afternoon in 1997 to see Hideki Irabu pitch a matinee against Cleveland. Between innings I managed to get Marquis Grissom to throw a ball to me in the stands — by emphasizing that all the other fans clamoring for the ball were New Yorkers who were cursing him out every time he turned his back. Grissom threw the ball right into my hands — and I dropped it. Another fan ended up with the ball in the ensuing scramble.
*I am one of I imagine a terribly few people who can say he was in the crowd for a 21-1 loss to the Yankees and a 23-7 (playoff) loss to Boston. Thankfully I was in one of Fenway's signature "obstructed view" seats for the latter game. I also saw Russell Branyan hit his first major league home run at Yankee Stadium. I didn't believe at the time that this would be an historic event, the kind of "I was there" moment I could describe to my children when Branyan made the Hall of Fame. But I made note of the possibility.
*Every year I gut my bank account to buy tickets to the Cleveland series in Boston, where I live now. In recent years I've seen Pronk homer off Keith Foulke to win a game in the ninth, and I've seen Big Papi Ortiz clout a ball to deep center to take a save away from Fausto Carmona.
And this all adds up to what? Well, I guess it establishes that I'm a fan. That I have a time- and trial-tested enthusiasm and passion for the Cleveland Indians Baseball Club. And you can expect to see that in the inscriptions on this weblog. Will there be keen insights? Expertise? I make no promises on that score. I might accidentally hit upon a brilliant, expert observation or two, and I can say that there will doubtless be affectations of expertise on this page (be careful, reader!). More than anything, though, there will be passion. I'll be living and dying with this 2007 Indians team, just as I did in '06 and '05 and '04 and '03 and — you get the picture.
But enough about me. How 'bout 'dem Indians?
miércoles, 21 de febrero de 2007
Because "This Is the Year" Was Taken . . .
Should I take it as bad karma that there was a preexisting blog at thisistheyear.blogspot.com — and that it wasn't a Tribe fan writing there, either, but instead some anonymous schlub who swears to lose weight and quit smoking in 2002? (Note the lack of updates after January 4 — I suspect the blogger's commitment to self-improvement faded shortly thereafter.)
I will not read anything into that fact, because right now I am at the peak of my confidence. The Indians Will Win the World Series. This year. It will happen. And I am committing myself to the project of chronicling this event as it happens. In real time. Not for me to wait for a good result, then work backward, falsely reconstructing my state of mind as the season unfolded. The result would be a manufactured memory — and worse, the manufactured memory of someone who was cautious, who seemed unwilling to invest the time and effort to chronicle the events of the 2007 season unless he knew he would obtain a result worth writing about.
I leave the retroactive coverage to the newspapermen — the Terry Plutos and Bill Livingstons who will surely, come October, be scrambling to slap together lucrative retrospectives of the historic '07 campaign, for release just in time for the holidays. A real fan knows, in his heart, that his beloved Tribe will climb to championship heights. And he knows it in February.
February is, to be sure, the most appropriate month for a declaration like mine. It's a "buffer month" — long enough after the tragedy of the previous season that one's residual cynicism is at its lowest point, but still well before the dates in March when key players start succumbing to hamstring pulls and elbow tweaks. The team hasn't been routed in months. The memories of blown leads are distant. Reports of prospect play from the winter leagues have been encouraging — and if they weren't, they didn't make the papers.
Rational explanations begin to emerge for the catastrophes of the year before. Indians.com beat writer Anthony Castrovince reports, for example, that Jhonny Peralta had Lasik surgery during the offseason to correct his nearsightedness. A positive offseason development, this is, and one that provides a satisfactory explanation for the giant step back that Jhonny took last year at the plate and in the field. He simply couldn't see the ball to catch it or hit it. Now he can. Problem solved. Contrast this offseason report to the news after Peralta's breakout season in '05, when he grew two inches over the winter, causing his hitting and fielding mechanics to go out of whack. This is a positive development. Good news. Reason for hope.
Now is the time to believe, I say, and now is the time to get started with the exercise of chronicling the Cleveland Indians' 2007 championship season — seen through the eyes of this fan, processed in his long-suffering and suggestible consciousness, and served up by weblog into something approximating a real-time narrative.
Today is February 21, 2007, and Anthony Castrovince has given me reason to believe that Jhumpin' Jhonny Peralta is on the cusp of a bounceback year. The Man at One Time Favorably Compared to Derek Jeter will return to his 2005 form, validate the long-term contract he signed after that year, and settle in comfortably at shortstop for the first-place team in the American League Central. Do I foresee an All-Star appearance? I say that's unlikely. But my first bold prediction of the year, grounded in nothing but my own fervent hope, is that Peralta will post .285-27-95 numbers (that's batting average-HR-RBI, by the way, for all you slick young kids raised on OPS), and Jhonny will flash an unspectacular but effective and consistent glove at shortstop. Oh, and what the hell: Peralta will drive in the winning run in Game Six of the ALCS — off Mariano Rivera, Huston Street, or Francisco Rodriguez. Take your pick.
Such predictions are what mid-to-late February is made of. More to come as it happens.
I will not read anything into that fact, because right now I am at the peak of my confidence. The Indians Will Win the World Series. This year. It will happen. And I am committing myself to the project of chronicling this event as it happens. In real time. Not for me to wait for a good result, then work backward, falsely reconstructing my state of mind as the season unfolded. The result would be a manufactured memory — and worse, the manufactured memory of someone who was cautious, who seemed unwilling to invest the time and effort to chronicle the events of the 2007 season unless he knew he would obtain a result worth writing about.
I leave the retroactive coverage to the newspapermen — the Terry Plutos and Bill Livingstons who will surely, come October, be scrambling to slap together lucrative retrospectives of the historic '07 campaign, for release just in time for the holidays. A real fan knows, in his heart, that his beloved Tribe will climb to championship heights. And he knows it in February.
February is, to be sure, the most appropriate month for a declaration like mine. It's a "buffer month" — long enough after the tragedy of the previous season that one's residual cynicism is at its lowest point, but still well before the dates in March when key players start succumbing to hamstring pulls and elbow tweaks. The team hasn't been routed in months. The memories of blown leads are distant. Reports of prospect play from the winter leagues have been encouraging — and if they weren't, they didn't make the papers.
Rational explanations begin to emerge for the catastrophes of the year before. Indians.com beat writer Anthony Castrovince reports, for example, that Jhonny Peralta had Lasik surgery during the offseason to correct his nearsightedness. A positive offseason development, this is, and one that provides a satisfactory explanation for the giant step back that Jhonny took last year at the plate and in the field. He simply couldn't see the ball to catch it or hit it. Now he can. Problem solved. Contrast this offseason report to the news after Peralta's breakout season in '05, when he grew two inches over the winter, causing his hitting and fielding mechanics to go out of whack. This is a positive development. Good news. Reason for hope.
Now is the time to believe, I say, and now is the time to get started with the exercise of chronicling the Cleveland Indians' 2007 championship season — seen through the eyes of this fan, processed in his long-suffering and suggestible consciousness, and served up by weblog into something approximating a real-time narrative.
Today is February 21, 2007, and Anthony Castrovince has given me reason to believe that Jhumpin' Jhonny Peralta is on the cusp of a bounceback year. The Man at One Time Favorably Compared to Derek Jeter will return to his 2005 form, validate the long-term contract he signed after that year, and settle in comfortably at shortstop for the first-place team in the American League Central. Do I foresee an All-Star appearance? I say that's unlikely. But my first bold prediction of the year, grounded in nothing but my own fervent hope, is that Peralta will post .285-27-95 numbers (that's batting average-HR-RBI, by the way, for all you slick young kids raised on OPS), and Jhonny will flash an unspectacular but effective and consistent glove at shortstop. Oh, and what the hell: Peralta will drive in the winning run in Game Six of the ALCS — off Mariano Rivera, Huston Street, or Francisco Rodriguez. Take your pick.
Such predictions are what mid-to-late February is made of. More to come as it happens.
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