tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74955242024-03-07T18:08:42.993-05:0019 ThoughtsEver wanted to know what's going on in the mind of a TV and Red Sox addicted person in his 40s? Me either, but there's some funny stuff in here, with some surprise guests. Check it out, you'll be more melancholy from the experience.Byronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18236810459872882912noreply@blogger.comBlogger439125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7495524.post-18230836037371291312024-02-15T16:51:00.002-05:002024-02-15T16:51:39.426-05:00Sherry Magee 1992 Sporting News<p><span style="font-family: arial;">Last week the Baseball Card Bandit (BCB) threw me a changeup and sent me this card:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW7jf12kRggacuypTp9saX1NE1fmpjxWULTW6hs07bI1xEylEdXCgOXATFrwM0M-JFYKFgO1UE_6x6iVC4THauJfJCsZWBpE0Yv7sYJkjin4aBPwDgwyEeOmcEFrE_7feJI7iY7zeCyBZGe-Z3A7u5zlPgf2tVAjKBmHdsLoH7k8kPhOdOlUi6KQ/s500/51of10JKLnL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="353" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW7jf12kRggacuypTp9saX1NE1fmpjxWULTW6hs07bI1xEylEdXCgOXATFrwM0M-JFYKFgO1UE_6x6iVC4THauJfJCsZWBpE0Yv7sYJkjin4aBPwDgwyEeOmcEFrE_7feJI7iY7zeCyBZGe-Z3A7u5zlPgf2tVAjKBmHdsLoH7k8kPhOdOlUi6KQ/s320/51of10JKLnL.jpg" width="226" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /> </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">If baseball--and all sports--are to continue into the future, there is going to come a time when all of the sports heroes that we loved and worshiped are going to be nothing but a collection of random letters that mean nothing to futuristic people. It's weird but it happens now. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">As I've said dozens of times, one of the best things about baseball is that games are played every single day. You don't have to wait until Saturday like in football, Sunday like in other football, or get a few games a week like in hockey or hoops. Day-in, day-out with baseball you're probably getting a game--maybe two if you're lucky. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">In that way, you start to "know" the players. For some guys if you passed them on the street you'd be able to recognize their faces but at the very least you know their names. Like if I said "Trevor Story" you'd say, "Oh yeah, he's the guy who plays shortstop for the Sox when he isn't hurt."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The point is, you know their names, they take up space in your brain. But brains are funny things, once you don't see someone every day you might forget who they are--no matter if you saw them every day for three seasons. This blog is littered with guys that fit that description. The one exception are our stars, you might not have thought about Wade Boggs in a long time, but you know who he is. You know what he looks like. You probably even know most of his statistics--even in a vague sort of way. Stars never dim.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">But they do. At some point in the future, there's going to be a person who loves baseball but isn't familar with Boggs. Or Jim Rice. Or Roger Clemens. Or Pedro Martinez. Or David Ortiz. Or Manny Ramirez. Those are going to be funny sounding names from long ago. Their stars are going to take precedent in their skies. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">That's the way life goes. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Which brings us to today's card of Sherry Magee. I'm a member of the Boston Braves Historical Association and I'm embarrassed to say that while I've heard of Magee's name (it's hard to forget a dude named "Sherry"), I don't know much about him. According to the biography on the back of this card, Magee was the Philadelphia Phillies leftfielder for 11 seasons, before coming to the Braves in 1915*, played two-and-a-half seasons before finishing his career in Cincinnati in 1919. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">* I was going to say that it sucks for Magee that he came to the Braves a year too late to be on the 1914 Miracle Braves squad. But he made up for it by playing two games in the 1919 World Series and winning a ring with the Reds in his last year. If the 1919 World Series is familiar to you, that's because that was the Black Sox Series. I guess Magee was happy that these rubes sold out to gamblers to fuck owner Charlie Comiskey over. He should send a cigar to the Old Roman--though maybe Magee and Commie aren't in the same place now. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Anyway once he was done with playing baseball he became a big league umpire in 1928. According to this card*, Magee could have had a long career in blue but he died of pneumonia the next season. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">* Look at this card, he was in his early 30s when this picture was taken. That face looks like it's seen some shit, doesn't it? Why does every old picture seem that way. No one looks rested or relaxed or healthy. They look like they all came out of a mine somewhere and are seeing daylight for the first time since they were nine. Are we going to look like that to future generations? I bet the answer is yes. <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The question on the card says, "Why Not in the Hall of Fame?" and I can't tell you why. He lead the league in a bunch of hitting categories but not a ton. He looks like one of those Hall of Really Good dudes that you read about. My guess is that once the Hall got up and running, Magee was just one of those players who got lost in the shuffle. Maybe if he started his playing career ten years later and lasted a little longer as an umpire, he'd have gotten the call. But he didn't and he's forgotten to history. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Well at least until weirdos find his card and send them to unsuspecting, good looking people like me. Pour one out tonight for Sherry Magee, his name might suck (it's short for Sherwood, I think that I'd rather be called that) but his career was decent. And like I said, that's about all you can hope for when you shuffle off this mortal coil. </span><br /></p>Byronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18236810459872882912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7495524.post-14470721947357001712024-02-08T16:05:00.000-05:002024-02-08T16:05:34.975-05:00Deion Sanders 1992 Score<p><span style="font-family: arial;"> Two weeks ago, I received this
card from the Baseball Card Bandit (BCB):</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3-KHJfnqqX5qZepqEpmvHKpIhNmBtcDVXpStbdUh925NHntEu7-mU7nnsOw3ZKKdsqBrFvggMUGEpI99RZMZ2qNcH5waQ76pEINIVhymSQ02ESet0I2PTOd4ct22_ul_1c4zOMMho_Et6cceo0cb4XouGNVnC4wW-246rQH1gr_4ZUSw2MvIpgQ/s1050/71g1Q95+gRL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1050" data-original-width="756" height="385" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3-KHJfnqqX5qZepqEpmvHKpIhNmBtcDVXpStbdUh925NHntEu7-mU7nnsOw3ZKKdsqBrFvggMUGEpI99RZMZ2qNcH5waQ76pEINIVhymSQ02ESet0I2PTOd4ct22_ul_1c4zOMMho_Et6cceo0cb4XouGNVnC4wW-246rQH1gr_4ZUSw2MvIpgQ/w277-h385/71g1Q95+gRL.jpg" width="277" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">When he first broke into the Major Leagues, Deion Sanders didn't appear to fit in with baseball culture. This is not a criticism of Sanders, baseball culture is often closed-minded, exclusionary, overly conservative and administered by a collection of red asses who rule on whether players break the hallowed and oftentimes hypocritical "unwritten rules of baseball". </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">This "respect the love of the game" crap isn't a new thing. The unwritten rules of baseball have always performative bullshit that has made the game unpopular with the younger generations going all the way back to the 70s. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Every once in awhile a player comes up, usually a minority, who has a little flash in his game. Smiles a little too much. Takes a bit more time to get out of the batter's box when he hits a homerun. Is a little too demonstrative when he strikes out a key batter in a big situation. The Lords of the Game don't like that stuff, young players need to know their place. They need to shut up and watch how these old bastards play. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Deion Sanders wasn't going to deal with that crap. He didn't need to deal with that crap because he had a second job that afforded him a lot more money and notoriety. After dominating the NCAA as a Florida State Seminole on the gridiron, he was a starting cornerback for the Atlanta Falcons and he had two nicknames: Prime Time and Neon Deion. He also played a little baseball for FSU and if Bo Jackson can play two sports, why couldn't Deion Sanders?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Baseball players like their routines and Sanders was no different. Before Wade Boggs would step into the batters' box, he'd draw the Hebrew symbol for luck, Chai (it looks like the Greek character Pi), in the dirt with the barrel of his bat. Then he'd get in the box and bang out a double. Sanders had his drawing routine too, only he didn't draw a Chai (Deion didn't need luck) he'd draw a dollar sign in the dirt. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">This drove the old heads in baseball insane. Who does this young punk think he is? He's a Yankee! Why doesn't he respect the game like the Babe did (who'd often play very hung over)? Or Joe D. (who was a colossal prick)? Or Mickey Mantle (another drunk)? Who was this Neon Deion Prime Time character and why was he fucking with baseball and how it's meant to be played?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Former Red Sox catcher Carlton Fisk was in his customary spot behind the dish in 1990 when Sanders strolled to the plate against the White Sox. He drew his dollar sign and settled into the box. Fisk called time, went to where the dollar sign was and brushed it away during his first at bat. In his second AB, Sanders did the same thing and then supposedly said*, "the days of slavery are over." The two started jawing back and forth, the benches emptied, no punches were thrown but the game's gatekeeper (Fisk had been in the league since 1969 and was probably the game's oldest player--Sanders was one year younger than Fisk's MLB career at that point) made his point: "Don't fuck with the game."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"> * Sanders denies saying this. <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Tons of ink was spilled over this argument with many sportswriters taking Fisk's side (surprise, sur-fucking-prise), Sanders was public enemy number one with conservatives and since he never seemed to have time for sportswriters, they sharpened their knives and were looking to feast. It didn't help that Sanders sorta sucked for the Yanks and unlike Jackson, when NFL Training Camp opened in the summer, Sanders left the baseball world. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">He often said that "Football was his wife and baseball was his girlfriend" which, again, didn't sit too well with early 90s baseball writers who believe that a late season clash between the Mariners and Angels was an ode to the trepidation of summer mixed with a navel gazing that only a Boomer can provide. Guys who like football better--especially guys who like football and rap--need not apply. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Sanders was released by New York at the end of the 90 season, the Bombers were so bad during this time and many people felt that the only reason Sanders was on the team was because they needed publicity. In the winter of 1991, he signed with the Braves and appeared to learn to be a better ballplayer in the Majors. His batting average still sucked but his OBP and slugging percentages rose his first year in Atlanta. He still took September in October off, but no one was really pissed because the Braves were good that year and he was still a bench player. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The following year was probably Deion's best year in the Bigs as he lead the league in triples (14) and played well enough that he was added to post season roster. The girlfriend interfered a bit with his wife a bit during this season, but Sanders was the first person to play baseball during the week and football on Sundays. It was pretty wild, not even Bo did that. Braves manager Bobby Cox didn't love that, he was a red ass baseball dude of course, and felt that it was a "distraction" to the team. But what could he do? </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Deion was only warming up, that year the Braves played the Pittsburgh Pirates in the playoffs. Game 5 was set for Sunday night October 11 and Deion was planning to play. Only problem was the Falcons had a game against the Miami Dolphins that afternoon (1:00 pm) and he was planning to play that game too. After Atlanta's win on Saturday night, Deion flew from Pennsylvania to Georgia, got some sleep and then was at the stadium to play the Dolphins. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">After that game was over, he hired a helicopter to take him from Atlanta Fulton County Stadium to the airport where he jumped on a plane to get him to Pittsburgh. He showed up at 8:16 pm, which meant he wasn't going to be in the starting lineup. No problem, he was ready to play. The Braves lost 7-1 and Cox never put him in the game. Which was a complete bummer. Why wouldn't you put Deion in to get a rally going? But Cox wasn't having any of it and another red ass kills another fun time in baseball. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Sanders played a few more seasons in Atlanta, was traded to Cincinnati, played a half year in San Francisco, retired from baseball for a few seasons and then came back to the Reds in 1997 and 2001. His baseball skills never matched up to his football skills, but he could still play. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Unless you were former St. Louis Cardinals and CBS lead baseball color guy Tim McCarver, Sanders kind of chilled out. Apparently Sanders didn't like some of the stuff that McCarver was saying about him so after the Braves clinched a trip to the 1992 World Series against the Toronto Blue Jays (where Sanders was on fire), Deion dumped a whole bucket full of water on McCarver on live TV. McCarver was embarrassed, angry but the only thing he could say was, "You're a real man Sanders! A real man!" Which made me and a lot of wise ass baseball fans laugh--McCarver wasn't ever considered cool. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">But like I said, he chilled out. He no longer drew the dollar sign before he stepped into the batter's box. When he was with the Reds in 1997, MLB celebrated the 50th Anniversary of Jackie Robinson breaking the color line*. Sanders wanted to honor Jackie by getting the Red's sleeves to be hemmed real short because that's how he thought that Jackie wore his sleeves. Jackie did, it just looked like he did in old pictures. But it was still a pretty cool tribute by Deion Sanders, who got the whole team to wear their sleeves like Jackie. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">* Baseball is really good at patting themselves on the back for "fixing" something that they broke decades prior. African Americans should have been playing in the Majors since baseball started, there's no reason why they shouldn't have been, only MLB was run by idiotic racists. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Playing one professional sport is hard, playing two is almost impossible and playing two at the same time is bonkers-time crazy. I still can't believe that Sanders did it. In this era of specialization, I doubt that we'll ever see anything like this again--which is why Bobby Cox sucks so hard. But it was cool that people my age got to live through an era of athletes that might never be seen again. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">To quote Tim McCarver, "You're a real man Deion." <br /></span></p>Byronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18236810459872882912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7495524.post-20539527271797381662023-10-31T11:34:00.001-04:002023-10-31T11:34:14.976-04:00The Marathon Women<p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihL2zYUbbv838RZN-WR90BiyLL4m5Lg4eFJypu2zxMZtVLA0vTfU-05_t5wL3hr2gmWorqOZlMbF8iiutX7c0ppuemTMHiF3G3aNBEwXbJVzQjTVpD43Qp_JlPt9cUbuoAkgvFEgcAYmxubTTjPy0t0n9eZx5BhMsDmyJh-vNfDeMg4mRA24ZibA/s1550/Unknown-2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1550" data-original-width="1190" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihL2zYUbbv838RZN-WR90BiyLL4m5Lg4eFJypu2zxMZtVLA0vTfU-05_t5wL3hr2gmWorqOZlMbF8iiutX7c0ppuemTMHiF3G3aNBEwXbJVzQjTVpD43Qp_JlPt9cUbuoAkgvFEgcAYmxubTTjPy0t0n9eZx5BhMsDmyJh-vNfDeMg4mRA24ZibA/w308-h400/Unknown-2.jpeg" width="308" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />Running is pretty fun. <br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I've never run a marathon and I don't think that I ever will. But I am married to a person who has now run three marathons and the whole thing* just seems impossible and difficult, I'm not sure how anyone can physically accomplish it.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">* I was originally going to say something clever like, "actually the training is harder than the race itslef", but that doesn't seem correct at all. In fact it's pedantic bullshit. From the minute you start to think about running 26.2 consecutive miles to the last step of the race, it's all difficult. Saying one part is more tough than the other is like saying that preparing one section of your taxes sucks less than the other. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">My wife, Alyson Magrane, completed her third marathon on Sunday in Washington DC with her training partner and best friend Christine Boermeester. (That's them in the picture above.) I couldn't be more proud of both of them. I can gush here for 30 paragraphs about how proud I am--and I definitely will--but it's not going to be a 10% of how I feel. <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">The first person who ran 26.2 straight miles was a dude by the name of Pheidippides and he busted his ass from Marathon (that's where we get the name of the race) to Athens to tell the Athenians that the Greeks just kicked the Persians' ass in a battle. He literally died on the spot. To honor him and commemorate the huge victory, the Greeks decided that running 26.2 miles was going to be a thing and that it was going to be called a marathon. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Think about that for a second, each year hundreds of thousands of people pay good money and push their bodies to the limit to do something that killed the first person who did it. It's amazing. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">And that's what my wife and Christine did on Sunday. They were a modern-day Pheidippides, except without the dying part. The reason? They trained. And trained. And trained some more. This is the part that no one sees. It's running 15+ miles in the Massachusetts summer heat and humidity while your goofy husband is laying around watching the Red Sox. It's eating right and finding new powders and potions to help you heal faster and better so that you can go on another run. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">It's heading to the physical therapist once a week so that he can, in Aly's words, "pop you back into place" like you're an action figure who lost its leg. It's hours and hours of wondering whether you're making the right decision or whether you should just back out because this is hard and it's not getting any easier.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">This isn't an easy road; it's much longer than 26.2 miles. And it's helpful that Aly and Christine had a friend who was there for each other. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Every runner has an inner voice that pushes themselves along. But it's important that a runner has a partner and friend that can turn those untold miles into, well maybe not fun, but something bearable. It's coming back from a 20-mile run with Christine laughing (yes, laughing) like loons because you both tried climbing the front steps at the same time and you both realized, also at the same time, that this wasn't a wise idea. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">"Oh god. Why did we do that?" <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">It's having someone to talk to while running those miles and complain about what they're doing and knowing the other person is listening, relating but at the same time urging you to that it's only "one more mile" and "really, how hard could that be?" </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">You can say that running is the ultimate individual sport and I'd be hard pressed to argue with you about that, but if you ask Aly and Christine, I'd bet that they tell you that running is the ultimate team sport. As an outside observer, I think that each of these women are made of the toughest stuff and that they'd be able to accomplish this goal by themselves. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">But would they have had as much fun? I don't think so.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">When they crossed the finish line on Sunday and after making sure all of their toenails were still attached, they got some pictures (see above). What's the one thing that you notice the most? The smiles. Smiles as long as 26.2 miles. One of the most grueling mornings of both of their lives and they're smiling, no make that beaming. From their accomplishment that day, thinking of all their hard work they put in over eight months, thinking about how they did it together. <br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Running is weird. When you're racing you're trying to separate yourself from the pack and the other competitors but at the same time it brings people closer together. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Try telling me again that running isn't fun. <br /></span></p>Byronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18236810459872882912noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7495524.post-7264787230761309222023-08-04T11:15:00.006-04:002023-08-04T11:16:11.364-04:00My Favorite Teams 6 -1<p><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>Back
in March and April of this year I was counting up my favorite baseball
teams on Facebook in anticipation of The Real National Hot Dog Day. I
thought that it might be a good idea to keep them here for posterity.
Here are the fifth group of teams along with the FB introductions. </i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"> <b>6.</b><i> </i></span></p><div class="xqcrz7y x78zum5 x1qx5ct2 x1y1aw1k x1sxyh0 xwib8y2 xurb0ha xw4jnvo"><div></div></div><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id=":rlb:"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto" style="font-family: arial;"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">You can't honestly say that you hate the Padres, just like you can't honestly say that you hate hot dogs. Kids, the Real National Hot Dog Day is happening one week from this afternoon. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We talk a little about Ray Kroc (not about the time he got on the stadium's PA and apologized to the crowd for the Padres playing so poorly) and while he's a hamburger magnate (and a prick!) he was known to enjoy a hot dog or two. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Be like Kroc in that way (not the prick part) and enjoy a hot <span><a tabindex="-1"></a></span>dog sandwich with some potato chips, ice cream and beers. Then watch the Padres pummel someone. They're going to be as fun as the Real National Hot Dog Day this year.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNTIWO2_-Tc65eiN2DA1QqxOr-lzREXt8BxR4c370RZOkdw4_y_hY3FailSVa_tj-o6Dh8wStEf_BlhiRYS8FcIotU7sVPTE8zmhagAEms2_9HIjlcZJ1L_18i24MxGNNkbdjt_WgC_bbRJLPhcTe9wvnrHL_rA34IvZe5tQQ-wlJGJtsmK5THYw/s832/337861368_179035334927617_4888434644745717339_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="832" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNTIWO2_-Tc65eiN2DA1QqxOr-lzREXt8BxR4c370RZOkdw4_y_hY3FailSVa_tj-o6Dh8wStEf_BlhiRYS8FcIotU7sVPTE8zmhagAEms2_9HIjlcZJ1L_18i24MxGNNkbdjt_WgC_bbRJLPhcTe9wvnrHL_rA34IvZe5tQQ-wlJGJtsmK5THYw/s320/337861368_179035334927617_4888434644745717339_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div dir="auto"><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We are 6 days away from the The Real National Hot Dog Day and to celebrate, we're counting up, Down Town Julie Brown style, my favorite baseball teams. Wubba <span><a tabindex="-1"></a></span>wubba wubba.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">For a kid growing up in New England, there were two baseball outposts: Seattle (which we'll get to later) and San Diego. The latter seemed even more remote because the M's were in the American League and the Red Sox would play them a handful of times each year, so you were at least semi-familiar with the players.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The Padres? They weren't on national TV very much and no one really talked about them. Every once in awhile Sports Illustrated would write something about the Pads or Peter Gammons would jot down some notes in the Boston Globe about San Diego and you got the gist. There was a team near Mexico that was playing ball and they had a player or two worth keeping an eye on. The patron saint of San Diego was Tony Gwynn who hit like no one else. Not only did he star for the Padres, but he played hoops and baseball in San Diego State. And there were some former Yankee castoffs in Goose Gossage and Graig Nettles, but being a Padre was like being in the witness relocation program. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The only time that I remember getting annoyed at the Padres was when they signed Bruce Hurst to a big free agent contract in late 1988. Him and fellow free agent signee Jack Clark were going to lead San Diego to the promised land with Tony Gwynn. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">They didn't. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The only times the Pads went to the World Series was in 1984 and they were hammered by the Tigers. They went in 1998 and were slaughtered by the Yankees. That's it. Any other time they made the post season, they'd get brushed off by the Dodgers or the Cards or the Mets or some other more "deserving" team. Some team that wasn't once owned by the guy who started* McDonalds and then sold to the people who produced "The Cosby Show" and "Roseanne".</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">* Turns out Ray Kroc was a bit of a thief. He didn't come up with McDonald's he just stole the name, the recipe for their food and how they served their burgers so efficiently. The only thing that he really figured out was how to franchise the restaurants. And how to be an asshole and bully the McDonald brothers into selling their name and revealing their secrets. So he's basically a regular rich guy, someone who made hundreds of millions off an idea that wasn't his to begin with and considers himself a genius. Awesome dude. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Anyway, whenever the Pads would leave the national stage in October, the undercurrent was that the fans would have to console themselves with living in the most temperate place in the country. Forget Philadelphia, it's always sunny in San Diego. And 80 degrees. And with low humidity. You can literally do whatever you want outdoors and not really worry about weather cancelling your plans. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">While unfair, maybe there's a bit of truth to that. I can tell you that whenever the Red Sox play into October, it always feels like us New Englanders are getting bonus summer. Every day that the playoffs extends, that's one less day of winter. Even if you love winter, you want that bonus summer. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">So you cheer a little harder, because you're not just rooting against the team on the other side of the diamond, you're rooting against old man winter. You're rooting against blizzards and spending 20 extra minutes warming up the car. You're pushing back on school closings and slush storms and dark, frigid mornings where you want to stay ensconced in your warm, comfy bed, but you have to go to work. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">San Diego doesn't have to deal with any of that shit. It's the same on November 15 as it is on February 15 as it is on May 15. Fucking beautiful. Go for a run! Have a picnic in the park! Go surfing! Walk to the most kick-ass taqueria or the second most kick-ass taqueria that's literally right next door! San Diego is practically paradise, who gives a shit if the Pads (or the now departed Chargers) lose? The sun is shining and how can you be angry about that?</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">For a long time, I think that was the Padres' mantra: win or lose, the sun still shines here. But in the last year or two, the Pads have hit on something: they're the only game in town now. The Chargers are gone to LA (fucking LA?). The Rockets left decades ago. The Sails and Conquistadors folded with the ABA. I think even their minor league hockey club packed their bags. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">So instead of doing what the Pittsburghs and the Cincinnatis and the Baltimores of the league have done, which is cut costs, cry poverty and understand that fans will still flood into the stadium because what else are you going to do in those cities in August, the Padres have flexed their financial muscles a bit. They're signing free agents to big contracts. They're cashing in their prospect chips and making the big trades (who gives a shit what Baseball America thinks about their minor league system looks like) and they're going for it.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">They're giving the finger to their big brothers in the north (the Dodgers and Giants) and telling their younger siblings (the Rockies and D'Backs) to get the hell out of the way. Padres games are going to be great this year. Watch as many as you can because they're going to be entertaining as hell with that lineup and pitching staff. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Will they win the World Series this year? I don't know, who cares? That's not the point. A lot of times, the best team doesn't bring home the championship but San Diego is going to have six months of former Sox broadcaster Don Orsillo describe a fun ass team every single night. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The other rad-ass thing the Padres did is bring back the brown and gold as well as the swinging Padre. I'm not sure why, or who, thought it was good idea to name a team after a bunch of Catholic priests (I know it was a leftover from the town's PCL days) but it works for San Diego. Those old Taco Bell uniforms from the early 80s and these things now, just scream Padres to me. I hope they keep them forever. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">And if things don't work out, fuck it, there's plenty of sunshine and tacos in Southern California. I'm sure that everyone will be okay.</div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b>5. </b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b> </b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id=":rkd:"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">To paraphrase another Seattle export that burned brightly in the 1990s:</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">"I like bad teams and I cannot lie. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Teams other fans will just deny."</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The <span><a tabindex="-1"></a></span>Mariners are a bad team, but I like them a lot. There are reasons that I talk about in my latest little essay. They were integral to the 1986 Red Sox: they were the team that struck out 20 times against Clemens and they sent us Spike Owen and Dave Henderson. Without the M's, where would Boston have been that year?</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Despite writing a lot about the 90s Ms, I did not make one reference to Pearl Jam, Nirvana, Soundgarden, Alice in Chains or any grunge band. I am so very proud of myself.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi634XQwlQKzmeTcT_NrlPkyYd-I36xEXwUa53kWWJkso3G5yntzZiO3YhbQY1JqXAE-0xmcTqQKSYoseJr-4ic6iOTiHKr29aD9GqOELtef5f_or3XfZQtl0NbXSm7Ga4K9QC2I8K_h08jPbXLXeHoyenULmwIclT-5c3JTmk83bPyS7ISmM_ZZg/s832/337858209_3412317842414878_7600603104167228306_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="832" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi634XQwlQKzmeTcT_NrlPkyYd-I36xEXwUa53kWWJkso3G5yntzZiO3YhbQY1JqXAE-0xmcTqQKSYoseJr-4ic6iOTiHKr29aD9GqOELtef5f_or3XfZQtl0NbXSm7Ga4K9QC2I8K_h08jPbXLXeHoyenULmwIclT-5c3JTmk83bPyS7ISmM_ZZg/s320/337858209_3412317842414878_7600603104167228306_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div dir="auto"><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We are 5 days away from the The Real National Hot Dog Day and to celebrate, we're counting up, Adam Curry style, my favorite baseball teams. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I alluded to this <span><a tabindex="-1"></a></span>in yesterday's entry on the Padres, but to me there was no team further away from the Red Sox (geographically, ballpark aesthetically and historically) than the Seattle Mariners. They were the bizarro version of an old school, East coast team. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">They played in a dome where it always seemed like they were in a constant twilight. They wore double-knit pullovers with a racing stripe on the sleeves. Their hats had a weird logo (more on this in a second). Their players were also-rans that the team tried very hard to market as good. They played in the middle of the night, for god's sake. Every time you looked at the batting leaders or the standings, anything that had to do with the Mariners had an asterisk next to it. That was because their games ended too late to make the next day's morning edition. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Mariners games were both exotic and romantic to a baseball fan in the East. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">It felt like the Mariners played in an alternate dimension that the Red Sox would visit once or twice a year. "Shit, the Sox have the M's tonight in Seattle? I have to take a nap and brew three pots of coffee to make it through the first four innings."</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The Mariners were tucked in the northwest corner of the country, playing uninspired and dreadful baseball with some weird characters while the world was asleep in their comfy beds. Gaylord Perry got his 300th win in Seattle. Alvin Davis won Rookie of the Year in 1984 as an M. Mark Langston was the lefty version of Roger Clemens striking out batter after batter. Harold Reynolds broke Rickey Henderson's streak of leading the league in stolen bases. Rickey was injured that year, and gave Reyonlds shit about leading the league with "only" 60 thefts "Rickey would have had that in half a season!" but it still counts! Probably the most interesting thing that happened to the Mariners in their first 13 seasons was being on the wrong end of the first Roger Clemens 20 strikeout game*.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">* If you're ever bored, check out the roster to that 1986 Mariner team. It's fucking bonkers. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Then something weird happened. The Mariners had the number one pick in 1987 and they chose a dude with a name that most baseball fans knew: Ken Griffey. By the time he made it to the Majors, the Mariners had traded Langston to the Montreal Expos for a bushel of prospects that included the incredibly tall and incredibly wild Randy Johnson. They traded Frank Costanza's arch enemy Ken Phelps to the Yanks for Jay Buhner. And picked up Alex Rodriguez with the first pick in the 1993 draft, and he didn't waste much time in the minors before debuting the next season. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The M's also had another guy on the team that not a lot of people paid much attention to, but they would soon enough: Edgar Martinez. Martinez could always hit, but he couldn't field really well, so it took some time before he was able to crack the lineup and stick. But once he did, the dude started to rake. And rake. And rake. He never stopped. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">By the time 1995 rolled around, the Mariners looked good. But there was talk that if the city didn't pass a proposal for a new stadium (the Kingdome was a disaster), Major League Baseball was leaving the Emerald City for a second time. The other problem was that the California Angels were playing out of their mind and the Mariners were just doing nothing. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Until after the All-Star break, where they caught fire, caught the Angels, made it to the playoffs, beat the Yankees and lost to the Indians. Baseball was saved in Seattle, Safeco Field was built and they all lived happily ever after. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The problem with four Hall of Famers in their prime is that they want to be paid like four Hall of Famers in their prime. Which isn't really a problem for you or me, but it is if you're an owner of a baseball team. By the end of the decade, the M's traded Griffey, sent Johnson on his walk-about and let Rodriguez find America. Only Martinez was left. It looked like loserville once again for Seattle, but during the offseason where they lost ARod, they picked up a guy by the name of Ichiro Suzuki. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Buoyed by this Japanese import, the Mariners won 116 games and streaked through the playoffs and won the World Series! Actually, only one of these things is true as the team flamed out in October. Hard. Ichiro was still worth the price of admission for many seasons, but the Mariners went through an awful run of no playoff appearance until they made it to October baseball last year. Fun fact: they're also the only team in the Majors not to have ever made the World Series. The Rays have gone to two Series, the D'Backs won a Series, the Rockies have made it, the Marlins have won two and their expansion brethren, the Blue Jays won back-to-back championships in the 90s. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Despite the many wonderful players this team has employed, no team has ever put it all together and just got to the World Series yet. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">And that's one of the reason why I love this goofy franchise. They're perennial losers but they don't wear it as a badge of courage like the Cubs or the Red Sox did. There's nothing big or metaphysical or philosophical about them not making the World Series. They kinda suck when they need to be really great. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">That's it. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I touched on this above, but I love that the Mariners are all by themselves in the Pacific Northwest. They don't have Vancouver or Portland to pal around with. They're the Sasquatch of Major League Baseball, all alone in the woods, visible only to people who seek them. You want to be a Mariners fan in Virginia or Boston or Buffalo, good luck buddy, you're going to have to work. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">When I was a kid and got one of their cards, I had no idea who they were. What the hell is a Lee Guetterman? Is this Dick Williams the same Dick Williams who managed the 67 Impossible Dream Red Sox? Greg Briley's real name is Greg B. Riley and he was just too nice of a guy to point that out, right? </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">They were all Major Leaguers, even though they didn't seem to be. Like if you were a Mariner, your entire career in Seattle was a rumor. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">But undoubtedly the dopest thing about the Seattle Mariners was the logo that I added here. The upside down trident (ancient Greeks said that an upside down trident was bad mojo--probably not in those exact words--because all of the good luck ran out of it when it was pointed down) with the star around it rules. I love everything about 10/10, no fucking notes at all. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The colors of blue and yellow also rule, the funky lettering, the racing stripes, the pull over jerseys. All awesome, absolutely perfect for this team. Then the M's tried to get traditional and dialed back the uniqueness of their look and it was okay. They kept the yellow and blue and the only cool thing was that this was what Griffey was wearing when he debuted, so I have a lot of fond memories. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Then they went to blue, tealish green and silver in 1993 and they've kept that look ever since. It's okay, but it's stale. The Mariners should never be stale, they're weird and they need to go back to that blue and yellow outfit now. Otherwise what's the point of having a team in Seattle?</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b>4. </b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id=":rjm:"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I think it was French philosopher Busta Rhymes who once said, "Don't mean no disrespect. Brew-ha, Brew-ha, I got you all in check!"</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The Brewers. The ball and glove logo. Why is this team my fourth favorite? The answer is dumb, but that's the way it goes.</div></div></span></div></div></div></div><b> </b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG5mjIN2ZbnfSCt5N3MjWfBHoQRNAhwevrAVMpnNII0vPEhdEDAGaJZpTmbXsThnLlatKw2O1xzuacgrEvNag8NrIGXapo5HiQa0juHpGIe4uAf_aIm11R7wyZXAIyw7k6i6j0SRupFZ5iaaqEgTDJeEry24w7FfZWWd5t4o3Nc6CBn7ZxvWqYOg/s540/338697847_754169266361940_3154903237119115652_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="507" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG5mjIN2ZbnfSCt5N3MjWfBHoQRNAhwevrAVMpnNII0vPEhdEDAGaJZpTmbXsThnLlatKw2O1xzuacgrEvNag8NrIGXapo5HiQa0juHpGIe4uAf_aIm11R7wyZXAIyw7k6i6j0SRupFZ5iaaqEgTDJeEry24w7FfZWWd5t4o3Nc6CBn7ZxvWqYOg/s320/338697847_754169266361940_3154903237119115652_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /></b><div dir="auto"><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We are about 4 days away from the The Real National Hot Dog Day and to celebrate, we're counting up, Adam Curry style, my favorite baseball teams. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">If you name <span><a tabindex="-1"></a></span>your team after a profession that creates sudsy libations, you better be fun. I don't know if the Brewers, the team, is a lot of fun. There are a lot of years when the club is flat as decades old Schlitz. There are also times when the Brewers do well and the stadium is alive with cheese heads screaming for their baseball heroes. However, the former outweigh the latter by a lot. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Despite that, going to a Brewers game is probably the most fun you can have in the Major Leagues. The Brew Crew fans are one of the few fanbases that tailgate before just about every game. That's a potential 81 tailgates, which is absolutely awesome. And they're not grilling veggie burgers and sipping mimosas. They're chowing down on dogs and sausages, dipping everything in cheese and pounding brew dogs as if the local brewery's existence depends on it. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">When you get into the stadium, it's a lot of fun too. There's Bernie Brewer in his chalet waiting for someone to launch a ding dong johnson so that he can take a trip down his slide and release the celebration. Back in the day, Bernie used to slide into a mug of beer; but I guess that sent a bad message to the kids, so it's no longer that tasty beverage. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Have we evolved as a species? I'd say no. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The whole atmosphere is a daily party with some baseball thrown into the mix to keep our attention away from our expanding waist lines and our now crippling love of beer. That seems really bleak, but not as bad as some of the teams that Milwaukee has run on the field in their existence. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The Brewers were a team that began its existence as the Seattle Pilots--you can read all about them in Jim Bouton's seminal book, "Ball Four". The Pilots lasted a year in Seattle and no one was sure what year two held for them. Prior to Spring Training, the team was in discussions to be sold and then moved. But nothing had happened yet by the time the team reported to Arizona. And the sale stayed in limbo for eight weeks. There's a story that after 1970 Spring Training was over (the team first played in 1969) that the equipment truck driver was at a stop in the desert and was waiting for a phone call to drive left to the Pacific Northwest or go right to Milwaukee. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">He was told to go right by used car salesman, new owner and future Commissioner of MLB Alan "Bud" Selig. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">And the rest was history. Sorta. History has a tendency of moving slow as the Brew Crew wasn't really good in the 70s until Robin Yount, Paul Molitor, Cecil Cooper, Ben Oglive, Gorman Thomas and others showed up, coalesced and became a bad ass team. The early 80s was all Milwaukee as they made their only World Series (they lost to the Cards in a seven game thriller) and continued to push the favorites in the American League East. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The 90s was a completely forgettable era of Milwaukee baseball as they were always in the second division, playing a lot of very boring baseball. As the new century dawned, things started to turn around a bit. They got rid of County Stadium (where the Braves played in the 50s and 60s once they abandoned Boston) and moved into a new state-of-the-art stadium. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The Brewers started a boom-bust sort of tradition where they'd be really good for a few years, empty their minor league coffers for a player or two that might put them over the line, lose in the playoffs and then have to rebuild. That lead to a lot of exciting teams with Prince Fielder, CC Sabathia, Zack Grienke and Ryan Braun. Once those players left and after a year or two of bleh teams, a new generation of younger players took their place. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The Brewers can be confusing sometimes. Unlike the Astros who switched leagues but have always felt like a National League team cosplaying as an American League club, the Brew Crew seem like a National League team that was stuck in the AL because they couldn't figure out a way home. Beginning with the Braves Milwaukee was always a National League city. Even before the big club moved here, the Boston Braves' AAA team was in Milwaukee.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Fun fact: while in the American League, the Brewers are the only team to play in all three divisions: East, Central and West. The currently sit in the NL Central. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">They've had their ups and downs and while it's fun to go to the games, the best part of the Milwaukee Brewers is their logo. How long did it take you to notice that the glove is actually an M resting on top of a B? It took me a long-ass time, my friends. When I was a kid, I'd look at that hat and wonder, "Why do they have a glove on their hat?" like of all the baseball equipment you could use as a logo, why would you choose a glove?</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">It seemed dumb. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">But then I saw it. I saw the "M" and the "B" and everything changed. I was obsessed with this idea and even though it was the days before the Internet, I read everything I could about this thing. Like did you know that the logo was created by a father and son for a "Design the Milwaukee Brewers new logo" contest? You know what they won? Two seats to every single Brewers game in perpetuity. Lifetime passes! How awesome is that?</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I think that MLB players are given lifetime passes to any game in any stadium if they meet a certain requirement (years in the league) and the Iran hostages got the same perk when they were freed, but they don't give these out to normies. So you're telling me, I get to watch baseball in my hometown for free, any time I want AND I get to see my favorite team play with the logo that I designed? </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I know that at the end of the day this father and son team were royally screwed on the merchandise dollars, but who cares. That prize is totally worth it. I wouldn't think twice about the lost revenue. Honestly. This logo is probably the first or second best in all of sports (big ups to the Hartford Whalers logo, which rules too). </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">In the woebegone 90s, the Brewers dropped the glove logo and replaced it with an interlocking M and B that sorta looked like the Notre Dame logo. And it sucked. There were too many sharp angles, it looked like something that you'd find at an old church--there was no whimsy to it. After awhile the team got wise and brought the ball and glove back, with an updated look. And it looks terrific.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Is this why I have the Brewers ranked so high? Yeah. Finding that secret was a seminal moment for me. It really got me interested in design. It made me pay attention to details. It taught me that there are little secrets everywhere, you just have to look. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">And did it hurt that the initials of the Milwaukee Brewers represented in that logo are the same as mine? Hell no. I'm nothing if not completely self-absorbed.</div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div><b> </b> </div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div><b>3.</b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b> </b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto">I
like underdogs and Oakland is the ultimate 'dog. I really love this
forgotten team and hope that it doesn't find its way to Las Vegas.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"> </span></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW6QuPk3EjA6oGUaDhrY0Fl2mb_ewo4IR_svXVwBiBIWgDbo_dFcQ9dbntxwlbeFc5BJyZy04h2QP2Kxmxh_k4xloZ9X6uWIk-LtISsLuvRxqXMGbaV9Os3xFLGM9l9ZodN6J1UDBOajdORpcVhzlRvSwseeAaGTzUWsQoarY1TbVV3b7WfUHisg/s600/339068286_608655651112216_5181547805365535096_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="507" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW6QuPk3EjA6oGUaDhrY0Fl2mb_ewo4IR_svXVwBiBIWgDbo_dFcQ9dbntxwlbeFc5BJyZy04h2QP2Kxmxh_k4xloZ9X6uWIk-LtISsLuvRxqXMGbaV9Os3xFLGM9l9ZodN6J1UDBOajdORpcVhzlRvSwseeAaGTzUWsQoarY1TbVV3b7WfUHisg/s320/339068286_608655651112216_5181547805365535096_n.jpg" width="270" /></a></div><br /> </span><div dir="auto"><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We are about 3 days away from the The Real National Hot Dog Day and to celebrate, we're counting up, Adam Curry style, my favorite baseball teams. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Confession <span><a tabindex="-1"></a></span>time: even though I tell everyone that I've been a Red Sox fan for my entire life, the truth is there were a few years where I took a little sabbatical. No, despite my anger at the front office and ownership, it hasn't been the last few seasons, it was in the late 80s. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I was an unabashed (pun intended) Oakland Athletics fan. From 1988 through 1990, the A's were undoubtedly the best team in the league and I was all in. They were a dominant machine (until the third week in October when the World Series is played) that had power hitting, speed, hitting for average, defense, starting pitching, relief pitching and a good manager. They had young players, wily veterans, reclamation projects and random dudes who played above their pay grade when they put on the gold and green. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Plus they played in a cool city and the Oakland Alameda County Coliseum wasn't a complete dump yet. The Raiders still called Los Angeles home, so Mt. Davis wasn't in center field and you could see the rolling hills behind the park. The place was banged out for every game and it seemed as if the baseball universe revolved around Oakland for those years. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Rickey Henderson, Carney Lansford, Dave Henderson, Jose Canseco, Mark McGwire, Dave Parker (or Don Baylor), Terry Steinbach, Tony Phillips (or Mike Gallego or Willie Randolph or Glenn Hubbard) and Walt Weiss was the lineup. The starting staff was lead by Dave Stewart, Bob Welch, Mike Moore, Storm Davis and Curt Young. A rejuvenated Dennis Eckersley nailed down any leads and the righty-lefty combos that emerged from the bullpen was deftly mastered by manager Tony LaRussa. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">For a baseball obsessed kid, this was nirvana. This was how baseball was supposed to be played. Oakland could play any type of game: they could win in a pitcher's duel, they could play home run derby, their speed was a killer so if you want to engage in a track meet, good luck, they (except for Canseco) defended masterfully and they were all battle tested, so it's not like they were going to make a ton of mental errors. You could watch a week's worth of A's games and not see the same thing. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Even though there was a ton of flash and star power, it seemed like the thinking person's way to play baseball. <br /></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Then they bottomed out. Players got old and they retired. Players' acts got old* and they were shipped out. Some players got too expensive, the ones that the team kept were often injured. It happens to the best teams. By the mid 90s, the Oakland A's were a shadow of their past glory. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">* In Howard Bryant's excellent biography on Rickey Henderson, during the 1990 World Series, Jose Canseco was bitching about being in the postseason. "It's no fair that since we're so good, we have to play all of these extra games every year." Fuck you, dude. Seriously. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">As the A's were sucking and being ignored, they started making some nice front office hirings including a former fringe big leaguer named Billy Beane. Beane had an interesting way of building up a club and he started putting it to the test in Oakland. And it worked. With cast-offs and overlooked players (and a few legit stars), the A's started winning again. They made the postseason a bunch of times, though they never won it all. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The one problem with Beane's system was that the A's had no money, so they couldn't keep good players when they wanted to get paid. They either traded them for prospects or they let them walk for nothing. The issue is that if you're going to keep replenishing your stars like this, you need to have a high hit rate. That's almost impossible, so the A's bottomed out again. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">They have done the boom-bust thing for awhile and they are currently cratering big time. The 2023 A's might be one of the worst teams ever assembled. If you've seen the movie "Major League" you'll know why. The owner wants to move to Las Vegas and he's doing everything in his power to turn off fan support. There has been some talk of a new park (which, in fairness, they really do need) but the city has no intentions of building a stadium for a billionaire for free. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">This is refreshing. They've already lost the Warriors and the Raiders in the last five years, so it's probably adios A's. If it's a good deal, they'll do it, but they're not going to screw their tax payers in order to assuage the ego of a billionaire. And here's the thing, I'm not sure how much Las Vegas wants the A's, TBH. They love their Golden Knights, but the Raiders haven't been that much of a success in the desert and there's a lot of talk that the NBA (lead by an ownership featuring LeBron James) is going to go there too.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">This might not be the best place for the A's to land, you guys. But you know what, the A's bounce around so expect them to go somewhere else in 20 years. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Whether the A's stay in Oakland or move to Las Vegas, I hope that they keep their green and gold. They have the best uniforms in the league, bar none. The scripted "Athletics" on the homes and the "Oakland" on the aways are classic. In 1987, I think six (out of 26) teams completely updated their entire uniform sets and the A's were the best. I loved them so much that I bought a black starter jacket with the script Athletics on the front and the elephant patch on the left sleeve. It was my favorite jacket ever. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Not only can they do classic, but the yellow and kelly green alts are also really cool updates too that don't look out of place wherever they play.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Everyone has their favorite ball club, but I think that you also need another one--an underdog--to root for. The A's could be your underdog. I wish the Athletics ownership would get their heads out of their asses and wake up to discover that Oakland is an awesome place filled with die hard fans who would rather root for the Dodgers than step into Oracle Park and cheer for the Giants. The place used to be an absolute mad house (in a good way) in the not-to-distant past and it could be again--this team could own the entire city! </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I really hope that they don't move. And I hope that they get a new ballpark. And I also hope that they're good again. They've spent more years in Oakland than they spent in their original city of Philadelphia (and way more than in their second stop of Kansas City), so even though they may look like vagabonds, they're not. As their marketing statement goes, they're rooted in Oakland. And that's where they should be.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b>2.</b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b> </b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto">I
know. I know. I've lived in Boston my entire life, but the Dodgers are
my second favorite team. The LOS ANGELES Dodgers? Yes. But it's more
than just the team, it's what the whole city represents to me.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"> </span></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyur4QYv4wPen1YPQjU6IP4IxrgJ6TKFDijKpCVUXqU2iGj76MyuJwWAWnq1h28Rec58yVi-k_b6gfHIPZYNwn3a27qj5239ubgUd7W7Ozi8Nwmw_A3SgF0pi7qr5fzqWZhfo4417Yobr4E1v8u_snGQEnmd0rQ0lIEwupD4yGCIuek9WUZEQefA/s526/339260759_537922785123513_6338100009536224852_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="526" data-original-width="526" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyur4QYv4wPen1YPQjU6IP4IxrgJ6TKFDijKpCVUXqU2iGj76MyuJwWAWnq1h28Rec58yVi-k_b6gfHIPZYNwn3a27qj5239ubgUd7W7Ozi8Nwmw_A3SgF0pi7qr5fzqWZhfo4417Yobr4E1v8u_snGQEnmd0rQ0lIEwupD4yGCIuek9WUZEQefA/s320/339260759_537922785123513_6338100009536224852_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /></span><div dir="auto"><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We are officially 2 days away from the The Real National Hot Dog Day and to celebrate, we're counting up, Adam Curry style, my favorite baseball teams.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I've been <span></span>to 29 different major league parks, but I've never been to Dodger Stadium. I have seven parks left on my list (I've been to eight parks that no longer exist) and I am eagerly anticipating going to Los Angeles and experiencing Dodger Stadium. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">To me, Dodger Stadium is baseball. Opened in 1962, it's the third oldest park in the Majors, but it doesn't look it at all. Somehow it seems both modern and old at the same time. The symmetry of the place along with its clean aesthetic just appeals to me. To me, the obvious parallel is old Yankee Stadium, but while YS always looked dark, dirty and lived in, Dodger Stadium always looks pristine, bright and clean. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">It's a perfect metaphor for the two cities themselves. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">While I love New York, I never wanted to live there. It seemed like a lot of a lot, if you know what I mean. And there's a lot of excitement to that and it's why I love visiting there, but you also seem to be on top one another at all times. There's no personal space, it's drab and dark and cold--in more ways than just the weather. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Los Angeles seemed like a sunny oasis. A place that was ridiculously sprawled out where you can have your space, but be around a lot of people too. Obviously there are some disadvantages to that, but the weather covers up those detriments. Plus, if I lived in New York, I'd have to watch the Yankees. LA has the Dodgers. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">As a Bostonian, it feels strange rooting for an LA team. Los Angeles and Boston don't have the rivalry that Boston and New York have, but it's there. And when push comes to shove, Boston has taken care of Los Angeles in the games that matter. Aside from St. Louis where Boston has beaten a team from all four majors in a Championship, Boston is a Bruins Stanley Cup series victory over the Kings from doing the same to LA. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The "BEAT LA! BEAT LA!" chant rings loud and true. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Unless they're playing the Sox, I can't root against the Dodgers. Their manager is literally the catalyst for the greatest sports moment of my life. How can I hope Dave Roberts fails? They traded for (and paid) the best player that the Red Sox developed in two generations in Mookie Betts. Just because he's on the Dodgers, I'm supposed to hate him?</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">But it's more than that. Growing up, the Dodgers were ubiquitous. From appearing on practically every "Game of the Week" to manager Tommy LaSorda starring as the Baseball Wizard on "The Baseball Bunch" and shilling for NutraSlim to Don Drysdale guesting on the "Brady Bunch" to Steve Garvey, Fernando Valenzuela, Orel Hershiser, Kirk Gibson, Mike Piazza, and many, many more appearing on multiple TV shows, you either became a Dodgers fan or you hated them. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I'm not made of stone, guys, I definitely became a Dodgers fan and bought all of the "I bleed blue" LaSorda bullshit that came with it. That's because when you talk the propaganda about the Dodgers, you're pretty much speaking the same propaganda about baseball in general. At this point, the messages are </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">practically intertwined. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I haven't even begun to get into the person who was the soundtrack of baseball for almost 70 years, Vin Scully. I had a friend who was adamant that Scully was "overrated". Everyone has opinions, it's cool to believe what you want, but as soon as he said this, I thought, "This is not a serious person. This person's opinions from now until infinity need to be ignored."</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Amazingly, Scully mostly worked alone in his booth for his career and was able to effortlessly paint such a vibrant picture of what was happening in Chavez Ravine that his lyrical gymnastics were as poetic as anything the Bard wrote. I'm fucking serious, man. The ability to talk into a microphone, describe the action, start and continue a story while pausing for balls and strikes, in the course of a half inning, night after night, without notes is a mutant ability. What I'm saying is that Vin Scully should have been on the X-Men. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Whenever I think of the Dodgers I think of blue sky, 80 degree days, sunshine, palm trees and the sounds of Scully on the radio--even if you're taking in the game at the stadium. I think of crisp white uniforms with blue writing and red numbers on the front with a blue cap and white button on the top. I think of baby blue colored outfield walls ringed by faded maize seats and those diamond shaped scoreboards. No matter who's playing and what the score is, it's as relaxing as a day at the beach. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I know that I've built up Dodger Stadium in my mind as the be-all, end-all baseball nirvana and I've been around the sun enough times to know that it's not all that. But there's a sliver of a chance that it might be and that's what baseball really is, right? That's what keeps us watching the game; the chance to see, to experience, to feel, something that we never have. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">That's what baseball, the Dodgers and Los Angeles means to me. It's not so much that I'm a huge Ron Cey fan, but I'm a fan of the idea, the promise really, of the sport and ultimately this team.</div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"> </span><b> </b> </div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div><b>1.</b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b> </b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id=":rfk:"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Y'all it's no surprise who my favorite team is. I wrote a lot about the Sox below. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">You know what also isn't a surprise: the Real National Hot Dog Day is tomorrow. We're having quite a crew to Case de Magrane's House of Awesome tomorrow. Now you have to get cracking too. Dogs, beer, chips, ice cream and pretzels are on our menu. What's on yours?</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">JDI, mofrackies. JDI.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJlEVHU4YgKpar8uhe2SH7sjQzGz5kUil9fHDuzndCxmIApOSGBg5r1ylS9vlIoc60olBAWpt64NbKjMWefoW-QpnuqPb9rQj9XyAE_w4m_13vx-BIsYkhtvo1-NiRG6vHQXaa3t3A0Ub6hhRSk7KtPqmdIc6mmVCz2cHiZadgtd7VB5hOSH0fzA/s832/339438159_940765330442871_2085482376299267175_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="832" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJlEVHU4YgKpar8uhe2SH7sjQzGz5kUil9fHDuzndCxmIApOSGBg5r1ylS9vlIoc60olBAWpt64NbKjMWefoW-QpnuqPb9rQj9XyAE_w4m_13vx-BIsYkhtvo1-NiRG6vHQXaa3t3A0Ub6hhRSk7KtPqmdIc6mmVCz2cHiZadgtd7VB5hOSH0fzA/s320/339438159_940765330442871_2085482376299267175_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div dir="auto"><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We are officially 1 day away from the The Real National Hot Dog Day and to celebrate--tomorrow is the day everyone!--we're counting up, Adam Curry style, my <span><a tabindex="-1"></a></span>favorite baseball teams.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Was there really any suspense or surprise in this pick? Of course, it's the Boston Red Sox. Who else would it be? I've written so much about the Sox on this site, my blog, Instagram, Twitter that anything that I write now is bound to be a rerun. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">But having said that, the Red Sox are my team and they will always be my team. It's not just the team itself that brings me a ton of joy (and frustration) but its the ancillary things. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>The Red Sox were a huge part of my wife and I getting together. She's a Yankees fan and when we first started dating* her, I liked her but I wasn't sure how much she liked me. So in order to get more time for her to like me, I offered a wager m; which ever of our teams won the season series the other had to make dinner. This bet was made in April 2003 and I figured I had about six months to work my magic. The series game down to the final weekend in September and the two teams were tied at eight wins apiece. During the last game Bernie Williams took Scott Sauerback deep in the eighth and the Yankees won the game and the series. I made enchiladas for the first time in my life and Aly and I were engaged about a year later. <br /><br /></li></ul></div></div></span><div style="margin-left: 40px;"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div style="text-align: left;">* Our first date was Opening Day at Fenway. We got SRO tickets but as we were walking into the park, a guy asked us where our seats were and gave us his tickets in the grandstands behind third base--which I took as a good omen about this potential relationship. Pedro got lit up by the O's--which I took as a bad omen. I guess getting good seats outweighs a Hall of Famer getting shellacked by a shitbum team. </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div></div></span></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The Red Sox have strengthened a bond between my mother and myself. I'd watch games with my mom and we'd talk about our favorite players (hers was Marty Barrett, mine was Jim Rice). And even when I was at my most assholish, the way that we'd smooth that over was by first talking about the Sox and then discussing what the real issue was. I think that it disarmed both of us and got the ball rolling--not an easy thing to do with a teenager, as I'm finding out now. <br /><br /></div></div></span></li></ul><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I've met countless friends through the Boston Red Sox. Not just my online chums, but real life people too. Going to a ballgame with a friend is one of life's greatest pleasures. You can have a beer, eat a dog, catch up about life, talk about nothing, reminisce, watch and comment on the game--it's better than a bar, better than a restaurant, better than hanging out in someone's living room. There's no better place to learn about what's going on in someone's life than at Fenway (or really, any ballpark).<br /><br /></div></div></span></li></ul><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>It kept me connected to my brother. My brother passed away a little more than two years ago and while I wouldn't say we were super tight, I'd give anything to talk to him about the Red Sox just one more time. We wouldn't argue (all the time) but we'd discuss the day's baseball events and he'd ask, "Why did the team do this, By?" "Why are they doing that, By?" and we'd just hash it out. It was about the only time that we really got along without any pretenses. And I miss it. </li></ul></div></div></span><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li style="text-align: left;">Any time I'm at a social function where I don't know many people, the Red Sox keep me from feeling awkward. Everyone has an opinion on the Sox. "Did you see the Sox game last night? Fucking unbelievable right?" (The last sentence can be taken two completely different ways.) Even in the offseason, "Did you see who the Sox picked up? Fucking unbelievable right?" And you're off to the races. The thing is, the Red Sox--and baseball really--is an amazing ice breaker. Unlike hockey or football, just about everyone has played baseball at some point in their lives. Hoops has always been marketed toward younger people, so it could be a gamble to talk about basketball--and then it could be about either the NBA or NCAA. </li></ul></div></span><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">But baseball? Everyone knows about baseball. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Even if they haven't watched an MLB game in years, there's a ton to talk about. You can focus on the past: "you went to THAT game, no shit, that's awesome?" "Yeah, I know what you mean. My coach used to make us do the same stuff. What an asshole, right?" You can talk about today: "I know, I can't believe that Devers hit a ball that far. It's crazy." You can talk about the future: "Dude, I feel you. Chaim Bloom does fucking suck. I don't know what they're going to do this year."</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The Red Sox, and baseball in general, allows you to purge all of your feelings: extreme joy, epic frustration, intense fear, ecstatic happiness, but since it's game played every day for six months (seven if you're lucky) it also allows you to just relax, take the game in, let it wash over you. Games tend not to matter that much in long run. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">It's that mundane events that lends to its specialness though. I don't normally text at night, but every once in awhile a friend and I will trade texts if something good is happening during the midle of the night, "Yo. You watching MLB Network right now? Ohtani is dealing." or "Sox in Seattle, what do you think?"</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I don't think that the Red Sox are aware of just how many doors they've opened for me in my lifetime. I don't think that they're clue in to just how big of an influence they've had on my life. I know it sounds silly, but it's all very true. There are some obsessions that you can't pinpoint to when you started them, they just happen and next thing you know, you can't stop thinking about them. But I can absolutely tell you the exact moment I became completely and totally immersed in the Red Sox, the exact moment when that team, and sport, dug its claws in me and never let go. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">It was Sunday October 12, 1986, Game 5 of the American League Championship Series around 5:00 pm EST. The Sox were down 3-1 in games to the California Angels and were losing Game Five by a score 5-4 with two outs in the bottom of the ninth. Angels starter Mike Witt was carving up the Sox like a turkey on Thanksgiving. This was the first team that I loved and I could not fathom that it was going to end this way. This team had kicked so much ass for six months and they were going to let it slip away? Like this? With a whimper? This sucks. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Let's back up a few moments: entering the ninth inning, the Sox were down by three. The announcers were going on and on about after so many near misses, California Manager Gene Mauch was finally going to his first World Series but they just had to dispatch the listless Sox first. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">After a hit and a couple of outs, up comes former Angel Don Baylor, who deposits a Witt pitch into the left field bleachers for a two-out, two run homer. It was something he did in that stadium, many, many times. Mauch freaks out and instead of letting his dominant pitcher get one more out, goes to the bullpen and summons Gary Lucas. He promptly plunks the next batter, Rich Gedman, sending him to first. After that at bat, Mauch has apparently seen enough of Lucas so he sends him to the showers and summons Angel closer Donnie Moore. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Stepping to the plate is seldom used--and quite honestly a guy who hadn't been very good for the Sox since coming to the team in a late summer trade with the Mariners--Dave Henderson. Henderson entered the game earlier after regular centerfielder Tony Armas pulled up injured. Within an inning of entering the game, Henderson attempted to rob a home run but the ball landed in his glove and his momentum when he hit the wall forced the ball to pop out of his mitt over the wall. He was sorta wearing the horns. Armas was too old to try that shit, it probably would have been a double. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Anyway, Henderson takes a couple of cuts on some offspeed stuff and looks completely clueless against Moore. But Moore decided to get cute and tried to sneak a fastball by him. Henderson, the absolute last dude on this 24-man roster you'd think would be a hero, puts the ball in the bleachers. The Red Sox score FOUR in the ninth and end up winning in extras. They roll through the rest of the Series and play the Mets in the World Series where some stupid shit happens. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">It doesn't matter. That moment where a person who should never have been in the game, a person who effectively lost the game for the team earlier in the contest, a person who wasn't even on the team as last as July 4th, who was playing in Seattle of all fucking places, that guy--THAT FUCKING GUY--was able to turn the entire series around. Dave Henderson made a name for himself that day. He was a hero. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">That's what we all want, right? The ability for redemption. The ability to be exaulted. The ability to tell everyone that you can do the job, just give me a chance. Baseball gives everyone that ability. That's what I love most about the sport, it's the most American of all the games. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">2004, 2007, 2013 and 2018 were magical and crazy and brilliant and amazing and any other adjective that you have. But at the same time, there is nothing like the magic of baseball when you're 12-years-old, your favorite team is down to its last strike and the season is on the brink of being finished and some dude comes out of nowhere and saves it. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Guys, I've been chasing that dragon for 36 years and honestly, I doubt that I'm ever going to catch it. I've come close a few times, but it won't happen again. But it might. And that right there, that feeling of maybe it will, is what baseball--and the Boston Red Sox--means to me. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Forever.</div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div><div><div class="x168nmei x13lgxp2 x30kzoy x9jhf4c x6ikm8r x10wlt62" data-visualcompletion="ignore-dynamic"><div><div><div><div class="x1n2onr6"><div class="x6s0dn4 xi81zsa x78zum5 x6prxxf x13a6bvl xvq8zen xdj266r xktsk01 xat24cr x1d52u69 x889kno x4uap5 x1a8lsjc xkhd6sd xdppsyt"><div class="x6s0dn4 x78zum5 x1iyjqo2 x6ikm8r x10wlt62"><span aria-label="See who reacted to this" class="x1ja2u2z" role="toolbar"><span class="x6s0dn4 x78zum5 x1e558r4" id=":rfn:"><span class="x6zyg47 x1xm1mqw xpn8fn3 xtct9fg x13zp6kq x1mcfq15 xrosliz x1wb7cse x13fuv20 xu3j5b3 x1q0q8m5 x26u7qi xamhcws xol2nv xlxy82 x19p7ews xmix8c7 x139jcc6 x1n2onr6 x1xp8n7a xhtitgo"><span class="x12myldv x1udsgas xrc8dwe xxxhv2y x1rg5ohu xmix8c7 x1xp8n7a"><span class="x4k7w5x x1h91t0o x1h9r5lt x1jfb8zj xv2umb2 x1beo9mf xaigb6o x12ejxvf x3igimt xarpa2k xedcshv x1lytzrv x1t2pt76 x7ja8zs x1qrby5j"></span></span></span></span></span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><span aria-label="See who reacted to this" class="x1ja2u2z" role="toolbar"><span class="x6s0dn4 x78zum5 x1e558r4" id=":rfn:"><span class="x6zyg47 x1xm1mqw xpn8fn3 xtct9fg x13zp6kq x1mcfq15 xrosliz x1wb7cse x13fuv20 xu3j5b3 x1q0q8m5 x26u7qi xamhcws xol2nv xlxy82 x19p7ews xmix8c7 x139jcc6 x1n2onr6 x1xp8n7a x1vjfegm"><span class="x12myldv x1udsgas xrc8dwe xxxhv2y x1rg5ohu xmix8c7 x1xp8n7a"><span class="x4k7w5x x1h91t0o x1h9r5lt x1jfb8zj xv2umb2 x1beo9mf xaigb6o x12ejxvf x3igimt xarpa2k xedcshv x1lytzrv x1t2pt76 x7ja8zs x1qrby5j"></span></span></span></span></span><span aria-label="See who reacted to this" class="x1ja2u2z" role="toolbar"><span class="x6s0dn4 x78zum5 x1e558r4" id=":rfn:"><span class="x6zyg47 x1xm1mqw xpn8fn3 xtct9fg x13zp6kq x1mcfq15 xrosliz x1wb7cse x13fuv20 xu3j5b3 x1q0q8m5 x26u7qi xamhcws xol2nv xlxy82 x19p7ews xmix8c7 x139jcc6 x1n2onr6 x1xp8n7a x1ja2u2z"><span class="x12myldv x1udsgas xrc8dwe xxxhv2y x1rg5ohu xmix8c7 x1xp8n7a"><span class="x4k7w5x x1h91t0o x1h9r5lt x1jfb8zj xv2umb2 x1beo9mf xaigb6o x12ejxvf x3igimt xarpa2k xedcshv x1lytzrv x1t2pt76 x7ja8zs x1qrby5j"></span></span></span></span></span></div></div></span></div></div></div></div><b></b></div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div></div></span></div></div></div></div><p></p>Byronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18236810459872882912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7495524.post-22414690467185485752023-08-03T11:41:00.000-04:002023-08-03T11:41:12.381-04:00My Favorite Teams 12-7<p><span style="font-family: arial;"><i>Back
in March and April of this year I was counting up my favorite baseball
teams on Facebook in anticipation of The Real National Hot Dog Day. I
thought that it might be a good idea to keep them here for posterity.
Here are the fourth group of teams along with the FB introductions. </i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>12.</b></span></p><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id=":rf1:"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto" style="font-family: arial;"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">My 12th favorite team is the Sox. The WHITE Sox. Ha, ha, got you. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Now you should read what I wrote about them. Also get your collective asses ready for the Real National Hot Dog Day because it's coming whether you like it or not: April 3.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv3Uv8gu2kGEHs8PzJRSyoM42uyu3IXo_xjrC6FTrQUyAc59U0Dt1_xqc8i1UofXHucwREjTOlYI1ChqkAIMXZV2wN4-qjhDOO0StButAFm3Kjyu3etl5yQKpE7drIE6y1NqSLDXONtQfbWL4bHdlXUv4he7jUuzAGk_3GRtXzoZRhZQIvs6ExTg/s750/337126996_159595153332986_3108565288656218964_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv3Uv8gu2kGEHs8PzJRSyoM42uyu3IXo_xjrC6FTrQUyAc59U0Dt1_xqc8i1UofXHucwREjTOlYI1ChqkAIMXZV2wN4-qjhDOO0StButAFm3Kjyu3etl5yQKpE7drIE6y1NqSLDXONtQfbWL4bHdlXUv4he7jUuzAGk_3GRtXzoZRhZQIvs6ExTg/s320/337126996_159595153332986_3108565288656218964_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <div class="" dir="auto"><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We are 12 days away from the The Real National Hot Dog Day and to celebrate, we're counting up, Ryan Seacrest style, my favorite baseball teams.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">To me, the White <span><a tabindex="-1"></a></span>Sox were always a strange team. They shared the same city with the Cubs, but they seemed like the anti-Cubs. They played in a run-down old park (which in retrospect was pretty cool) with obnoxiously bright yellow bars dividing the seating sections compared to Wrigley's classic brick facade. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">They played mostly at night, the Cubs played during the day. The White Sox were in the western division of the American League while the Cubs were in the NL East. The Cubs wore the same home uniforms since the 30s, while the White Sox seemingly had new unis every other year. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The two teams didn't seem to play in the same universe, yet they somehow managed to share a city. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">As a kid growing up in Boston, it bugged me that the White Sox "stole" the Red Sox' name. There was only room enough for one team to be named after hosiery and that team called Boston home. You steal our catcher and you take our name? </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">With the crumbling stadium and the so-so teams, the White Sox always seemed to have one foot out the door too. Until the state ponied up some cash, the White Sox were about to move to St. Petersburg and play in the dome that the Rays now called home. Yes, that's how long that stupid stadium has been around, it was used as leverage for a new White Sox stadium, which opened in 1991. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The White Sox had players that you sorta knew but it seemed weird to see Carlton Fisk and Tom Seaver in jerseys that screamed "SOX" on the front with horizontal blue and red lines around it and numbers on the front of their pants. And the home grown stars that they had were fine. Harold Baines was a quiet professional hitter. Ron Kittle was a power hitter that looked like a substitute chemistry teacher that got too friendly with the kids. Catcher of the future Ron Karkovice looked like he'd buy you a 12-pack if you gave him enough money so he could get a sixer. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">They were anonymous and strange looking and almost always an afterthought. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Then in late 1990 the White Sox did something really interesting. They rebranded. They no longer wore red, white and blue and their logo was no longer an abstract guy hitting a ball over the word "SOX". Suddenly the White Sox shifted to black and silver, they added pinstripes to their home uniforms, they looked like a baseball team again. But beyond that, with the black and silver echoing the LA Raiders and Kings with a nod to gangsta rap culture, the White Sox looked like a team of bad asses. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">They also started to promote players from their minor league teams that could play a little. The Big Hurt Frank Thomas. Robin Ventura. Alex Fernandez. Black Jack McDowell. They picked up free agents like Tim Raines and Bo Jackson. And they started winning. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Their was a buzz around the White Sox in the early 90s. Hip hop videos were filled with dudes wearing White Sox caps (Dr. Dre named checked the team in a song) which meant that goofy suburban white kids were wearing White Sox hats (myself included). I told people that I liked Frank Thomas, but in reality I probably liked Dr. Dre and Eazy-E more. Not only that but I spent my hard-earned dough on an official away White Sox jersey (THE KIND THE PROS WEAR!) because I thought it looked so cool. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">To their credit, the White Sox have stuck with this look for almost 30 years. They bring the only beach blanket bingo unis (the ones from the mid 80s) out on Sunday and everyone has a good time remembering how shitty those things looked (except for Chris Sale, who when he was with a White Sox, went ham and cut up all of the jerseys with a scissor because he didn't want to wear them, which okay Chris thank you </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> for your input) but the next day they’re always back in their usual silver and black. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">They've had their ups and downs since the 90s--winning a World Series in 2005 for the first time since 1917, so their streak was longer than the Red Sox by two seasons yet people nationwide seemed to care less about that, which is odd--but they're been a pretty consistently good team. They have an interesting nucleus of a team now and they're without the ancient Tony LaRussa, which is a good thing. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">How good? We'll just have to see.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b>11.</b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto">I
wrote about the Royals today, so you know that I'm going to spend a lot
of time writing about Bo Jackson. Not that much though. Just enough.</span></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"> </span></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgbh27igSdDxqEGSX1WJ9IcQ3lDdFrhtwjVO_XCBYeW8VKhpQvRdHiN7TU8j5NWqwzDJJlHTwf7vMAU1mntGeXrhP789dWn3uNMB7_QIYBOM4z6ls4v7jjhvWtT7rL_NCchHKJnMPuEVORu-aNLkkN3b1yllVDqd5G7kwKJzQwxNBxAdDcK_pu5w/s843/337152482_591143256032800_8269720038014577321_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="547" data-original-width="843" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgbh27igSdDxqEGSX1WJ9IcQ3lDdFrhtwjVO_XCBYeW8VKhpQvRdHiN7TU8j5NWqwzDJJlHTwf7vMAU1mntGeXrhP789dWn3uNMB7_QIYBOM4z6ls4v7jjhvWtT7rL_NCchHKJnMPuEVORu-aNLkkN3b1yllVDqd5G7kwKJzQwxNBxAdDcK_pu5w/s320/337152482_591143256032800_8269720038014577321_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> </span><b> <br /></b><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We are 11 days away from the The Real National Hot Dog Day and to celebrate, we're counting up, Ryan Seacrest style, my favorite baseball teams.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Growing up, the <span><a tabindex="-1"></a></span>Kansas City Royals were one of those teams that always gave the fits. At Fenway, the Sox were glad to split a series and really lucky to take two of three. This despite the fact that the Sox always had the power bats. Jim Rice, Dwight Evans, Tony Armas, Mike Easler, Don Baylor, etc could outhomer the entire Royals lineup with one arm tied behind their backs. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">But the Royals played a type of baseball that was alien to Boston, it was based on speed, defense and good pitching. They'd pinball the horsehide all over Fenway, the Sox would end up running in circles trying to chase it down and Willie Wilson or Lonnie Smith or Frank White would be standing on third waiting for George Brett to drive them in. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">When they met in Kansas City, the Royals were nigh unbeatable. The Sox would come in on a winning streak and the Royals would run them into the ground, National League style. Kaufman Stadium was expansive and had miles of astroturf. KC would slam the ball into an alley, it would get by Armas (or Rice) and the those Royals rabbits would run forever. When the Sox were up Baylor or Evans would drive a ball deep, Wilson would glide over and make a catch 390 feet away from home plate. Lots of loud, long outs for the Sox. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">It always seemed to be hot there, which sucked if you were an old guy like the Sox always seemed to have, and that was usually evidenced by the thermometer that WSBK TV-38 would show where the mercury would reach 130 on the field (astroturf didn't absorb heat really well) and announcer Ned Martin would say, "Hot one today, eh Monty?" and his partner Bob Montgomery would chortle, "Glad I'm not playing Ned!"</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">An organization that was built around speed and defense took a strange turn in 1985 when they drafted and signed Auburn running back (and Heisman Trophy winner) Bo Jackson. When he debuted in 1986, all eyes turned to KC--which is strange because the Royals won the World Series the season prior. Was Bo an immediate hit when he showed up in Missouri? No. But that didn't matter, much like Ohtani has captured the imagination of kids today, Bo did that for another generation. And his legend only grew when he signed with the Los Angeles Raiders. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Dude plays baseball and football? How? Why? Can he do that? He could and did. Now the Royals had a legit power threat (sorry Steve Balboni) in their lineup who was a world-class athlete and star. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Unfortunately, Bo got hurt. A bunch. He got hurt playing baseball and he really got hurt playing football. He's the ultimate what if and that makes him a legend. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Read "The Last Folk Hero" by Jeff Pearlman. It's fucking amazing. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">After Bo got hurt and left and the Royals legends retired, Kansas City went into a deep, deep funk. They lost a ton. They wouldn't spend money (despite being owned by a family member that owns WalMart). They would develop players, but trade them the minute that they wanted more than the bare minimum. They were adrift in a shitty wasteland. And for someone who remembered how scary it was when his team visited KC, it was depressing. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Somehow in the early 10s, the Royals got the message and started developing (and keeping) their players. There was a bit of a Royals renaissance. They actually made it to the World Series one year. The next year, they did even better and won the World Series. It was awesome, the underdog (owned by one of the richest families in America) actually beat the team from New York and won it all. Amazing. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">It didn't last though. In subsequent years, the Royals have played okay--most of the nucleus of the World Series winner were either traded away (WalMart has to spend money to smash local mom and pop stores!) or got old. They're not terribly bad, but they're not terribly good either. They're, as the kids would say, mid. I guess that's okay. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The Royal's uniforms are excellent. They shouldn't change a thing, but they did in the late 00s adding the mean looking, sinister black to the color palette. It looked dumb. It looked as if they were trying way too hard. It reminded me of the dork that left school in June and showed up in September with an earring and a scowl. You can't fool me, I know that you cried when you got hit in the face with a kickball. Quit frontin' Kansas City.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b>10.</b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id=":rde:"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Hot Dogs Rock! Hot Dogs Rock! Hot Dogs Rock!</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Apologies to Drew Carey, but it's true. Hot Dogs, like Cleveland, do rock*. And there's only 10 days left until the Real National Hot Dog Day, so get your shit together. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">* Kids, whether you like the Guardians name or not, I think that we can all agree that we dodged a bullet when the Cleveland brain trust decided not to use the name "Rockers". What a dumpster fire that would be. Ughhh.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLV1PsqvyZTp-IH3veaKJQhmMP5qeq38JWWFtfrb1D-ePWwkGPdgCQBXtdd34_N_ACszaivoY21BXfpV22QfWU5v9JQFipQQiXicYXDghvysNHyD2hggrnL3cuvgPRgoGs5F-7PKIUbMgDw2Bf0VZpxON4iY0Qwbb17R1yyDzBGbW5mDZhLUAv-A/s905/337545903_939055393916445_9053276849758632224_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="765" data-original-width="905" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLV1PsqvyZTp-IH3veaKJQhmMP5qeq38JWWFtfrb1D-ePWwkGPdgCQBXtdd34_N_ACszaivoY21BXfpV22QfWU5v9JQFipQQiXicYXDghvysNHyD2hggrnL3cuvgPRgoGs5F-7PKIUbMgDw2Bf0VZpxON4iY0Qwbb17R1yyDzBGbW5mDZhLUAv-A/s320/337545903_939055393916445_9053276849758632224_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We are 10 days away from the The Real National Hot Dog Day and to celebrate, we're counting up, Ryan Seacrest style, my favorite baseball teams.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">So yeah, the <span><a tabindex="-1"></a></span>Guardians. I'd have liked the Spiders better but after you know why they're named the Guardians (Cleveland has these eight huge art decco statues called the Guardians of Traffic as you enter the city) the name sorta grows on you. Plus, I guess if the Guardians were cheap, they only had to change four letters from their last team nickname. So, cost savings over Spiders!</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">As far as the name, whatever. These things weren't handed down from the gods. The old ones were mostly made up by sportswriters and the new ones are created via marketing focus groups. YMMV on which is worse. But, coming from a high school that had the same name, Indians is a dumb nickname. All permutations of sports nicknames based on Native American heritage are dumb. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">You want to honor Native Americans and make everything square? Don't name some shit baseball team in Cleveland, how about you give them back their land? How about you admit and apologize for knowingly giving them diseased blankets and pushing them further and further west, essentially wiping out their people. How about that? </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">As far as the franchise goes, I have a soft spot for Cleveland ever since I got my first Sports Illustrated baseball preview issue that screamed "Indian Uprising". Cleveland outfielders Joe Carter and Cory Snyder were under the grinning mug of Chief Wahoo and SI was telling us that this was Cleveland's year. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> Sports Illustrated was huge back in the day and everyone bought into the hype. What did Cleveland do? They sucked. Hard. Finished last that year, a billion games behind the Tigers. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Those people love their sports so much and they get gutted so many times, yet they keep coming back. Again and again and again. Is it a coincidence that the world's biggest optimist in the face of realism is Charlie Brown? I think not. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">But the Guardians have gone through just as many heartaches as the Browns have. The team it had in the 90s was absolutely stacked and they lost some heartbreakers to the Braves and the Marlins. The Marlins? Are you kidding me? That team had been around for four hours compared to the (then) Indians. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">And since this is Cleveland, they had to (HAD TO) sell off their stars and they floundered for a bit. But then they built the team back up and went to the World Series against the Cubs. THE CUBS! This was like a street fight between Greg Brady's Hawai'ian tiki idol and some other equally shitty luck trinket (I can't think of one off hand). Cleveland tied the game going into the ninth and had a ton of momentum, they were going to win this motherfucker. And the rain came down, Jayson Heyward rallied the Chicago troops and they won it in the tenth. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">BTW, you know the last team to win a World Series Game 7th in the tenth? The Marlins. Who did they play? The Indians. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Once Cleveland wins, they'll probably fall a few spots down the list. But until then, let this team win. Good lord. Maybe changing their name might lead to better luck. But what do I know, I couldn't even think of another bad luck charm that wasn't on the fucking Brady Bunch.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b>9.</b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id=":rcf:"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">When I was younger (like when I was 44-years-old) I used to call this team the Oreos, because I didn't know what an Oriole was. I guess I could have looked at the logo and assume that it was some sort of bird, but what do you want from me, I was probably trying to figure out what channel Battle of the Planets was on. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Anyway enjoy this piece on the Oreos! (FUCK, I did it agan.)</div></div></span></div></div></div></div><b> </b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNHyrb2mXvvAY3d9xkUV6S2Bo38EosDQxFJg8rl1vAsUQrXb3vI7lBPgC7Dg3Pp02DYkHPm1WCAKdhC7xFNZakpIj_DSWr3rBjSUVC8HqWOgjO617qtbO6gWx5CW-hNHl13-k3YMz4L9eE7737yfFhxdsYtpPBmB2irDVVBS2SlHVeOeGyZj397g/s843/337562432_891988762094656_6006062794588589716_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="547" data-original-width="843" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNHyrb2mXvvAY3d9xkUV6S2Bo38EosDQxFJg8rl1vAsUQrXb3vI7lBPgC7Dg3Pp02DYkHPm1WCAKdhC7xFNZakpIj_DSWr3rBjSUVC8HqWOgjO617qtbO6gWx5CW-hNHl13-k3YMz4L9eE7737yfFhxdsYtpPBmB2irDVVBS2SlHVeOeGyZj397g/s320/337562432_891988762094656_6006062794588589716_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> </b><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We are 9 days away from the The Real National Hot Dog Day and to celebrate, we're counting up, Down Town Julie Brown style, my favorite baseball teams. Wubba <span><a tabindex="-1"></a></span>wubba wubba.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The Baltimore Orioles used to be good. Actually, strike that; the Baltimore Orioles used to be really fucking good. From the late 60s through the mid 1980s, the Orioles were a consistent force in the American League. They won AL East flags, they made it to the World Series and they actually won multiple World Series titles.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Not only that but the way they did it was through smart trades and a player development program that netted them a handful of Hall of Famers. Jim Palmer, Brooks Robinson, Eddie Murray, Cal Ripken Jr. and manager Earl Weaver all came up through the Baltimore system, all won World Series rings, all ended up in Cooperstown. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">And it wasn't only Hall of Famers and fill in the blanks, the Orioles minor league teams were rife with </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">MVP and Cy Young candidates, players who had big years, platoon players and relief aces that performed well in their roles. It was the Oriole Way and they just crushed it for almost 20 years. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Then the wheels started falling off, the early 90s weren't a great time to be a Baltimore fan--aside from Camden Yards which was a game changer in the way that Branch Rickey and California baseball were game changers--and the O's scuffled a bit. Ripken was getting close to Gehrig and I guess the front office thought that people were going to pay a lot of attention to them, so they started filling in the gaps with primo free agents. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">And it worked. But free agents tend to be old guys and wear out their welcome after three of four seasons. The once fertile Baltimore minor league system was what my aunt used to call me, barren (she couldn't say Byron to save her life). Once the free agents couldn't produce and the prospects quickly turned to suspects, Baltimore baseball was dead. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">For a long, long time the Orioles were just awful. The new century wasn't kind to the people of Baltimore either and continued to be shitty for about 15 years. Then they got good for a few seasons before bottoming out again. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I'm not a Baltimorian (is that what you call someone from Baltimore?) but I like the Orioles. I remember when they were the Cadillac of Major League Baseball. The crowds always supported them, they always were loud and wild and crazy and games looked fun in Crab City. Despite having the OG retro stadium (that still rules) the way that the Angelos family has mismanaged this franchise is a crime. The city of Baltimore, hell Major League Baseball, deserves better. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I like when the Orioles are good, it reminds me of being a kid; so I always pull for the Orioles to be good. With that goofy cartoon bird and their orange and black togs, the O's look like a fun club. This year, the Orioles might surprise a few people, they have a nice young base that the Angelos family can't fuck up (mostly due to them being cheap) and perhaps the O's are on an upswing. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">There has been talk that the Orioles might move to Nashville, apparently one of Peter Angelos' failsons has a wife who wants to be a country singer or these two buttholes like to cosplay as "salt of the earth country folk" or whatever, but if they move from the city, that would be a huge black mark against the league. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Baltimore is really into football, no doubt, but I think that they really love baseball. Taking baseball away from a region that loves it is dumb.</div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div> </div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div> </div></div></span></div></div></div></div><b>8.</b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id=":rbk:"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">It's a GIANT day here at Real National Hot Dog Day Central. Why? Because we're about a week away from the high holiday and you had better get your stuff now!</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Also, if you like what you read, consider giving The Real National Hot Dog Day page a like or a share. I'd appreciate it. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Today we talk about the first pro hat the I ever bought (it's more interesting than it sounds) and why I thought that I was so damn cool walking around in a black wool hat, sweating my ass off during many <span><a tabindex="-1"></a></span>Massachusetts summers. We also get into the Giants a bunch. It's a lot of fun.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgduaXpwiNhjRQrnm1KW9h8vPSAFHoP40K7M5U3mku0aq0PPZHg6XM0ucV7aJWiPSHO-O7eizl-KeaXxKUQyg_eCBp1wwc3ZlYfCq8gvhL4-fOt0JXSCXSYLdjoharf5aHXnWFlhYaplZkA3YIHPPz0Tuw5weSUK3PEeH3VUbKvqyvrbVu9P2Q-hA/s843/330328043_223291950253022_7789236816870980037_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="547" data-original-width="843" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgduaXpwiNhjRQrnm1KW9h8vPSAFHoP40K7M5U3mku0aq0PPZHg6XM0ucV7aJWiPSHO-O7eizl-KeaXxKUQyg_eCBp1wwc3ZlYfCq8gvhL4-fOt0JXSCXSYLdjoharf5aHXnWFlhYaplZkA3YIHPPz0Tuw5weSUK3PEeH3VUbKvqyvrbVu9P2Q-hA/s320/330328043_223291950253022_7789236816870980037_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <div class="" dir="auto"><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We are 8 days away from the The Real National Hot Dog Day and to celebrate, we're counting up, Down Town Julie Brown style, my favorite baseball teams. Wubba <span><a tabindex="-1"></a></span>wubba wubba.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The first fitted pro hat that I ever bought wasn't the Boston Red Sox. Though I purchased it at one of the souvenir shops in Fenway Park, it was the San Francisco Giants. I wish that I could tell you that there was so deep reason why I bought this hat, that there was a real connection between myself and the Giants franchise or the city. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Maybe my grandfather grew up idolizing Mel Ott. Perhaps my parents met on the corner of Haight and Ashbury in 1967. Was I related to Willie Mays, who's to say?</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I would expect that the real reason why I bought the interlocking orange squared "S" and "F" is three-fold. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">1. I liked the colors. Orange and black rule. Not a lot of teams use those two colors, but when they do; they look so good. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">2. I really liked Kevin Mitchell and Will Clark. With his ferocious swing Mitchell spent a few seasons absolutely demolishing baseballs. And there were whispers (started by Mets GM Frank Cashman who stupidly traded him) that made him sound like a complete bad ass. Those whispers weren't really true and they were coded bigot-speak, but at the time I thought that this made Mitch sound more awesome. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">As for Will Clark, he had the picture-perfect swing. He was nicknamed "The Natural" and it wasn't because he was a naturally nice guy (writer Jeff Pearlman says he's one of the absolute shittiest people he's ever had to interview). But that swing, man. It was a thing of beauty. I had posters on the wall of my bedroom of Mitchell and Clark and they were both cool as hell. But the Clark one captured the follow through of his swing and I'd stare at it wondering how I could ever have something like that. Baseball osmosis doesn't work, kids. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">3. The main reason why I bought this hat (back in the day it set me back a cool $25, so this was a [pardon the pun] major league fashion investment) is that no one else in my town had one. When you're a teenager there are a lot of pushes and pulls to your daily social life. But the biggest one is that, for me, I wanted to stand out but I didn't want to be so different as to be noticed and ostracized. Everyone wore baseball caps, but they were the same ones: Red Sox, a ton of Bruins, Celts here and there, (never the Pats), maybe the New York Giants but the San Francisco Giants? A National League team in an American League city? Never. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">So I felt like I was making a statement in a very silent way. "Why am I wearing this hat? Have you ever seen Will Clark and Kevin Mitchell hit? That's why." No one ever asked me that question, of course, and that answer would have been completely obnoxious, completely dorky and deserving of an ass kicking, but it always sounds a bit cooler in my mind.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I finally made it to AT&T (or PacBell or Oracle or whatever they call it) Park in 2008 and it was really cool--I never went to Candlestick Park. By this time Clark and Mitchell were faded memories (I may well have been a Carl Hubble or Christy Matthewson fan growing up) but the Giants were starting on a decade of dominance. Prior to this there were stretches where the Giants were bad--they were so bad that they almost moved to Toronto in the 70s and St. Petersburg in the 80s (the Tampa/St. Pete area was used as boogeyman to shake down more municipalities) but they got their new park and really started to pour money into the team. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">They picked up a guy by the name of Barry Bonds who did some stuff. They went to the World Series in 2002 (and lost to the Angels) and then they went on this strange every-other-year run where they kept winning the World Series with a homegrown team that played their best in the biggest situations. Buster Posey, Tim Lincecum, Madison Bumgardner, Pablo Sandoval and others beat the Rangers, Tigers and Royals in nonconsecutive series in the early 10s. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">It was cool to see a city of real baseball fans who had come so close in so many years (1962 and 2002 specifically) finally win a couple titles. If I still had it, I probably would have jammed that small sized hat on my overly sized melon and walked around with a boring, self-serving monologue in my head ready to answer anyone who asked, "Great game last night. How long have you liked the Giants?"</div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></span></div></div></div></div><b> </b><br /><b> 7.</b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id=":rat:"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">You know what the We Are Family 1979 World Series winning Pittsburgh Pirates ate when they sat down to family dinner every night? Hot dogs. Mounds and mounds of wieners. That's because everyone knows wieners is Austro-German for winners. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">But you don't have to pitch a no-hitter tripping balls on acid to be a winner, all you need is some hot dogs, buns, chips, a bevie of your choice and some ice cream. That's all it takes to celebrate the Real National Hot Dog Day!</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">So be like <span></span>Doc Ellis and Load up on Some Dogs a week from tomorrow! It'll be groovy, man. In the mean time, read all about the Pirates and how Pittsburgh fans (just the baseball ones, fuck Steeler and Penguin nation) deserve better.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrEN8zgshUHT3vU5wH_TyRlxkNvx3t3B1h80yEz9Nd_PT8h8ujfJx5E_76X83Ow0T9I2kouhm80whtR6uPDP_jcd3wLBG0_OgzX14WPIsG8nvSq9H6Jcj5jHXOmy3h1G4dlBnZ2Etl6pZIsfDbbqY_f6yUa84gS6uo7QyFe8A9N3wsmDW_ceSP5Q/s905/337848478_160919550193405_6770259314854588251_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="905" data-original-width="655" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrEN8zgshUHT3vU5wH_TyRlxkNvx3t3B1h80yEz9Nd_PT8h8ujfJx5E_76X83Ow0T9I2kouhm80whtR6uPDP_jcd3wLBG0_OgzX14WPIsG8nvSq9H6Jcj5jHXOmy3h1G4dlBnZ2Etl6pZIsfDbbqY_f6yUa84gS6uo7QyFe8A9N3wsmDW_ceSP5Q/s320/337848478_160919550193405_6770259314854588251_n.jpg" width="232" /></a></div><br /><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We are 7 days away from the The Real National Hot Dog Day and to celebrate, we're counting up, Down Town Julie Brown style, my favorite baseball teams. Wubba <span><a tabindex="-1"></a></span>wubba wubba.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I feel like I say this a lot about a bunch of these teams, but it's true: the Pirates weren't always horrible. What sucks about writing this is that baseball owners have figured out that that a lot of times, putting a winning team on the field leads to losing money. You have to get good players to win and good players are usually expensive (unless you hit the jackpot and draft a good player who's cheap, but he can't be drafted too high because he might cost a bunch to sign) and expensive players tend to eat into your profit margin. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Not only that but these owners have also determined that even a shitty team is going to get a certain amount of fans in the stands and a better team isn't going to tip the scales into profitability. Not only that but the bulk of teams' revenues don't come from attendance anyway, so fuck it, run out a AAAA team to keep payroll low, get paid from TV licensing and partnerships, preach about a "process of self-sustaining player development system" (as if you just created that idea) and then bitch about how the city isn't supporting you and that you need money to fix up a 15-year-old ballpark or you're moving to Tucson. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">That's sports ownership in the 21st Century--the never ending cash grab.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">But there was a time when owners felt pride in making sure that they had the best team on the field. Yes, they wanted to make money and yes they were mostly all assholes (and racist to boot) but they thought that the way to make money was to have a good team because that brought in the fans. And the fans would buy hot dogs and beer and pennants and ice cream. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The Pirates were once one of those teams. From the 1950s through the mid 90s--aside from some down years in the 80s--the Pirates were usually pretty decent. They had the great Roberto Clemente, Willie Stargell, Doc Ellis, Dave Parker, Bill Madlock, John Canderlaria, Bobby Bonilla, Barry Bonds, Andy Van Slyke, Doug Drabek. Some of these guys were Hall of Famers, others should be in Cooperstown, others were consistent All-Stars and award winners. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">They won World Series, they went to Championship games, took the National League East flags and were in legit pennant races just about every year. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Then it was over. Even when they were kicking ass on a regular basis, I don't think that the Pirates ever owned Pittsburgh--those Yinzers love their Steelers--but they were a popular group. I don't live in Heinz City but these days, it seems as if they're number three behind the Steelers and the Penguins. The blame isn't to put at the feet of a fickle fan base, it's due to decades of franchise malfeasance. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The Pirates are lucky that they have one of the most beautiful parks in the league, because without PNC they'd be in Portland or Nashville or some other city begging for Major League action (which could be the title of a book about my teenage years). The Pirates scrimp and save and cut corners and let every star leave western Pennsylvania for the same reason, "we just don't have the money" and that's just bullshit. They do have the money, the just don't want to spend it. And that's a shame. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The Pirates played in the first World Series (they lost to the Red Sox -- in your face, Pittsburgh!) and they should be one of the Cadillac franchise. The have the pedigree, they have the park, they have the fans; there's no reason why the Pirates can't be like the Cardinals or the Giants. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">After my dalliance with the Giants in the late 80s, I turned my gaze to Pittsburgh. I loved what they were doing there, their outfield of Bonds, Van Slyke and Bonilla was the best in baseball. Their infield wasn't as good, but with Jeff King, Jay Bell, Chico Lind and their first baseman du jour, it was a solid force. UMass Lowell's most famous alumn Mike "Spanky" LaValliere was no star, but a stable presence behind the plate. And their pitching staff, led by Drabek, was good too. Jim Leyland smoked in the dugout and managed this rag tag bunch but they just never could get past the Braves. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Not only were the players cool as hell, but lead rapper(?) singer(?) Chuck D of Public Enemy wore a Pirates hat pretty much all the time (not to mention a Pirates Starter jacket once in awhile) and I thought that was dope as hell. They had history (important to a dork like me!) and street cache (inexplicably important to a dork like me!), the Pirates were riding high. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">However, the sun set on this budding-dynasty-that-never-was as players started leaving the city. The Pittsburgh ball club never recovered and went through some truly dark times for years and years, the emerged as wild card contenders in the mid teens but have since fallen back to sucky. Though former Boston GM Ben Cherington is leading the Buccos and he says that he has a plan, which, sure Jan. We all have a plan. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I actually just bought a Pirates hat about a month ago and I got some positive comments on it. Maybe this is apocryphal (most definitely) but the Pirate fan base is around, they just need to get a few wins under their belts to bring it back. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Screw the plan Ben, get some money and bring some talent to Pittsburgh. How much money does this ownership need (all of it, that's the real answer)? Spend it. Build that system with can't miss prospects. Sign a free agent or two that isn't five years past his prime. Give the people what they want. God damn. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Oh yeah, and another thing, don't use red as accent color anymore. It looks stupid. Keep it yellow and black. And bring back this happy Buc on the wanted poster. This dude rules.</div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div> </div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></span></div></div></div></div><p></p>Byronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18236810459872882912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7495524.post-43874642453120288132023-08-02T11:24:00.004-04:002023-08-02T11:24:33.374-04:00My Favorite Teams 18-13<p><span style="font-family: arial;"> <i>Back
in March and April of this year I was counting up my favorite baseball
teams on Facebook in anticipation of The Real National Hot Dog Day. I
thought that it might be a good idea to keep them here for posterity.
Here are the third group of teams along with the FB introductions. </i></span></p><p><b style="font-family: arial;">18.</b></p><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id=":rnq:"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto" style="font-family: arial;"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Hey, if you enjoy one of the characters from "The Facts of Life", maybe you'll be tricked into enjoying this little essay on NatsTown!</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Also, I'm not sorry for putting the "Facts of Life" theme song in your head. Ha, ha, ha, ha!</div></div></span></div></div></div></div><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><b> </b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuVq3g_hI-R-aSQW-u3V3fm2wjGBTVD_AT-klaFMjs_QWv-Ng2Qb89WlL49A0MhgMVG32OsDuXHmQL7NpaU8ElAdEusYCSs2LjYwTp_QlYonnRew76y2f1i7Bx-5IB8kguRQ4W8A2QaYYiRUPbY-XBmFDFFQaQZVMoOqvXBPNYe0qVmZ51kGXe1A/s843/335641587_616304793616290_1463430838900784939_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="547" data-original-width="843" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuVq3g_hI-R-aSQW-u3V3fm2wjGBTVD_AT-klaFMjs_QWv-Ng2Qb89WlL49A0MhgMVG32OsDuXHmQL7NpaU8ElAdEusYCSs2LjYwTp_QlYonnRew76y2f1i7Bx-5IB8kguRQ4W8A2QaYYiRUPbY-XBmFDFFQaQZVMoOqvXBPNYe0qVmZ51kGXe1A/s320/335641587_616304793616290_1463430838900784939_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></div><b><br /></b><p></p><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto" style="font-family: arial;"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We are 18 days away from the The Real National Hot Dog Day and to celebrate, we're counting up, Dick Clark style, my favorite baseball teams.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">From 1901-1960, <span><a tabindex="-1"></a></span>baseball was played in our nation's capital and it was fine. The original Senators moved to Minnesota and became the Twins. From 1961-1972, baseball was played in our nation's capital and it was fine. The new Senators picked up stakes and moved to Dallas and became the Rangers. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">A lot of years passed and there was no baseball in Washington DC--actually in 1973, the Padres almost moved to DC, but they got cold feet and stayed in San Diego--and it always seemed strange to me. Baseball was purportedly America's Pastime, how could it not be played in the shadow of the White House*?</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">* Interesting fact, from 1973-1991, the sports that both are closely associated with their countries, baseball and hockey, were not played professionally in their capital cities. That was remedied for our neighbors to the north when the Senators (full circle-ish, huh?) began skating in Ottawa. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">DC wouldn't get their third (THIRD?!?!) chance until 2005 when the Expos moved out of Montreal and relocated to DC. You know the story, but basically the Expos were the hardest hit by the 1994 strike. It destroyed the best team the franchise ever had and Canadian fans weren't too keen on forgiving them. The entire operation tanked and during it's last few years in Montreal, they were wards of MLB and also played a bunch of games in San Juan, PR. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">For a long time, the Nats were as bad as the late century Expos. They continued the tradition of the previous DC iterations and stumbled through season after season losing more than they won. It didn't appear that they'd ever get better, but they did!</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Washington drafted Stephen Strasburg and Bryce Harper in consecutive years. Made some smart, franchise altering free agent signing (Jayson Werth was a big one that seemed to be the catalyst) and built up their club so that they became contenders. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">It all looked as if this was going to go up in flames when Harper spurned the Nat's offer to keep him in DC and signed with the Phillies. But buoyed by Strasburg and Harper replacement Juan Soto, they went out and won the whole damn thing in 2019. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Was this going to be a Nat-aissance with a new Nat-ittude? Only if by renaissance you mean the team would revert back to being shitty. And if by attitude you mean people would ignore them again, then yes. Strasburg got hurt. Players got old. And they finally traded Soto last year to the Padres (I guess either way Soto was destined for this franchise). </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Are the Nats going to be better this year? Probably not. Does it matter? Forget it Jake, it's Natstown. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Whatever, I don't care. I just like that baseball is a stone's throw from the Potomac River. I feel as if there is order in the world (even though there absolutely isn't).</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b>17.</b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id=":rn3:"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Yo. Cheating is okay gang, it really is. Find out why I think it is and stick around to the end where I offer my thoughts on my old elementary school art teacher's (Mrs. Gillis -- name checks out, she was, in fact, not a fish and did not have gills) fashion choice during a student/teacher softball game. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Intrigued? You damn right you are.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> <br /></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZbysd2w4HnEYCaeutBC5P_enQ8opCcKdC0eSyQGvXG8EtsLM0n2VCSd08j2qiPMJJnwfoAj-yhjaCMQUfWZY5xY343tBnDQHrNUps0N8JOk8uMaXH04NwfuMUmPP1oU-LNUIfnuldvypKhDZrwEbC8iMKmsTL39iKE8eThreh1jad7qGXbzp7Gw/s843/335232705_169121332594591_1319128683327887590_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="547" data-original-width="843" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZbysd2w4HnEYCaeutBC5P_enQ8opCcKdC0eSyQGvXG8EtsLM0n2VCSd08j2qiPMJJnwfoAj-yhjaCMQUfWZY5xY343tBnDQHrNUps0N8JOk8uMaXH04NwfuMUmPP1oU-LNUIfnuldvypKhDZrwEbC8iMKmsTL39iKE8eThreh1jad7qGXbzp7Gw/s320/335232705_169121332594591_1319128683327887590_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <div class="" dir="auto"><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We are 17 days away from the The Real National Hot Dog Day and to celebrate, we're counting up, Dick Clark style, my favorite baseball teams.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I have two <span><a tabindex="-1"></a></span>confessions, one: the Astros weren't the original team in this slot, it was the Royals. But the more I thought about it, I like the Royals a bunch so I'm not sure why I put it there. What I did there was be flexible. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Confession two: when it comes to cheating in professional sports, I don't really give a shit. Like at all. I used to care. A lot actually. Whenever a sports team was exposed for cheating, I would get very offended, my honor would be besmirched, I would cry to the heavens. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I thought that this was a problem of modern sports teams and that the pressures of winning was too great and that money and greed and other influences was ruining the pristine games that I loved. Athletes weren't cheaters, it was the uncontrollable modern factors around them that was making them cheat!</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">But then I read a lot of books about teams from different generations and you know what? They all cheated. It didn't matter if it was Cap Anson, Rogers Hornsby, Bobby Thompson, Mickey Mantle or Reggie Jackson. Every team, every athlete would use any sort of edge to their advantage. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Why? Because it sucks to lose. Because if the opportunity to win is there, you take it. Because there's no such thing as the moral athlete. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The greatest home run in baseball history was the aforementioned Thompson taking Brooklyn Dodger Ralph Branca over the fence and putting the New York Giants into the World Series. Remember "THE GIANTS WIN THE PENNANT! THE GIANTS WIN THE PENNANT!" Guess what? Those Giants had a system where they knew which pitches were coming, a signal was relayed from a window in centerfield (look at the Polo Ground to see what I mean) and the batter would know what pitch was on its way. It's one of the main reasons why the Giants made up 14 games in two months. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">But it happened so long ago that people call it gamesmanship and give a little chuckle. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">From greenies to steroids (lots of drugs) to corking bats (remember that?) to slathered baseballs (Gaylord Perry is in the Hall of Fame) to SpyGate DeflateGate to (any other Patriots gates?) whatever, I don't care. BTW I don't think I'm alone here. The only people who really seem to care are sportswriters and I think that they care because it gives them an easy 74,000 columns that they can write about it. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Which leads us to the pariahs known as the Houston Astros. Did the Astros cheat in the late 10s to win a bunch of games, including an ALCS over the Yankees (HA HA!) and the World Series against the Dodgers? Yup, they certainly did. Did they get busted for it? Yup again. Do I care? No. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I'm not normally a might-makes-right type of guy, but the Astros thought of a decent idea, used it to great success and won. It was kinda shitty, but it was fine. Your favorite team is doing something similar too, I can guarantee it. It either hasn't worked well enough or they're lucky not to get caught. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">When I was younger, the Astros played in the Astrodome on Astroturf (which I guess now has been proven to give you brain cancer--at least in Philadelphia) and I thought that it was kind of neat to play inside. The Astros, like their Texas brethren the Rangers, never seem to win. That was because unlike the Rangers they had guys who could pitch, but no one (aside from Glenn Davis) who could hit for power. Playing in that dome was like playing in a black hole, nothing ever escaped it. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">So they weren't great for a long time. They were just kinda fine. Then they moved out of the Astrodome and into MinuteMaid Park and have turned themselves into a bit of a dynasty (after some very lean years). The organization has done a lot of things right over the last decade, though removing the hill and flag pole in centerfield absolutely sucks, and they've turned themselves into a model team. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">And now that Dusty Baker has won his World Series, I can go back to not giving a shit about the Astros. So last year was truly a win-win for everyone (most of all me and Dusty). </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">As far as the logo goes, I would love to see them go back to this but Houston won't because they don't play in that building anymore--BTW, as of ten years ago, the Astrodome is still standing, I saw it with my own eyes. But even though I didn't care about the Stros too much*, as a kid I loved the little detail of the baseballs as neutrons orbiting the dome. Their tequila sunrise uniforms were wild too**.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">* The Astros in the Amesbury PONY League were the best team in the league. I think that we were okay, but they used to kick the shit out of us all the time. That intensified my anti-Astros takes. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">** About the only thing I remember from Elementary School is that my art teacher, Mrs. Gillis, wore one of those multi-striped, multi-colored Astros shirts to a teacher-student softball game. I thought that it was awesome and years later I was shocked to find out Houston actually played in them. I thought it was something that a hippie art teacher wore when forced to play softball.</div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></span></div></div></div></div><b> </b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b>16.</b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id=":rmc:"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">You know what the Braves' tomahawk reminds me of? Hot dogs. It's red, the laces are yellow like mustard? Don't you want to just throw that in a bun and wash it down with some cold Miller Lite?</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Just me?</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Okay. How about you just read this essay on the Braves and get your butts to the grocery store and buy what you need for the Real National Hot Dog Day. It's coming up, kids! April 3, 2023 is around the corner. Don't delay!</div></div></span></div></div></div></div><b> </b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhV338K7hZYZq9ooAvVaaSpHMnm-_PhZ9QXy5ZW-rrthbph8oXmHkgVGirLqC0bIpd6ox24pn_JQX4QHwVyKLo5S2desViEoG6zU7kjearQKSyVDYfzpqn2dCo1Lam7UFsCXpDszIJ_YeduHtfe2b_wyx2CJVph6WKz015pmh5YM7uwPfbFqcLrA/s905/336807023_1420598272111717_393011464454638551_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="335" data-original-width="905" height="118" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhV338K7hZYZq9ooAvVaaSpHMnm-_PhZ9QXy5ZW-rrthbph8oXmHkgVGirLqC0bIpd6ox24pn_JQX4QHwVyKLo5S2desViEoG6zU7kjearQKSyVDYfzpqn2dCo1Lam7UFsCXpDszIJ_YeduHtfe2b_wyx2CJVph6WKz015pmh5YM7uwPfbFqcLrA/s320/336807023_1420598272111717_393011464454638551_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> </b><br /><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We are 16 days away from the The Real National Hot Dog Day and to celebrate, we're counting up, Dick Clark style, my favorite baseball teams.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I wish that the <span><a tabindex="-1"></a></span>Braves never left Boston. Not just because it would have given the city a National League club to follow, but it may have pushed the Red Sox to integrate their team faster. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">In 1950 the Braves promoted an African American player by the name of Sam "the Jet" Jethroe to the Major League team. He kicked ass, won Rookie of the Year, had a good year his second year before tapering off in 1952. He was also 33 when he debuted and that's the way things went back then when it came to Black stars and their careers.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">In 1952 the Boston Braves signed an 18-year-old infielder from the Indianapolis Clowns by the name of Henry Aaron. He wouldn't debut until 1954, after the team moved to Milwaukee. Can you imagine the amount of awesome baseball one could have watched in the Hub where you could see Hank Aaron and Eddie Mathews (the only player BTW to play for the Boston, Milwaukee and Atlanta Braves) slam dingers in one park and then go see Ted Williams and later Carl Yastrzemski do the same thing down the street? </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Fenway Park and Braves Field were separated by a mile. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Too bad it never happened. The Braves moved to Suds City in 1953, hung out there for a few years and </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">then moved to Atlanta for the 1966 season. Until their dominance in the 1990s, the Braves were never very good (two World Series Championships) and their tenure in Atlanta continued that. They were god awful for years and years and year, but they were popular as hell because they were one of the first baseball teams to be on a superstation. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Team owner Ted Turner was one of those dudes who loved to be rich, buy shit and promote synergy across his purchases. He bought the Braves, already owned WTBS and decided that he was going to take his channel nationwide via cable and that the Braves were going to be his bedrock. All programming would revolve around the Braves' schedule. Want to watch Andy Griffith? Don't tune in at 6:30, you tune in 6:35 because the Braves game begins at 7:05. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">And it worked. Even though they were really shitty, people watched the Braves. There are people I know who were old time Boston Braves fans who were ecstatic that they could watch the Braves again. It might be THEIR Braves, but it was THE Braves and that was good enough for them. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">So when the Braves started kicking ass in the 90s, it was weird. For my entire life the Braves were bad and now they're good? And free agents want to play there? And they have a ton of crazy fans? And they actually win (just not the World Series)? It must've been like NFL fans when the Patriots got really good all of a sudden. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">For the better part of 20 years, the Braves were a machine. And then they weren't. They didn't bottom all the way out, but they got pretty low. They left the Launching Pad (Fulton County Stadium) in 1997 for Turner Field which was not a bad place to catch a game. But for some reason (there's a bunch and a lot of them ain't good) the Braves decided that they needed a new place to play so they opened Truist Park in 2017. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Since then, the Braves have been really good again. A young team that revolves around solid hitting and defense, it's a little different from the 90s version of the club (which was led by three Hall of Fame pitchers) but it gets the job done. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I feel strongly that human beings shouldn't be used as mascots, especially if they've asked the team not to do so. And double especially if those people were systematically wiped out by ancestors of the people that are "honoring" you. It's a stupid look and it's disgusting.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Having said that, I think that the Braves uniforms are awesome. I pretty much love everything about them. They seemed to move the team/city name up a few inches on the jersey, which I'm not wild about, but that's a small nit to pick. They're legit great. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Also if they were to change their name, how about the Hammers? You can honor Hank Aaron, you can change the tomahawk to a hammer and keep the colors. Plus they could turn the "Tomahawk Chop" into "Hammer Time" or something and do a similar move with a few modifications without, you know, being totally racist. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I don't know. We've taken a lot from the Native Americans, maybe we should return their dignity.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b>15.</b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id=":rll:"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Number 15 on my list of lists is the Philadelphia Phillies. In this essay we talk about anonymity due to falling behind the times, this dope-ass logo and Veteran's Stadium turf being the cause of brain cancer. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">It's heavy one, but I think that you're ready for it.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEits5NAGi5uLNngL_YfGnFjGy45S0aKdn16T3ip1RoeiosK5wNdld__w2M799xMq4wny3V-lRJ7Aqvr6i0mkByIN7aXVhZllBDJqcitfOZJLCxMrqURgssK-8OjRi6ol3WFWE-WIQZ7cYVuhSYPo7AWWbTaeKCkteBBL6Ndm_Zn4P2yGdERoiCaZg/s843/335305760_590019979711701_1128797676701249438_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="547" data-original-width="843" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEits5NAGi5uLNngL_YfGnFjGy45S0aKdn16T3ip1RoeiosK5wNdld__w2M799xMq4wny3V-lRJ7Aqvr6i0mkByIN7aXVhZllBDJqcitfOZJLCxMrqURgssK-8OjRi6ol3WFWE-WIQZ7cYVuhSYPo7AWWbTaeKCkteBBL6Ndm_Zn4P2yGdERoiCaZg/s320/335305760_590019979711701_1128797676701249438_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> </div></div></span></div></div></div></div><b> </b><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We are 15 days away from the The Real National Hot Dog Day and to celebrate, we're counting up, Dick Clark style, my favorite baseball teams.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The Phillies have <span><a tabindex="-1"></a></span>been a professional baseball club since the 1880s. That means they began play within 15-20 years of the Civil War. They didn't win their first World Series until 1980 and their second didn't come until 2008. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">For a large, East Coast city, the Phillies have been practically anonymous to the country at large (aside from greater Philadelphia of course) until the 1970s. Aside from a Grover Cleveland Alexander here or a Chuck Klein there or a Whiz Kids or a Gene Mauch led collapse, the Phillies haven't had much. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I'm not sure why this is true. Aside from a few years in a truly dumpy Baker Bowl, the played in Shibe/Connie Mack Park which looked like an elegant place to play. They had to share Philadelphia with the Athletics until 1955, but the A's were mostly even worse than the Phillies; so it's not like that club was siphoning off fans. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Maybe it goes back to the fact that the Phils were one of the last clubs to integrate, so while the Dodgers and Giants and Pirates and Cubs and Braves were scouring the Negro and Caribbean Leagues for the next big star, the Phillies* were sitting on their collective asses. You could sorta do that in the American League, but it was franchise suicide to try that in the NL. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">* The Phils were also among the worst of the teams that were pretty shitty to Jackie Robinson. But, really, all the teams were super shitty to Jackie Robinson. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">In the late 50s/early 60s the Phils got the memo that having Black players on your team was actually a good thing and things started to pick up. They weren't great until the 70s, but the club started to come together as they became the class of the NL East. Their only issue was that they couldn't beat the Reds and when the Big Red Machine broke down, the Phils made the World Series in 1980 (they WON!) and 1983 (they loss).</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">From then they were an up-and-down franchise, who (probably) won more than the loss. I always dug the Phillies look and when they went away from the logo picture below to the one that they have now, I was happy because I liked the retro modern look. But over the years I came back to loving those old Veteran Stadium logos--that sort of weird, 70s vaguely futuristic font with the baseball inside the P. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">It's kitschy and reminds me of being a kid and trying to figure out who's good on the Phils besides Mike Schmidt. Charlie Hudson? Rick Schu? Former Methuen high and Northern Essex Community College and 1987 Cy Young Award winner Steve Bedrosian?</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Speaking of those 1980s Phillies, after the team tore down Connie Mack Stadium, but before they moved into BankOne Ballpark, the Phils (and Eagles) played at Veteran's Stadium. It was one of those 1970s, cookie cutter, multi-purpose, Astroturfed stadium that was all the rage a generation ago. I was serious when I mentioned that the turf had a bunch of carcinogens that gave brain cancer. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Apparently a bunch of Phillies died of brain cancer over the last decade or so and so some enterprising journalists saw a trend and wanted to see a connection. They found some old samples of the turf on eBay, won the bid and had them tested. Sure enough, the samples were found to have the chemicals (I am not even going to attempt to spell them, but Google is your friend) that are the leading causes of brain cancer. And they're also chemicals that don't just dissipate in the air, they stick around forever. Literally. For-fucking-ever. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">So if you played for the Phillies during the 70s, 80s or 90s and you're reading this, thank you for your service and get thee to a doctor.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b>14.</b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id=":rkq:"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Would you look at this: two days in a row with teams that were/are known as the Blue Jays! Bet you didn't know that the Phillies rebranded themselves as the Blue Jays during World War II. It didn't stick. But the name stuck in Toronto!</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">While you're doing that, you'll bump into a metaphor I made about the Jays, the Mariners and the characters from "Reality Bites". Intrigued? I bet you are!</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDltY-hbgwn8zmGJ11Lc3OsH6HFTsRCXbksFuVlPtQA-BrGgsb88WdCyx_Y0bW0s2qQdJ7v_A_0PmQZ-TETCTQMAuTLXpc7yzlQwJUNKZhzx8LDIos02d89BYlj4JNqB2lCAKCFW1L9AiHBLUUkQxdHlTiiCTK3z9krvt7ZkyVSdnk1zM67bBaGQ/s550/337108774_120566567554258_6280324223415327062_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="550" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDltY-hbgwn8zmGJ11Lc3OsH6HFTsRCXbksFuVlPtQA-BrGgsb88WdCyx_Y0bW0s2qQdJ7v_A_0PmQZ-TETCTQMAuTLXpc7yzlQwJUNKZhzx8LDIos02d89BYlj4JNqB2lCAKCFW1L9AiHBLUUkQxdHlTiiCTK3z9krvt7ZkyVSdnk1zM67bBaGQ/s320/337108774_120566567554258_6280324223415327062_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> </div></div></span></div></div></div></div><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We are 14 days away from the The Real National Hot Dog Day and to celebrate, we're counting up, Dick Clark style, my favorite baseball teams.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">When I became a <span></span>baseball fan in the mid 80s, the Seattle Mariners and the Toronto Blue Jays were the most recent clubs added to the American League. I considered them the "new teams" back then and to a certain extent, I still do. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">But new franchises are never the same. The Mariners stunk and continued to stink from their inception until plugging Ken Griffey Jr., Edgar Martinez, Alex Rodriguez and Jay Buhner into their lineup and trading for Randy Johnson. That was the mid 90s. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">By that time, their expansion brothers had already won their division a handful of times and made the World Series twice, winning both appearances in back-to-back years. While the Mariners were cooler in the 90s--most things from Seattle was during that time--the Blue Jays were way more successful. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">It was a lot like "Reality Bites" where the M's were Ethan Hawke (full of promise, short on results) and the Jays were Ben Stiller (hardworking, successful and sorta dorky). MLB fans were Winona Ryder and I have no idea who Steve Zahn or Janeane Garofalo is in this metaphor. As Ryder who should you cheer for/end up with? Readers, I'll leave that decision to you. <br /></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Give me a break, this was a solid metaphor and I was inspired. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The Jays weren't always good but they were a frisky team. In the 80s, they had the best outfield with George Bell, Lloyd Mosby and Jesse Barfield. They had a better-than-decent left side of the infield with Kelly Gruber at third and Tony Fernandez at short. Newly minted Hall of Famer Fred McGriff manned first and their pitching staff had Dave Stieb*, Jimmy Key and Jim Clancy. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">* Dave Stieb should be in the Hall of Fame. He was really, really, really excellent, you guys. Way better than Jack Morris. This is going to sound insane, but I watched a four-hour YouTube documentary on him (part one: <span><a class="x1i10hfl xjbqb8w x6umtig x1b1mbwd xaqea5y xav7gou x9f619 x1ypdohk xt0psk2 xe8uvvx xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r xexx8yu x4uap5 x18d9i69 xkhd6sd x16tdsg8 x1hl2dhg xggy1nq x1a2a7pz xt0b8zv x1fey0fg" href="https://l.facebook.com/l.php?u=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutu.be%2FZlviajJlctQ%3Ffbclid%3DIwAR124g4J0jbOm7TPMnkeGRFTCPMWl0N6NeSfpFgw8TVUvxJJZdLie-C2c5A&h=AT0usl3oVstBi4GpJ9-1SAs5GCjw9eQexrp1E_q3NcthHli_a4T7unOS7cYfAmOZ4U82QAaqBEV19b1FAJ_4msEtxDd9j28rJcJ2qAOcwWGGKk_XjSTN6_DK42yJjvhkiT6LtN8&__tn__=-UK-y-R&c[0]=AT00LM2PqCX2W6CGNC06koh8YlCus4Ko9RMKc1ybCR7N4q4bonBxJlXBueuBywy0b9MVcD564MvOqlaznrzCulu4vajvdc6M0GJv8W1FHU4iKfkHw2HnP2LHvyckIcYA6WTblcxgRuxxTNbX_xmFucIo9drYuzFMwQWTpLRfdDYHWqtyvFoMsosjFyjQNuh57HMJ4f7Rbhoq6S_Dwte8Nw56MtIqpzTsV676m30" rel="nofollow noreferrer" role="link" tabindex="0" target="_blank">https://youtu.be/ZlviajJlctQ</a></span>) and it was incredible. You should watch it. Honestly. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">In the 90s the Jays got better. Like I said they won the World Series twice, moved into the futuristic SkyDome (there's a hotel in the park! And there are rooms that look onto the field!) and the Jays were just rolling along. Then the strike hit, the World Series team got old, players got traded and the Jays have sorta muddled along since then. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">They've had some really good teams (Jose Batista is one of my all-time favorite non Red Sox players ever) and, to borrow a phrase, Toronto has been "sneaky good" for a few years. But they've never captured that dominance that they had in the early 90s. They never got their Ben-Stiller-taking-a-call-in-his-Porsche-when-no-one-did-that mojo back. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The Blue Jays are Canada's only baseball team and they're owned by the Rogers Corporation. They are a sleeping giant and if they wanted to, they could absolutely ravage the lower 48 if they ever wanted to put their financial muscle to the test. <br /></div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">When they were really good, I really disliked the Jays. But now that they're finally out of the desert, are on the rise and still an underdog, I like the Blue Jays a bunch.</div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div><b> </b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b>13. </b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id=":rju:"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">You might be having a devil of a time trying to find hot dogs (it's like the few weeks before Christmas) so in the mean time check out this entry on the Angels. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">There's a nice Tom Yawkey slam buried in there.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPcB1_uinT3Cojv9hSLFpDnGOZY2mgQSSAPED-hf_HWbRuFwhO7jRkJLGMmgjcYGDBmYN2_T_0YAv6cJG5-CaVTmg8248K0oZ7BWFkbMZ9WhDz-C6dF_vKylni9Ypx438LdP8Fv9wHjIp6FiKbwxkzmoE03u9pc7UcBfRaMk8C2lL7m5hs0s03pg/s905/337144145_682392390552864_3086874566224277764_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="905" data-original-width="905" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPcB1_uinT3Cojv9hSLFpDnGOZY2mgQSSAPED-hf_HWbRuFwhO7jRkJLGMmgjcYGDBmYN2_T_0YAv6cJG5-CaVTmg8248K0oZ7BWFkbMZ9WhDz-C6dF_vKylni9Ypx438LdP8Fv9wHjIp6FiKbwxkzmoE03u9pc7UcBfRaMk8C2lL7m5hs0s03pg/s320/337144145_682392390552864_3086874566224277764_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="" dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We are 13 days away from the The Real National Hot Dog Day and to celebrate, we're counting up, Ryan Seacrest style, my favorite baseball teams.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">It's not a <span></span>surprise that the Angels have been a bit of a mess as a franchise. When they began in 1961, they were known as the Los Angeles Angels. Then they moved from LA's Wrigley Field (where the awesome old TV show "Home Run Derby" was taped) to Anaheim and became the California Angels. They then turned into the Anaheim Angels for a few years when Disney bought them (SYNERGY! The name on the front of their uniforms are the same as where DisneyLand is located).</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">After being bought from Disney, new owner Arte Moreno wanted to incorporate LA more, but the city wouldn't let him (the city paid to fix up the Big A and one of the stipulations was that the team had to be called the Anaheim Angels) so he changed the name to the ridiculously sounding Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim. Once the contract expired, Moreno dropped the "of Anaheim" and the Angels were back where they started from. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The existence of this franchise is just as schizophrenic as it's name changes. They've had stars, but they never can seem to win. They're not doormats, but they don't really rise to the occasion. They've blown postseason leads (to the Brewers in 1982 and to the Red Sox in 1986) they blown regular season leads (1995 to the Mariners) but they've also come back when it mattered most--during their only World Series appearance where they were down big in the seventh inning of Game Six where they stormed back against the Giants shocking Dusty Baker and Barry Bonds. They rolled over SF the next night behind rookie John Lackey and captured their first championship. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I know how this sounds coming from a Red Sox fan, but the Angels also seem to lead the league in pity. As in every time you find LA/California/Anaheim/LAofA/LA in the playoffs, it's always "I hope they win it for ..." The list is long: Gene Autry, Gene Mauch, Mike Trout, Ohtani, etc. It never seems to be about the fans like it is/was in Boston*, Chicago, Cleveland and other woebegone towns. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">* Though Boston had a few years where people were pulling for the Sox to win it for racist owner Tom Yawkey. Now that they've won it (four times!) I can say, fuck that guy; I'm glad he went to his grave thinking he was a loser. And that goes double for his wife too. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The Angels play in the second largest market in the country and while they have to share the spotlight with the National League team to the north (Dodgers) and now need to make room for the NL team to the south (Padres), I don't think that the Angels have to play the little brother or underdog role. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Having said all of that, I do like the Angels a bunch. I like their whole Southern California, it's always sunny here, no matter what vibe. I've always wanted to live in Southern California and I think I'd spend a lot of time watching Angels and Dodgers baseball. Especially if I moved there pre-MLBNetwork. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The Angels usually have a fun team to watch. Ohtani and Trout are worth price of admission alone. They've always had stars from Nolan Ryan to the four former MVP teams of the early 80s (Reggie, Fred Lynn, Don Baylor and Rod Carew) to the mid 80s squad to the farm-build teams of the 90s and 00s to now, the Angels at least give it the old college try. And that's all you want as a fan, you want your team to try and win. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Sure, they strike out on a bunch of free agent signings (Anthony Rendon, Josh Hamilton, Mo Vaughn, CJ Wilson, Vernon Wells, Gary Matthews Jr. and a bunch of other jabronis*) but they at least make the attempt. They put themselves out there. They spend the money. They don't spend it wisely but if someone in the front office ever got a clue and used that in conjunction with Moreno's checkbook, they could be dangerous. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">* I didn't include Albert Pujols because his contract was going to be a complete shitshow in his last few years and it was. He did pretty well for LA when he was there, not as great as he did in St. Louis, but did anyone think he'd really put up those numbers? BTW if Mo Vaughn didn't get hurt (and then fat), who knows if he would have put up big numbers in Cali. But he didn't, so he's there. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">While their free agent signings are uniformly bad, their uniforms and logos (aside from the Disney years -- Woof) are all really good--just look at that chunky stitching on the ball in the logo at the top of this entry. It's glorious. Go through any of the logos or the uniforms and you'd be happy to buy a bunch of overpriced crap and root for that laundry.</div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div> </div></div></span></div></div></div></div><b> </b> </div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div>Byronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18236810459872882912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7495524.post-53813973609382406102023-08-01T10:19:00.005-04:002023-08-02T11:24:51.718-04:00My Favorite Teams 23-19<p><span style="font-family: arial;"> <i>Back
in March and April of this year I was counting up my favorite baseball
teams on Facebook in anticipation of The Real National Hot Dog Day. I
thought that it might be a good idea to keep them here for posterity.
Here are the second group of teams along with the FB introductions. </i></span></p><p><i style="font-family: arial;"> </i></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><b>23. </b></span></p><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I started down the road to nostalgia city and ended up taking a left turn and finding myself at fuck these stupid fucking owners they're all greedy asshole pigs village. </span></div></div><p></p><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id=":rqo:"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto" style="font-family: arial;"><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The Reds bring up a lot of conflicting emotions.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCqpa0Y9ZJX6qJZnDzX4Vtv0MbUPMHEhzveemZzdZZ1spXyxuowLgoLNDQPi2PK9C7MtsyLkSbXrYncL6HV27haIo3gdHqcYkZ9iSVl0f17eINg_JPcwSvZ311jVSxKr-EPc8HGacYHhyqjC67GDYx06daY5lOVnm0WGI5mFEi9jROBzV2sPjJAw/s843/335627738_3389994294596795_6060872096785363308_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="547" data-original-width="843" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCqpa0Y9ZJX6qJZnDzX4Vtv0MbUPMHEhzveemZzdZZ1spXyxuowLgoLNDQPi2PK9C7MtsyLkSbXrYncL6HV27haIo3gdHqcYkZ9iSVl0f17eINg_JPcwSvZ311jVSxKr-EPc8HGacYHhyqjC67GDYx06daY5lOVnm0WGI5mFEi9jROBzV2sPjJAw/s320/335627738_3389994294596795_6060872096785363308_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <div dir="auto"><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We are 23 days away from the The Real National Hot Dog Day and to celebrate, we're counting up, Shadoe Stevens style, my favorite baseball teams. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">When I was a <span><a tabindex="-1"></a></span>kid I thought that if a team beat you in the Championship game, they were automatically your rivals for the rest of your life. I believed this for an embarrassingly long time, but in my defense I grew up when the Celtics played the Lakers in the Finals seemingly every other year so I thought that's how it was in all sports. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">It really isn't. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">But for a long time, I had a hair across my ass for the Cincinnati Reds (and the Mets and the Cardinals times two). How dare these barbarians from Ohio march onto the holy Elysian field that is Fenway Park and snatch our prize from us? How dare they not allow St. Carl Yastrzemski and Fred Lynn and Jim Rice and Rico Petrocelli and Bill Lee and Dwight Evans and the rest of that beautiful 1975 team not achieve their ultimate goal?</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">This loss happened when I was one year and one month old, so I took it very personally. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Fast forward to 1990 and these Ohio assholes did the same thing to my backup favorite team (who were really my favorite team at the time -- shhhhh, don't tell anyone!) the Oakland Athletics. I thought that the A's were going to curbstomp the Reds. Not only were they lucky, but they weren't even the best team in the National League that year (I liked the Pirates too). </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">But behind Jose Rijo and Billy Hatcher and the Nasty Boys and a bunch of other dudes, the Reds swept the A's. I remember sleeping at my buddy's house during Game One and being in utter shock that the Reds won that one. I must've been a puddle a week later. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">In any event, it's monumentally stupid to feel this way. Players go and try to win championships because that's what they do. Rarely is it personal. And if it is personal there's probably a good reason. The people who take losing the championship the worst aren't the players, but the fans. Again, that's dumb. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">This is a long road to say the Reds are kinda cool. A few years ago I went to their new ballpark and it was hot as balls, but really nice. The fans around us were cool, there were plenty of places to get suds and it was a good take. I think I know two or three Reds fans and they're nice too. We obviously don't agree on Pete Rose, but that's okay, if I loved the Reds, I doubt that I'd be rational too. <span class="x3nfvp2 x1j61x8r x1fcty0u xdj266r xhhsvwb xat24cr xgzva0m xxymvpz xlup9mm x1kky2od"><img alt="🙂" height="16" src="https://static.xx.fbcdn.net/images/emoji.php/v9/teb/2/16/1f642.png" width="16" /></span> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">MLB bathes itself in tradition, when it wants too. But when that tradition comes into contact with making money, MLB tosses that old timey shit out the window. For decades, the Reds used to be the first game of the season. They'd have a parade, play about an hour earlier than the other games and it was a thing. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">It's not a thing any more and MLB is constantly and consistently moving away from those little things that made the sport great and unique. I've referred to it as "baseball weirdness" and MLB seems to think that people like it when that baseball weirdness is sanded down and streamlined. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I wish that the Reds still had the first baseball game of the season and I also wish that the Reds would be good again. Their owner, like most owners, is a major problem. He's antagonized the fan base, he's cut the payroll to nil and he just doesn't give a shit anymore. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I'd like them to be good because this city has supported this team since 1869 and they deserve a good team. And more kids need to hate this team when they beat their favorite team in the World Series. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">If you know the dude, please tell their shithead owner that good teams bring in more money. Also tell him that this team deserves to be kicking off the season every year like they used to. And tell him to bring back this psychotic looking logo below. Or you know what? just tell him to sell the fucking team already and go live on an island.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b>22.</b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id=":rpt:"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">My entry on the Cubs begins with a deep confession and ends with a commentary on who deserves what. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">BTW this Cubs logo slaps. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Is slaps still something that the kids say? Why the hell am I asking you this question, you're still on Facebook.</div></div></span></div></div></div></div><b> </b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3A_D7nWhkrXn24xIA5uM4fXX-3UpastGJL1I8Cwr99EoxgMBJ2hLj54gd9lSig7xsX7GvCVnoIfbZrPWI7VsKWfiZ4gJ0qZiEDJCWBkZqQmUewxrobsRqTEwy-VWUulJTraJBpKJq1WGbmysZFfeOU-leH5A15gHmvGUDYzxDPlfHpQf0B4nzAw/s458/335458592_769260780990207_4794281988548255553_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="458" data-original-width="458" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3A_D7nWhkrXn24xIA5uM4fXX-3UpastGJL1I8Cwr99EoxgMBJ2hLj54gd9lSig7xsX7GvCVnoIfbZrPWI7VsKWfiZ4gJ0qZiEDJCWBkZqQmUewxrobsRqTEwy-VWUulJTraJBpKJq1WGbmysZFfeOU-leH5A15gHmvGUDYzxDPlfHpQf0B4nzAw/s320/335458592_769260780990207_4794281988548255553_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div dir="auto"><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We are 22 days away from the The Real National Hot Dog Day and to celebrate, we're counting up, Shadoe Stevens style, my favorite baseball teams. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We're all <span><a tabindex="-1"></a></span>friends here. And friends can be honest with each other, right? I have a confession to make. It's been gnawing at my soul for sometime now and I feel I need to get it off my chest. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Here goes. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I didn't want the Cubs to win the 2016 World Series. In fact, I was more than a little bummed out that Cleveland lost. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I know. I know. I'm a worse person than if Hitler and bin Laden had a baby. But I never bought into the whole, if you don't live in St. Louis, the Cubs should be your second favorite team because they're lovable losers thing. I don't know, is that a thing? Because I feel that it is. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The Cubs seemed to be that team that everyone always pulled for them to win. They had a cute name! They had an even cuter nickname: the Cubbies! They played in Chicago! They had fun fans! They had a fantastic announcer! Their games were during the day and they were at Wrigley Field! They lost with panache! Their fans weren't always whining about curses and how because they lost god doesn't love them (looks in mirror, wipes tears). </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">They were just a fun, flukey franchise that brought the joy of baseball where ever they roamed.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">But I still wanted them to lose. Not horribly or anything. Not in a gruesome, knife twisting, Dante's Infereno-esque sort of turmoil that would reduce the Windy City to a pile of nuclear radiated ashes. But I just wanted Cleveland to win that Series. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Up until that point, that city hadn't won shit. The Browns left and something resembling that franchise came back to town via Stephen King's Pet Semetery. The Cavs got their heart ripped out of their chests when LeBron took his talents to Miami. The Barons never got off the ground. And the Guardians (nee Indians) had been punched in the proverbial nuts dozens and dozens of times. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Chicago? The Bears won the 85 Super Bowl. The White Sox won the 2005 World Series. The Black Hawks were in the midst of a dynastic run that would see them win three Stanley Cups. Do I have to mention the Bulls? Six titles in eight years. Seeing the absolute GOAT play every night for more than 15 years. Now you want the Cubs to win?</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Come on, guys. I know it was 108 years but look at the success of your other teams. Cleveland should have gotten this one. It was nice, I suppose. I wasn't furious that the Cubs won but it was like adding one more gold coin to a city that has a ton of riches. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Though I will say watching the Cubs crash back to Earth wasn't fun either. I thought that they were going to be a dynasty and that they'd dominate the sport for years. Very strange that it didn't happen. Sorta reminds me of that 85 Bears team that I mentioned. Weird.</div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div><br /><b>21.</b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id=":rp6:"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I wish that the Cards would use this logo. Three colors. Boom. That's all that's needed. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Speaking of all that's needed, get thee to a grocery store post haste to purchase the sundries needed for the Real National Hot Dog Day. You don't want your bun to be without a wiener!</div></div></span></div></div></div></div><b> </b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip83dIBga98nGpwUUfC8xVBunfgWFujArED7EsbMAoUz8PWr14WAvqBUdVnXJDWaRLJL4IzBLBig0G6MVuTF5mPdw6v9_k9cWZfoCS1ezOWnCj3dwFwlJlTxj-B4P9qqTfqJ6oJ3pCWMRlHW47D5CoJP6d4b6LBLpfW_0tl4sTcUvDkV5IfvuIow/s545/335893911_2036402009901402_3512612522500030168_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="545" data-original-width="510" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip83dIBga98nGpwUUfC8xVBunfgWFujArED7EsbMAoUz8PWr14WAvqBUdVnXJDWaRLJL4IzBLBig0G6MVuTF5mPdw6v9_k9cWZfoCS1ezOWnCj3dwFwlJlTxj-B4P9qqTfqJ6oJ3pCWMRlHW47D5CoJP6d4b6LBLpfW_0tl4sTcUvDkV5IfvuIow/s320/335893911_2036402009901402_3512612522500030168_n.jpg" width="299" /></a></div></b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b></b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b></b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b><br /> </b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div dir="auto"><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We are 21 days away from the The Real National Hot Dog Day and to celebrate, we're counting up, Shadoe Stevens style, my favorite baseball teams.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">At appears our <span><a tabindex="-1"></a></span>tour through the National League Central is stopping in beautiful St. Louis, home of the Cardinals AND THE GREATEST BASEBALL FANS IN THE WORLD!!!!</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Or at least that's what everyone tells us. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Whenever any sports media person says or writes something like that, it's what's known in professional wrestling parlance as, "cheap heat". You flatter the home crowd by speaking directly to their vanities. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">"Oh, these Cardinals fans are so into the game, I saw a bunch of people scoring the game, Bob!"</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">"The St. Louisians are real baseball fans, they watch every single pitch from beginning to end. No one's looking at their phone here, Bob!"</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">"The Cardinal faithful are some of the smartest baseball fans in the country. You don't have to explain the double switch to them, Bob!"</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Two things:</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">1. I don't know who Bob is, he's just some made up play-by-play man that the color guy is mindlessly prattling on to. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">2. This cheap heat is used pretty much everywhere, so I'm not trying to drag the fine folks of St. Louis. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Buuuuuttttttt, the yokels of St. Louis really tend to thing that this is some badge of honor and that they are different from other fan bases. It's obviously not true, but they think so. It's a bit annoying. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Kinda like the Cardinals in a lot of ways. I don't dislike the Cards per se, but I'm a bit sick of seeing them in the post season year after year after year after year. Let someone else win the NL Central, my dudes. Suck for a few years so we can actually miss you. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">That's the amazing thing about the Cardinals they may have gone 23 seasons without a title (1983-2006) but they never truly bottomed out for a long time. They've always been consistently pretty good. They've always had stars and watchable teams, they're a really good franchise. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">They're like a baseball metronome. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The one thing that I have to give the Cards is that they change it up every few years, in the 80s they were all about speed and defense. Watching those teams in comparison to the station-to-station Red Sox back then was like watching a team from Venus come down in play. They were exciting and scary. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">In the 90s they went all power, all the time with McGwire and company. They didn't win anything, but again, they were a fun ass team to watch. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Since the dawn of the 00s, they've been a more balanced team. They're definitely not as speedy as they were on the turf of old Busch Stadium, but the could run a bit, hit for a lot of power, had superb defense and could pitch too. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">It's amazing to me that the Red Sox swept them in 2004, because that was one STACKED team and no one ever mentions it. In fairness because the Sox had just completed the greatest comeback in sports history, but that Cardinals team could've been the fly in the ointment. Look at that roster sometime, they were damn good.</div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div><b> </b><br /><b>20. </b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id=":rob:"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Did I make a mistake and put the Reds too low and the Mets too high? Probably. But the Mets are spending money and that's a good thing. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">BTW, have three of the four teams that the Sox lost World Series to pretty close to one another is on-brand for your pal Byron. I guess I carry a grudge even when I say I don't.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6JooMrWlXtLRwsktIHGOTxpKcvmbbDKFHl6D-TX8NoxoBlMWyetRKmis5C1sLX1AC6U-H8UkiVb6Q4g2dN8RB9J9hd_NvJPg_z9GBsXn1p1gXjJpotR_4_xSq47kbwyUSiW8ec77zLv9cJn_0Og8lqVTkGMQsLYD_fXe7OrQKeRdFjVh2ZEH6zQ/s805/335962403_195017909819314_3992021219802288553_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="805" data-original-width="805" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6JooMrWlXtLRwsktIHGOTxpKcvmbbDKFHl6D-TX8NoxoBlMWyetRKmis5C1sLX1AC6U-H8UkiVb6Q4g2dN8RB9J9hd_NvJPg_z9GBsXn1p1gXjJpotR_4_xSq47kbwyUSiW8ec77zLv9cJn_0Og8lqVTkGMQsLYD_fXe7OrQKeRdFjVh2ZEH6zQ/s320/335962403_195017909819314_3992021219802288553_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div dir="auto"><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We are 20 days away from the The Real National Hot Dog Day and to celebrate, we're counting up, Shadoe Stevens style, my favorite baseball teams.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">"Meet the Mets! <span><a tabindex="-1"></a></span>Meet the Mets!</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Step right up and greet the Mets!"</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I like that song because it's corny and goofy and funny, just like the Mets. Aside from the mid 80s, the Mets have always been the franchise that all little siblings can relate to. Once in awhile they excel and do something great, but most of the time they're going to fall on their collective asses. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">A real Icarus of a baseball team, a real LOLMets situation. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">But it took me a long time to get there with regards to New York's National League franchise. I came of baseball age in that sliver of Mets history when there was no badder (and I mean the Michael Jackson version of the word) team in all of baseball than the Mets. From Gooden to Strawberry to Hernandez to Carter to Dykstra to Wilson, these guys weren't just good. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">They were take-two-of-three from every team and burn that city to the ground in their wake. They were baseball playing Vikings. Land bound pirates (not the Pittsburgh variety). Vandals that stormed the city, spat tobacco in your eye and laughed when you got angry. They won, drank, snorted and fucked their way through the mid 80s. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Not only that but they were fun to hate. Those mid 80s Mets seemingly got into more bench clearing brawls than any other team. Their swagger was thick and other teams wanted to knock it down their </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">throats. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">It's amazing (HA PUN!) that the Mets didn't go (much less win) more than World Series during this time, but like I said they drank, snorted and fucked their ways through their prime. Gun to their collective heads, I'm not sure whether they'd say it wasn't worth it. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Once the Mets "dynasty" collapsed, they returned to their historical Metsy ways. They had good teams. They had bad teams. They had teams that grabbed the attention of New York for a bit, they had other teams that were easy to ignore. But eventually they settled back into their plucky upstart team and that's where I like them. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">They look really good this year, especially with new owner Steve Cohen breaking necks (of his fellow owners) and writing checks (to just about everyone coordinated enough to play ball). So they could be good this year. And if they got to the Series, depending on who they play, I could see myself rooting for my new favorite baseball squadron the NY Mets, just like Apu. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">It's weird to type that. In high school one of my best friends loved the Mets and it used to make me sick. Today we'd say he was trolling because walking around New England in a Mets Starter jacket in 1988 was a "conversation starter". </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">If you told me then that I'd be writing a Facebook post saying that I'd be a Mets fan under certain circumstances and letting everyone I know know about it, I'm sure I'd say, "What the fuck is Facebook?" Then "Why do my friends give a shit about that?" Then "It's on a computer? Am I nerd in the future?" </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">"We're all nerds in the future and people like being called that?"</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Eventually I'd ask "Why would I root for the Mets? Those guys are a bunch of assholes." Which maybe that's true, Byron from the past, but they're a lot better than a bunch of other assholes you've already written about. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Since I seem to be doing this now, the blue and orange colors of the Mets logo are really cool. They're complementary so their natural repulsion makes for a very vibrant feel. Also this logo is goofy and I love it, all of New York in a baseball. Plus they have cool uniforms (without the black drop shadows) and Mr. Met is a Tier 1 mascot. How could you not love the Mets' whole vibe? The answer is you can't.</div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b>19.</b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id=":rnf:"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Get up! (Everybody's gonna move their feet!)<br /></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Get down! (Everybody's gonna leave their seat!)<br /></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">You gotta lose your mind in DETROIT! Hot Dog City!</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Spend a few moments with my 19th favorite baseball team and then go get some hot dogs for the Real National Hot Dog Day.</div></div></span></div></div></div></div><b> </b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEPwxUIC0ZMCG0gr968DUa-iCpQvkRoAM8mdKj94usUw1x4djMgepIv_435Lh6tV0csou5k0V69l6ets2vFDzOwmvD5SNwv7UljROvx_Nbm16Wdfd0bfigoSzO-nexMLCnM_NZUO6dKnzAYgLuf8xGKILGcT2sFrvcSPX_6SUh8nbyWvMrGbRLpg/s843/335117387_2132029726984465_7265078539922499615_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="547" data-original-width="843" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEPwxUIC0ZMCG0gr968DUa-iCpQvkRoAM8mdKj94usUw1x4djMgepIv_435Lh6tV0csou5k0V69l6ets2vFDzOwmvD5SNwv7UljROvx_Nbm16Wdfd0bfigoSzO-nexMLCnM_NZUO6dKnzAYgLuf8xGKILGcT2sFrvcSPX_6SUh8nbyWvMrGbRLpg/s320/335117387_2132029726984465_7265078539922499615_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> </b> </div></div></span></div></div></div></div><b> </b><div dir="auto"><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We are lucky 19 days away from the The Real National Hot Dog Day and to celebrate, we're counting up, Dick Clark style, my favorite baseball teams.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I thought <span><a tabindex="-1"></a></span>that the Tigers were a bit better than what they are. I'm not talking last year, I mean franchisewise. They've been around since 1901 and they've won 11 pennants and have only won four World Series. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">For a team with a ton of Hall of Famers (27! And that's not including eventual HoFers Cabrera, Verlander and Scherzer, dudes who will be knocking on the door like Whittaker and Darrel Evans), they haven't won a lot. I wonder why that's so? </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">But at the same time, aside from a few years here and there, the Motor City Kitties (I enjoy that nickname) haven't been all that bad either. They're just a middling baseball club that wins some and then loses some. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">When I was younger, the Tigs were excellent -- my first non-Red Sox baseball memory is the 1984 World Series between Detroit and San Diego. I don't remember much but I recall the brown, yellow and orange uniforms of the Padres and the all-encompassing blue of Tiger Stadium mixed in with the crisp whites and dark blues of the home team. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Other than that, it seemed like every Tiger I pulled out of a 1986 Topps pack was photographed in a murky dungeon. I got the feeling that Detroit was the United States' answer to London, at least in terms of weather and these poor dudes spent most of their time playing under a constant dark cloud. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">It was especially confusing because Magnum himself wore a Tigers cap and he lived in Hawai'i. How could this seemingly dreary team have such a weird real life existence versus their fantasy existence? I thought about that as a kid--I guess I didn't have enough on my mind at the time. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I'd like to see the Tigers win more (not at the expense of the Red Sox, of course). I'm not sure why, but it seems like the good people of Detroit love their team and should be rewarded. I guess you could say that about every fan base, but I'm saying it about the Detroit Tigers. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I have no real strong feelings on the logo, but a few years ago the Tigers decided that the olde English D on the front of their home jerseys had to match the olde English D on their hats. I'm usually very down with keeping things orderly (the Yankees have three different versions of the interlocking N and Y) but I don't like this type of housecleaning at all. I wish that they'd go back to the different Ds. Or they might get some other Ds.</div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div> </div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></span></div></div></div></div>Byronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18236810459872882912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7495524.post-13683660770455244632023-07-31T11:23:00.003-04:002023-08-02T11:25:05.782-04:00My Favorite Teams 30-24<p><i style="font-family: arial;">Back in March and April of this year I was counting up my favorite baseball teams on Facebook in anticipation of The Real National Hot Dog Day. I thought that it might be a good idea to keep them here for posterity. Here are the first group of teams along with the FB introductions. </i></p><p><b style="font-family: arial;"> </b></p><p><b style="font-family: arial;">30. </b></p><p><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto" style="font-family: arial;">It's that time of the year everyone! The Real National Hot Dog Day will be here in a month! Get your collective asses ready.</span></p><p><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto" style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-YsVqNy8D-BQdgdghU-SS2EydRuI6jq88DiBCUeCpDCZn36L_i-jrTcJyv0q-Cdn-dAUQ7CdBabOn5Jeq75kruprkSxi85_zcw5_uOW4EeO7IAdBZE93aFdVd7sTDkDq-gwh5D3Zkc19xvFmgI6b-G-PAemkUPNXHaY8rje8Po8cChhZaVG_UTA/s150/334298269_731722008461889_5786028219100246043_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="100" data-original-width="150" height="139" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-YsVqNy8D-BQdgdghU-SS2EydRuI6jq88DiBCUeCpDCZn36L_i-jrTcJyv0q-Cdn-dAUQ7CdBabOn5Jeq75kruprkSxi85_zcw5_uOW4EeO7IAdBZE93aFdVd7sTDkDq-gwh5D3Zkc19xvFmgI6b-G-PAemkUPNXHaY8rje8Po8cChhZaVG_UTA/w208-h139/334298269_731722008461889_5786028219100246043_n.jpg" width="208" /></a></div> <p></p><div dir="auto"><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto" style="font-family: arial;"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We are 30 days away from the <span><a class="x1i10hfl xjbqb8w x6umtig x1b1mbwd xaqea5y xav7gou x9f619 x1ypdohk xt0psk2 xe8uvvx xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r xexx8yu x4uap5 x18d9i69 xkhd6sd x16tdsg8 x1hl2dhg xggy1nq x1a2a7pz xt0b8zv x1qq9wsj xo1l8bm" href="https://www.facebook.com/therealnationalhotdogday?__cft__[0]=AZVo-IhcBuEI3rwWUCnOzoDF8ZeHgpUt2Kc68wljLNktGCYAorrqZjXBxjOuCry1yitO_XT6QwVAVirXXB55tIbF_C9QjOd42IdrQNkjtw_mBtpKj_Bp3Zh_bxaGtuGor56-U5qlzG4Cs09TCLRqffmjzRItyOmzYn2ViSzpjNCsiCJ_-7H25xtR1_ypkIFgVMUR0jK9IbhRfWqBeKRvmV15&__tn__=-]K-y-R" role="link" tabindex="0"><span class="xt0psk2"><span>The Real National Hot Dog Day</span></span></a></span> and to celebrate, we're counting up, Casey Kasem style, my favorite baseball teams. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We begin at the <span></span>bottom with a surprising entry at number 30, the Tampa Bay Rays. You might think that I hate (and this is sports hate people, not the real thing) another team even more, but you're wrong. I hate everything about the Rays.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I hate:</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">- Their players. If a team could have 25 middle relievers, the Rays would do so. Everyone (except Wander) is bland as hell. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">- Their front office. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">- Their front office's philosophy.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">- That they made the shift "cool".</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">- That they made openers "cool". </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">- Their hats. Have you ever seen anyone wearing a Rays hat? Ever?</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">- Their boring-ass uniforms. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">- Their stupid logo. It looks like it's for a Chili's rip off bar anchoring a dead-ass strip mall where you get watered-down margaritas and microwaved jalapeno poppers. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">- That they were bullied by Christian fundamentalists to remove the word "Devil" from their name because it was "Satanic". (True story!)</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">- Their park. Every game here is like watching paint dry. Though my friend <span><a class="x1i10hfl xjbqb8w x6umtig x1b1mbwd xaqea5y xav7gou x9f619 x1ypdohk xt0psk2 xe8uvvx xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r xexx8yu x4uap5 x18d9i69 xkhd6sd x16tdsg8 x1hl2dhg xggy1nq x1a2a7pz xt0b8zv x1qq9wsj xo1l8bm" href="https://www.facebook.com/ryan.foley.965?__cft__[0]=AZVo-IhcBuEI3rwWUCnOzoDF8ZeHgpUt2Kc68wljLNktGCYAorrqZjXBxjOuCry1yitO_XT6QwVAVirXXB55tIbF_C9QjOd42IdrQNkjtw_mBtpKj_Bp3Zh_bxaGtuGor56-U5qlzG4Cs09TCLRqffmjzRItyOmzYn2ViSzpjNCsiCJ_-7H25xtR1_ypkIFgVMUR0jK9IbhRfWqBeKRvmV15&__tn__=-]K-y-R" role="link" tabindex="0"><span class="xt0psk2"><span>Ryan Foley</span></span></a></span> said it "wasn't too bad", which is a five-star ringing endorsement for this shit hole. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">- The weird rules of their park. And dude, I love weird baseball. But fuck this place. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">- Their lack of fans. Most of them are Yankee fans, let's be honest. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">- How all of their fans constantly cry about getting to the park on game day. Like going to any of the other 29 stadia on game days are a breeze. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">- How they're not in Montreal.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div><p><b style="font-family: arial;">29.</b></p><p><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto" style="font-family: arial;">The Evil Empire? Not any more, amigo. They're just another team.</span></p><p><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto" style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfKB_Hzmfavp1k-kYWUEohB8ixbbbrr4dRPcdOG78uYU5lVpNJ6GfkaXOh6IcqCDlAXZicn_-sMCPqrbG8okYklliNN3NVvJqSgMFaVgdKh7KUBmTaPLQ20se90sXy2zl8iXv-qxVGNTqAver5Nk2pt81RUO77U6nOKB7tjSazFbBjpT0Cb4eMVg/s785/334225109_1381274176000531_4775164830749296603_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="785" data-original-width="705" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfKB_Hzmfavp1k-kYWUEohB8ixbbbrr4dRPcdOG78uYU5lVpNJ6GfkaXOh6IcqCDlAXZicn_-sMCPqrbG8okYklliNN3NVvJqSgMFaVgdKh7KUBmTaPLQ20se90sXy2zl8iXv-qxVGNTqAver5Nk2pt81RUO77U6nOKB7tjSazFbBjpT0Cb4eMVg/s320/334225109_1381274176000531_4775164830749296603_n.jpg" width="287" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div dir="auto"><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto" style="font-family: arial;"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We are 29 days away from the The Real National Hot Dog Day and to celebrate, we're counting up, Casey Kasem style, my favorite baseball teams. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">It's a bit of a <span></span>shock that this team wasn't number 30, but guess what, here's another thing that this team hasn't won. Coming in at 29 is the New York Yankees. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Truthfully, if this countdown was done 20 years ago, they'd be number 30 with a bullet. But one World Series since 2001 will cool the fires of hate (the embers are always there), plus there isn't as many current Yankee bad guys as many. There's no Reggie or Thurman or Billy or Nettles or Goose or Posada or Giambi or Sheffield or Jeter or O'Neil or Pettitte or Kevin Brown or Steinbrenner or Zimmer to really focus your hatred on. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I mean are you going to hate Aaron Judge? Or Giancarlo Stanton? Gerrit Cole seems like a douche, but I mean, so what. He's not that detestable, at least not yet. Brett Gardner was always a shithead, but he'd probably be a fourth outfielder on a really good Yankee, he's sort of like hating Ricky Ledee. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The reality is that the Yankees became what I wanted them to become the most: just another team. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">While the rivalry of the early 00s was a lot of fun, it was also exhausting to listen Boston sportswriters breathlessly inform us that the latest Yankee signing was going to destroy the Sox (it rarely did) or how the guys in the Bronx have a super prospect on the rise (most of the time no). Now they're one of 30 and no special attention is needed. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">They'll find their way to the playoffs every year, probably win a round (especially if the Twins or the A's are involved) and then get blown out by the Astros or even the Sox (when they decide it's worth it to be in contention). </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">To be honest, I can live with this new reality. I think that we all can.<span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"> </span><b> </b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b> </b><i> </i></div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div><p><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto" style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b>28. </b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto">The Diamondbacks are just fine. Only 28 more days until the Real National Hot Dog Day!</span></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"> </span></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjRdllVpI5dS1aLb9CGBhDvbHOSszDz_ULeajE3v4PJM9ZCPe8ZtVpT4lRyawMtX7CxTLwR--uVo3oG_mRs6fsu12DnBYJUOaWBpn-Nd0qPJu7GvAP0OAcuZ6tlHs8Oe4VKOHFMhwkGlxzz0eZRsCzSd30p5jn7nlqGx3hTWDEOTqfliCqSWFD6A/s905/334590724_596106258747401_6710664774271153934_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="660" data-original-width="905" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjRdllVpI5dS1aLb9CGBhDvbHOSszDz_ULeajE3v4PJM9ZCPe8ZtVpT4lRyawMtX7CxTLwR--uVo3oG_mRs6fsu12DnBYJUOaWBpn-Nd0qPJu7GvAP0OAcuZ6tlHs8Oe4VKOHFMhwkGlxzz0eZRsCzSd30p5jn7nlqGx3hTWDEOTqfliCqSWFD6A/s320/334590724_596106258747401_6710664774271153934_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> </span></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"> </span></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div dir="auto"><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We
are 28 days away from the The Real National Hot Dog Day and to
celebrate, we're counting up, Casey Kasem style, my favorite baseball
teams. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I don't hate too <span></span>many
baseball teams and I don't love too many baseball teams, but I'm
indifferent to a lot of them. It's a sliding scale where I might root
for a team one spot above the other, but that doesn't mean I like that
team much better. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Beginning
the league of indifference is the Arizona Diamondbacks. I don't dislike
the D'backs, but if any subsequent teams played them in a postseason
game, chances are I'd root for them. However, that could change if the
D'backs get a transcendent player or if they employ someone who it would
be cool if they won the World Series (like the Astros last year). </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Otherwise
they're an uninspiring team. They have a long ass name, so they have to
put their nickname of their uniforms, which sorta bugs me for some
reason. I should like their original colors of purple, teal and copper
because it was a unique look but I don't. Having said that, I'm not wild
about their red, black and tan colors either. Though their hat that has
a snake shaped like a "D" is pretty inspired. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Aside
from the 2001 World Series, they haven't been anything that really
captured the sport's zeitgeist. Though to be fair, the 2001 Series was
pretty god damn epic for a lot of reasons. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">They
just seem to exist in the desert and around to get their asses kicked
by the western team du jour (mostly the Dodgers) and just play
uninspired baseball. Back in the day, I'd write out an MLB season
preview and I forgot to include Arizona one year. I think about that a
bunch when I think of this team. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The Diamondbacks are just there as ballast.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><i> </i></span><p></p><p><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto" style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b>27. </b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id=":r15a:"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">While
you're waiting the 27 days until the Real National Hot Dog Day, why
don't you check out what I have to say about the Rockies -- a team that
may or may not exist. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Also,
if you don't follow The Real National Hot Dog Day, what are you doing
with your life? Give it a follow and learn all about the bunny goodness
that is TRNHDD. Your mouth will thank you for it!</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxxSzXu62DbW0GfB1kRyScn2ZdCEW1EPmwDhiBZTLhzoOO5mQr3gb7koorLP1PoaVH5ucvG0ZAqVEc0GGR8IJnkF4gJgtGAVkVSB8PV6LL6CbvVL24KLn2HsxnEpvebJTPzs9ratYraE_zspMzXfCx7tWXwsohfRF3wJRqD9ni1gzyQCmpWDHNBg/s905/334927755_592646036221002_8413384877769511956_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="660" data-original-width="905" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxxSzXu62DbW0GfB1kRyScn2ZdCEW1EPmwDhiBZTLhzoOO5mQr3gb7koorLP1PoaVH5ucvG0ZAqVEc0GGR8IJnkF4gJgtGAVkVSB8PV6LL6CbvVL24KLn2HsxnEpvebJTPzs9ratYraE_zspMzXfCx7tWXwsohfRF3wJRqD9ni1gzyQCmpWDHNBg/s320/334927755_592646036221002_8413384877769511956_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <div dir="auto"><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We
are 27 days away from the The Real National Hot Dog Day and to
celebrate, we're counting up, Casey Kasem style, my favorite baseball
teams. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The past three <span></span>times
it has grown, baseball expanded in a pair of teams (which makes sense).
Mariners and Blue Jays in 1977, Diamondbacks and Devil Rays in 1999 and
wedged between those two expansions were the Marlins and Rockies in
1993. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">What
I felt that this meant is that you become a fan of either one of the
other: I liked the M's, I eventually warmed up to the Jays. I thought a
lot about liking the D-Backs, but as we saw with yesterday's post that
didn't happen and I've always disliked the Rays. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I
thought that I was really going to appreciate the Rockies, despite the
fact that they ripped off the old Colorado NHL franchise's name. But
there was a lot of history of baseball in the Mile High City, they were
going to play in a place where a ton of homers were going to be hit and
it was going to be fun. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">It's
been 30 years and aside from one World Series appearance against the
Red Sox (where they were destroyed an ultimately lost on the exact day
my eldest was born), the Rockies have been a pretty lame ass team. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The
team's owner, Dick Monfort, sucks and consequently, the front office is
pretty clueless. There always seems to be a rebuild going on, the
team's philosophy changes on a whim and for such a beautiful ballpark
(honestly, top five for me) there's not a lot of excitement there. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">It's like their whole motto is, "We understand you need a team in Dever and we're that team!"</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The
Rox were fun in the 90s when they didn't have a humidor to squelch the
number of homers hit in their park and they loaded the lineup with aging
sluggers who mashed their way throughout the season. I guess they got
sick of losing 11-10 every game, so they tried to find some pitchers,
but that didn't work out but they also jettisoned their power threats
and now they're just a team with some decent hitting and below average
pitching. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I
get that most GMs will say that "We want a balanced team mainly because
we don't play all 162 games in Colorado." But is it entertaining? If
you're a Rockie fan, wouldn't you much rather watch a bunch of steroid
addled lumberjacks hit tape measure dingers and lose a little more than
you win than watch what the Rockies have become now?</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I know what I'd choose, but hey, the Rockies are my 27th favorite team and I don't really have a dog in this fight. <br /></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b>26. <br /></b></div><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">A few words on the Texas Rangers.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb5_9Kp5tIaHXguwgsY69n9ZVp60km9_SZjtSHfYygMtGpcc0zQ1ASuw3r6Jur5GbH80a96FF-_vrnM7v7dR_j--vIoqiAQHhpN2E6IqC5ksL5q_V8ud0MC7nte1iRaJwnGCxLvKXLtcgY9yvax4blhHWtbDd1V6Ks28YmLYP__WJnhZbDgVvy7g/s843/335066205_546870137477501_7513044078904764999_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="547" data-original-width="843" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb5_9Kp5tIaHXguwgsY69n9ZVp60km9_SZjtSHfYygMtGpcc0zQ1ASuw3r6Jur5GbH80a96FF-_vrnM7v7dR_j--vIoqiAQHhpN2E6IqC5ksL5q_V8ud0MC7nte1iRaJwnGCxLvKXLtcgY9yvax4blhHWtbDd1V6Ks28YmLYP__WJnhZbDgVvy7g/s320/335066205_546870137477501_7513044078904764999_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <div dir="auto"><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We
are 26 days away from the The Real National Hot Dog Day and to
celebrate, we're counting up, Casey Kasem style, my favorite baseball
teams. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">If Tuesday was a <span></span>baseball team, it would be the Texas Rangers. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The
Texas Rangers are just there. Even when they get superstars (and
they've had their share over the years -- Ted Williams was the first
Rangers manager ever), they never seem to grasp the spotlight. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Aside
from Nolan Ryan, I suppose. But he retired 30 years ago. The Rangers
have had some really good team chock full of really good players since
then but they're somehow terrific and anonymous. I know that people say
that teams like the Pirates or the Reds are baseball's version of
Siberia, but it's Arlington, Texas. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">If you're a Ranger, nothing you do seems to matter much. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">This
might be my own biases talking, but childhood is where you start
putting stuff together and it leaves a mark that lasts a long time.
Whenever I'd get a Texas Ranger in a pack of baseball cards, he always
looked the same: longish hair under a washed out blue hat with a white
"T", droopy mustache, kinda looked like a cowboy--but one that had been
dragged by a horse for a few miles. The pics always showed a man that
appeared to be hot and uncomfortable--no matter where the picture was
taken--like he had been running sprints in the Texas heat for an hour
before the photographer nabbed his shot. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">And
when I watched the Sox play games there it was always sunny, but it was
that unbearable sunshine: too bright, too hot, it made you feel
sluggish; like the last thing you wanted to do was hit a ball or throw
it. Boston always wilted there, which might be the cause of my dislike,
but by August, the Rangers would inevitably get worn down too. But by
then it was football season and no one cared about the Rangers. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The
idea that Rangers getting to back-to-back World Series will never not
shock me. For my entire life, they were also rans, a group of players
who were assembled to play pretty well in the spring, break down in the
summer and limp off to obscurity in the fall. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I don't hate the Rangers, but even with their success, I kinda think that they're just nothing. <br /></div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></span></div></div></div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div><p></p><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id=":rv7:"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto" style="font-family: arial;"><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b> </b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b>25.</b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Know a Marlins fan? Neither do I.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Know
a Real National Hot Dog Day fan? I'm sure you do. As we count down to
TRNHDD, peruse this essay on baseball, fun and the elimination of fun
told through the prism of the Miami Marlins.</div></div></span><b> <br /></b></div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUkB-OBh1SlOF5ZJjGae3RH3A8kxNxX5mj8mrn8el6UL2Y5nMv1fGmwVE-zuz74mkcoueuJQs2W8aEyMjcBTu-fbYcmigV_peTFz1rrGhQrPg9oN32MlvL9rLqPWKMCJnLoooVeiaS5DcSVzcw36x5YBM4VUFeLcST7tKdbs40mPkslqr52AJaIw/s905/331365159_108646985474586_6126494418355392639_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="905" data-original-width="885" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUkB-OBh1SlOF5ZJjGae3RH3A8kxNxX5mj8mrn8el6UL2Y5nMv1fGmwVE-zuz74mkcoueuJQs2W8aEyMjcBTu-fbYcmigV_peTFz1rrGhQrPg9oN32MlvL9rLqPWKMCJnLoooVeiaS5DcSVzcw36x5YBM4VUFeLcST7tKdbs40mPkslqr52AJaIw/s320/331365159_108646985474586_6126494418355392639_n.jpg" width="313" /></a></div><br /> </b> <br /><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message" id=":r104:"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div dir="auto"><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We are 25 days away from the The Real National Hot Dog Day and to celebrate, we're counting up, Shadoe Stevens style, my favorite baseball teams. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Every time the <span></span>Miami Marlins do something interesting, they get cold feet and reverse course. Baseball is an exciting game, but unlike hockey or hoops, it's not a constantly exciting game. There's a lot of down time and during those periods, people at the stadium need to be entertained. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">This is not a new, "stupid kids and their Tik Toks!", thing. The Lords of Baseball have known this since Cracker was introduced to Jack. It's why there are beer vendors in the stands and seventh inning stretches and exploding scoreboards and fly overs and kiss cams and grounds crews doing the YMCA. You are not less of a baseball fan if you want a little entertainment outside of the game. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">When the Marlins put one over on the city and county that they play in and got them to pay for their new park, they added this loud, ostentatious statue that would move when one of the Marlins hit a home run. It was bright and colorful and reflected the most vibrant city in MLB--it was quintessential Miami--and it was beautiful. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">So when the Marlins named the most boring milquetoast superstar to ever lace up his cleats as their team President, one of Derek Jeter's first actions was to take the statue down. Why? I'm sure he mumbled something about unwritten rules, playing the game the right way, this is a Major League franchise and about 100 other cliches. The bottom line is the statue was gone and now the stadium is as dull as the last 20 Marlins team. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Good work, Captain Jeter, the team is now as soulless and mundane as you. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">In 1996 former owner Wayne Huizenga (and Blockbuster maven) was getting ready to sell the team but he wanted to go out a winner. He signed and traded for every really good baseball player, won the World Series and immediately had it dismantled. He sold the team to John Henry who baby sat the franchise for a few years until selling it to Jeffrey Loria--it was more complicated than this.</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Loria won the World Series in 2003 and then also started to dismantle the team. And they've stayed dismantled since then. The one interesting thing about this malaise is that the Marlins were the only team to ever win the World Series every time they made the playoffs. What a weird stat, right?</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Of course, a former Yankee had to help ruin that. In the Covid shortened season of 2020, just about everyone made the playoffs and that included Don Mattingly's Miami squad! They weren't very good and were bounced in the first round, so that's another weird wrinkle ironed out by a former New Yorker. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I guess this is just a long winded way of saying, the Marlins can be fun, but they're not going to be fun for too long. So whether it's a dope ass statue, a weird playoff streak, using teal as your primary color or your favorite Marlin, don't get used to it. It's probably on its way out the door very soon.</div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><p><b>24.</b></p><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Remember the Barbie Twins from the 90s? This post isn't about them. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">#24 on the countdown: The Minnesota (not the Barbie) Twins.</div></div><p><b> </b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvhtJNl-9tyE4vZe8YoT8CaHuWIiMpnkWisPjdW-zTiW6LUWU1EJOxi60NSRM9DEMFoQLs0iZkqUEdmEka-pOdn4L78oIsLjzgnxD7ETIBlLqxDpIHaAEK39Hnx2lzILV2sLkuwy67DDA48zOIO5ILLHmZCGBhaM8K2Nry1mVU8pwGv0f5ANGudg/s843/335158399_232928992507258_4283580825354185155_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="547" data-original-width="843" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvhtJNl-9tyE4vZe8YoT8CaHuWIiMpnkWisPjdW-zTiW6LUWU1EJOxi60NSRM9DEMFoQLs0iZkqUEdmEka-pOdn4L78oIsLjzgnxD7ETIBlLqxDpIHaAEK39Hnx2lzILV2sLkuwy67DDA48zOIO5ILLHmZCGBhaM8K2Nry1mVU8pwGv0f5ANGudg/s320/335158399_232928992507258_4283580825354185155_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></div><b> </b><i> </i><br /><p></p><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"><div dir="auto"><div dir="auto"><div class="x1iorvi4 x1pi30zi x1l90r2v x1swvt13" data-ad-comet-preview="message" data-ad-preview="message"><div class="x78zum5 xdt5ytf xz62fqu x16ldp7u"><div class="xu06os2 x1ok221b"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"><div class="xdj266r x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">We
are 24 days away from the The Real National Hot Dog Day and to
celebrate, we're counting up, Shadoe Stevens style, my favorite baseball
teams. </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I definitely <span><a tabindex="-1"></a></span>don't
hate the Minnesota Twins. In fact, when they were one of the two teams
that were going to be folded back in the early 00s (and how fucked up
was that, seriously?), I was really bummed out that a team that had been
around since 1901 was going to go away due to owner greed (it's always
owner greed, forever and ever).</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">But
at the same time, I don't think that I actually like the Twins. Back in
the day, I was a big Kirby Puckett fan, like Kent Hrbek, Gary Gaetti,
Jeff Reardon, Frank Viola, Bert Blylven. In subsequent years I liked
watching Joe Mauer play, Johan Santana pitch, Torii Hunter and Byron
Buxton (what an awesome first name) make amazing plays. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Even
the idea of Minnesota having a baseball team way up in the northern
part of the country is appealing to me. I am looking forward to visiting
Target Field one day. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Having
said all that, I don't think that I've ever actively rooted for
Minnesota. In the 1987 World Series, I wanted the Cards to win. In the
1991 World Series, I wanted the Braves to win. I wasn't devastated that
the Twins won, but I would have preferred it if the other walked off the
field with the trophy*. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">*
Especially in 1991. I'm a big Hall of Fame guy, but I was never aboard
the Jack Morris for the Hall of Fame train. I thought that Morris was
fine and never really dominant. If Lonnie Smith didn't get deked out and
scores, maybe the Braves win and Morris' Game 7 performance doesn't go
down in history. IDK. All I know is that Morris owes a percentage of any
revenue he gets from being a Hall of Famer to Smith, second baseman
Chuck Knoblauch (for doing the faking) and Puckett for single-handedly
getting Minnesota to Game 7 in the first place. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">The
only time that I really have rooted for the Twins (fun fact, since 1987
the Twins have had an underscore line on all of their home shirts so
that it reads tWINs, also the logo [Minny and Paul] with this post rocks
though, I love it) is when they play the Yankees. This is an absolutely
Sisyphian chore as since 2002, the Twins are 39-111 (.243) against the
Bombers. </div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">That's insane to me. How bad is that? It's comical at this point. Why bother scheduling the Yankees at all?</div></div><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s x126k92a"><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">Another
thing that leads to my Minnesota malaise, the Twins also share Ft.
Myers so the Red Sox play them a ton in Spring Training -- so much so
that there is a Mayor's Cup where the winner of the Spring series gets
to show off that they're the best in Ft. Myers. I have no idea who is
leading, but it's a lot of Twins games in March.</div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></span><br /></div></div></span></div></div></div></div></div></div><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs xlh3980 xvmahel x1n0sxbx x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u x1yc453h" dir="auto"></span></div></span></div></div></div></div></div></div></span></div></div></div></div><p></p>Byronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18236810459872882912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7495524.post-441143581682733672023-07-26T16:24:00.002-04:002023-07-26T16:25:20.370-04:00Boston Red Sox Leaders 1989 Topps<p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Sometime in the last two or three months, I
received this card from the Baseball Card Bandit (BCB):</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjybz3iEKtmcpFJvXfA-NffNaJI5n615DPL1qrSFyeJuUIZ8wH5WmPaK7RCVPod-D1YvGxinPhTlVVK6IGDL3TaJD17XYZxfUyzK975e4qxyO_CTlWxwiFdG5FGConZrjZQuVQdDEMCCPVV-L2ZfB1WqjA_s65mVCwWtYSPL1szc8dxPLjXzFTdQ/s1088/s-l1600.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="794" data-original-width="1088" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjybz3iEKtmcpFJvXfA-NffNaJI5n615DPL1qrSFyeJuUIZ8wH5WmPaK7RCVPod-D1YvGxinPhTlVVK6IGDL3TaJD17XYZxfUyzK975e4qxyO_CTlWxwiFdG5FGConZrjZQuVQdDEMCCPVV-L2ZfB1WqjA_s65mVCwWtYSPL1szc8dxPLjXzFTdQ/s320/s-l1600.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Back in the day baseball cards were just pieces
of cardboard that had pictures of your favorite baseball players on them. They weren’t
worth much more than the paper that they were printed on. I mean you wanted
some players more than you wanted others, I’d take a Willie Mays over a Walt
Droppo any day, but aside from the playground, no one over ten gave a shit about
cards.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In the 70s and especially the 80s, that changed.
Boomers aged and as this generation is wont to do, began fantasizing and fetishizing
their childhood*. They’d do anything to bring them back to that garden, even
for a fraction of a second. They thought that their key back were their old
baseball cards. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">* I understand the irony of me calling out one
generation’s nostalgia while spilling an ocean of ink on my own. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Thousands of Boomer boys made their way back
to their homes to find out that Mom (it was ALWAYS Mom, low-key misogyny) threw away their
precious cards when they were shipped to Vietnam or when they went to college
or when they skipped off to Canada until the mid 70s. Anyway once they found out
that their garden keys were thrown away, they had to what any group of people
with access to disposable income would do: they bought it back. At any cost. <br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Suddenly a lot of people over ten-years-old
started to give a very big shit about baseball cards. Man children were
spending small fortunes trying to rebuild their collections, which got the few baseball
card dealers in the country crazy rich. “Oh? This 1952 Mickey Mantle rookie? It’s
$10,000. Yup. Very valuable. Can't possibly ever find another one like this one!” And those whose Mom didn’t chuck their collection
sold whatever they could and bought an ugly-ass Porsche and a small mountain of
cocaine—it was the 80s after all. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Seemingly overnight baseball cards turned into
a very profitable way to make money. The next generation of kids (like me) who
loved baseball not only bought cards because we wanted to know more about our
heroes, but we were fixing to get rich like our uncles and Dads. It wasn't just card collectors that got the bug, the whole hobby
caught on and the major card manufacturers (Topps, Fleer, Donruss and Score)
flooded the market due to the demand. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And rookie cards were the crème de la crème.Those are the ones that you needed.<br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But kids aren’t economists and didn’t understand
simple economics: the more of a supply, the less of a demand. So your 1986 Donruss Jose
Canseco Rated Rookie? Junk. Your 1985 Topps Roger Clemens? Nada. How about your
1983 Fleer Tony Gwynn? Maybe $10. if you found the right person. There was just too many cards and everyone
was holding on to them. Bart Simpson had it right when he said that Generation
X needed “another Vietnam to thin out their ranks”, at least in terms of
baseball cards because maybe some Moms would chuck all the cards in the trash. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">No, our cards never turned into gold. I’m not
selling my 1987 Topps Ruben Sierra rookie to send my kid to college. My 1985
Topps Cory Synder Olympic card was used as a down payment for my house. And I
never turned my 1987 Mark McGwire Rated Rookie into a Porsche. They’re just
cardboard pictures of dudes that were once really fucking great at baseball. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">* The only 1980s card that this hasn't happened is the 1989 Ken Griffey Jr. Upper Deck rookie. I mean, if you have one it's not going to push you to a higher tax bracket, but if you sold it, I bet you could take a family of four to McDonald's no problem. <br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">What does this have to do with the card above?
It shows Jody Reed about to swing at a ball at the Oakland Alameda Country Colosseum
with A’s catcher Terry Steinbach behind the dish. Are either of these guys rookies? Nope. And that's sorta the point. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The Leader Cards were
originally some of my favorite cards when I first started out collecting. It was a great
opportunity to get another photo of your hero* and not only that but it will tell you who
was good on that team. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">* The 1986 Boston Red Sox Leaders card had a cool shot of Dwight Evans and that year, the person on front of the cards were "Deans of the Team" meaning that those guys were on the team the longest. I thought that was cool as hell for some reason. <br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The ”leader” part of the Leaders card meant
that Topps would list the players who lead the team in about 15 different </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">pitching and hitting </span><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">categories. So if you weren’t familiar with the Mariners, you could
look on the back of the Seattle Leaders card and see that Alvin Davis lead the
team in batting average, hits and doubles. And Mark Langston lead the squad in
wins and strikeouts. Maybe these are two guys that you should pay attention to
when you get them in packs. Maybe they’re both actually pretty good. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Once I started really getting into baseball,
the Leader cards were kind of superfluous. I knew who lead the Mariners in
batting average last year. I know who lead Seattle in wins and guess what, he
might have been good for that dogshit Mariners team but in context, he sucked.
I was mad that a Leader card took the place of a rookie card. We could have
gotten 26 more rookies instead of those stupid cards. That’s 26 more chances to strike it rich!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So that’s where I stood in 1990 when I stopped
collecting cards: Leader cards were dumb and cost me money. I think that
most of the hobby felt the same way because Leader cards eventually disappeared without industry protest. This is
the part of the blog where I write about how we may have lost a little
something when Topps—they were the only company that printed Leader cards—discontinued
these pieces of cardboard. Like maybe we gave up a little bit of the love of the
game in pursuit of the almighty dollar in searching for the next rookie. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But I’m not sure that’s 100% correct. Leader
cards were fine for what they were, they were useful training wheels when it
came to understanding baseball and finding out about some decent players. All of that stuff is, and was, available pretty
readily. It was a nice little gimmick, but it’s okay that it was put out to
pasture. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Just because you really enjoyed and needed
something when you were younger doesn’t mean that you need it the same way now.Thank you Leader cards for helping me understand baseball a bit better, but your service is no longer needed. <br /></span></p>
<p><style>@font-face
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Byronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18236810459872882912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7495524.post-57645945301903884842023-07-06T12:07:00.003-04:002023-07-06T12:07:47.908-04:00Daryl Irvine 1992 Fleer<p class="MsoNormal">Sometime in the last two or three months, I received this
card from the Baseball Card Bandit (BCB):</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYm2wkATMfd7PIBT4voGY4laGXwlZYX348Uz0zdp4zI_sR9Bbjf2F9gg1Vmlak9WB2nMG9mPQ_ftxsqrgv2jwLeH_FyADIlOg9sIg32wbP5jocyktY4qrXAmvhSO3S959gt1OklyRv_rR737TgmqaxoQjYQmEuzi3Cj6pgtG-k0_jJJ0t79wluFQ/s265/irvine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="265" data-original-width="190" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYm2wkATMfd7PIBT4voGY4laGXwlZYX348Uz0zdp4zI_sR9Bbjf2F9gg1Vmlak9WB2nMG9mPQ_ftxsqrgv2jwLeH_FyADIlOg9sIg32wbP5jocyktY4qrXAmvhSO3S959gt1OklyRv_rR737TgmqaxoQjYQmEuzi3Cj6pgtG-k0_jJJ0t79wluFQ/s1600/irvine.jpg" width="190" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I don’t recall anything about Daryl Irvine’s days in Boston.
According to the back of this card, Daryl was “one of the top closers in the
minor leagues [and] will try to graduate to the big leagues in 1992.” He played
three years in the Bigs (1990, 1991 and 1992) and was the exact opposite of
what you want in a closer. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In 63.1 career innings, Irvine gave up 71 hits, 33 walks and
only struck out 27 batters. Not surprisingly, his ERA was astronomical: 5.68;
so not only did he put runners on base, but he let them score too. No matter
how good he was in the minors—not good, actually he pretty much had the same
kind of issues down there—he wasn’t going to close for anyone unless he missed
some bats. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When I wrote about <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2023/06/dana-kiecker-1991-fleer.html" target="_blank">Dana Kiecker</a> a few weeks back, we talked
about that 1990 team and Irvine was a part of that team, he pitched in 11 games.
But the other two years he pitched, the Red Sox weren’t great. They had their
moments in 1991, but in 92 the Red Sox were so bad. Tom Brunansky led the team
with 15 home runs. Bob Zupcic led the team in batting average: .276, over <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2019/08/wade-boggs-1991-fleer-ultra.html" target="_blank">Wade Boggs</a> who managed to hit .259! </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The team finished with 73 wins, but if you look at their roster,
they should have been able to put something together: Boggs, Mo Vaughn, <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2017/07/1988-topps-jody-reed.html" target="_blank">JodyReed</a>, Tony Pena, John Valentin, <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2017/06/1990-topps-ellis-burks.html" target="_blank">Ellis Burks</a>, <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2017/06/1991-topps-mike-greenwell.html" target="_blank">Mike Greenwell </a>(the latter two
were apparently hurt) plus Brunansky. Add in older dudes like <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2019/01/billy-hatcher-1992-upper-deck.html" target="_blank">Billy Hatcher</a>,
Jack Clark plus young kids like Phil Plantier, Scott Cooper and Tim Naehring
and I mean, they could have been league average or better, if they hit. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The pitching was kind of a mess with solid years from <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2017/08/topps-1988-roger-clemens-all-star.html" target="_blank">RogerClemens</a> and Frank Viola heading the rotation and <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2019/01/jeff-reardon-1992-upper-deck.html" target="_blank">Jeff Reardon</a> closing, but
everything after that was a complete disaster. Plus they had Butch Hobson managing,
who was clearly way, way over his head. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Fun fact: 1992 was the only year since 1986 that I haven’t
seen a game live at Fenway. I’m not sure why, but I decided to sit this year
out; which is odd because I’ve seen some really shitty Red Sox teams play
baseball. I wish that I saw the Sox play at least one game that season because it’s
easier to say, “I’ve been to Fenway for 37 straight years” instead of “I’ve
been to Fenway for 37 straight years, except for 1992. So I guess I’ve only been
to the park for 30 straight years.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">That’s right, if I had a time machine, I wouldn’t go back
and kill baby Hitler; I’d go back and watch the 1992 Red Sox in Fenway Park so
that uninteresting personal anecdotes would be easier for me to relay. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Anyway Boston was apparently unimpressed with righthander
and Irvine was sent to the Pittsburgh Pirates after the 1992 season. This was year
one of the Pirates annual depths-of-the-division league tour that they’ve been
perpetually on since Barry Bonds took his talents to San Francisco. Andy Van
Slyke was still there, as was Jay Bell and Jeff King but other than future Red
Sox Tim Wakefield and Stan Belinda, the staff was a complete and total
disaster. Irvine should have been used to the chaos. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Ultimately it didn’t matter as Irvine was never able to put
his chaotic team experience to good use as he never got a call up to Pittsburgh.
Through the very perfunctory research that I’ve done, I can’t tell when he
retired, but I bet it was pretty soon after that. According to Wikipedia, he
lives in Harrisonburg, VA. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What does Daryl Irvine do all day? I’m not sure, but the way
that his baseball career went, I’d be surprised if he thought about his days in
the Major Leagues. I prefer to think about how he was drafted by the Red Sox
three times over a couple of drafts—I guess the Sox liked him very much at one
point. He probably thinks of his dominance in high school and college and how
at one point everyone he knew wanted to be Daryl Irvine. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I think that’s what I’d think about as I’m relaxing on my porch
in Harrisonburg, VA. I wouldn’t be thinking about the boring-ass drive from Pawtucket
to Boston, sitting around in a cramped, sweaty bullpen waiting to get my brains
beat in. That’s for god damn sure. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Maybe I’d show some neighborhood kids my baseball card if
they asked, but I’d say, “that was a long time ago” and dramatically stare off
into the distance. That wistful drama is almost cooler than having a lot of success at the Major League level. <br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">Almost. <br /></p><p><style>@font-face
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Byronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18236810459872882912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7495524.post-65731968777558665872023-06-30T12:05:00.004-04:002023-06-30T13:21:19.004-04:00 Ed Romero 1988 Fleer<p class="MsoNormal">Sometime in the last two or three months, I received this
card from the Baseball Card Bandit (BCB). By the way, this is a great look at the 75th anniversary patch of Fenway Park that the Sox wore in 1987:</p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0W97VF9eKwoYrJjQN4HbYcS64GQQjfNGurNwDgsqjOeBJfZKKThf5VZUexDJO_QWhL1ACc2WBLzdsZV5KPbpepNhSVi0ypxGR1FxTJ-K8oHkhu-t0RMoq4MYZLdkCjUzvvxhq2YusnoFmZFFqr1IKm0gzXkqD-UhlfAmi5tfjxtFhTjKgSvVqlA/s1094/13j7JTkz2FmXGULpuSbQY91mngkcoq-PH_800x.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1094" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0W97VF9eKwoYrJjQN4HbYcS64GQQjfNGurNwDgsqjOeBJfZKKThf5VZUexDJO_QWhL1ACc2WBLzdsZV5KPbpepNhSVi0ypxGR1FxTJ-K8oHkhu-t0RMoq4MYZLdkCjUzvvxhq2YusnoFmZFFqr1IKm0gzXkqD-UhlfAmi5tfjxtFhTjKgSvVqlA/s320/13j7JTkz2FmXGULpuSbQY91mngkcoq-PH_800x.webp" width="234" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Even when I was a kid, I knew that not everyone on a baseball
team was drafted and brought up through the minor leagues by the team that they
now played on. There were agencies to improve teams, like free agent signings
and trades. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Trades were always the cooler of the two options, any moron
could splash a pile of money in front of a guy and say, “Play for us, you
disgusting Hessian here’s your filthy lucre.” And nine times out of ten, that
player would take the cash. BTW, there is no judgement or shame in the
preceding sentences, every single one of us would (and do) the same things
every day in our lives. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Who doesn’t want to get paid?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But trades were a gentlemanly pursuit of excellence, a General
Manager needed a bit more deft and cunning to outsmart his cohort. The ability
to watch a team other than your own and say, “That chap there looks like he can
certainly help our outfit!” and then contact his employer with a proposal to
bring him to your team—without sacrificing too much—that takes the steady nerve
of riverboat gambler. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The ability to really want something, let someone know you really
want something and then not give everything you own to have that something—often
in a time of extreme need—is a skill that most people don’t possess. If you’ve
played cards with me before, you already know that I don’t have it. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This is a long road to saying that former Red Sox infielder
Ed Romero was one of the first players that I remember seeing in the day’s
current set of baseball cards (not this one) pictured for his old team while
watching him on TV with his new team. I was well aware that the Red Sox got Don
Baylor from the Yankees for Mike Easler in a seldom-seen swap between the two
franchises Also add in that it was one-for-one position-for-position trade and this
was a landmark deal that weighed heavily for Boston. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But Ed Romero? When did we get him? (December 11, 1985) Who
did we give up to get him? (Workhorse, but oft maligned, reliever Mark “Big
Foot” Clear – I have no idea why they called him that) What is he going to do
for us, we already have <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2017/08/1990-upper-deck-marty-barrett.html" target="_blank">Marty Barrett</a> and Glen Hoffman plus future shortstop Rey
Quinones is rocketing through the minors? Why do we need him? (Because Quinones flopped, Hoffman wasn’t much better when he wasn’t hurt and you need backup infielders
because players get tired; though Manager John McNamara might not agree with that
last statement)</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Romero came over to the Sox from the Milwaukee Brewers, the
only franchise he had ever known, and was kinda not great for his three-and-a-half
years with the team. His totals were .236/.287/.280 with two home runs and two
stolen bases (and four caught stealings). For a guy that played 12 years in the
bigs (no small feat) but couldn’t really hit (.247/.298/.302) or run, Romero
must’ve been a really good glove man. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I have no recollection of that. But I mean, he must’ve been.
Why would you keep Ed Romero around for more than a decade if he couldn’t do at
least one thing well? So let’s assume that he was a versatile (he played every defensive
position—including DH!—except pitcher and catcher, according to Wikipedia)
glove first ball player. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He played on two World Series teams, 1982 with the Brewers
(he didn’t play in the Series) and 1986 with the Sox, and lost both of them. I wonder
if he thinks about that a lot? I mean it’s cool to say that you were in the
World Series, and doubly cool to say that you were in two World Series but the
next questions are always: how did your teams do? We lost both. How did you do?
I got one at bat in one game and didn’t get a hit. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Maybe it’s not something he brings up too often while at
dinner parties. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The one thing that I remember most about Romero was the Gatorade
bucket incident. I didn’t recall all of the particulars, but the Athletic did.
Apparently the Sox were playing the Yanks in June 1989 and were getting beat 7-2.
All of a sudden things started clicking for the good guys and the score was tied.
Romero came to the dish with the winning run on first, facing Dale Mohorcic. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The right-handed Mohorcic started the right-handed hitter
off with three straight balls when Yankees manager Dallas Green felt like he
had seen enough. He summoned another right hander, Scott Nielsen, to try and
get the dangerous Romero out. At this point Red Sox Manager <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2019/02/joe-morgan-1991-topps.html" target="_blank">Joe Morgan</a> decided it was time
to put his genius into action and sent up the left-handed <a href="https://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2019/02/three-cards.html" target="_blank">Rich Gedman</a> (who was
probably hitting as bad or worse than Romero at the time) to win the ball game!</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I mean, this is a move straight from Monty Burns. It’s
called playing the percentages! It always works—just like telling Daryl
Strawberry to hit a homer. Gedman walked, <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2017/07/1988-topps-jody-reed.html" target="_blank">Jody Reed</a> grounded out and the
Yankees won after getting a run in the eighth inning. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But the big incident was Romero going insane and throwing a
Gatorade bucket on the field. He was incensed that Morgan would show him up like
that. I remember columnists lit into him and whenever TV stations ran sports
bloopers, that was always on one of the reels. </p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">From what I've heard Romero, was a pretty mild-mannered guy, so I wonder what his teammates thought? I know that they called him "Gator" for a bit, which must've made <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2017/06/1991-topps-mike-greenwell.html" target="_blank">Mike Greenwell </a>mad as that was his weirdo nickname. But I think that they had to have sided with him because that was a bullshit move that Morgan pulled. And I bet Morgan would agree. <br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Morgan, who was interviewed for the Athletic piece, said
that he understood why Romero would react that way but that he (Morgan) “made
crazy move (like that) once in a while”, which would’ve have driven today’s
baseball fans insane. Morgan said that Romero paid the $50 fine right after the
game and they never spoke about the incident again. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I recall that Romero was released like a week later, but it
was a little longer than that. His employment with the Red Sox ended on August
5, 1989. From there he played with the Braves, the Brewers (again) and the Tigers.
Finally retiring in 1992. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Romero is a baseball lifer and has been bouncing around various
leagues with various jobs, I would assume that he’s retired. But you know who’s
not? His son, Eddie. Eddie Romero has been in the Red Sox front office since 2006,
currently an executive vice president and assistant general manager. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Not a bad deal at all. </p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Byronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18236810459872882912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7495524.post-72824940572023348542023-06-22T16:38:00.000-04:002023-06-22T16:38:06.068-04:00Dana Kiecker 1991 Fleer<p><span style="font-family: arial;">Sometime in the last two or three months, I received this card from the Baseball Card Bandit (BCB):</span></p><p> <br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtnC9BsAcldqfMk8IDScWtT2IR3_NRQ2QCZaudhMPy8LYv-bKhdcW-VSK5f7NCPlNWTN9GxenefFwY_EsatfFwaFfmTT5-7CxuPvvi9IKpBPWgMjMDeMkjt7J4tRknG6-DkVaPfBqJhmlHtFV2Q2n5BUcSwZP9y1B847R_zCrfkowZITv2FOVy7Q/s1054/s-l1600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1054" data-original-width="753" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtnC9BsAcldqfMk8IDScWtT2IR3_NRQ2QCZaudhMPy8LYv-bKhdcW-VSK5f7NCPlNWTN9GxenefFwY_EsatfFwaFfmTT5-7CxuPvvi9IKpBPWgMjMDeMkjt7J4tRknG6-DkVaPfBqJhmlHtFV2Q2n5BUcSwZP9y1B847R_zCrfkowZITv2FOVy7Q/s320/s-l1600.jpg" width="229" /></a></div><br />
<p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I bet that you don’t think about the 1990 Boston Red Sox all
too much. <br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">You're not alone if you don't, they weren't a particularly memorable team. </p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">I mean, they weren’t a bad team, they won the American League East
but got mowed down by the Oakland Athletics in the American League Championship
Series 4-0. If you remembered this series or this team at all, this was the one
where staff ace <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2017/08/topps-1988-roger-clemens-all-star.html" target="_blank">Roger Clemens</a> talked shit to home plate umpire Terry Cooney in Game
Four in the second inning and got himself tossed. Clemens claimed he was
talking to his glove, which what?, and Cooney said he was sure that Clemens was
talking to him. Clemens had to be dragged off the field (he went crazy), Manager
<a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2019/02/joe-morgan-1991-topps.html" target="_blank">Joe Morgan</a> was ejected as was second baseman <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2017/08/1990-upper-deck-marty-barrett.html" target="_blank">Marty Barrett</a> who was so incensed that
he started chucking stuff onto the field. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Clemens was wound up pretty tight for his Game 1 rematch
against Dave Stewart (who almost always kicked his ass).To pump himself up for
the do-or-die game, Clemens applied thick eye black and tied his shoes with
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle shoe laces*. It was dumb. <br />
<br />
* I’m not sure why this last bit of information is stuck in my head, nor do I
understand how cartoon turtle shoe lacers makes a pitcher pitch better, but it
didn’t work. Clemens got bombed, like he usually did against the A’s, and the
Sox were swept. <br />
<br />
That year’s Sox team wasn’t an all-timer. In the late 80s/early 90s, most of
the talent was in the American League West—the 1991 AL West is the only
division where everyone finished at or above .500 (the last place Angels were
81-81 that year). The American League East was sort of like the AL Central this
year, someone has to win. The Blue Jays were a year away from making the trade that
would add the heart and soul of their mini dynasty (Joe Carter and Roberto
Alomar), the Yankees sucked, the Indians were young and terrible, the Brewers were
mediocre, the Tigers were old and the Orioles were flat-out bad. Thus the Red
Sox were the sacrificial lambs that were slaughtered by the A’s*. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In the entire series, the Red Sox scored four runs—literally
one per game. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">* I’ve said it before, but I loved those A’s teams. They had
pitching, they had hitting, they had power, they had speed and they had duende.
The stars that were on that team were amazing: Canseco, McGwire, Rickey, <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2019/01/dave-henderson-1990-fleer.html" target="_blank">Hendu</a>,
<a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2019/01/carney-lansford-1992-upper-deck.html" target="_blank">Lansford</a>, Baines, McGee, <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2019/03/dennis-eckersley-1992-pinnacle.html" target="_blank">Eckersley</a>, Stewart, Welch, Steinbach. Thirty-three
years later and I’m still shocked that the Cincinnati Reds beat them. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">You might not remember that team too much but you know who
thinks about that 1990 Boston Red Sox team a lot? Dana Kiecker. Drafted by the
Sox in 1983, the Sleepy Eye Minnesota (and how about <i>that </i>name for a
hometown) native spent seven years languishing in the Boston farm system until
he got his shot in 1990. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And you know what? He wasn’t too bad. He pitched 152
innings, finished 8-9 with a 3.97 ERA and didn’t walk a ton (54) but didn’t
strike out a bunch either (93) though he did give up a ton of hits (145). He
was a perfectly cromulent fifth starter on a decent team. He wasn’t someone
that you’d build your staff around and he wasn’t someone that you could count
on for consistently great performances, but it seems that he could play.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Only he really couldn’t. He started for the team in 1991 and
was hammered: 18 games, 7.36 ERA, 56 hits in 40 innings with 23 walks and 21
strikeouts. The reason for his awful stats may have been due to a sore elbow,
which he spent a majority of the year in Pawtucket rehabbing. His year was dreadful
and he was never heard from (Major League wise) again. He signed a minor league
deal with Cleveland in 1992 and was invited to spring training with his home
state Twins in 1993 before retiring due to elbow soreness. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Not surprisingly Kiecker’s high water mark occurred in 1990
when he had the best game of his life. Down one game to none, he pitched really
well against the A’s in Game 2 in Boston: (5.2IP, 6H, 1R) and left the game
with the score tied 1-1 against A’s starter Bob Welch who won 27 games and took
home the Cy Young Award that year. The Sox would eventually lose, but it wasn’t
through any fault of his. Greg Harris took the loss as the A’s didn’t slam the Sox
but instead bled the Boston bullpen on bloops and singles. Death by a thousand
papercuts. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The one thing that I recalled reading about Kiecker back in
the day (and that Wikipedia reminded me) was that he worked for UPS in the offseason
while in the minors. After MLB, he went back to UPS and became an Enterprise
Accounts Manager and was the pitching coach at Dakota County Technical College.
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I wonder how many times he told co-workers that he was a
Major Leaguer? Better yet, I wonder how many of those co-workers believed him.
Maybe he kept this particular card in his wallet and would show it when that
wry smile would show up on that face of someone who didn’t trust his word, “Suuuuuurrree
you did Dana. And I used to be a running back for the Minnesota Vikings!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But Kiecker lived the dream. Even if it was only for a short
time. For one year he gave it his all and he was about as close as you could get
to playing in the World Series. A year in the Major Leagues. Even if the price was
being awful and hurt the following year it’s a trade any baseball fan would make
in a second. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">How often do you think about that year though? Every minute
of every day? What does it feel like to climb that mountain, make it to the top
and then have everything come crashing down? I say that I’d make that trade in
a second, but the thoughts of that year must be maddening for the rest of your
life.</p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">I hope that he found some peace and perspective and is able to say that his job never defined him. <br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Byronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18236810459872882912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7495524.post-61866967408834657792023-03-01T12:08:00.001-05:002023-03-01T12:08:57.097-05:00Jim Rice 1988 Fleer<p> <span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>Sometime in January 2023 I
received this card from the Baseball Card Bandit (BCB):</span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span></span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><a href="https://i.ebayimg.com/images/g/wwoAAOSwHvBiLOeR/s-l500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="354" height="500" src="https://i.ebayimg.com/images/g/wwoAAOSwHvBiLOeR/s-l500.jpg" width="354" /></a></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><br /> </span></span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>Jim Rice was my first favorite baseball player. This is strange mainly because I don't ever recall him doing anything really awesome in my formative years as a baseball fan. I became a huge baseball fan in 1986, mostly because Roger Clemens went super nova that spring and summer and the Boston Red Sox were streaking their way to the pennant. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>Prior to that year, I liked baseball, I just wasn't obsessed with it. I played Little League, I watched the Baseball Bunch, I vaguely remember watching the San Diego Padres/Detroit Tigers World Series at my grandparents' place in 1984 and of course, I'd watch a few innings of the Sox when there weren't any cartoons on. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>When I think back to those years, I remember thinking about Jim Rice and how awesome he was. I just can't tell you why I felt that way. I can tell you how mad I'd get when my father would say that his license plate should be: "6-4-3". I can tell you I'd get even more furious when he had to explain the joke. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>Maybe it was because Rice was the de facto star of those early 80s teams and the club seemed to revolve around him. Though it's more likely that to a ten-year-old, Rice seemed impossobly big--almost like a superhero--but one who could hit home runs over the net in Fenway and onto the street. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> There are human beings that can hit a ball entirely out of a Major League park? And they play for the team that I root for? I thought that he was awesome. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>By the time that this card was released, Rice wasn't hitting that many home runs any more. And the ones he hit were arching parabolas that landed on Lansdowne Street. His last really good year was the aforementioned magical year of 1986 when he finished second in the league's Most Value Player voting to Roger Clemens. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>In 1987 when he was 34-years-old, he was an average ball player. In 1988, below average and in 1989, even worse than that. Baseball is a game where if you aren't downing or injecting enough drugs to power the 1972 East German weightlifting team, the fall from the cliff is swift and far--especially if you were a star. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>There were a lot of whispers that Rice wasn't really motivated to stay in baseball shape (the dude was always pretty cut, so I'm not sure where that was coming from) and preferred to golf rather than work on his swing. Another rumor was that Rice really, really needed eye glasses to pick up the ball and his ego wouldn't allow him to put them on. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>Whatever the reason was Rice was no longer "the most feared hitter in the American League"--a moniker he had in the late 70s through the 80s. In 1987, that entire Red Sox team got a facelift; veterans like Don Baylor, Bill Buckner and <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2019/01/dave-henderson-1990-fleer.html" target="_blank">Dave Henderson</a> were either traded for parts or released. Kids like Ellis Burks, John Marzano, Sam Horn and Todd Benzinger took their spots in the lineup. New left fielder Mike Greenwell took Rice's position, exiling the former slugger to part time Designated Hitter, a role he shared that season with Horn.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>In 1988 the Sox made a surprise run after manager John McNamara got the gate at the All-Star break. Working-class hero <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2019/02/joe-morgan-1991-topps.html" target="_blank">Joe Morgan </a>took over the team on an interim basis and the Sox did so well that they found themselves at the top of the AL East standings and Morgan was named full-time manager of the Sox. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>During this streak, every move Morgan made seemed to turn to gold so when he sent up light-hitting shortstop <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2019/01/tim-nahering-1990-upper-deck-and-spike.html" target="_blank">Spike Owen</a> to hit for Rice during a tight ballgame, Rice was pissed. They got into a shoving match in the tunnel to the clubhouse, which was caught by TV cameras and Morgan is quoted as yelling, "I'M THE MANAGER OF THIS NINE!" which is both kind of a badass thing to say to a guy that is strong enough to rip you apart with his bare hands, but also kinda corny too. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>Since Morgan was winning, a local guy (he drove a snow plow during the winter which made the people around here absolutely love him) and was white, Rice got a lot of shit for not being a "team player", playing the game "gracefully" and not following Morgan's orders. BTW, I can't remember what Owen did in that at bat, that 88 team was bananas, so Owen could have taken the guy deep and the Sox might have won. I have no clue. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>BTW, I'm not saying the Morgan was wrong here. Rice should have handled this much better, but the reaction from the fans was a little insane. <br /></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>From that point on, Bostonians were done with Jim Rice. He made too much money, he was too old and he was a bit too mouthy. He hung on for another year and during the last weeks of the 1989 season it was announced that Rice was hanging up his cleats. The Red Sox asked him to share a retirement ceremony with long-time teammate Bob Stanley which made Rice angry. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> I wrote about this in my last entry on <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2023/01/bob-stanley-1990-fleer.html" target="_blank">Bob Stanley</a> that that was a shit thing for the Sox to do and if I was Rice, I'd be angry too. Hell, if I was Stanley, I'd be pissed. You can have two retirement ceremonies, no one is going to give a shit. Especially for that dead ass team. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>When he was a player, Rice didn't talk too much. He was described by the almost entirely white Boston press corps as "sullen and rude", the guy didn't make their jobs easier. And why should he? As the star of the club (pre Clemens and <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2019/08/wade-boggs-1991-fleer-ultra.html" target="_blank">Wade Boggs</a>), Rice was a lightning rod. Everything he said became 50-point headlines. The amount of unconscious and conscious racism was huge during that time, dating back to when he and Fred Lynn both made their debuts together as the Gold Dust Twins. He was a quiet kid from South Carolina who was thrown into a racial tempest that was Boston in the 1970s. By the 80s, he probably just got sick of the whole thing and it's hard to blame the guy. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>When he retired Rice became the Sox hitting coach (honestly, he wasn't really great -- I don't recall any hitter saying that Rice helped them) and then in a surprise to many he went to NESN and became a Sox commentator. Before and after games he'd talk about what the Sox did and didn't do and he was actually kind of decent. He spoke with a lot of cliches but he looked like he was having some fun and, hey, I still like the guy a lot; so that was cool by me. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>It took Jim Rice 15 years to finally make it into Cooperstown. And for as much as I love the guy, he probably shouldn't be in there. His numbers are good, but are they really good? Compared to other Hall of Famers--as well as guys on the outside looking in like fellow 1978 MVP Dave Parker--he's on the low end of the HoF spectrum. But I'm okay with that. I'm a big Hall guy to begin with, so you can add another 25 guys to the hallowed halls of Cooperstown and I'd be fine with that. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>For as long as I've been aware of baseball, I've liked Jim Rice a lot. For a guy who was so excellent at baseball, he always seemed to me to be a bit of an underdog. Even when he was the unquestioned star, it seemed that the press and the fans were always looking for someone (usually whiter) else to hang their hat on. And I liked those dudes. As far as I'm concerned Jim Rice fucking ruled. <br /></span></span></span></p>Byronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18236810459872882912noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7495524.post-50160481350145084212023-01-11T12:01:00.004-05:002023-01-11T12:01:40.915-05:00Bob Stanley 1990 Fleer<p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>Sometime in October 2022 I
received this card from the Baseball Card Bandit (BCB):</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span></span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizow60fufUK2OAni_pNVlidvD-eIcZNtTgt6R-tDOfKtb1eImoxdI4OPEZDWf2rBsBVJOz0F--7JpSzYaZs3J5Ut_kAzN9GNGqr9j3lEYnhvnJPzVQQgm-KaHZzdj2nWnBu-BL-oqPacoRn_9v-tnhle-AUYjxBG4u9vy2XmL1bQ0mE_1Mk04/s500/s-l500.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizow60fufUK2OAni_pNVlidvD-eIcZNtTgt6R-tDOfKtb1eImoxdI4OPEZDWf2rBsBVJOz0F--7JpSzYaZs3J5Ut_kAzN9GNGqr9j3lEYnhvnJPzVQQgm-KaHZzdj2nWnBu-BL-oqPacoRn_9v-tnhle-AUYjxBG4u9vy2XmL1bQ0mE_1Mk04/w400-h360/s-l500.png" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><p></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: arial;"></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>Bob Stanley never seemed to
quite enjoy baseball. <br /></span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>He wasn’t good enough to be a
curmudgeon like Steve Carlton. He wasn’t like <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2019/08/wade-boggs-1991-fleer-ultra.html" target="_blank">Wade Boggs</a> who was very serious
about his craft, hitting, and his job, baseball. He definitely wasn’t like Ken
Griffey Jr. or George Brett, two players who exuded joy every time they stepped
foot on the diamond.</span> <br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>Stanley appeared to be a dude
who would walk around his house and grumble about having to face “the fucking
Orioles” this weekend as he stuffed a gym bag full of gear before saying good
bye to his wife and jumping in his car. When I was younger, in the mid 80s,
Stanley was the dude who got called into a game when the Sox were close or
leading and would usually give up the lead. When he was giving post game comments
he always had a hang dog expression and was constantly explaining why his off-speed
pitches hung and why his fastball was flat. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>The only time I saw any joy
is when a beachball would leave the bleachers and go into the bullpen or field.
Stanley was like a beachball grim reaper as he grabbed a metal rake and popped
the offending orb. He was usually greeted with boos, which is something that by
that point in his career, Stanley was more than used to. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>Stanley wasn’t always the recipient
of boos though and a person’s entry into the game and the introduction to its players
matters. You see, I always thought that Bob Stanley stunk. To me, his name was
synonymous with a blown lead or a horrible loss (see Game 6 of the 1986 World
Series), but it wasn’t always like that. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>Once upon a time, Bob Stanley
was pretty good. Strike that, Bob Stanley was really good. From 1977 through
1985, he was a durable reliever. He didn’t strikeout a ton of guys, but at the
same time he didn’t walk a lot of people either. He gave up his fair share of
hits, but if he wasn’t walking a ton of folks, they weren’t exactly doing a lot
of damage. His ERA was anywhere from the mid twos to the mid threes (except for
1979 when it was 3.99, but he also started 30 games that year) and he made the
All-Star team twice in 1979 (kinda ironic) and 1983. He even lead the league in
ERA+ (140!) in 1982. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>Like I said, he really wasn’t
that bad. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>But when I entered the
baseball universe, it was 1986 and that was Stanley’s first really bad year. He
had turned 31 that year and had a ton of innings under his belt, it appears to
me that he the end was getting close for the Steamer. This happens all the time
now and managers are conscious of what happens when you have a pitchers with a
lot of miles on his arm, you provide him with “load management”. In other
words, you’re not running him out there every other day like John McNamara did.
</span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>Stanley appeared in a career
high 66 games (82.1 IP) <span> </span>that year giving
up 109 hits, 40 earned runs and surrendering 10 dingers for an ERA of 4.37,
which translated into a 96 ERA+ and a 1.59 WHIP. He had 16 saves which suggests
that he was the team’s “stopper” before Calvin Schiraldi was ready, but man, Red
Sox GM Lou Gorman really needed to get his head of his ass* and pick up someone
who was reliable in the bullpen. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>* You know what happened in
1986. At the absolute worst possible moment, the bullpen melted down like
Three-Mile Island. All year, the bullpen was an issue and I don’t know who to
blame. Was it Gorman for not getting McNamara more bullpen help during the
year? Or was it McNamara for destroying the arms in his bullpen by pitching the
same few dudes day after day after day? <br />
<br />
</span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>After 86, Stanely never
really recovered. The next year the Sox made him a starter and when <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2017/08/topps-1988-roger-clemens-all-star.html" target="_blank">Roger Clemens</a>
was holding out for more money, he was given the ball on opening day. He got his ass handed to
him by the Milwaukee Brewers who promptly swept the Sox in the opening series,
setting a tone for the rest of the year for both Stanley and the team. The Sox
never got over their World Series hangover and was rebuilding by midseason. Stanley
had an awful year going 4-15 with a 5.01 ERA.</span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>* Milwaukee would set an MLB
recording by winning 13 games in a row to begin the season but still finished
behind the Blue Jays and Tigers in third place with 91 wins. It was a different
game, guys. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>In 1988 Stanley had a better
year (3.19 ERA and 130 ERA+, while appearing in 31 games) and the following year
the Steamer just plain ran out of steam. But because of 86 and 87, Stanley’s
name was pretty much mud around Fenway and fans were ecstatic that he was gone—finally
we can begin the <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2019/02/john-dopson-1990-fleer-and-bruce-hurst.html" target="_blank">John Dopson</a> and <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2019/02/on-december-7-2018-i-received-this-card.html" target="_blank">Tom Bolton</a> era. At least that’s how I remembered
it. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>So maybe he had reason to grumble
and be angry about his lot in life. He never really got the respect that he
deserved. I’m not sure if it was for his body of work or his body (he retired
at 34 and he looked like he was a 54-year-old dentist). Yeah, he’s playing a
kid’s game and he got paid handsomely for it (more than $1M a year since 1985)
but at the end of the day, baseball can be a job just like any other job. You
have your good days and your bad days. But the sucky thing about baseball is
that your bad days are played out in front of 30,000 people live—not to mention
the thousands of folks watching at home—and the airwaves and newspapers discuss
how shitty you did that day. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>That has to wear on a guy. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>Also, his teammates seemed
like absolute dicks to him. When Boggs was caught cheating on his wife with
Margo Adams one of the stories that slipped out was how teammates Boggs and others—including
Stanley’s bullpen “friend” <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2021/12/steve-crawford-1988-fleer.html" target="_blank">Steve Crawford</a>—hated how Stanley was faithful to his
wife. So they enacted a plan called “Delta Force” where they got Stanley
shitfaced, put him to bed, sent a prostitute to his room and then busted in and
took pictures of the “affair”. I don’t know what they were going to do with the
photos (send it to Stanley’s wife if he didn’t start cheating on her?) but that
just fucking sucks. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>Fuck you Wade Boggs and
double fuck you Steve Crawford. At least Boggs could hit, you just sucked. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>The other thing that I
remember was that in 1989 both Stanley and outfield Jim Rice were “retiring”
after that season—they were probably pushed out by the team. The Red Sox wanted
to honor both men and they set up a day at the end of the season where both
players would be recognized simultaneously. For some reason, this really made Boston
sports fans and writers really angry. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>“How could they do this to
Jim Rice? He’s given so much to this organization and he has to share his day
with Bob fucking Stanley? That’s absolutely ludicrous and the Red Sox should be
ashamed!”</span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>I was part of this caterwauling
but looking back, why? Yes, Rice had a longer more illustrious career. There’s
no doubt about that, but it’s not like Bob Stanley was Tim Lollar or Steve fucking
Crawford. He had a lot of terrific moments for Boston and now when he was
getting the proverbial gold watch people were trying to stick it to him one
last time? It was a bush league reaction. I can’t exactly remember what happened,
but I’m pretty sure they gave Stanely his own day and the following day they
gave Rice his. </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span>Maybe they should have done
that—the Red Sox were notoriously tone deaf about a lot of stuff back then—but
jeez, what a shitty way to end your career. At the end of the day, Stanley’s
only crime is that he never hid what a grind the Major League Baseball season is
and he wore it on his face. People don’t want to come to the park to see that,
they want the Pagliacci clown, the guy who’s smiling on the outside and they
don’t give a fuck about what’s on the inside. <span> </span></span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span><span> </span></span></span></span></p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: small;">
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{page:WordSection1;}</font></span></style></p>Byronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18236810459872882912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7495524.post-73252775113981157692022-10-11T12:09:00.005-04:002022-10-11T12:09:55.817-04:00Carlos Quintana 1990 Fleer<p><span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">Sometime in October 2022 I received this card from the Baseball Card Bandit (BCB):</span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;"> </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;"></span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEispzxqAZE4MCrkQ-EFYftVUv9mm2naGGqVZq7V-wDbP0a18JWWoEVdx032mPpSihTov6RyY2s24oS6VZY85wAcbQr8QWEf3zyEwv0EpWfVtReRKuztwksnT106bLhJ72AbsfVVJqrUYngjtRQDc901aEkizOZSih2jjMC7oUhO5Wcex3EhG3Q/s702/s-l1600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="702" data-original-width="504" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEispzxqAZE4MCrkQ-EFYftVUv9mm2naGGqVZq7V-wDbP0a18JWWoEVdx032mPpSihTov6RyY2s24oS6VZY85wAcbQr8QWEf3zyEwv0EpWfVtReRKuztwksnT106bLhJ72AbsfVVJqrUYngjtRQDc901aEkizOZSih2jjMC7oUhO5Wcex3EhG3Q/w288-h400/s-l1600.jpg" width="288" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> <br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">When I was younger, I was obsessed with rookies. The promise of a new ballplayer waiting in the minors to ply his trade in the Majors was like catnip to me for a number of reasons. For one thing, I was always one to appreciate the anticipation--the journey--rather than the destination. Christmas Eve was always more exciting to me because of the unknown; maybe Sana would bring me an AT-AT this year or a Millennium Falcon or a 2-XL robot. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">A lot of kids were excited about the minutes after ripping open their presents. The gifts still in the packages, framed by feet and feet of colorful wrapping paper. "What am I going to play with first," they thought. Me? I was always a bit depressed. "Is that it? Do I have to wait another 364 days to get what I really wanted?"</span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">The anticipation was the killer, because reality never was as good as your imagination. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">In the 1980s, rookies were big business in the baseball card world and it was because of the promise of "What if". What if Mark McGwire hits 70 home runs in a year? What if Al Pedrique makes people forget Ozzie Smith? What if Ellis Burks is a perennial All-Star who leads the Red Sox to a World Series? </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">And what if I have their rookie cards? Shit. I'll be rich. More than that. I'll be filthy rich. My college expenses? Taken care of--my kids' education too. New car? How about a sweet ride for every day. My parents? They could retire. These flimsy pieces of cardboard were the keys to my financial stability for the rest of my life. The key was that not only did I need to own and keep these cards mint, but the ballplayers on the front of them need to fulfill their promises. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">They'll get rich and so will I. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">So being very keen on rookies was both something that was encoded in my DNA (anticipation of greatness) and was important to my budding financial portfolio. The one thing that ratcheted this up even further was that there was probably 100 rookies making their debut every season. You could collect all of their cards, but you couldn't collect the multitudes of their cards necessary to make you wealthy. So you had to pick and choose. Who had the look of a guy that was going to not only be good, but capture the zeitgeist in a way like Mickey Mantle or Willie Mays did?</span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">You find that guy and not only are you made in the shade, but you can tell everyone how you picked him. You saw the thing that made him special. You're the smartest one in the baseball card shop. It's an ego stroke. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">With that preamble, today's card: Carlos Quintana, I was never a fan of. I can't tell you why, because I was immediately invested in every Red Sox rookie but from the time he was called up to Boston until the day he left Fenway five seasons, I wanted him gone. I don't know whether it was because he didn't have the makeup of what I thought a first baseman or right fielder (his two primary positions) should have: namely power. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">For his career Quintana slashed .276/.350/.362 and hit 19 home runs. Total. He played 149 games in back-to-back seasons (1990 and 1991) but I couldn't tell you a single big moment that he came through in. He was just there. There was nothing exciting about him. He hit close to .300 those years, but his power was low (11 homers was his career high in 1991) and he was particularly defensively gifted either. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">At the time I just wanted my stars to be bigger than life: Rickey Henderson, Bo Jackson, Jose Canseco. Dudes who were fast and knocked the ball into next week. Quintana was nothing like that. He'd hit singles and play station-to-station baseball. He was an uninteresting player on a good, but ultimately uninteresting team. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">Watching him every night was anger-inducing. Why does Oakland have all the good rookies? Pittsburgh too. And Cincinnati. And Chicago! They have two teams with two awesome young players (Mark Grace and Frank Thomas). Boston's best rookie is Carlos Quintana. Gross. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">In February of 1992 the most interesting--and worst--thing happened to Quintana. He was in his home country of Venezuela playing winter ball. He had to drive both of his brothers to the hospital, they were both shot. As he was speeding to the hospital, he got into a pretty big car accident and broke his left arm and big toe, while his wife broke both of her legs. He was out for the entire 1992 season.<br /></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">It was a tragedy that I don't remember anyone ever getting to the bottom of. I think that reporters asked about it, the Red Sox made some statements and then it was dropped. I don't want to say that's how boring Carlos Quintana was but if that happened to Wade Boggs or Roger Clemens or Mike Greenwell, I think people would still be talking about it. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">That injury opened the door for a player who was already pushing Quintana, Mo Vaughn. Vaughn was the rookie that everyone wanted to play. He was loud, he was a big dude, he could hit for power and average, he had presence. I thought that he was the Red Sox version of Frank Thomas. And now he was getting his shot! This was the anticipation that I was talking about!<br /></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">Handed the first base job, Mo didn't have a great year in 1992 and when I read the reports Quintana was working his way back, I was nervous. Was this going to be like the Christmas days of the past? Not really. Quintana came back and played the 1993season and he was clearly still hurt. The Sox kept big Mo at first and bounced Q around from first (to give Mo a break) to the outfield, but he wasn't the same player. They released him after the 1993 season and he never played in the Majors again. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">Mo turned into an All-Star, won the MVP in 1995 and had some truly great seasons for the Sox before departing to the Angels for big money. That wasn't his best decision as he was hurt, fat and ineffective for California before getting traded to the Mets and finishing his career. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">At the end of the day, no one really got rich off of baseball cards. I paid my college loans every month, I wasn't able to allow my parents to retire early and my wife and each have a car (not seven). But that anticipation is what keeps you going. You just never fucking know. <br /></span></span></span></p>Byronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18236810459872882912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7495524.post-19474665046911487212022-07-05T16:12:00.010-04:002022-08-10T15:36:58.866-04:00Don Zimmer 1991 Topps<p><br /></p><div class="post-header">
<div class="post-header-line-1"></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">Sometime in June 2022 I received this card from the Baseball Card Bandit (BCB):</span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;"> </span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipdYdLZ_kEZb_Lodh0WFnQkwFHZVGjVySbXavvU2_nZGZvTaULeXbsAfq6kB8s7i3gHNy-tyfojjQQnUB-v0NQBxTf5SWseDzZSdlMb9FtOvm8T-aXyBuE2obQLKjkHsGRxxFSjDagvBEP4DovWomDEA0m5250UW6eyX_0FeNubid2Jv5OhjY/s240/240.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="171" height="334" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipdYdLZ_kEZb_Lodh0WFnQkwFHZVGjVySbXavvU2_nZGZvTaULeXbsAfq6kB8s7i3gHNy-tyfojjQQnUB-v0NQBxTf5SWseDzZSdlMb9FtOvm8T-aXyBuE2obQLKjkHsGRxxFSjDagvBEP4DovWomDEA0m5250UW6eyX_0FeNubid2Jv5OhjY/w238-h334/240.jpg" width="238" /></a></div> <br /></span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">Not only has it been some time since I received any communication from the BCB, but this particular card was sent from Ireland! How about that?</span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">Don Zimmer was a baseball lifer. He famously claimed that he never drew a paycheck from any profession that wasn't baseball related. He was a player (not really good), a manager (not really good), a coach (tough to quantify) and probably a scout (ditto). He spent a lot of time in the majors as a coach and manager and spent a ton of time in the minors as a player. To be fair, while he was a minor leaguer, he was property of the Brooklyn Dodgers in the 1950s. "The Boys of Summer" Dodgers. The team that seemingly had a Hall of Famer at practically every position and beginning in 1950 finished second, second, first, first, second, first (World Champs), first, third and then made tracks to Los Angeles. </span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;"> </span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">Maybe if Zimmer had been property of the Phillies, he'd have played more. </span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;"> </span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">Actually. Hold the phone. I'm double-checking his numbers right now. The funny thing is that the more I look at his numbers, he's not really that bad. He made the All-Star team in 1960, he appeared in two World Series and won rings in both postseasons. He had a 12-year Major League career and that's not too shabby. I guess my view of his career was colored by how much he was despised by the Boston players and media when he managed the Red Sox--more on that in a minute. </span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">There's a lot of stories about Zimmer, some of them have a kernel of truth to them. He was plugged in the head when he was a minor leaguer. The beaning was so bad that he was in coma for close to two weeks. When he was with the Dodgers a few seasons later, he was hit in the face by a fastball and broke his cheek and had a detached retina. The stories that circulated about Zimmer was that it was because of these horrific injuries that he had a metal plate in his head. </span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;"> </span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">He did not. But the thing about Zimmer was that he seemed dim-witted enough that maybe the metal plate was the cause for his slow thinking. </span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">While in the minors Zimmer got married to his high-school sweetheart during the break between a double header. I'm not sure what his wife Soot (real name Carol Jean Bauerle) thought of that idea, but apparently she couldn't care less because they were together for over 70 years. Imagine loving your job that much that you'd get married at your office? "Yeah honey, I got a sweet deal where we can have the break room for practically nothing during the lunch break. It'll be awesome!"</span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">And that was thing about Zimmer; he seemingly loved baseball more than he loved anything else. And I suppose this is where I'd say that if I were a baseball player, I'd be the same way. Maybe if I was 13-years-old, I might have said that but as an adult; that seems more than a little pathetic. I mean, it's a great that a person loves what he does; but there has to be boundaries, right? Balances? Counterbalances?</span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">Ted Williams loved baseball but the guy could also fly a plane and was a world-class fisherman. Babe Ruth was obsessed with baseball, but he also loved to drink and whore around. I think you need outside interests. Don Zimmer seemed to have one setting: baseball. Even in the winter, when players like Zimmer had to work at auto dealerships or other part-time jobs to make ends meet, he was in the Caribbean either playing or managing in the winter leagues.</span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;"> </span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">After he couldn't play anymore, he moved into the coaching ranks hopscotching all over North America in the minors before getting experience in the Majors. That experience paid off when he was named San Diego's newest manager in 1972. But he didn't do so great, going 114-190 with the Padres before getting the axe. </span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;"> </span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">He took over a crazy talented Red Sox team in the second half of 1976 before ripping off win totals of 97, 99, 91 and 82 in four successive seasons in Boston. But that 99-win team is where he gets a lot of shit (and deservedly so). That was the year that Bucky Fucking Dent became an acceptable name for children to say in front of their parents. It was 1978 and the Sox still hadn't won a World Series in 60 years, but this team seemed special. </span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">They had hitting, they had pitching, good defense, a strong bullpen and they were stomping the crap out of everyone. But as the juggernaut grew, Zimmer couldn't seem to handle it. He fought constantly with a handful of players (Bill Lee, Hall of Famer Fergie Jenkins, Bernie Carbo and more--they called themselves the Buffalo Head Society) and to show them who was boss, he either got players traded or buried them on the bench. The crux of this fight (as I understand it) was the Zimmer was a conservative old shit head and these guys were more progressive (Zimmer probably called them hippies) and they clashed. </span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">But Zimmer was stubborn and despite needing these players, he'd play other guys who weren't as good just to spite them. That stubbornness bit him in the ass because throughout most of the summer the Sox were cruising, but then started to get tired and then hurt and then started to lose games. The Yankees got healthy and then hot and a once insurmountable 14-game lead turned to crap by the beginning of September and the Sox had to play out of their minds to force a one-game playoff between themselves and New York. </span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">The Yanks won on a pop fly home run by diminutive shortstop Bucky Dent and the Sox were sent into winter with this awful defeat hanging around their necks like a millstone. Aside from not playing men that he didn't like, Zimmer would not give his regulars days off. Third baseman Butch Hobson made 43 errors that year. 43! Mainly because he was rearranging elbow chips between pitches. But Zimmer wouldn't replace him so that Butch could heal up. He just wore players out. The only regular who played less than 145 games was George Scott at 120. Catcher Carlton Fisk played 157! The team should have collectively sued him for medical malpractice that year. It was criminal the amount of time these guys were on the field. </span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;"> </span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">And as the lead started to chip away and the noose tightened, ZImmer got more and more paranoid. He fought with the media daily. They turned him into a cartoon--his nickname was the Gerbil, which he did not like. </span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;"> </span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">Zimmer lasted another two seasons with the Sox before getting fired--which to be honest, is two more seasons that I would have given him. That collapse was an absolute disaster and the majority of the blame is Zimmer's. He royally screwed that entire season up. </span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;"> </span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">The Rangers kept him around for two seasons where he went 95-106 and then at the end of the 80s he joined the Cubs where he went 265-258 over four seasons, bringing his 13 year managerial total to 885-858 with a 1-4 postseason record. Despite being about 30 games over .500, he really wasn't that great of a manager. </span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;"> </span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">After he got the message that he wasn't a manager anymore, he bounced around as a the "wise" bench coach. He came back to Boston for a season when Butch Hobson began his disastrous two-year managerial tour. Then he joined Don Baylor in Colorado for their inaugural season. He got pissed at Baylor when he felt as if he listening more to Art Howe than him and so he quit in the middle of a game. Then new Yankees manager Joe Torre brought him to New York and he hung around there for a bunch of seasons where he was part good luck Buddha and racing pal to Torre. The one thing that Zimmer liked almost as much as baseball was the horses and dogs. </span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;"> </span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">During this tour in NY, the Sox and the Yanks were bitter enemies. This erupted in 2003 ALCS when after a series of brushbacks and beanballs, the benches emptied. It was the typical macho baseball posturing of yelling, being held back and pushing. Until Zimmer went fucking apeshit and started charging Red Sox pitcher Pedro Martinez. It was almost a Three Stooges skit as a 60+-year-old Zimmer charged the Boston God with his head down, I guess he thought that he was going to tackle him, and Pedro sidestepped the old man and pushed him to the ground. </span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">New York fans wanted Pedro dead ("HOW DARE HE DO THAT TO AN OLD MAN!") but Boston fans philosophized that Zimmer didn't know how to handle Boston pitchers when he managed here and he still couldn't. To his credit, Zimmer was completely embarrassed and in a next-day press conference apologized and cried. After his tenure in the Bronx ended, Zimmer took his final job in Tampa Bay with new skipper Lou Pinella. I guess the Rays loved him because they retired his number 66 when he finally retired from baseball--eight decades after getting into the sport. </span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">I don't know what it is about baseball, but there always seems to be a Don Zimmer type in the game at all times. It must be strange to be the lovable grandfatherly mascot in a hyper competitive field. Zimmer had a pretty full baseball life and touched a lot of eras. He knew a lot.</span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="post-header"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">But he still couldn't manage a team worth a shit. <br /></span></span></div>Byronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18236810459872882912noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7495524.post-80231419511874667662021-12-09T17:01:00.006-05:002021-12-10T11:03:36.554-05:00Steve Crawford 1988 Fleer<p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">Sometime in November 2021 I received this card from the Baseball Card Bandit (BCB):</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiFGgTkg3BTyhG0RhGsUwMJsk4-NbRSkHgk_RxuyTmJUq_MapRSO1g0_-kRfQgObxo75m8Hr_MTB3thsQioKGXchQ-cuTGUZIZWtbJUYVBT4Gy7cO3okGzNtOc68qv_3RUQapGBEXlNLu1uzLK3fsTGdf-4Q7tCq0biCU-VA2Q4RvMizlwD_iY=s252" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="252" data-original-width="180" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiFGgTkg3BTyhG0RhGsUwMJsk4-NbRSkHgk_RxuyTmJUq_MapRSO1g0_-kRfQgObxo75m8Hr_MTB3thsQioKGXchQ-cuTGUZIZWtbJUYVBT4Gy7cO3okGzNtOc68qv_3RUQapGBEXlNLu1uzLK3fsTGdf-4Q7tCq0biCU-VA2Q4RvMizlwD_iY=w286-h400" width="286" /></a></span></div><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>I don't know Steve Crawford personally, but if you were to ask me who he was I'd know who you meant. Mustachioed guy who pitched out of the bullpen for the Boston Red Sox in the 1980s. As my brother Jay would say, "I don't know him, but I knooooooow him."</span></span></span></p><p><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>As you can tell, my credentials regarding Steve Crawford are solid. <br /></span></span></span></p><p><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>If you were to ask me how many seasons he pitched in the Majors for, I'd say, "Three, probably. No more than four." But I'd be wrong. Steve Crawford pitched in parts of 11 Major League seasons, starting with a cup of coffee with the Sox in 1980 (two games) and finishing up with 33 games with the Royals in 1991. </span></span></span></p><p><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>That's not bad, he maxed out his Major League pension, which is a success. But was his career a success? If you're going strictly by the numbers, probably not. When he was in Boston to stay (1984-87) he usually made more than 30 appearances and his ERA hovered around the 4.00 mark, which in the 80s wasn't great. </span></span></span></p><p><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>But 11 seasons in the Majors is nothing to sneeze at. You don't get that many seasons by being a charity case or completely sucking. <br /></span></span></span></p><p><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>On the other hand, if you look at the numbers Crawford gave up a bunch of hits, he gave up a bunch of walks and he didn't strike too many people out. When the Red Sox went to the World Series, Crawford was mostly used in mop-up duty and got crushed. His World Series 6.23 and gave up two home runs in four innings. He pitched in one game against the Angels in the ALCS that year. </span></span></span></p><p><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>After he bottomed out in 1987 (he was really bad: 5.33 ERA, 91 hits, 32 walks and only 43 strikeouts over 72.2 innings) he was released by the Sox. He was picked up by the Dodgers in 1988 and languished in AAA for the entire year while the big league club won the World Series. He spent his last two season in the Bigs with Kansas City.</span></span></span></p><p><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>I know that I talk about this a bunch in this blog, I'm probably a little obsessed, but I wonder what goes through the minds of players who are stuck on the Albuquerque Dukes (like Crawford was) knowing that you are a big leaguer who can help, but watching as the Dodgers are kicking ass all year. Do you hope they lose? Are you glad they won? Do you root for an injury? </span></span></span></p><p><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>I'm sure it's a bittersweet feeling when your team wins without you. Actually, it's not bittersweet, it sucks. I know that when I see a team that I was once on start to win, I get depressed. "Maybe they won because I was holding them back," I reflexively think. But the professional athlete doesn't think like that. The professional athlete has confidence to spare. I would bet that they aren't sad, but that they think, "If I was there, we would have swept, not won in five games" or "We would have won 100 games instead of just 99." </span></span></span></p><p><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>For the pro athlete those slights turn into the fuel that they burn for the next year. "I'll show them. I'll be so good that they'll beg for me to come back ... and then I'll stick it up their asses!"</span></span></span></p><p><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>To be a professional athlete you need that chutzpah, that arrogance, than mentality that you--and you alone--can lead your team to victory. I'm sure years and years of being the no-doubt best player on every team you've been on, countless league MVP awards, Player of the Game trophies for every big game you played have stoked this flame (and it's probably why so many athletes are conservative Republicans or Libertarians). My guess is that Steve Crawford felt the same way. </span></span></span></p><p><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>When the professional athlete lets those hobgoblins of doubt creep in--like they do to every other mortal on this planet--that's when they lose their edge. Suddenly the batter didn't get lucky when he hit that homer off you, you start wondering if your fastball was good enough. And that's when you're sunk. You need a short memory and a lot of confidence to perform on the highest level and if you start gaining the former and losing the latter, forget about it. You may as well start looking for a new job because you're done in the Bigs. <br /></span></span></span></p><p><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>Aside from what I think I know about Crawford and his psyche, about the only other thing that I know about him is that his nickname was"Shag". It's not because he was a lady's man, but because he looked like he always needed a haircut. And with his bushy hair, his equally busy mustache and the reddish-brown color, Crawford also resembled the shag carpeting found in most 1970s dens and rec rooms. On this card, his looks screamed 1970s, despite it being the late 1980s. That's not what you want. </span></span></span></p><p><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>Another thing you don't want is to be part of Wade Boggs' Delta Force. When Boggs' paramour Margo Adams decided to tell all of her secrets, it wasn't just the Boston All-Star third baseman that were parts of her kiss-and-tell article in Penthouse. She talked about other members of the team, one of which was Crawford who along with Boggs and another teammate or two wanted to go back at pitcher Bob Stanley. </span></span></span></p><p><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>Apparently Stanley didn't fool around on the road and stayed loyal to his wife. This bugged Boggs for some reason and so him in the rest of the Delta Force got him hammered and paid a woman to seduce him and bring him back to his room. As Stanley and his lady were getting undressed and ready to rock, Boggs, Crawford and others broke in and started snapping pictures. </span></span></span></p><p><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>I'm not sure what they attempted to accomplish with this "mission" but I guess Stanely was pretty embarrassed. So great job, guys! </span></span></span></p><p><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>Crawford hung up his cleats after the 1991 season. He didn't pitch a ton, but when he did, he got hit hard. I bet those hobgoblins were bugging him big time by this point in his career. </span></span></span></p><p><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: small;">I'm not sure what the guy has done in the subsequent 30 years, but whatever it is, I'm sure he's doing fine. Whenever he's at his low point, Shag Crawford could always say that he was a Major Leaguer for ten year who got to pitch in the World Series and there is no way that you ever could think about doing that on your best day. </span><br /></span></span></span></p>Byronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18236810459872882912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7495524.post-52855677187335272872021-10-01T11:51:00.005-04:002021-12-10T11:03:12.087-05:00Danny Darwin 1992 Fleer<p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></span></p><p></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;">Sometime in September 2021 I received this card from the Baseball Card Bandit (BCB):</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: small;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span face="verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHBKLGlH_GEK1-Ih_TI-Lrk0Pp72MNPERioO0OXzu4OZSN_xe-jW0p5cKihcXCcQIST9YhInFDeQmRWQGyCI4xvoDviCuyzoyNDR31AYgOFb0OARLa_yuZqEfTMmpGcLQTXiQ-6A/s500/s-l500.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="363" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHBKLGlH_GEK1-Ih_TI-Lrk0Pp72MNPERioO0OXzu4OZSN_xe-jW0p5cKihcXCcQIST9YhInFDeQmRWQGyCI4xvoDviCuyzoyNDR31AYgOFb0OARLa_yuZqEfTMmpGcLQTXiQ-6A/s320/s-l500.jpg" width="232" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Danny Darwin's nickname was "Dr. Death" for some reason. It probably had to do with one of his pitches, probably an off-speed cutter or something, but it always seemed like a weird name for him. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Danny Darwin was born in Bonham, TX and looked like he was born in Bonham, TX. He was tall, gangly and had a droopy mustache that perfectly contoured to his long face. If he was in a western movie, they'd nick name him "Slim" (he is listed at 6'3" and 185 pounds) and he'd probably end up getting shot in a bar fight during the first 20 minutes. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Darwin pitched--are you ready for this, because this is legit surprising--21 seasons in the majors. Even though he looked like he should have spent his entire career with the Rangers or the Astros (he spent eight and six years with each club respectively) he ended up playing for eight teams. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">If you played for 21 years you would at least think that you'd get some sort of team or individual honor in one of those seasons, right? Wrong. Darwin was never on a World Series team nor was he ever an All-Star. What's even more insane is that according to baseball-reference.com, Darwin NEVER, as in not once, ever appeared in post season play. Not once. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">You hear about a person like Derek Jeter who played 19 seasons (not including 1995 when he played 15 regular season games) and was an October participant in 16 of those seasons, and even the reddest of Red Sox fans can appreciate that number. That's a lot. Darwin does him better, only the opposite. Twenty-one years, no October baseball. At all. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I don't know how he feels about this dubious distinction, but I am completely blown away. That's a lot of shitty baseball that he watched. Day-in and day-out, trudging to work knowing that your team stinks. That has to take a toll on a man's psyche. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Maybe that's why they called him Dr. Death? Because every team he was on was death. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">In Darwin's defense, he probably wasn't the problem. He never won more than 15 games in a season and he didn't strike out a ton of people, but he didn't walk a lot either, his WHIP was pretty decent (he lead the league twice, once in Houston--which considering he pitched half his games in the cavernous Astrodome seems about right--and once in Boston--which considering he pitched half his games in the bandbox that is Fenway Park seems about wrong) and he lead the league in ERA. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The year that he lead the league in ERA and WHIP was 1990, which like I said was done in the ultimate pitcher's park, the Astrodome. So of course Lou Gorman signs* him to a crazy four-year deal for big money. For the Sox he was fine. His first year, it looks like he was hurt--he only appeared in 15 games. The second year he operated out of the bullpen, which I'm sure people were going nuts about "We gave $3 million bucks to a long relievah! Tha fuck?". The third year, he pitched well as a starter (this was when he lead the AL in WHIP) and the fourth year, he was fine again. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">* This was Lou Gorman's post 1990 shopping frenzy when like in a day, he signed Darwin, a pretty close to past his prime Jack Clark and a pretty sucky Matt Young to big deals. None of them made the impact that Sweet Lou thought that they were. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">BTW, Gorman signing Darwin after he had an amazing year in the Astrodome should have been a harbinger of things to come when nine months later he sends New Britain third baseman Jeff Bagwell to the same Astros. Why did Gorman do that? Because he couldn't understand park effects--the Beehive in New Britain was a huge place where hitters "lost" power and pitchers pitched "awesome". It was kinda like a minor league version of the Astrodome and proved that Lou didn't understand park effects very well. <br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">All-in-all Darwin was a meh signing at best. He wasn't going to win you a ton of games and he wasn't a star that was going to get the masses excited either. He was third/fourth starter who could give you innings out of the bullpen. There are a million dudes who can do that. No need to pay them a ton of cash to do that. Maybe throw the whole wad at Kirby Puckett--who the Sox were rumored to be going hard for that offseason. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">After Darwin left the Fens, he bounced around for the rest of his career, a half season in Toronto, back to Texas then to Pittsburgh back to Houston over to the White Sox before finishing up with the Giants. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">According to Wikipedia*, it was with the Giants that he got into a few scuffles. According to Orel Hershiser, when they were teammates there was a benches clearing brawl and Darwin popped Hershiser (who was his teammate, remember) in the face. Orel claims it was because he hit him once when they were facing each other back in the day. Which, take it easy Slim. Shit happens. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">* How great is it that every MLB player has their own Wiki page? What an age we live in!<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The second Giant incident occurred when teammate Barry Bonds lollygagged after a ball. Darwin was furious because that lackadaisical play allowed a run to score. I'm sure that Bonds was super apologetic and vowed that it wouldn't do again. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Darwin has spent his post-retirement years as a minor league pitching coach--except for a few months when he got the call to the Show when the normal Cincinnati Reds pitching coach needed a replacement. I don't think that team made it to the postseason either. </span></span><br /></p>Byronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18236810459872882912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7495524.post-68101574307047827882021-04-06T16:40:00.003-04:002021-04-07T15:42:55.168-04:00Larry Parrish 1989 Fleer<p> <span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">On April 2, 2021 I received this card from the Baseball Card Bandit (BCB):</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaWD3HXF_pc7BunIw5ZFA49tposdjJWuWEf22EPfQbceEbTGCL9G62Z2NZ3OBKyFSRVt6hBI7fEq5IqvE-MhtXFZJHNPqIACd2pVt9iz9SiILsWOx7KlNd6WWDNvUwP0-934ymqg/s300/s-l300.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaWD3HXF_pc7BunIw5ZFA49tposdjJWuWEf22EPfQbceEbTGCL9G62Z2NZ3OBKyFSRVt6hBI7fEq5IqvE-MhtXFZJHNPqIACd2pVt9iz9SiILsWOx7KlNd6WWDNvUwP0-934ymqg/s0/s-l300.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Larry Parrish was one of those guys. You know what I mean,
he was the type of guy that was seemingly in every baseball card pack you
opened. You looked at the front of his card for a minute, maybe you looked at
the back of his card for a half-second and then you shove it back into the pile
and keep flipping cards to see whether you got a Wally Joyner or a Bo Jackson
or a Roger Clemens. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Unless you were a die-hard Expos or Rangers fan*, chances
are you don’t remember Parrish all that much. But he was a beefy dude who
played fourteen and a half seasons for Montreal and Texas. When I got around to
noticing who he was, he looked like a stereotypical designated hitter; giant,
slow, with a bit of a belly. Kind of like a softball player, a person who was
seemingly born to DH, but at one point in his life, he had the mobility to be a
third baseman and outfielder. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Life is a lot like that, you run into people at certain points
in their lives and you think that’s who they’ve always been, but that’s not
true. That Mom who’s always making stuff for the school bake sale? She was the bassist
in a pretty decent riot grrrl band back in the 90s. The Dad who coaches your
kid’s Little League team? He got black out drunk every weekend in college. You’re
the guest star in their story, not that other way around. And that’s how it was
for me and Larry Parrish. When he played in Boston he looked like a jacked up
Alex P. Keaton; neat, short-haired almost like a Republican. But when he was in
Montreal, he looked like Bill Lee's running mate, Grizzly Adams-type with a crazy beard and wild eyes. Beards were scary to me in the 1980s, <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2017/08/upper-deck-1992-jeff-reardon.html" target="_blank">Jeff Reardon</a> (another former Expo to play for the Sox haunted my nightmares). Compare Parrish's card above to an early 80s card while an Expo below.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigRhYRRBQ5rlWchLjaLzhh0tf4HFgqllzyElTLeayQmaZB_pcZwkosVn6yNe8dMrOk2wUVL6aGdTWHnJ6S0LBmRFLV3buaDZRfCBvzEd9UnoXZluZrX633eJfDrJLnX896bau73A/s268/LP.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="268" data-original-width="188" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigRhYRRBQ5rlWchLjaLzhh0tf4HFgqllzyElTLeayQmaZB_pcZwkosVn6yNe8dMrOk2wUVL6aGdTWHnJ6S0LBmRFLV3buaDZRfCBvzEd9UnoXZluZrX633eJfDrJLnX896bau73A/s0/LP.jpg" /></a></div> <p></p><p class="MsoNormal">* As a Massachusetts native, I can’t think of no two more seemingly
different, but very similar, outposts in Major League Baseball than Arlington,
Texas and Montreal. Both teams were very anonymous, but on the fringes of being
pretty good—Montreal was really good but they couldn’t put it together. They
both wore powder blue away uniforms and crappy stadiums. Both had terrible
weather (too cold in Canada, too hot in Texas) and they just seemed like teams
that were around to fill out the league so that the Dodgers didn’t have to play
the Cardinals every weekend and the Yankees didn’t have to play the Red Sox all
the time--yet they were never on TV's Game of the Week. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Did you know that Parrish was a two-time All-Star? It’s true,
in 1979 and 1987 he made the mid-summer’s classic. The year after he made his
second All-Star Game he was released by the Rangers in July and picked up by
the Boston Red Sox about a week later. This was around the same time that John
McNamara got canned and interim manager <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2019/02/joe-morgan-1991-topps.html" target="_blank">Joe Morgan</a> was expected to keep the
manager’s office warm until Lou Gorman could find a replacement skipper.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But Morgan kept winning and winning and winning that month,
the Red Sox went on a tear and Morgan Magic was born. I remember when the Sox
got Parrish he came to town, put on Don Baylor’s old number 25 (which seemed
right, he reminded me a lot of a white Don Baylor), stood erect at the plate
(he looked like he was seven feet tall and 250 pounds) and just started mashing.
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In all, he hit seven home runs for the Sox that season and I
bet six of them came within two weeks of his signing. After being discarded by
the Rangers, all of a sudden he was as hot as the team he joined. You could
tell that the Sox had captured the sports zeitgeist because in September, they
made the cover of Sports Illustrated and one of the photos was an action shot
of the newly acquired Parrish taking a hellacious cut and destroying a ball. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As the team lost their otherworldly momentum, so did Parrish.
He finished a shade under .260, with seven homers, a .298 OBP (yuck) and a .424
slugging percentage. That wasn’t too bad for a 35-year-old, but I think that
everyone knew that Larry was done. The good news was 1988 was Parrish’s second
foray into the postseason (he was a member of the Blue Monday Expos in 1981),
but the Sox were quickly run over by the Oakland A’s juggernaut and Parrish
retired from the game after that season. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">After he retired, he got back into baseball and was a coach
for a few teams. Much like his last skipper, Parrish was named interim manager after
his old Ranger pal Buddy Bell got the hook and rode a decent September 1998 (13-12,
which was part of their overall 65-97 record) into becoming the new Tigers
skipper the following year. The team was abysmal in the year of our Prince,
1999, and finished the season with a slightly better 69-92 record. But it wasn’t
enough for the Tiger front office and he was not asked back to manage Detroit
into the new Willenium. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As one of those guys, you don’t think of a Larry Parrish very
much unless he somehow finds his way to your team. Then you think about him a
lot. You can’t remember what life was like when Larry Parrish wasn’t holding
down the DH position for the local nine. You see that weird stance every night,
you open up Sports Illustrated and there he is the crisp, bright white Red Sox
uniforms and you’re like “Damn, Larry Parrish was made to be a Boston Red Sock.”*
You get all caught up in his hot streak and the team’s scorching three weeks
and start believing that maybe Larry Parrish was the x-factor, the guy who the
team needed to push them over the top. This is the year that the Red Sox are
going to finally get that stupid monkey off their back. </p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrFspUjIUOQw2cvHGl_agUNBZGMoTAXmIQIX9TUyViLavj8srtmJ_8jAykwzomI251LmnNxIXfZ8jAcBacQPfqrQXYiXShKvMb760bkgdb7_sdWJ2O88qsGvfKfESDdsAS8TJL2Q/s260/SI+Sox.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="260" data-original-width="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrFspUjIUOQw2cvHGl_agUNBZGMoTAXmIQIX9TUyViLavj8srtmJ_8jAykwzomI251LmnNxIXfZ8jAcBacQPfqrQXYiXShKvMb760bkgdb7_sdWJ2O88qsGvfKfESDdsAS8TJL2Q/s0/SI+Sox.jpg" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p class="MsoNormal">* I was so all-in on Larry Parrish that I bought his rookie card that summer. <br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But, as they say, water finds its level and Parrish turned
back into an old pumpkin. However, you still hold out hope that maybe at the
end of September and into October, he has just a little more gas in the tank.
Maybe he can put the team on his back and carry them for just a few more games—14
at the absolute most. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">He doesn’t. Everyone knows that he’s cooked and he’s gone at
the end of the year without much fanfare. After a bunch of years, you almost
forget that Larry Parrish ever had a locker in the home clubhouse at Fenway Park,
unless you’re tipping back beers with friends and talking about obscure Sox guys.
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“How about Larry Parrish!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Lance Parrish never played with the Red Sox!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I don’t mean the Tigers catcher, I said LARRY Parrish!”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Oh shit, yeah I remember him. He was pretty good for awhile
back in 88, right?”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yup. He did some stuff.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As a guy, it’s always good to be remembered for doing some
stuff. </p>
<p><style>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p><br />Byronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18236810459872882912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7495524.post-87342250662828378922020-11-13T09:44:00.004-05:002020-11-13T09:44:45.157-05:00My Brother<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJT1_IU8roY5F285ancrWJ6OAsAGFEiNzByAE6uZ62saKJCf12fM8DkgtDP6dJg8NRz0PXBtPB89yPDll1033TdWBnaa3_Ni6oaOfU-VmeiJddC4c2DVidixvabl_hWBAgfOy5hg/s960/Jay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJT1_IU8roY5F285ancrWJ6OAsAGFEiNzByAE6uZ62saKJCf12fM8DkgtDP6dJg8NRz0PXBtPB89yPDll1033TdWBnaa3_Ni6oaOfU-VmeiJddC4c2DVidixvabl_hWBAgfOy5hg/w318-h424/Jay.jpg" width="318" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Wednesday was the first day in 15,498 days where the sun rose
and my brother, Jason Magrane, wasn’t around to see it. He passed away on
Tuesday November 10, 2020 at 12:42 pm at Portsmouth Regional Hospital in
Portsmouth, NH surrounded by his mother, father and me. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">That last sentence is the type of “just the facts”
information that I would throw down when I was a reporter writing obituaries. It’s
not very personal and it doesn’t give much of a picture of who the deceased
was, it was more of a record that this person existed for a time and then departed
the world. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Like you, I’ve experienced death before, but the passing of Jason
has hit me hard. He was much more than a range of dates, he was a father, a
son, a husband, a friend, an employee, a boss, but most importantly to me, he
was a brother. As I’m writing this blog post on November 12, I can only think
of the future and the past. Jay is going to be laid to rest two days from right
now but three years ago to the day, I gave the best man’s speech at Jason’s
wedding. Below is a portion of what I wrote, this was supposed to be a toast to
Jason’s nuptials, never did I envision it becoming part of a eulogy: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“According to Magrane lore, when my mother came home and
told me that she was going to have another baby and it was going to be a boy, I
was inconsolable. I wanted a sister and the thought of having a brother
muscling in on my territory and sharing my toys was too much. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Despite my best wishes, Jay never turned into a girl, so I
was stuck with a brother for my childhood. And it turned out to be pretty
awesome. Growing up, Jay and I were pretty much alone at any extended family
gathering—and we used to see our family a lot. I would think about friends who
had dozens of cousins and how they’d talk about hanging out with them at family
gatherings and it sounded pretty great. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But with Jay and I growing up together, we had to be each
other’s best friends. Whether it was at my grandmother’s house or Aunty Rita’s
or at Cousin Kathy’s in New York, it was just him and me. That meant he and I
would play He-Man and GI Joe, read comics, or draw or play Wiffle Ball. It was always
Jay and By or By and Jay. With us being together that much, it could have gone
a few different ways, but we became close. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A few years later, as I got into high school and had my own
group of friends; I began to notice that my friends—all of them—took a liking
to Jay. Was I happy about this turn of events? No, I was not. It used to drive
me crazy that my friends always invited Jay to come with us whenever we did
something, whether it was hoops or pond hockey, Indian ball or football, Jay
was always a part of the crew. And not only that, but my friends genuinely
liked him and respected him. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It wasn’t until a few years later that it dawned on me: some
of my friends had younger siblings and they were never invited to do stuff with
us. Jay was included because he was funny and smart, athletic and loyal; he was
included because he was one of us.”</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It’s funny, when you grow up with a brother, you’re inundated
with a lot of media about how close brothers have to be: from Wally and the Beav
to Greg, Peter and Bobby to Willis and Arnold, all of those brothers were the best
of friends. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But real life isn’t like that. Life isn’t scripted, each person
doesn’t know exactly what the other person is always thinking and problems aren’t
solved in 30 minutes (minus time for commercials). The idea that two people could
be complete and total best friends forever and ever and ever without any disagreements
is a silly, unrealistic myth. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As we grew into adulthood, Jay and I were close-ish. We were
both independent men who had their own life and their own life’s philosophies.
Mine was a bit more conservative in regard to risk and rewards. Jay was the
opposite. Jay lived his life the way he wanted to live his life, which I found admirable
and a little concerning, but that wasn’t how my brain worked. Jay could talk to
literally anyone—he had no fear in that department, made everyone feel comfortable—which
is an awkward endeavor was for his older brother, was fun, constantly laughing
and wondering when the next good time was going to happen. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As we grew up we worked through our differences and over the
last few years, we began to get closer. While we didn’t agree on everything, I
could at least understand why Jay was doing what he was doing. And I think he
could see things from my point of view too. Even though we were closer, Jay
still wouldn’t (or couldn’t) tell me what was bothering him when asked. And it
wasn’t just me, Jay didn’t want to burden anyone with what he considered his “trivial
problems”. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“By, you have a family, focus on them,” he’d always say. But
what I don’t think that Jay got was that even though I have a wife and two
children, Jay was my family and I did want to focus on him. But his carefree persona
or his pride or whatever he felt at the time wouldn’t allow him to tell me what
was really going on. Would I have helped him? Would Jay be here today? I don’t
know. Maybe. It’s a question that I’ll have to live with. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The thing is, Jason was 42-years-old and you could ask him
what’s wrong, I could ask him what’s wrong, Bo Jackson could ask him what’s
wrong and Jay wasn’t obliged to give us an answer. Jay’s stubbornness knew no bounds.
He was the Michael Jordan of stubborn. Things were easier when we were kids and
if I wanted to really know what his problem was, I could jump on him (I always
weighed more than him), sit on his chest, put my knees on his biceps and tickle
him until he told me his deal. I wish I thought of doing that a few months ago,
but that approach seems sort of weird now that I think about. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">You’re never going to get a straight answer out of tickle
torturing someone and just because you ask someone to do something, doesn’t
mean that they’re going to do it. For example, Jay went into the hospital last Monday
and that prognosis looked grim even back then. While I was putting away that
evening’s dishes, I decided to try and honor my brother by playing the Grateful
Dead Pandora station. The Dead were Jay’s favorite band (he saw them at the old
Boston Garden in 1994) and he was always trying to get me to listen to them.
Aside from a few albums and a couple of singles, the Dead and jam bands never appealed
to me. But last Monday night, I was going to listen to the Dead in honor of my brother.
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I made it three minutes. I’m sorry Jay, and I know that you
understand, but I just couldn’t do it. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Alas. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There’s a lot of things that suck about my brother’s
untimely passing, but I think that the biggest one is that he and I are never
going to get the chance to be as close as we were when we were kids and that
truly makes me sad. I was looking forward to the day when Jay and I take our
kids to a Sox game. Or he could ask me for the millionth time why I don’t like
Bill Simmons anymore. Or when we could have a moment and remember long-passed
relatives who seem to exist in the fogs of our minds. Or he could recommend a
podcast to me. Or when a tragedy happens and I need someone beside my wife to
talk to, so that I can get through the latest malady without losing my mind. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">All of that has been taken from me and it makes me very sad.
</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Earlier this morning I was thinking about a random memory of
Jay and me. It had to be during the spring of 1990 and I was in my room
probably obsessing over my baseball cards or reading a magazine while listening
to Public Enemy’s newest tape “Fear of a Black Planet”. There’s a song on that
album called “Welcome to the Terrordome” and if you know anything about PE—and especially
that album—you know that it’s a wall of sound. It’s literally a pastiche of samples
and cuts laid upon one another to make new beats. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">At 1:47 into the song there is a horn that wails unsettingly
loud and shrill. That day in 1990, I thought it was my brother calling, “Byyyyyyyyron!”
from downstairs. And it wasn’t just that day, for like the first 10 or 15 times
I listened to that song, hear that sound, amble over to my stereo, shut off my
tape and yell, “WHAT DO YOU WANT JAY?” And he’d always say that he never called
me, I’d press play and grumble to myself about Jay being a pain in the ass. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Today I listened to that song and in particular that shrill horn
and it made me smile and cry. Jay may be gone, but he’ll never be forgotten.</p><p><style>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Byronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18236810459872882912noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7495524.post-51330402915033425192020-08-12T15:40:00.001-04:002020-08-12T15:40:30.772-04:00 Billy Ball: a Review<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJQSIs17b_z64iPXjjyDN-eVXJtOShv02T8qZcMNbPn2eQb8EhiKtVnu4Gyco5gXddO4LwpWvir9KodbS0ooyiFS6KwhB2GH3yfJwPDPtUBJ5WMid-cpNEMdyLlIAYGfrjnGPr_A/s600/81QogsO40FL.__BG0%252C0%252C0%252C0_FMpng_AC_UL600_SR390%252C600_.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJQSIs17b_z64iPXjjyDN-eVXJtOShv02T8qZcMNbPn2eQb8EhiKtVnu4Gyco5gXddO4LwpWvir9KodbS0ooyiFS6KwhB2GH3yfJwPDPtUBJ5WMid-cpNEMdyLlIAYGfrjnGPr_A/s0/81QogsO40FL.__BG0%252C0%252C0%252C0_FMpng_AC_UL600_SR390%252C600_.png" /></a></div><p><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">I don’t like Billy Martin. I never have, I probably never will. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">I don’t find him charming. Or funny. Or interesting at all. I think that he’s a mean-spirited, drunken bully who has a Napoleon complex. If you like him, you’re probably a Yankees fan and an old one at that. That’s okay, we all root for our laundry; especially the players who wore that laundry when we were kids. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">That being said, if your franchise needed a shot in the arm and wanted to be respectable, you needed Billy Martin to manage your ballclub. Whether it was with the Twins, the Tigers, the Rangers or the Yankees--aside from New York--weren’t very good before Martin took over the corner office. Through force of will and baseball brilliance Martin turned all of these teams around. Then he burnt out and was fired. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">The same was true with the Oakland Athletics. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Dale Tafoya’s “Billy Ball” is a story about Billy Martin and the Oakland Athletics of the early 1980s. The Athletics of the late 70s were bad. Like really bad. So bad that no one was coming to their games. They were a shadow of their three-time World Series Championship teams of a few years prior and they weren’t drawing flies. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">A’s owner Charles O. Finley was angry that free agency had come into Major League Baseball. Ge was angry that his star players wanted to be paid what they were worth. And he was especially angry that no one told him how great he was every minute of every day. So yeah, Finley was a monumental asshole too. After moving the Athletics from Kansas City to Oakland in the late 1970s, Finley thought that it was time to move again. He set his sights on selling the team to investors from Denver. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">But first he needed to improve the club, while keeping expense down. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">This is the impetus for him to hire the Oakland-bred Martin. By this point in his life, Martin was kind of a persona non grata around baseball due to an offseason fist fight he got into with a travelling marshmallow salesman in a bar. Most baseball people thought that Martin was brilliant, but that he was way too radioactive. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Finley didn’t care. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">The Oakland Athletics of the early 1980s were a fascinating team. After some awful years, things were starting to look up. They had a terrific outfield with rookie Rickey Henderson in left, Dwayne Murphy in center and Tony Armas in right. Their infield was fine—they prided themselves on not making mental or physical errors and hit well enough. Once Billy was named manager, the whole team played like Martin: they stole bases like crazy (including home a bunch of times), they always took the extra base, they bunted and hit behind runners, were fundamentally sound and just became giant pains in the ass to play against. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">In a sense, they played like their manager’s personality. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">But that wasn’t what was so fascinating. What was unique about the Oakland Athletics of that time was the amount of complete games that Martin’s starters through. Mike Norris, Ray Langford, Steve McCatty, Matt Keough and Brian Kingman threw 93 complete games in 1980, 106 in 1981 before crashing down to Earth with 37 in 1982. This last number was due to a few things: one, 1982 Spring Training was wacky for the A’s with Martin demanding to see every player in the organization at once. This meant that major leaguers were giving up innings and reps to minor leaguers so they never had a chance to fully stretch out and get ready for the season. And two, with two years of blatant overuse the pitching staff’s arms were about to fall off. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Martin felt that his bullpen sucked and needed to ride his starters for as far as he could until they fell apart. He did that. And then the pitchers fell apart. While it can be argued that it was smart that Martin relied so heavily on his starting staff, they were the only players who could pitch. But it could also be argued that he destroyed the careers of five young pitchers who could have been good throughout most of the 1980s. Instead, they were husks of themselves for the rest of the decade. He bled that resources dry and didn't give a damn about tomorrow. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Once he gets the story to Oakland, Tafoya does a good job of telling the tale of Martin and his Athletics. He walks through Martin’s hiring, his relationship with his players, the sale of the A’s by Finley to the Walter Haas and his family and the overall triumphs and ultimate crash landing of Martin’s three seasons in Oaktown. While I enjoyed this book a lot, I think that it could have been copy edited a bit better. There were a few mistakes, a lot of repetition and some grammatical syntaxes that sometimes made the narrative hard to follow. For example, I don’t think that Tafoya meant this but when talking about Martin's family tree, he wrote that Martin’s grandfather landed in San Francisco after taking a raft over to the city from Italy. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">Which, if true, I mean Wow, that’s your next book. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">But like a rookie hurler in his first game, the book settles down and the mistakes become less and less. Tafoya definitely did his homework and his research into the club is tremendous, and that’s when I started to enjoy the book more. While I will never be a full-blown Billy Martin fan, I came to respect the guy and can understand why he was always a hot property no matter how many bridges he burnt at his previous job.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;">So congratulations Dale, because of you I dislike Billy Martin a little bit less than before I started this book. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in;"><i>I was sent Billy Ball free to review and comment on. This did not have any effect on my review. </i></p>Byronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18236810459872882912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7495524.post-6989248868851226302020-06-22T15:14:00.001-04:002021-03-04T17:36:24.949-05:00Alaa Abdelnaby 1994 Upper Deck<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span face="Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">About two weeks ago, my daughter found just this card in the mailbox. It seems to me that this may be from a new BCB--a BASKETBALL Card Bandit--but at the same time it has the hallmarks of the original BCB. The original BCB, Casey McGee, admitted to me that he would slip a card in my mailbox while out for a walk. The newer BCB, who has never been formally unrevealed, would mail the cards from post offices from around the world. </span></div>
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<span face="Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Is this a new BCB? I cannot say. Could it be the second, non-McGee BCB, is back with a new M.O. of leaving a card for me along from a new sport? Again, I'm not sure. Is this a copy cat of a copy cat? That would be very interesting, true believer. </span></div>
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<span face="Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">The only thing I know is that this Alaa Abdelnaby card is pretty awesome. Look at Alaa throwing one down against his old team, the Milwaukee Bucks in front of Future Hall of Famer (and member of the 1996-97 Chicago Bulls*) the Chief, Robert Parish. </span></div>
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<span face="Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">* I bet that you forgot that Parish was on that team didn't you? They didn't really talk about him during the ten-part Last Dance documentary did they? Nope the didn't. And they also didn't talk about NBA free spirit Bison Dele who was also on that team too. Jesus, Bison Dele and Dennis Rodman, that must've been some locker room. if memory serves me correctly, Dele and a few friends were murdered by pirates in the Pacific Ocean after he retired from the NBA and tried sailing around the world. His story is so damn interesting. </span></div>
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<span face="Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Once upon a time, the Boston Celtics were bad. I mean, really bad. The Celtics of 1993-94 finished with 32 wins and poor Robert Parish was literally the last link to the glory days of the 1980s. I wonder if he would walk into practice and expect to see Larry Bird or Kevin McHale or Dennis Johnson, but is saddened to see Chris Corchiani and Sherman Douglas and Todd Lichti. It must have been so depressing. Alaa Abdelnaby was also a member of that team and he averaged a hair under five points per game that year. </span></div>
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<span face="Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">He was a center out of Duke* who was born in Egypt, which is cool. According to his basketball-reference page Abdelnaby was nicknamed the Pharaoh (seems really obvious), the Black Hole (I would assume because that's what his offensive game was likened to) and the Alphabet (which is sort of funny). </span></div>
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<span face="Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Abdelnabby played for the Blazers, the aforementioned Bucks before becoming a Celtic and then finishing his career with the Kings and the Sixers after he was let go by Boston. </span></div>
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<span face="Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">* Unlike most self-serious Duke players, Abdelnaby told the press that the only way he'd ever get five A's at Duke is if he signed his name. That's a pretty funny burn on yourself. That quip puts Abdelnaby as my third favorite Blue Devil after Jayson Tatum and Grant Hill. All other Dukies are tied for last. </span></div>
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<span face="Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">I don't have a lot more to say about Abdelnaby as I don't remember him too much. I remember his type and I remember the Celtics front office falling in love with guys like him. Like most players acquired after the first Big Three moseyed into the sunset, there was some hope that the new guy would be a replacement for the old guy. But Alaa was never even in the same zip code as Parish. He was an Egyptian Eric Montrose (who also played for the Celts the following year and did his college time down the road from Duke at the University of North Carolina) in that he just stood in the paint and tried to take up space. </span></div>
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<span face="Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">They even have similar stats:</span></div>
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<span face="Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Abdelnaby: 256 games, 5.7 PPG, 0.00% three pointers (kind of unfair) and 70% FTA</span></div>
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<span face="Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Montross: 465 games, 4.5 PPG, 0.00% three points (also unfair) and 47.8% FTA (gross)</span></div>
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<span face="Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">The only thing is that the Celts took Montross in the first round of the draft that year and he proceeded to give them the exact same production as the guy who they let walk to the Kings. </span></div>
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<span face="Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Remember when I said that the Celtics were bad once upon a time? This is one of the reasons for that. </span></div>
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Byronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18236810459872882912noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7495524.post-55718061371073273272020-06-01T11:04:00.002-04:002020-06-01T11:04:45.296-04:00Steve Curry 1989 Fleer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiERlRaAHdlh9khXWkaptiAhhn38R5s2rxhl0u4MBLlTpaCTEt2tmD2FDF2VessW4dGMItK_jl8NiZl5H3y7ePlRLAVJGkAaq7WdRrjSrgrzwMBmHs-NX-ZE9Kkp1eWG6ccHZZuKg/s1600/s-l400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="284" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiERlRaAHdlh9khXWkaptiAhhn38R5s2rxhl0u4MBLlTpaCTEt2tmD2FDF2VessW4dGMItK_jl8NiZl5H3y7ePlRLAVJGkAaq7WdRrjSrgrzwMBmHs-NX-ZE9Kkp1eWG6ccHZZuKg/s320/s-l400.jpg" width="227" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Do you remember a time when we were able to leave our homes without masks? Do you remember a time when we could gather together in public places and shake hands or hug and didn't have to stand six feet from one another? I barely recall these days of long ago--actually it was at the end of February--but it was during this time that the Baseball Card Bandit emailed me (YES! EMAIL!) this card. I'm now only getting to writing about it mainly because I had time remembering Curry and wasn't sure what to say. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Curry, who looks almost exactly like Deadspin founder Will Leitch, pitched three games in the summer of 1988. Curry pitched three games in his entire pro career, and here is his line: 0-1, 8.18 ERA, 11.0 innings. He gave up 15 hits, 10 runs, walked 14 (!) and struck out four. The only good thing is that he didn't give up a home run during his trio of starts. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">His first MLB appearance was July 10 and his last appearance was July 23. Do you know what this means? Steve Curry lost his first decision and his next two appearances he received no decisions. Let me explain. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At the beginning of 1988, the Sox were scuffling along. 1986 World Series goat John McNamara was still the manager and it was apparent that he lost control of the club house. So Boston canned him right after the All-Star game. They negotiated to get a few high-profile managers, but in the interim they named Walpole, MA-native <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2019/02/joe-morgan-1991-topps.html" target="_blank">Joe Morgan</a> (not that one) manager on July 14. The Sox ripped off a 12-game win streak that the press dubbed "Morgan Magic". </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I remember Morgan Magic and it was insane how the Sox were winning for those two weeks. It seemed as if every game was won in walk-off fashion. One out in the bottom of the tenth and Todd Benzinger hits a game-winning dinger off of Minnesota Twins reliever Keith Atherton*. It was crazy. The Sox would ride this hot streak into the fall before losing to the Oakland Athletics in the American League Championship Series. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">* <i>I could have sworn that Benzinger hit his homer off of seemingly untouchable closer <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2019/01/jeff-reardon-1992-upper-deck.html" target="_blank">Jeff "The Terminator" Reardon</a>, but apparently it was Atherton, which isn't as good of a story. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Back to Curry, with his start on July 10, that may have been one of McNamara's final moves as a Red Sox manager. According to RetroSheet.org, Curry didn't pitch too badly in that game, losing 4-1 to the White Sox. He gave up four hits, three runs and walked seven--which sounds to me like the dude was nervous. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">His second start came against the Twins where he had a reverse split of walking only three (good!) but giving up seven hits (bad) in 4.1 innings. Lucky for Boston, they scored 11 runs and that took him off the hook. Though he wouldn't get the win because he didn't pitch five full innings. Just two more batters and you would have got the "W", dude! Damn. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Curry last start was also against the White Sox and he gave up four hits and four walks but also five runs in a little over two innings. The Red Sox scored 11 and cranked out 20 hits. And that was it for Steve Curry. The bullpen and the offense saved his ass big time in two of his three starts, Morgan and General Manager Lou Gorman had apparently seen enough and he was banished to AAA Pawtucket and was never heard from again, which seems kind of crazy because he was only 22-years-old. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A couple of things:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1. I have a feeling that Steve Curry was definitely rushed to the Big Leagues and completely spit the bit. He pretty much got his ass kicked, BUT he was in the Show and like I say, that's something that no one can take away from you, no matter how much you stink the place up. I'm really surprised that no one gave him at least one more shot, especially in 1993 when the league expanded and they needed pitchers. A 27-year-old Steve Curry couldn't have been handy to anyone? Really? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2. It's kind of crazy to me that the 12-game winning streak had two starts by someone who pitched so damn poorly. Like I said above, I was under the impression that these games were mostly close--and according to the game logs they were as 8 of the 12 wins were decided by three runs or less--but they also scored a ton of runs too. I guess I forgot that the pitching staff gave up a bunch of runs too (44 in those 12 games, which isn't great considering that there was a <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2019/02/otis-nixon-1992-upper-deck-and-mike.html" target="_blank">Mike Smithson</a> shutout mixed in there too (exactly who you would have thought). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">3. When I Googled "Steve Curry Boston Red Sox" I got his Wikipedia page and his Baseball-Reference.com page and that's it. The next bunch of links were about how Golden State Warrior future Hall of Famer, Steph Curry is a huge Red Sox fan. I kinda feel bad for the baseball playing Steve Curry, but that's the way it goes, I suppose. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hopefully the BCB drops more cards in the mail soon. Not email though. So impersonal. </span></div>
Byronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18236810459872882912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7495524.post-48001751775799984752020-05-29T10:56:00.001-04:002020-05-29T10:56:25.021-04:00Top 19 -- Tenacious D: Tenacious D<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">We've come to the part of the Top 19 where I no longer talked about these albums on Facebook. Even though they're still in the Top 19 I guess you can consider them honorable mentions or runners up to the Top 10 Facebook list.*</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">* <i>This preamble seems highly unnecessary but so is this list.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333;">Unlike when I relisten to <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2020/05/top-19-ice-t-og.html" target="_blank">yesterday's album</a>, which reminds me of optimism, listening to this album now fills me with foreboding. Which is odd because Tenacious D is a comedy album and it's funny as hell, where Ice-T's "OG" is an album about how much everything sucked in the early 1990s. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I got this album in the fall of 2002 on the advice of my roommate. At the time, I had moved into a place in Wakefield, MA where I had no idea who the two people I was living with were. We met on Craig's List and I got really lucky, because both guys turned out to be pretty normal and cool. The way that our place was set up was: you walk into the apartment and you enter the kitchen. To the right was my bedroom, down the hallway and to the right was a living room and to the left was a stairway that lead to my roommates' two rooms. I don't think I ever stepped foot up there. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was an awesome setup because we all just chilled in our rooms, unless we needed to use the kitchen--there wasn't even furniture in our living room. Each guy had a girlfriend and each duo pretty much kept to themselves. It was like having your own apartment but not having to pay full freight for rent and utilities. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyway, this album reminds me of driving from my place in Wakefield to work in Marblehead. I didn't really love my job very much, but I was being paid to write and I figured that at 28-years-old, I better suck it up because this is pretty much what I was going to be doing for the rest of my life. My relationship with my girlfriend at the time seemed to be going pretty well too. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> At the time I was starting to get into the alternative comedy scene and this, along with <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2008/11/34original-adult-swim.html" target="_blank">Adult Swim's original lineup</a>, was my introduction to it. I had already watched "<a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2020/05/top-15-david-cross-shut-up-you-fucking.html" target="_blank">Mr. Show with Bob and David</a>" and Tenacious D member Jack Black was on that show more than a few times. So with those bonafides, I gave it a listen and </span><span style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51); color: #333333; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I grew to love this album so much.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's funny as hell, the musicianship is actually really good and the idea that "Tribute" is a story about the greatest song in the world, but NOT that song is so fucking brilliant, that I can barely wrap my head around it. Black and Kyle Gass are terrific in their alter egos of JB and KG. I finally watched the Tenacious D trio of specials that were on HBO during the late 90s, early 2000s about a month ago. Again, awesome. The locations for the series was pretty much how I thought that mid-90s LA was all about. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But how did this hilarious comedy album bring about so much foreboding? In late November of that year, our landlord came to us and told us that we all had to move out by January 1. He was sick of living beneath us, which was strange because we were barely around and when we were, we made zero noise, and wanted our apartment. He said that if we wanted, we could move to his place, but he was doubling the rent and there were only two bedrooms. He was a real dick about it too, like he read up on how to be aggressive in negotiating and just went over the top. I guess we probably could have fought him on this, because this seems highly illegal looking back on it, but we were all like "whatever" and went our separate ways. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By Christmas, my roommates moved to different places with their respective girlfriends and I moved ... home. To my parents' house. Where I had no real bedroom. </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I moved out, my Dad turned my room into his office, so I slept on a mattress on the floor. That sucked. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Also around this time, my liaise faire attitude toward my job caught up with me and my manager really let me have it about taking a bigger interest and straightening up. It was then that I realized, writing about healthcare every month absolutely sucked and that I needed to make a change. I just wasn't sure what that was yet, so that uncertainty also sucked. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Finally in early January, my girlfriend decided to give me my walking papers too. To be honest, I knew that things weren't great for a few months, but I ignored all of the signs. I didn't know what her deal was, but I wasn't going to ask because I was afraid of exactly what that conversation would lead to. And I wasn't ready for it -- though is anyone really prepared for that talk? The best part is that my (now ex) girlfriend and I worked at the same place and on the same team. So trying to forget her was made a little bit more difficult when I saw her eight hours a day, five days a week. That was a lot of fun. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So now I was living at my parents' house, unsure about my future employment and newly single. And it was the dead of winter after the holidays. When I think back on the down moments of my life, this might have been the worst ebb that I've ever had to face. The good news is that these things don't last. You wallow for a while--I actually may have wallowed for more than a bit--but time marches on and things get better. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As the months warmed up, I found a new job that I actually enjoyed in the same company. I got a new place to live with three cool guys in Somerville. And I didn't know it yet, but I was about to meet the love of my life. To use sports as a metaphor for a moment--no one ever does this, right? I'm the first?--the end of my 2002 was like the end of the 2003 Red Sox season. Shit is as bleak as it ever was going to be, but then 2004 comes along with its brilliance and wonderfulness and it's like that shitty year was just what you needed to appreciate the greatness that is coming next. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Unfortunately there needs to be a score for that shitty time and that score was Tenacious D. But when I hear that album, I know that it's dark; but it's going to be light again soon. And that's all that I need. </span></div>
Byronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18236810459872882912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7495524.post-65952506876253139672020-05-28T12:03:00.000-04:002020-05-28T12:03:14.880-04:00Top 19 -- Ice-T: OG<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">We've come to the part of the Top 19 where I no longer talked about these albums on Facebook. Even though they're still in the Top 19 I guess you can consider them honorable mentions or runners up to the Top 10 Facebook list.*</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">* <i>This preamble seems highly unnecessary but so is this list.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333;">One of the best things about being 17-years-old is that if you don't have your license yet, undoubtedly, you know someone that does. That means freedom. Freedom to go where you want to go. Freedom not to walk anymore. Freedom from asking your parents to drop you off somewhere. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One of the best freedoms of an automobile free from parental control is the ability to play whatever you want whenever you want on the car stereo. I don't go down this road a lot, because while the Walkman was ubiquitous (I wrote all about it in my <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2020/05/top-15-public-enemy-it-takes-nation-of.html" target="_blank">Public Enemy</a> entry) it wasn't like today where every toddler has an iPad and headphones allowing them to crank whatever they want in their own bubble. Back in the day, you're listening to what your parents want to listen to and that was going to be powerfully lame*.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>* There's one exception, is that is when my kids forget their devices at home and have to listen to my music. That's just ME giving THEM an education in awesomeness. </i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was one of the youngest of my group of friends and the laziest. I wasn't in any particular hurry to get my license; I finally got it when I was 17-and-a-half, more than a year after I was legally allowed to drive in Massachusetts. My thought process was, why bother? I wasn't going to get a car of my own. At parties, I didn't have to be the designated driver. Most of the time, at least one of my friends was more than up for picking me up and going somewhere together. So when I talk about listening to music in a car while driving, 90% of these remembrances are going to be about me as a passenger. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When we were bored, we'd just drive anywhere. Sometimes, when we had a little money, we'd go to the malls in New Hampshire. Sometimes, when we were looking for things to do, we'd drive around our small town and see if anyone was hanging out at usual teenage haunts. In this case that was the Millyard, a parking lot across the street from the pizza place (Pizza Factory) where everyone congregated. But most times, if we were really bored we'd drive to Salisbury Beach. We'd park at our friend's grandparents house and waste time and money at the batting cages, playing pool, bubble hockey and video games while eating beach pizza. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the summer, we'd add Hampton Beach, which was two or three miles down the road, to the mix and add in trying to pick up girls too. We usually didn't get too far with the latter*.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">* I remember myself and all of my friends being steamed that girls our age would barely look at us. They only seemed to be attracted to older guys walking the strip. "When we get out of college, we need to come back here and scoop some high school chicks," one of us </i><i>said</i><i style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">. And we all agreed. Thinking </i><i>about</i><i style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"> that </i><i>statement</i><i style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"> now? Ugh. </i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While the passengers changed from night-to-night, the one thing that was consistent was the music. We all loved hip-hop, especially the hard stuff: <span style="caret-color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">Geto Boys, <a href="http://n.w.a./">N.W.A.</a> and Public Enemy. But the two cassettes that got the most action were the <a href="http://19thoughts.blogspot.com/2020/05/top-15-beastie-boys-pauls-boutique.html" target="_blank">Beastie Boys' "Paul's Boutique"</a> and Ice-T's "OG". </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the early 90s, the view of Ice-T is much more different than it is today. The media made it seem like Ice-T was one of the most dangerous people on the planet. His raps were self-described true-life stories of his neighborhood and his history as a street hustler. I'm not sure how exaggerated his stories are, but it didn't matter. To us, they were exactly how things went down in South Central Los Angeles. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ice-T looked the part; jacked up, black hat, locs and a sneer. He didn't rap his lyrics, he spit them out syllable by syllable*. To us, he was another in a long line of people telling it how it really is. And we listened to "O.G." over and over and over again. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>* I think it's comedian Paul F. Tompkins who talks about this in his act, but Ice-T has a very profound lisp. I never noticed it before when I listened to his stuff, but that's all I can hear now. I think that if I had heard it back then, this might be a different blog entry. </i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Not only did Ice-T rap, but he fronted a hardcore band called Body Count that had its single in the middle of the album. It was preambled by Ice-T talking about how rock n' roll isn't just white people music, it was pioneered by people like Little Richard and Chuck Berry and that he "happened to like rock n' roll." In a flourish he continued (and I'm doing this from memory, so forgive me if I mess up a word or two), "As far as I'm concerned music is music. And if anyone said that I sold out, they can basically suck my dick."</span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That song was pretty fucking great mostly because they sounded a lot like Black Sabbath. But this song really reached all of us. It showed that hip hop doesn't have to be its own thing, hip hop can be fused with rock and that can lead to some good stuff. Faith No More also did that in the early 1990s and lead to the Anthrax and Public Enemy collaboration, Rage Against the Machine before completely bottoming out with Nü Metal. That last thing wasn't great, but the inclusion vibe that these bands gave off wasn't too bad. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ice-T went on to make more albums, including a controversial one with Body Count which featured the single "Cop Killer" which made Ice-T a pariah for a summer, but this was the only one that I really loved ("Power" and "Freedom of Speech" were also good, but never got into the rotation like "O.G" did). When I hear songs like "Original Gangter" or "Midnight" or "New Jack Hustler", I'm instantly brought back to my senior year in high school. A year that I had some of the swagger of Ice-T because we were finally the top dogs of the school and because things were looking pretty good because we were ending one chapter and going to start a new one. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's ironic--especially in the light of recent events--that Ice-T's music represents a sense of freedom for me. Everything that Ice-T talked about was about how the government is keeping everyone down and that one has to take action to get power. But when I hear these songs and close my eyes, I think of a bright blue sky, plenty of sunshine and beaches with my future as vast as the horizon. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am positive that's not what Ice-T had in mind when he recorded this album, but I also doubt that he thought that in 30 years people would know him for playing a cop on a "Law and Order" spinoff. Once a person enters the public conscious, things tend to change. </span></div>
Byronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18236810459872882912noreply@blogger.com0