10 Jun 2010, by Eric
In Podcast 14 we are joined by illustrator Craig Robinson of the brilliant Flip Flop Fly Ball. We use the word Brilliant, in part, because Mr. Robinson is English. How and why an Englishman became baseball's foremost progenitor of cerebral infographics is our main topic of discussion. Also: Vladmir Putin's chest, Stephen Strasburg's socks, the best and worst in major league uniforms.
[podcast]http://www.roguesbaseballindex.com/pnp_podcasts/PnP_014.mp3[/podcast]
Right-click here to download.
[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="480" caption="A sample of Mr. Robinson's work. "]
[/caption]
09 Jun 2010, by Eric
Chief Washington D.C. Correspondent Helen Thomas Brad Matheson was lucky enough to see the next Savior of Baseball, Stephen Strasburg pitch last night. Here are some of his observations:
Whether you paid $500 on StubHub or $5 as a game-day walk-up (like I did); whether you were practically on the field or your vantage point was on par with the tourists on top of the Washington Monument (like mine was), Stephen Strasburg gave you your money's worth in DC on Tuesday. Few games I have attended defied the conventions of baseball fandom -- sitting while your team is at bat and getting your beer/hot dog while they are in the field -- like Tuesday's K-Fest.
Once you look past the loud boos that greeted thethe two balls Strasburg threw to start the game, Nats fans were better than I have ever seen them. They were on their feet before every strike three, turning to the pitch speed monitor expectantly until it finally flashed triple digits. Strasburg won the game with run support by Washington’s fan favorites Zimmerman, Dunn, and Willingham (nicknamed “The Hammer,” who knew?).
Even when Strasburg wavered in the 4th, the Nats organization was ready to step up with entertaining stadium hijinks. The Presidential Mascot Race featured appearances from a Pittsburgh Pierogi AND some Sausages -- an assembly of characters that would normally top the Nationals' monthly if not annual highlight reel. And Adam Dunn got in on it merely by coming to the plate to his ridiculous at-bat music: Phil Collins --"In the Air Tonight." Enough said.
Here's a disclaimer for anyone who thinks they wants to see Strasburg pitch: if you cherish your excitement for watching a pitcher who throw a 92-93 mph fastball with a respectable 15+ mph drop-off to their off-speed, stay as far away from Strasburg as possible. The 99-81 differential made the opposing pitcher look just as silly as the batters who were bailing out on Strasburg's curve.
For a team who’s top three single-game attendance records are probably held by back-to-back-to-back games hosting the Red Sox, Tuesday’s Strasburg-mania should go down as the greatest night in the Washington Nationals' short history. I guess I'll save my ticket.
08 Jun 2010, by Ted
[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="454" caption="The Baumer's America"]
[/caption]
This isn't necessarily baseball related, but it may well be related to everything that anyone ever does, and baseball falls under that lofty umbrella:
I've been following an online journal called, accurately enough, the official #1 "i am walking across america" blog. Mark Baumer is walking across America, and chronicling the journey in his own unique manner, with spits of language and peninsulas of smartphone pictures. Rarely has the heartbeat of America shown itself to simultaneously be so mundane and so transcendent, and a recent passage from the blog captured The Baumer's struggle with that dichotomy:
Usually the time between 6pm and whenever I figure out where I’m sleeping for the night is the toughest part of the day. My body is tired and broken down. Various parts of my body are irritated and chafed. There usually isn’t a hotel or shower waiting for me. The only thing I have to look forward to is some cotton balls, rubbing alcohol, and baby wipes. I’ve cried more than a handful of times over the last twenty-eight days. I’ve cursed the whole idea. I’ve blamed the world and its deadness and poverty that I walk through each day. In many ways I’ve let a negativity into the trip. A bitterness was growing. Boredom was overwhelming my day. I’ve decided a change needs to occur. I think it will be slight. Not to sound conceited but I think a lot of it has to do with believing in my own greatness. I am ready to eat america. I’m tired of nibbling. I’m through with conversations that suggest in even the smallest way that I won’t succeed. This trip is no longer a grind. Every footstep laid to the earth is a work of art. Each breath is a lifetime of meditation. America has climbed on my back to topple me but I will carry her as I walk across itself.
Damned if we aren't all struggling to walk across something with the feeling that it wants to eat us up. Trying to watch baseball every day, and to write about it here and elsewhere, I feel like it's baseball that's trying to eat me up. But, to advance The Baumer's thinking, I am the one that wants to eat it.
For me, it's a matter of portions. You bite off not what you want to chew but what you are able to chew, optimistically. For me, that often means that the local team takes precedence over an hour of highlights in the evening. It means, maybe, that I check out the amateur draft in the day or two ahead of time, but leave the rest of it to the pros for the remainder of the year. It means that like a good, conscientious omnivore I sacrifice the global for the local. But within that local population, I deign to eat big, to savor the routine and the depth of knowledge; to specialize with gusto.
A walk across the country is as much a conceptual journey as a physical one, but the concept is at the mercy of the reality, which is decidedly microbial. The larger experience--the capitalized Journey Across America--is still only an accumulation, a culmination, of each smaller experience: the odd burger shacks and the ten minutes of anxiety before the trip begins, the empty stretch of highway and the strip mall and the footsteps. It all adds up and nothing that's big wasn't at one point little.
03 Jun 2010, by Eric
In this episode, we overstate our podcast experience, speak fondly of Ken Griffey Jr. and the 1990s, and commiserate with all parties of the tragic Armando Galarraga/Jim Joyce fiasco. We appreciate the fine work of Bobby Abreu, his consistent bat, and his colorful glove. We choose sides on the best way to lose, welcome the incoming Strasburgmania, and contemplate the Nationals Identity -- or lack thereof.
[podcast]http://www.roguesbaseballindex.com/pnp_podcasts/PnP_013.mp3[/podcast]
Right-click here to download.
03 Jun 2010, by Ted
Bryce Harper got ejected from a JUCO World Series game recently, and for me what was more interesting than the delicate personality traits of a 17-year-old kid is the taboo that he put in the spotlight: drawing a line in the sand. Jonathan has the story on his B3 blog.
Harper was ticked about a bad call on a pitch off the plate that got called for a third strike. In the course of his griping about the call to the umpire, he swiped at a spot in the dirt with his bat, presumably where he thought the pitch crossed--or in this case failed to cross--the plate. The swipe (which for my money kicked a bit of dirt at the ump as well, which is unacceptable at the college level) ticked off the ump, who tossed Harper post haste.
An astute commenter, astrostl, on Mayo's blog pointed out that, in fact, making a mark in the dirt to show where you thought the pitch was is an instantly toss-worthy offense, even at the highest levels. To very resoundingly argue his point, the commenter pointed to a video of Ichiro Suzuki's first ever ejection from an MLB game. Hard to argue the speed with which he was heaved.
I hadn't ever heard this unwritten-type rule before, and it was enlightening to have an online reading experience start with the slightly bratty ejection of a kid who in a few days will be The Business, and end with a new piece of knowledge that I will look for in MLB11: The Show.