Hasta Luego, Sammy Sosa

04 Jun 2009, by Eric

[caption id="" align="alignright" width="271" caption="Dejected Sammy (cc:jolyohn)"][/caption]

After two seasons floating in the haze of baseball’s marginal steroid hangover, Sammy Sosa has now officially announced his retirement. I don’t know how bad Sammy really wanted to play these past couple of seasons, but apparently he’s over it now. Give him this much, even two years after his quiet banishment from the game, he’s managed to take more control of his retirement than Ricky Henderson or Brett Favre.

A few thoughts about Sammy and this ESPNDeportes story on his retirement:

1. I always liked Sammy Sosa, even after he hit a thousand homeruns in a season. So it makes me happy he didn’t try and kick around the Independent League or go to Japan to string his career along. I’m also glad he’s choosing not to talk about his own (seemingly obvious) PED use. I think silence, even ignoble silence more akin to pleading the 5th, is a better way to salvage one’s legacy than obnoxious and self-righteous denial.

That said, what he does say is some very odd stuff. In the story he’s quoted as stating the following:

The scandal on steroids and all those suspensions will not overshadow the game. Currently, there are many Latino players performing well [offensively]. There's [Albert] Pujols, Carlos Pena; Nelson Cruz has 15. Then what? There's someone else that already has 22 home runs [Adrian Gonzalez] ... we have hit and will continue to hit homers in the major leagues.

It looks to me like he’s either trying to make himself a spokesman for the current crop of Latino superstars and therein achieve a kind of elevated veteran dignity, or tie himself into the clean cut innocence of guys like Pujols and Gonzalez and in doing so shift his primary associations away from the McGwires and Palmeiros of the world. Of course Latino players can hit home runs, so can white ones and black ones and Japanese ones. What does that have to do with steroid use?

2. The ESPN story on his retirement says that Sosa was known has the “Caribbean Bambino.” Has anybody ever heard this before? Google tells me no, nobody ever called him anything like that. Baseball Reference has his nicknames as the obvious "Slammin' Sammy" and the moderately depressing "Say It Ain't Sosa."

3. Sammy currently serves the Dominican government as “special ambassador for investment opportunities.” I’m sure he is eminently qualified for this one. Somebody with more time ought to examine the endless parade of ex-big leaguers who go into Dominican politics. Do they really have an impact or is it just a status thing? Couldn’t be worse than Jim Bunning I guess.

4. I think Sosa is a Hall of Famer. Your thoughts?

Poem Of The Week: The Ballad Of Old Rocky Nelson

03 Jun 2009, by Eric

A (somewhat sarcastic, I think)  poem by Canadian Raymond Souster about light-hitting outfielder Rocky Nelson:

When old Rocky Nelson shuffles up to the plate
The outfield shifts round and the fans all wait.

He takes up his stance which ignores every law,
Has a last slow suck of the quid of his jaw,

And waits while the pitcher makes up his mind
What new deception his arm can unwind.

Then the ball comes in and the sound of wood
That's heard by the ear does the loyal heart good,

And the ball rises up like a hunted thing
Pursued by an angry bumble-bee's sting,

And the outfielders run but it's no use at all-
Another one over the right field wall.

And as Rocky trots slowly around the bases
Happiness lights up twelve thousand faces.

Welcome Back, Spaghetti-Arms

29 May 2009, by Eric

When he managed the Dodgers, I had a strange fascination with Jim Tracy. For one, he has exceptionally long arms that dangle like spaghetti when he walks to the mound for a pitching change. For another, he had (and I imagine still has) a tendency to wear a gold watch on the outside of his long-sleeve undershirt.

But mostly, I was fascinated by his spectacular capacity for consistency. In both Pittsburgh and Los Angeles, Jim Tracy was epically dull, notably un-dynamic, and completely void of compelling traits. Even his career record as a manager, 562-572 ( a .496 winning percentage), is sigh-inducing.

Now Tracy replaces former Venezuelan Professional Baseball League star Clint Hurdle as manager of the floundering Rockies, and I have no idea why. Even on an interim level this might be the least inspired managerial hiring in the history of baseball. When the D-Backs brought in AJ Hinch earlier this season, it was at least a thought-provoking and paradigm-challenging move. The only thing worth discussing about this Tracy hiring is just how unsurprising it is.

The consistent re-infusion of guys like Tracy into the MLB managerial bloodstream creates a sort of stases. Nothing regresses, but nothing moves forward either. What is it that teams fear about new blood? Is there some sort of safe choice reflex that only certain front offices have the capacity to overcome?

It’s not Jim Tracy’s fault he’s dull and ineffective and keeps getting hired. I’m sure old Spaghetti-Arms is a nice enough guy and he certainly won’t screw things up too badly. But this endless treadmill of conventional wisdom that sees retreads getting hired and fired and hired and fired is starting to bore me. So somebody, please, do something.

Poem Of The Week: Polo Grounds

26 May 2009, by Eric

If you've heard of Rolfe Humphries, it's because of his work as a translator. Many people consider his translatio nthe definitive English version of Ovid's Metamorphoses. But this poem is about another kind of mythology - that of baseball and time, Carl Hubbell and Jon McGraw and lesser known players like the poet's father, John Humphries. It was first published in the New Yorker in 1942, so you know it's good.

Polo Grounds

Time is of the essence. This is a highly skilled

And beautiful mystery. Three or four seconds only

From the time that Riggs connects till he reaches first,

And in those seconds Jurges goes to his right,

Comes up with the ball, tosses to Witek at second,

For the force on Reese, Witek to Mize at first,

In time for the out—a double play.

(Red Barber crescendo. Crowd noises, obbligato;

Scattered staccatos from the peanut boys,

Loud in the lull, as the teams are changing sides) . . .

Hubbell takes the sign, nods, pumps, delivers—

A foul into the stands. Dunn takes a new ball out,

Hands it to Danning, who throws it down to Werber;

Werber takes off his glove, rubs the ball briefly,

Tosses it over to Hub, who goes to the rosin bag,

Takes the sign from Danning, pumps, delivers—

Low, outside, ball three. Danning goes to the mound,

Says something to Hub, Dunn brushes off the plate,

Adams starts throwing in the Giant bullpen,

Hub takes the sign from Danning, pumps, delivers,

Camilli gets hold of it, a long fly to the outfield,

Ott goes back, back, back, against the wall, gets under it,

Pounds his glove, and takes it for the out.

That's all for the Dodgers. . . .

Time is of the essence. The rhythms break,
More varied and subtle than any kind of dance;
Movement speeds up or lags. The ball goes out
In sharp and angular drives, or long slow arcs,
Comes in again controlled and under aim;
The players wheel or spurt, race, stoop, slide, halt,
Shift imperceptibly to new positions,
Watching the signs according to the batter,
The score, the inning. Time is of the essence.

Time is of the essence. Remember Terry?

Remember Stonewall Jackson, Lindstrom, Frisch,

When they were good? Remember Long George Kelly?

Remember John McGraw and Benny Kauff?
Remember Bridwell, Tenney, Merkle, Youngs,
Chief Meyers, Big Jeff Tesreau, Shufflin' Phil?
Remember Mathewson, Ames, and Donlin,
Buck Ewing, Rusie, Smiling Mickey Welch?
Remember a left-handed catcher named Jack Humphries,
Who sometimes played the outfield, in '83?

Time is of the essence. The shadow moves
From the plate to the box, from the box to second base,
From second to the outfield, to the bleachers.
Time is of the essence. The crowd and players
Are the same age always, but the man in the crowd
Is older every season. Come on, play ball!

Americanizing The National Pastime

25 May 2009, by Eric

Today is Memorial Day and the streets of Manhattan are eerily empty. I’ve always appreciated the imagery of this holiday –Naval fleets ashore at major cities, barbecues, three-day camping trips, and lots and lots of flags, even though I’m not sure the festivity jives too well with the somber task of remembering fallen soldiers. Memorial Day calls for reverence and quiet dignity. And although I’m a sucker for the stars and stripes and the anthem and all that stuff, I think baseball gets it wrong today and generally in all matters of Patriotism. Especially with these hats:

There is nothing inherently bad – in fact there is something tasteful and good– about baseball honoring our troops and our country on days like today. But as usual, the execution is cumbersome and overwrought and completely ignores the whole concept of subtlety. An unadorned moment of silence, for example, seems appropriate.

The aesthetics are terrible and strained. The hats every player on every team are forced to wear today and on July 4 and September 11 are a nice idea, but won’t match with uniforms, and make the tribute feel forced and contrived. Much like the confusing “everybody wears no. 42 on Jackie Robinson Day” idea, it sounds really wonderful in theory but falls flat on the field of play. The 162-game season leaves plenty of room for special events and meaningful gestures. No need to make baseball theater out of them.

Promotions like this take away from the quirky, original, and often more powerful statements that individual teams and players can make. The Padres wear those sillyish looking camouflage jerseys, for example, because of the large military presence in San Diego. It’s a fresh tribute for a specific team with a specific fan base and it works well. In the early days of Jackie Robinson ceremonies, it was an honor for certain players to dawn no. 42, whereas now it’s a chore. And the new Mother’s Day tradition of pink bats for breast cancer awareness is graceful and delicate in comparison.

Baseball appears to be on a quest to reinforce its brand as the national pastime by flaunting its history and its American-ness. I don’t think baseball’s national pastime status is even at risk in the first place. The cultural landscape is too well-defined around the sport. But if it is, just calling itself the national pastime is not the answer baseball needs. The answer is making the sport compelling and affordable to watch and play, especially for younger and lower-income communities in which it is struggling.

Ironically, one place baseball is thriving is internationally. The World Baseball Classic proved definitively that baseball is firmly entrenched as a serious sport in not just Latin America and Japan but Korea, Taiwan, and China. And it’s gaining traction in Europe too. A hefty percentage of every major league roster now consists of internationally born players. In that context, the heavy Americana is even less appropriate. Nothing more touching than a bunch of Japanese and Dominican guys honoring our troops.

Consider the Blue Jays, who will be wearing a corresponding Canadian Flag cap. This isn’t even a holiday in Canada, but if we really want to show how much we love our country, I guess these are the awkward politically correct bones we have to throw our neighbors. Of course the proceeds for these caps go to charity, which is not to be discounted as important – but let’s not kid ourselves. The purpose of these caps is informed by public relations, not the desire to be or do good. If we only wanted to do good, the classy flag patch style caps teams used in September of 2001 would be more than enough. They even looked alright for the Expos:

I’m not the first person or the most eloquent to have a problem with the Memorial Day Caps and other baseball-sponsored acts of manufactured patriotism. There has been a great chorus of internet pushback. My favorite comment comes from Phil Hencken in a little panel discussion at the awesome Uni Watch Blog. He writes:

“Wearing the caps once is a gimmick. But wearing them at least three separate dates (with possibly more, should teams wish) –that’s more than enough times to make a complete mockery of the gimmick.”

Gimmicks and mockeries of gimmicks are hardly the stuff of dignity, hardly the stuff I’d say is appropriate to honor our troops. But then again, there are worse things. Jon Weisman, who diplomatically condemned the Dodgers’ 2009 policy of singing God Bless America at every 7th inning stretch, has tentatively embraced the red hats. In his typical balanced and sage-like fashion, he writes:

“As long as they respect one's right to question authority, to grimace when songs become so overplayed that they become devalued, then go ahead and do your thing. And maybe remind lucky people like me of sacrifice.”

To that end, Weisman has a point. There’s always value in honoring the fallen, and perhaps we’d all be better served to brush our cynicism off for a day. But there's such a thing as too much perspective, and I'm not ready to embrace the showmanship. Baseball fans are baseball fans and baseball players are baseball players. We’re all capable of thinking for ourselves, honoring our troops, our country, our families, our causes, our religions as we see fit. Baseball is itself a cultural force, inherently and inextricably tied to the fabric of our nation. In that vein, maybe it would be more fitting to celebrate Memorial Day by honoring the scores of players who were killed in World War II.

We don’t need to dress our baseball players up in red hats to honor Memorial Day and we don’t need to dress the game up in outside causes and issues to reinforce its valued place in our society.

Have the Memorial Day you want today. Celebrate what American soldiers have given you and remember the ones you have known. If you go out to the ballpark, enjoy yourself and the game. If you don't, enjoy the time off and with family and friends. Or not. It's up to you, and that's the whole point.