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Daily Archives: January 10, 2003

ROBBIE’S RETURN As dispiriting

ROBBIE’S RETURN

As dispiriting as Robbie Alomar’s 2002 season was for the Mets, it wasn’t a complete suprise, considering Alomar is considered an overly-sensitive player, and he played on a rutterless team. However, it is just as likely that Alomar will return to form this season, in spite of playing at Shea Stadium. Alomar has traditionally bounced back from his off-years. On top of that, he will be playing for a contract this season. How much more motivation could a Met fan ask for?

Alomar was one of my favorite Yankee-antagonists during the 90’s, and I sure hope to watch him regain his Hall of Fame form this coming season.

Bob Klapisch profiled Alomar in his column yesterday for the Bergan Record:


“I’ve done a lot of thinking, and I know I’m ready for New York now. I know what to expect now with the fans, the media, just New York in general.”
He pauses just long enough for emphasis, then says, “I’m not just going to have a good year. I’m going to have a great year.”

…Alomar will now be paired with Jose Reyes, the 19-year-old prospect who, despite never having played higher than Class AA, will be given the chance to win the shortstop job in spring training. It will be Alomar’s responsibility to mentor the rookie, a task he welcomes. But he says the Mets have to help Reyes assimilate as well.
It’s still a shock to Alomar that the Mets don’t employ a Spanish-speaking coach or have any Spanish-speaking executives. The gap between the club and its Latin players is so wide, Alomar says, “There are players on this team, like Timo [Perez] and [Armando] Benitez, that no one knows about. Those guys are afraid to speak because of the language problems, and that’s not right.”

Alomar is pushing heavily for the Mets to hire his friend, Ray Negron, as the club’s liaison to its Latin players. The Puerto Rican-born Negron once worked for the Yankees, helping Dwight Gooden and Darryl Strawberry battle their drug addictions, and after working with the Indians, where he became friends with Alomar, is now employed by the Rangers.

The Mets are interviewing Negron on Jan. 15, according to Alomar, who says, “This is a guy who can help our clubhouse.”
“We don’t have a bad clubhouse, because we have great guys. But there were some little problems that we had,” Alomar said. “We need to come together, be closer. Ray can help the Spanish guys, because they have no one to speak for them.”

Alomar won’t lie about his self-interest in this matter: Negron was at his side in Cleveland during his best year, 1999, when Alomar batted .323 with 24 home runs and 120 RBI.

Think the Mets aren’t craving such production from Alomar in 2003? If all it takes is hiring a spiritual guru … well, put it this way: when Jason Giambi insisted the Yankees hire his personal trainer, Bob Alejo, last year, the club made him a “batting practice pitcher” in a matter of days.

Of course, Alomar alone can’t rescue the Mets. He hints the club made a mistake allowing Edgardo Alfonzo to leave, and, despite the impressive additions of Glavine and Floyd, says, “We still need another right-handed hitter. Whoever we get at third base has to be able to hit in the middle of our lineup.”

Still, Alomar has every reason to look forward to 2003. As he put it, “All the little things that went wrong, I think that’s in the past now. We’re going to be a good team.”
He says. He hopes. And just for emphasis, he crosses his fingers ever so tightly.

CHOCK FULL OF SPIKE

Here is an item that appeared in the current L.A. Weekly:


Legends: Spike Lee’s Jackie Robinson Moment

It was still a clear and sparkling Sunday at Dodger Stadium, the grass more emerald and the sky more sapphire in the aftermath of a fierce, early winter rain than it could ever hope to be in July. I emerged from the dugout – the dugout! – into all this splendor and breathed deep. I barely took three steps before I heard it.
“Cut!”

I froze. The exasperated yell, brief but unmistakably Brooklyn, echoed off the tens of thousands of empty seats. Spike Lee was filming a commercial, and I had stepped into a live frame.

I was here to observe, but thanks to the oversight of a chatty production assistant and my own distracted reminiscing – I’ve been a blue-bleeding Dodger fan since the late ’70s – I had become inconveniently conspicuous. “This is gonna cost me 10 bucks,” the assistant muttered somewhat cryptically. I was mortified.

But soon I was immersed in watching Lee interview Ralph Branca, one of the very few Brooklyn Dodgers still around who played in 1947, the year Jackie Robinson integrated big-league baseball. That was a famously tough season for Robinson, a season that hit a nadir during a late-summer game in Cincinnati in which the fans, who might have been geographically Midwestern but acted culturally Southern, hurled every epithet imaginable at the second baseman – before the game started. During the pre-game practice Dodger captain Pee Wee Reese, born and raised in Kentucky just across the Ohio River, stopped the proceedings and walked across the field to where Robinson was warming up. Without saying a word, Reese put his arm around Robinson in full view of the hostile crowd. The stadium went silent. It was a hush heard round the world.
This was the moment that Lee was re-creating for his commercial, one in a series of eight for ESPN called “Without Sports. . .” All the spots have played the issue for laughs, with contemporary fans in mind, except this one. “This was a real watershed moment in history,” said the network’s marketing director, Spence Kramer. “It was deeply poignant and affecting. It wasn’t funny at all.”

Lee, a prodigious sports fan with a particular interest in Jackie Robinson, proved a relentless interviewer of Branca, who remains as affable as Lee is intense, though both are direct and economical with words. How did Branca feel about Reese’s gesture that day in Cincinnati? “I thought it was a courageous act,” Branca said. “Pee Wee did it out of friendship and respect. It said ‘Dodgers’ on his uniform. That’s his teammate. That was Pee Wee saying ‘screw you’ to everybody.”

Down on the field I met Lou Johnson, who played for the Dodgers in the ’60s with Sandy Koufax and Don Drysdale, and now works in the front office. Johnson is graying but lean and fit, dapper in a black wool baseball jacket and knife-creased slacks. He played a season with the Negro League Kansas City Monarchs in 1955 before the integration led by Robinson killed those leagues off for good.

“I didn’t play with Jackie, but I certainly profited from his act,” said Johnson. “By the ’60s the atmosphere in baseball hadn’t changed that much.” He deplores the decline of baseball as a sport of choice among black youth today; he’s part of an organization called RBI – Reviving Baseball in Inner Cities – that was instrumental in helping to get a South-Central Little League off the ground some years back. “Kids need to know what we had to endure to get to the top,” said Johnson. “Jackie integrated not only baseball, but other sports as well.”

Lee, relaxing ever so slightly on a lunch break, concurred. He was wearing a knit cap, a bleary look and light beard stubble. “His contribution is much bigger than baseball,” he said in his trademark Brooklynese, talking about Robinson. “He changed the American landscape. You can never underestimate the pressure he was under, of having the weight of the race on you.” He paused to think. “The only comparable thing would be Joe Louis versus Max Schmeling, democracy versus the Nazis. Baseball in particular was so American, which is why Negroes weren’t allowed to play for so long. That’s why the moment in this commercial is so pivotal.”

Dodger Stadium in December may sound about as forsaken a place as this city can imagine, but it lives in my affections as a dazzling proxy for a thoroughly inhospitable place where sports history was made. It is odd but logical, just as the Dodgers’ move from east to west turned out to be. As Johnson drove me off the field in a groundskeeper’s cart beneath the bright sun, I silently thanked Robinson for being in some way responsible for this private, pivotal, baseball moment of my own.
-Erin Aubry Kaplan

BETTER PLAY LIKE MICHAEL JACKSON CAUSE THAT SHIT IS OFF THE WALL

Bob Ryan, offers a characteristically spirited take on the proposed addition of seating on top of the Green Monster. Here are some excerpts from his article in today’s Globe:


Larry Lucchino swears the Red Sox have nothing but good intentions. (History majors: Insert the ”Road to Hell” reference you know so well.)
”Our little joke over here is that when the subject is the ballpark, you have to take a sort of Hippocratic oath,” explains the Sox CEO. ”And that oath is `Do no harm.’ Anything we do to Fenway will not tamper with its magic and charm.”

We shall see. All I know is that when someone hits a baseball over The Wall this year there is a good chance a paying customer will catch it. Am I the only one not happy about that?

”I can understand your skepticism,” Lucchino says. ”But I would argue that what we are planning will not change the look and feel of Fenway.”

Damn right, I’m skeptical. The Boston Red Sox really are putting seats atop the left-field wall!

They’re trying to paint it as an appropriate response to some perceived fan demand, but it’s all about M-O-N-E-Y and their desperate attempt to squeeze every available dollar out of their lyric little bandbox of a ballpark, which will celebrate its 91st birthday April 20. Are the Red Sox that desperate for money? Isn’t this John W. Henry guy supposed to be a billionaire, with a ”B”?

The truth is the brass really doesn’t want to talk about The Wall. They’d much rather talk about what’s happening at the other end of the field, and as much as they deserve censure for messing around with the most famous landmark in baseball, that’s how much credit they deserve for their other major offseason building project.

What they’re doing is in keeping with the John W. Henry campaign promise to explore a complete renovation of Fenway Park. ”If this works,” Lucchino says, ”it would tell us that further renovation can work. But we are thinking about both the short term and the long term. Right now our goal is to open up space and give us some walking and breathing room.”

The best thing about this project is that it affects the average fan. This isn’t another high-roller deal like the 600 (excuse me, .406) Club, where all the rich people stand at the bar and clank their jewelry as a ballgame unfolds below. This is for the once-a-year guy and his family, and when’s the last time anyone thought about him?

It takes truly creative thinking to maximize the potential of Fenway Park, which has an architectural ”footprint” of about 750,000 square feet. All new parks have far more space to work with, and that includes San Francisco’s Pac Bell Park, which doesn’t look as big as most of the others, but which checks in at more than a million square feet. That’s where it helps to have someone such as Janet Marie Smith on hand. Her official title is the Red Sox vice president of planning and development, but she is otherwise known as the First Lady of Ballpark Construction and/or Renovation. She was the guiding genius behind the building of Camden Yards, the model for all baseball parks built in the past dozen years.

She is a preservationist at heart, never having seen an exposed brick wall she didn’t love. So she has certainly come to the right place.

Larry Cancro thinks we can trust her, and the Red Sox vice president of sales and marketing considers himself a hard marker. He has been with the team for 18 years, and probably knows the ballpark as well as anyone. He believes the new regime is very respectful of Fenway. ”I think we can make it much more livable and less confining,” he maintains. ”But it won’t be like Yankee Stadium, which was not the same park at all after it was renovated. What we most want is for people to walk in here and feel it’s still Fenway Park.”

That brings us back to those foolish ”Green Monster Seats” they’ll be installing on top of The Wall. Lucchino insists that extensive fan surveys show there is a tremendous demand for them, that people would just kill to be able to say they watched a game from the top of The Wall. Shows you what I know. I would have assumed the Fenway diehards would not want to mess with the look of The Wall, period.

”It won’t be a dramatic change,” insists Lucchino. The plan is for three rows of seats, plus standing room, stretching from the left-field foul pole to the center-field bleachers.
”It won’t be intrusive,” Smith says. ”It’s not a huge section of seats. You’ll just see a few little bobbing heads out there.”

They will be group seats, by the way, and God knows what they’ll charge. I’m sure it will add up to a nice hunk of change, but please don’t tell me it won’t de-Fenway the place to some degree.

The good news is that Lucchino says it is not yet a drop-dead, completely done deal, that all the I’s haven’t been dotted and T’s crossed. He says there is a meeting scheduled for Tuesday with a fan group to get their input.

Maybe he needs to hear from people who like The Wall just the way it is. Where are all those weepy Fenway Forever types when we need them?

COMINGS AND GOINGS I

COMINGS AND GOINGS

I may not have Shane Spencer to kick around anymore, but if everything falls into place, my girl may just be able to have her favorite girl back in a Mets uniform by opening day.

ESPN has an article on another utility player of note in the New York area, none other than Randy Velarde. I’ve always had a soft spot for Velarde, who came up through the Yankee organization, only to be moved just as they began their championship run. If the Mets sign him to play third, next to my man Rey Sanchez, I just may have to become an official Met fan.


[Velarde] played for the Yankees the first nine years of his career, from 1987 to 1995, and the year after he left them, the Yankees went on a string in which they won four of the next five series.

The string stopped when Velarde rejoined the Yankees midway through the 2001 season.

“I said all along that if we won that year, I would have retired,” he said. “Sometimes it seems like I’m chasing a rainbow that doesn’t have a pot of gold at the end of it.”

“I’ll keep the door open and see if the perfect situation comes up,” he said. “If not, I had a great enough career to hang my hat on, and I’ll know that a world championship just wasn’t in the cards. And I’ll know that I’ve put out every ounce of ability this body could put out.”

For those of you who like to read the obits, Baseball Primer pays tribute to all of the baseball people who passed away in 2002. There were some big names on that list of course, like Ted Williams, Enos Slaughter, Hoyt Wilhelm, Dave McNally, Dick O’Connell, and Jack Buck. But there were some lesser players of note too, including Darryl Kile, Joe Black, Darrell Porter, Johnny Roseboro, Dick “Dr. Strangeglove” Stuart, and Jim Spencer.

On another somber note, Boston Globe columnist, and Boston-native, Wil McDonough passed away last night at the age of 67.

FIRST A FORFEIT, NOW

FIRST A FORFEIT, NOW THIS

ESPN reports today that “Commissioner Bud Selig will probably brief owners next week on his plan to have the league that wins the All-Star game gain home-field advantage in the World Series.”

David Pinto offers an excellent critique of yet another dud from Bud:


I don’t buy it. I don’t know that there is any great league pride in the World Series. I bet most Red Sox fans root against the Yankees when the Yankees are in the fall classic. Can you imagine Red Sox fans saying, “Go out and play your butt off Nomar so the Yankees can have home field in October!” Plus, what does the All-Star Game have to do with anything? It’s a bit of fun in the middle of summer. You will have injustices like a team winning 103 games having to play on the road to a Wild Card team that won 85 games. If you think home field is important to the series, then make home field based on season record. If you want to invigorate the All-Star Game, pay a huge bonus to the players on the team that wins. (Winner gets $200,000 for each player, loser gets nothing.) Then you’ll see some competition, and you won’t see many all-stars opting out.

A FEW OF MY

A FEW OF MY FAVORITE THINGS…

Part I.

At the end of every year, journalists often put together various “Best-of” lists for the year. Instead of compiling a top 10 for the year 2002, I thought I’d write about my 5 favorite moments. But then I recalled how thoroughly MLB dicked up their greatest moments last season, and noticed that my favorite moments weren’t necessarily moments at all. They are more like stories.

Regardless, over the next week or so, I will post my top-five favorite baseball stories of 2002.

My Lil’ Friend

The best thing that happened to me last year was the relationship I developed with my girlfriend, Emily. We started going out last January, and are roughly the same age (I’m 31, she just turned 30). By the time baseball season crept around, Emily was well aware of my interest in the game (it’s hard not to notice; subtle, I ain’t). Quite Frankly, she thought I was touched-in-the-head, crazy. Especially when I was kept up by a Yankee loss for the first time.

She thought I was putting her on. I wasn’t. She wasn’t pissed, as much as she was perplexed.

Then the most pleasant surprise occurred. Not only did Em tolerate my obsession with baseball, but she also showed a genuine curiosity in learning more about the game. This was totally unexpected. I have learned to regard sports and relationships much like the division of church and state. I don’t anticipate the woman I’m involved with to give two shits about sports—in this case, baseball, and I don’t try to inflict it on them, or attempt to convert them either. The same way I wouldn’t expect them to teach me how to knit and watch the Lifetime network on a Sunday afternoon.

So long as I’m able to carve some space for myself, I’m happy to keep my games to myself. Or have them as part of my Guy time (though I do have plenty of female baseball buddies too). Fortunately, the baseball season is long enough to create few scheduling conflicts. Let’s face it, if I blow off my girl in the middle of June to watch the Yankees play the Royals on a Friday night, the relationship is what Woody Allen once declared, “a dead shark”.

Initially, Emily was more amused watching me watch the game, than the game itself. I am not a passive fan. I pace around the apartment, usually with a stickball bat, or a mitt, or a ball in my hands, talking shit to the players, bellyaching about the announcers, cheering the home team, and goading the opposition. What she responded to was my enthusiasm. I suppose it didn’t matter what the source of it was—Em was attracted to the fact that I had something to be so passionate about.

But after a while, she began to ask questions, and became more interested in the complexities of the sport itself. I couldn’t believe my luck. There were afternoons last year when Emily turned to me and said, “Can we watch the game?” I don’t know, can we eat ice cream and have sex all afternoon? Good Lord, Woman, Hell yes we can watch the game.

We attended several games during the season (including the famous Giambi extra-inning grand slam affair against the Twinkies…more on that later). Emily’s presence softened the blows of not being able to get the YES network on cablevision for an entire year, and the Yankees first round playoff loss. She now has her favorites—Giambo and Bernie, and even has the chutzpah to chide other guys too: “Shinji,” she proclaimed one day, mispronouncing Tsuyoshi Shinjio’s name: “He’s a girl.”

When the Yanks landed Godzilla, her response was, “Is he a friggin girl too?”

We are currently enjoying our first Hot Stove League, and having a nice winter. Emily continues to put up with me. I think she’s looking forward to going to the Stadium again too.

Not for nothing, but I have been known to spend portions of my weekend laying around on the couch catching up with the latest horrors the Lifetime Network has to offer. But I haven’t learn to knit yet.

GIVE THE KID HIS DUE

There weren’t many players that made my skin crawl more than Gary Carter did when I was growing up, as a Yankee fan in the ’80s. I still think Carter is an ingratiating putz, but I have no problem with him being a Hall of Famer. I flipped through some of the old Bill James Abstracts last night and found some interesting comments on Carter in his prime years:

1984 Abstract:


Has been the # 1 catcher since I started the player ratings and comments section five years ago. And to my mind, it’s still an easy choice. Pena is terrific, but he’s never had a year when he drove in as many runs as Carter or scored as many runs as Carter, and the Pirates don’t cut off the running game quite as well as the Expos do (there were 115 stolen bases in 203 attempts against the Expos last year, 124 in 201 against the Pirates)…[Lance] Parrish is close offensively and close defensively, but not quite there either way…

Before the free-agent era, I don’t think there is any way that a player as valuable as Carter would have been worked as hard as he was word from 1977 to 1982. The Expos a) are paying Gary Carter a great amount of money, and b) do not own his future. In those circumstances, they are inclined to take more chances with Carter’s future than they otherwise might. They are risking a future that doesn’t belong to them anyway to get their $2 million a year’s worth. For this reason and for others, the long-term career implications of baseball’s economic restructuring are very, very different than the short-term implications, which are all that we have seen yet.

1985 Abstract:


Every year I completely change the rating system, and every year Carter comes out number one. He probably had his best season in ’84, hitting a career-high .294 and driving in a career-high and league-leading 106 runs. His estimated winning percentage, .831, was not only the highest at the position but the highest in the league at any position…I think it is accurate to say that Carter is only the second great catcher in baseball history who has been consistent at this level from year to year. The other was Berra. Most outstanding catchers like Bench, Campanella and Carlton Fisk, have mixed together some good years with some years where they chipped a thumb or ruptured the fourth metatarsal coagulating muscle in the heeby-jeebys, and hit .230; Carter and Berra are the only ones who have ever been able to go out and give the team 145 or more productive games a year.

1987 Abstract:


Did you ever notice how much Carter’s batting style is like Don Baylor’s? The whole thing—stance, swing, follow-though, and results. Baylor’s stance is a little more closed and of course he crowds the plate more, but they’re real similar. Carter also is hit by pitches quite a bit, six times every year.

Carter’s teams have had better ERAs when Carter was catching than when he wasn’t every year since I started figuring that in 1982. I started rating players in 1980. Johnny Bench was the No. 1 catcher, with Carter second. From 1981 through 1987 he was rated first every year.

Historical Abstract (2001 edition):


Essentially interchangeable with Fisk, Bench, Hartnett, or Campanella–a right-handed power hitter and a Gold Glove catcher, ran OK, threw great, and knew what he was doing behind the mask. He won three Gold Gloves, and in all honesty should have won more than that. Eric Gregg, longtime National League umpire, chose an All-Star team of the best players he had ever worked with in his 1990 book “Working the Plate” (William Morrow). “My catcher,” he said, “is not Johnny Bench, but Gary Carter. He’s the best I’ve ever seen, and believe me, we get to work very close to all the catchers.”

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"This ain't football. We do this every day."
--Earl Weaver