Daily Archives: January 13, 2003

LOOKING AHEAD

Here are two articles that look forward to the 2003 season: one by Peter Gammons of espn, the other by Tom Singer of mlb.com. We’ll check back in October to see what to make of it all.

VETERAN UMP PASSES AWAY

Durwood Merrill, an American League umpire for 23 years, died Saturday at the age of 64. Jerome Holtzman contributes an obituary for mlb.com.

This story is a keeper, if you haven’t heard it already:

A 6-foot, 200-pounder, Merrill had a thick neck and a barrel chest and seemed intimidating behind the plate. But he always had a good sense of humor. Once at Fenway Park, a little old lady leaned over the rail and yelled, “If you were my husband, I’d feed you poison.”

Merrill shouted back, “Lady, if I were married to you, I’d eat it.”

JOSE, CAN YOU READ?

Alan Schwarz has a nice appreciation of Jim Brosnan’s seminal book “The Long Season” (1960) in light of Jose Canseco’s pending tell-all biography. Schwarz notes that Bronsan’s book opened the door that Jim Bouton’s “Ball Four” would kick down nearly a decade later:

When “The Long Season” came out in 1960, a young pitcher named Jim Bouton was pitching for the Yankees’ Carolina League team in Greensboro, N.C. He bought it, read it, and decided to carry some of Brosnan’s sensibilities to the big leagues.

“I really enjoyed it tremendously,” Bouton told me of “The Long Season” several years ago. “I remember when I was reading the book, the parts that excited me the most were whenever he would quote any of the players or coaches … It was fascinating to me what the ballplayers actually said to each other during games, in the bullpens, or after games. It really revealed them as personalities. What were these guys like? How did they think? What do they talk about? What’s going on in their heads, you know?”

BILL JAMES, YANKS IN FULL EFFECT

Bill James’ fingerprints are all over the Red Sox bullpen reconfiguration this winter. Theo Epstein didn’t need to be convinced by the sabertmetrics guru either, reports Gordon Edes in his Sunday column in the Globe.

In a seperate item, Edes offers a look at the Yankees financial muscle. “Baseball historian Glenn Stout, who collaborated with Richard A. Johnson, curator of the Sports Museum of New England, on the definitive history of the Red Sox, “Red Sox Century,” last year did the same for “Yankees Century,” another seminal work. Stout addressed the subject of the Yankees’ purported financial advantage over their rivals in an essay titled ‘YANKEE$’ Here’s an excerpt:

”Of course it’s the money. But it’s not only the money. And that distinction makes all the difference.

”Since 1903 the New York Yankees have been among the wealthiest teams in baseball, but it is incorrect to attribute all of their success to the size of their bank account. In fact, for most of their tenure atop the baseball world one or more other teams have had just as much if not more money than the Yankees. But no other team has spent it as wisely and as well.

”Under Jacob Ruppert, the Yankees were probably the wealthiest team in baseball. But the personal resources of Tom Yawkey, who purchased the Red Sox in 1933, far outstripped those of the Yankees. For much of the next 45 years, Boston’s payroll was larger than that of the Yankees. The Milwaukee Braves of the 1950s, Walter O’Malley’s Dodgers in the 1960s, and the Cardinals of August Busch were all similarly capable of outspending the Yankees.

”In recent years, under George Steinbrenner, the Yankees’ financial advantage – much of it due to a series of lucrative television contracts – has in general been more pronounced. At any given time during Steinbrenner’s reign, however, there have been as many as a half-dozen other teams with similar resources – Ewing Kaufman’s Kansas City Royals, Gene Autry’s California Angels, and Ted Turner’s Atlanta Braves, for example. It is interesting to note that from 1982 to 1993, despite the abundance of their resources, the Yankees won nothing.

”In 2001 the Dodgers and the Red Sox both had payrolls virtually identical to New York’s. The difference in wins and losses, however, was dramatic. The truth is that the Yankees have done more with their money than other clubs. Consider this: Since 1923 the Yankees have spent close to a billion dollars on salaries, making the average cost of each of their 26 world championships around $40 million. Their cost per world championship has been less than any other team in baseball.”

SHINJO’S BACK: GODZILLA’S IN TOWN

While Yankee fans eagerly await the unvieling of Hideki Matsui at the Stadium tomorrow, the Mets signed outfielder Tsuyoshi Shinjo to a one-year deal worth $600,000 over the weekend (he can earn another $400,000 in performance bonuses based on plate appearances). My cousin Gabe and I are both very pleased to see the androgynous (re: girl) Shinjo back with the Mets.

Here is a take on the deal from a Phillies fan’s perspective, courtesy of Mike’s Baseball Rants:

The AP says that [Shinjo] was signed as insurance in case the projected regular center fielder, Roger Cedeno fails. This is a tremendous vote of confidence for Cedeno and also a poor plan. Should Cedeno fail, are the Mets prepared to eat the remaining three years and $14.5 M on his contract? They have been rumored to be shopping him around, but it is extremely doubtful that anyone would be willing to take on his salary.

I’m confused. Wasn’t Timo Perez basically the Mets starting center fielder last year after they traded Jay Payton to the Rockies while Cedeno only played leftfield last year? Wasn’t Perez also the best outfielder on the Mets’ roster last year? And isn’t Perez 27 and still improving while Shinjo is 30 and declining. (Cedeno is 27 as well but has been through 5 organizations and has seen his OPS drop each of the last four years). If all this is true, why are they considering anyone other than Perez for centerfield? Two words-Steve Phillips.

By the way, adding Shinjo in no way clears the way for a Burntiz and/or Cedeno trade. The Mets have been shopping the two disappointing players-and their salaries-without much luck this entire offseason. If I were Phillips, I would stick Perez in the center field slot next to Cliff Floyd in left. After that, it seems the best option is the apparently untradeable Jeromy Burnitz in right. Burnitz is a decent bet to turn things around in 2003. He had 6 straight seasons prior to last year with an OPS at least 7% better than average. He will be 34 next season, however, and it’s possible that he is no longer capable of being a productive player. He had been declining slightly in the last two years before signing with the Mets. Of course, the foolishness in signing these players to such lucrative contract to begin with is what no has them in this mess (especially Cedeno, who was supposed to be their leadoff hitter last year but had just come off a year with a .337 on-base percentage).

Ostensibly, Perez is now the fifth outfielder behind the three designated starters (Cedeno, Cliff Floyd, and Jeromy Burnitz) and Shinjo. Shinjo can play all three outfield positions well and was brought in potentially to replace Cedeno, so I assume he becomes the #4 outfielder. So where does that leave Perez? Apparently, he will be fighting Brady Clark and Joe McEwing for the last one or two spots available in the outfield.

That would be great, just great. Perhaps McEwing will be retained because of his versatility and Clark for flashes of talent after being acquired form the Reds last year (including a 3-for-3 game). It would make sense because two starters (Burnitz and Floyd) bat left-handed and the third is a switch-hitter. The Mets would probably prefer to retain the two right-handed bats over Perez’ lefty one. That would mean the Perez would be traded, demoted, or released. Perhaps the Phillies can pick him up. He would be a superior to Ricky Ledee as a sub for Marlon Byrd. Whatever happens, it is highly probable that Perez will no longer be an integral part of the team in 2003 and he is probably the least deserving of such an honor of all the Mets’ disappointing outfielders.

One last item related to Perez, he made $205K last year as a third-year veteran. That’s only $5K over the major-league minimum. Perez would also be the cheapest of all of the players concerned (except perhaps for Clark). So the apparent rejection of him makes little sense based on performance or on salary. That’s a twin killing for GM extraordinaire Steve Phillips. How does he do it?

The [Saturday] Times also reports that the search for a Mets third baseman continues. However, they have ruled out a trade for KC’s Joe Randa. They are at an impasse with free agent Jose Hernandez (who’s mostly a shortstop any way). And they got shot down by Houston in trying to acquire Geoff Blum. It looks like the only viable candidate is free agent Tyler Houston, who the Mets had been talking to prior to the failed attempt to acquire Boston’s Shea Hillenbrand in a three-way trade.

This is a team that is supposed to compete in the NL East next year? They did improve their staff by picking up Tom Glavine and the offense by picking up Cliff Floyd (oh, and the avuncular John Franco may return), but with huge holes in right and third and now a self-made one in center, they could have a repeat of 2002. I think what this aging team needs is a babysitter to make sure that they don’t get into trouble. Heck who needs a third baseman anyway? They’re just overrated. I hope Philips has set up a seach agent on Hot Jobs.

THE CHICAGO WAY

A Movie Review

I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that the movie musical, like slapstick comedy, is a virtually lost art form. “Chicago”, the filmed adaptation of Bob Fosse’s revue, has opened to rave reviews from the critics, suggesting their still may be life in the musical idiom after all. (That Sean Penn’s pratfall in “I am Sam” stands as the best pratfall in recent memory doesn’t bode well for the return of slapstick anytime soon.)

I saw “Chicago” this past weekend in Greenwich, CT, which is a story in itself. My girl and I took in a late afternoon show with the local geriatrics, and we had the grave misfortune to be seated behind Quasimoto in a cardigan with a swollen prostate, an itchy scalp, and a twitchy neck to boot. I’ve never seen a respectable member of an upstanding community fidget so damn much during a movie. Emily and I took turns sitting behind the knuckle-dragger so he wouldn’t ruin the entire movie for either one of us.

“Chicago” is an evocative and well-crafted musical, which feels like a movie, not simply an adaptation of a stage play. It is nowhere near as frenetic as “Moulin Rouge”, for which I was thankful. The director Rob Marshall offers some stunning visuals, but the editing is still too rapid, too cutty for my liking. It’s as if either the director, a) doesn’t trust the images—or the audience’s attention span—enough to linger on a single shot for too long, or b) the hyper-activity of the editing is intended to make up for the short-comings of the actors. Perhaps, the brisk cutting was a conscious choice of style and pacing, but it distracted me from the performances.

“Chicago” moves at a brisk, lively pace. Renee Zellweger, an actress I don’t have much affection for, is more than game, and she delivers a winning performance, overcoming her limitations as a musical/theater actress by the sheer force of her willingness to enjoy herself and please the audience. Catherine Zeta-Jones, on the other hand, is so intent on blowing everyone away, that she comes across as wooden, mechanical. It’s not that she isn’t trying. If anything, she’s trying too hard. She can sing, and dance, but it feels like work; Cyd Charisse, she’s not. Even her dramatic scenes feel hollow (something she does have in common with Charisse). She’s a bitch, without the bite.

Richard Gere has developed into a polished actor; the gray suits him. (I think his role, as the corrupt cop in “Internal Affairs” was a turning point.) Gere’s first number is a bit shaky—I half-covered my eyes for fear of being embarrassed on his behalf, but he recovers nicely and handles the role with aplomb, and humor. It was nice to see Queen Latifah in the supporting role as Mama Morton, though she isn’t really a singer or an actress, and John C. Riley, expertly cast, is once again, on the mark with a sympathetic, and earnest performance as the nice guy who finishes last.

Musicals never really die off completely. They keep coming back because even if they aren’t well made, there is an audience for them. They are a truly great American invention after all. “Chicago” is likely to satiate old-time musical lovers and attract younger audiences as well.

DOBY AND THE TITTY PITCH

I was perusing Danny Peary’s oversized, oral history, “We Played the Game: 65 Players Remember Baseball’s Greatest Era–1947-1964” (1994} this weekend, looking for the lowdown on Minnie Minoso. I happened to run across an entry from Mudcat Grant, a player I recently encountered in Terry Pluto’s “The Curse of Rocky Colavito”, and I wanted to share this entry because it sheds some light on Larry Doby, president of the Nice-Guys-Finish-Second Club, and offers a good Satcial Paige anecdote. (Aren’t they all good?)

Next to Grant’s entry, is a photo of a young Mudcat in 1958. Resting his hand against his cheek, Grant’s wide face is open and curious. There is a restraint there, but it barely conceals a sense of pride, and accomplishment.

The caption reads: A personalbe, outspoken right-hander from Lacoochee, Florida, Jim “Mudcat” Grant reached the Cleveland Indians in 1958 and would become the American League’s first black starting pitcher.

In my rookie season, I was inserted into a good rotation with Cal McLish, Gary Bell, and Ray Narleski. I pitched over 200 innnings, won 10 games and never returned to the minores. I preferred beginning my major league career with Cleveland rather than the Yankees or the Red Sox because the Indians and Dodgers had been the ringleaders in signing black players. As a young boy, Jackie Robinson had been my main hero until the Indians signed Larry Doby. I liked that name! [which proves that it takes one to know one] Thos guys inspired me to want to be a major league ballplayer. Now the Indians made me the only black starting pitcher in the American League. The only other black starters were Don Newcombe and Brooks Lawrence of the Reds and one of my heroes, the Cardinals’ Sad Sam Jones. On the Cubs, Sam became the first black to pitche a no-hitter after staying out all night.

I got to play with my greatest hero, Larry Doby. The most I ever learned about the game was from him. He taught me everything I know from how to dress and mix colors to how to become part of the community. Larry made sure he went out into his community and spoke to people. He knew people by name from everyhwere from Kansas City to Washington D.C. Larry would say we’re going to some barbershop in Cleveland or restaurant in Chicago or some friend’s apartment in Detriot. When I first went to Washington D.C., he introudced me to Adam Clyton Powell. He introudced me to Sarah Vaughn, Miles Davis, Count Basie, and Billie Holiday. I had listened to their music on 78s and here was Larry casually introducing me to them. We’d sit down and talk about everything under the sun—all day long. Larry was quiet to people who didn’t know him and never said too much or ventured an opinion. But he’d open up to those he knew well. I knew of his disappointments because I’d ask him…
Of course, Larry couldn’t really teach me much about pitching. But I already knew something about that. You know who gave me the best advice? Satcial Paige. I met him in about 1955, when we both were in the minors, and had some great conversations with him. I asked him what he thought was the most important thing about being a pitcher. He told me, “Young man, you gotta have a titty pitch. If you don’t have a titty pitch, you can’t win.” I asked, “What is a titty pitch?” I thought he was putting me on, getting ready to say something about sex. He ran his hand across his chest and said, “A titty pitch is right here.” Of course, he was right about the need to pitch inside to win the big leagues. He just had a different way of putting it.

Venezuela has for decades been one of the most dependable sources of petroleum for the United States, where industry analysts say the strike has already hurt some refineries and driven up the retail price of gasoline by at least a dime a gallon.

Those shortages will only worsen, and prices continue to rise, if the United States attacks Iraq, they prediceted. That means that war in the Persian Gulf could prove more costly to the American economy than had been projected if the Venezuelan standoff is not ended soon…

“This is an incredibly important moment in Venezuelan history,” a senior State Department offical said. “Things are happening now that are going to affact Venezuela for decades: its energy relationship with the United States, the structure of PDVSA, the integrity and credibility of its democratic instituions—all of these things are at stake.”

But many Latin American experts say the administration’s efforts have been too little, too late. They contend that the Bush Administration, distracted by Iraq, allowed Venezuela’s problems to fester.

…The State Department’s Latin America desk has been leaderless through much of the strike. The last assistant secretary of state for Western Hemispher affairs, Ott J. Reich, was reassinged in November after his temporary appointment expired…

“There is no one at the wheel here, “asserted Moises Naim, the Venezuelan who is the editor of Forgein Policy magazine.”

The impact of the Venezuelan crisss has been widely underestimated by officials and consumers, oild experts said. Venezuela once exported 2.7 million barrels a day, 1.5 million barrels of that going to United States, or about 14 percent of America’s curde oil imports.

Now, Venezuela says it is producing about 600,000 barrels a day, though outside experts estimate the volume at less than 400,000 barrels.

That means that more than two million barrels a day of Venezuelan brude have been removed from the gobal market, making this the worst disruption in supply since the Persian Gulf war of 1991, experts said.

LUCKIEST MAN ON THE FACE OF THE EARTH

Lou Gehrig ain’t got nuthin on me. I received the following e-mail from my girlfriend, Emily, in response to a brief article I posted last week, in which I basically gushed about our baseball-friendly relationship:

Yes you are right, I am excited for the season to begin – an opportunity for me to learn more about the game, as well as another 6 months to watch you perform your rendition of a Mexican jumping bean And hey, how ’bout eating ice cream and having sex all afternoon, WHILE watching baseball? Your mind and body are likely to explode with all that stimulation. Well, at least your body. Mmmmmm.

And you can’t beat that with a baseball bat.