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The Eagles' home field in Sendai, via japanesebaseballstadiums.com

I read on Hardball Talk this morning that Japan’s baseball league, the NPB, is trying to decide when to start their season, which was originally scheduled for March 25th. Per the Yakyu Baka blog, it sounds as if the Central League wants to start on time, while the Pacific League wants to postpone the games, and they haven’t yet been able to reach an agreement. Exhibition games have already been canceled; The Rakuten Golden Eagles’ stadium in Sendai, near the epicenter of the earthquake, is obviously not ready for games, and neither is the Chiba Lotte Marines’, which sustained liquification under its parking lot and plumbing damage. The Eagles’ future is uncertain in many ways, and night games could be tricky all over the country, since the government has asked everyone to conserve electricity whenever possible.

Obviously, this is hardly Japan’s biggest concern right now. I’ve felt a little weird writing about silly baseball stuff all week with everything that’s happening there; but that’s my job, and it’s not like anything I write can help anyway. Anyway, this news seems like an opportunity to acknowledge, again, that while we will certainly continue to write about Kyle Farnsworth, we at the Banter are still very much thinking about Japan.

The only thing from my own baseball life that I can think to compare the NPB’s situation to is September 11th, and the tragedy in Japan is on a larger scale than even that, particularly considering the ongoing nuclear emergency (which is terrifying to read about). I don’t think there is necessarily a right or wrong answer as to when to start the season. There is nothing wrong with waiting, out of either respect or just practical necessity, to say nothing of safety concerns. That said, I know I felt just a little bit better on September 17th in 2001 when baseball came back, and a little bit better yet on the 21st when it came back to New York (and yes, that Mike Piazza home run made me cry). Maybe, in Japan, this is one of those times when all the emotion people invest in the game can pay off in some larger way… then again, maybe not. Players and front office personnel in Japan are torn, and they would know better than I do.

These days, the Rays are the Yankees’ rivals every bit as much as the Red Sox are. So in the know-your-enemy spirit, and given all the renewed Rays interest sparked by friend-of-the-Banter Jonah Keri’s new book “The Extra 2%,” I figured I’d gather up some recent developments down in Tampa.

Yep.

First of all, Rays manager Joe Maddon is awesome. I’m sorry, but he is. I loved his golf pants efforts last season, and he’s still in full support of his players getting goofy with their personal appearance:

I might have preferred to get an “almost” in there before the “wherever,” but I applaud the sentiment. Although I think we’ve all seen by now that ballplayers hardly need much encouragement to grow fantastically horrible facial hair.

Last season, Maddon complained when the Trop’s bizarre house rules cost the Rays a run, after a pop-up hit one of those oddly placed catwalks and went for a single–saying the team needed “a real baseball field.” He subsequently apologized to the injured party via Twitter:

“most recent whine was my getting on Trop roof, have since apologized to said roof and r now on much better terms, maybe best ever…”   RaysJoeMaddon

Now, the Trop’s bizarre, byzantine ground rules are changing… or, rather, changing back to what they were before last fall’s Division Series. TampaBay.com explains, sort of:

You know what, Maddon was right the first time: that team does need to get themselves a real ballpark. Damn.

Finally, a Marc Topkin profile of our old frenemy and current devilish Ray Kyle Fransworth last week turned up several facts about the man of which I was not aware:

• He lives in the Disney owned and operated town of Celebration, Florida.
• He is a non-practicing Mormon.
• He has been sober for the last two years, after some hard drinking in his younger days.

The article’s overall tone is generally one of “oh look, he’s not actually that terrifying, he bakes holiday cookies!” but it undercuts that point with details like this:

Farnsworth’s 2003 technically perfect pursuit, tackle and takedown, plus subsequent pummeling, of Reds pitcher Paul Wilson — captured in photographs and still-popular video — remains his greatest hit, though a similar 2005 tussle with Royals reliever Jeremy Affeldt is close.

“He went crazy wanting to fight everyone,” said Affeldt, now with the Giants. “I’ve been in the weight room with him after that working out, and there’s no bitterness. It’s like it never happened. Kind of weird.”

And:

That competitiveness and machismo thread runs through everything he does: high-intensity workouts, martial arts training, marksmanship, paint ball and his beloved hunting, as he switched from gun to crossbow five years ago to make it more challenging as he pursues deer, turkey and hogs on his 2,500-acre plot in Georgia that is his favorite getaway.

Sober cookie-baking Disney mormon or not, the image of Kyle Farnsworth running after a hog with a frigging crossbow is quite a vivid one.

Bill Veeck’s Veeck as in Wreck is one of my favorite baseball books, and one of my favorite passages is his hilarious, delighted description of the time he sent little person Eddie Gaedel up to bat as a publicity stunt. Obviously, the idea of exploiting a little person for entertainment sits less a bit less well with us these days, and there are a few parts of the story that make me cringe. But Veeck’s account is without malice – he is simply thrilled to be getting around baseball’s rules and upsetting the game’s more stuffy, self-serious types. There’s an excerpt online, and you should click as fast as your fingers can manage to read the whole thing if you haven’t already, but here’s the setup:

Eddie came to us in a moment of desperation. Not his desperation, ours. After a month or so in St. Louis, we were looking around desperately for a way to draw a few people into the ball park, it being perfectly clear by that time that the ball club wasn’t going to do it unaided. The best bet seemed to be to call upon the resources of our radio sponsors, Falstaff Brewery. For although Falstaff only broadcast our games locally, they had distributors and dealers all over the state.

It happened that 1951 was the Fiftieth Anniversary of the American League, an event the league was exploiting with its usual burst of inspiration by sewing special emblems on the uniforms of all the players. It seemed to me that a birthday party was clearly called for. It seemed to me, further, that if I could throw a party to celebrate the birthdays of both the American League and Falstaff Brewery, the sponsors would be getting a nice little tie-in and we would have their distributors and dealers hustling tickets for us all over the state. Nobody at Falstaff’s seemed to know exactly when their birthday was, but that was no great problem. If we couldn’t prove it fell on the day we chose, neither could anyone prove that it didn’t. The day we chose was a Sunday doubleheader against the last-place Detroit Tigers, a struggle which did not threaten to set the pulses of the city beating madly. Rudie Schaffer, the Browns’ business manager, and I met with the Falstaff people—Mr. Griesedieck Sr., the head of the company, Bud and Joe Griesedieck and their various department heads—to romance our project. “In addition to the regular party, the acts and so on,” I told Bud, “I’ll do something for you that I have never done before. Something so original and spectacular that it will get you national publicity.”

Naturally, they pressed me for details. Naturally, I had to tell them that much as I hated to hold out on them, my idea was so explosive I could not afford to take the slightest chance of a leak.

The Falstaff people, romantics all, went for it. They were so anxious to find out what I was going to do that they could hardly bear to wait out the two weeks. I was rather anxious to find out what I was going to do, too. The real reason I had not been willing to let them in on my top-secret plan was that I didn’t have any plan.

What can I do, I asked myself, that is so spectacular that no one will be able to say he had seen it before? The answer was perfectly obvious. I would send a midget up to bat.

Actually, the idea of using a midget had been kicking around in my head all my life. I have frequently been accused of stealing the idea from a James Thurber short story, “You Could Look It Up.” Sheer libel. I didn’t steal the idea from Thurber, I stole it from John J. McGraw.

As Veeck had hoped, Gaedel’s strike zone was “just about visible to the naked eye.”

In the second game, we started Frank Saucier in place of our regular center fielder, Jim Delsing. This is the only part of the gag I’ve ever felt bad about. Saucier was a great kid whom I had personally talked back into the game when I bought the Browns. Everything went wrong for Frank, and all he has to show for his great promise is that he was the only guy a midget ever batted for.

For as we came up for our half of the first inning, Eddie Gaedel emerged from the dugout waving three little bats. “For the Browns,” said Bernie Ebert over the loudspeaker system, “number one-eighth, Eddie Gaedel, batting for Saucier.”

Suddenly, the whole park came alive. Suddenly, my honored guests sat upright in their seats. Suddenly, the sun was shining. Eddie Hurley, the umpire behind the plate, took one look at Gaedel and started toward our bench. “Hey,” he shouted out to Taylor, “what’s going on here?”

Zack came out with a sheaf of papers. He showed Hurley Gaedel’s contract. He showed him the telegram to headquarters, duly promulgated with a time stamp. He even showed him a copy of our active list to prove that we did have room to add another player.

Hurley returned to home plate, shooed away the photographers who had rushed out to take Eddie’s picture and motioned the midget into the batter’s box. The place went wild. Bobby Cain, the Detroit pitcher, and Bob Swift, their catcher, had been standing peacefully for about 15 minutes, thinking unsolemn thoughts about that jerk Veeck and his gags. I will never forget the look of utter disbelief that came over Cain’s face as he finally realized that this was for real.

I learned today (through Keith Law) that Gaedel’s great-nephew Kyle Gaedele is a 6’4″  junior outfielder at Valparaiso University. This made my day significantly brighter. He hit .373 last year and led the conference in hits and total bases, and while I don’t know what that really means in the “Horizon League,” it sounds pretty good to me. I wish Bill Veeck was around to sign the kid, because you know he wouldn’t hesitate for a second.

Yankee single-game tickets go on sale today at 10 AM.

Once again, I can’t afford to buy more than a few upper-deck or bleacher seats, and will be relying on the kindness of friends, StubHub, and occasionally press passes to get to games in person this year. There’s not much sense in complaining about the price of tickets, or anything else in New York City, really – it is what it is, which is expensive, and either you can afford it or you can’t; if the market couldn’t bear it, they’d go down, but apparently it can. And Yankees tickets have never been what I’d call reasonably priced in my adult life, so I’m used to it. Still, I always read books and articles where people talk about just walking up to the Stadium and paying a few bucks for a ticket and heading inside, back in the day, and feel a twinge. Leave it to baseball to succeed in making me nostalgic for things I never even lived through.

Mets tickets are, for obvious reasons, much more affordable these days on the whole (plus, they have Shake Shack. I wouldn’t argue that it’s one of the absolute best burgers in the city if only because they only offer American cheese, which is pathetic, but it’s better than anything I’ve gotten at Yankee Stadium, for sure). And truly affordable are Brooklyn Cyclones games, which are actually faster to get to from my Brooklyn apartment, cost $10 for perfectly nice seats, and are lovely and relaxed experiences even though the quality of play is far from major league-ready. I have a great picture of me and Sandy, their seagull mascot, from last season but after careful deliberation I’ve decided it’s too embarrassing to post. Anyway, the point is, I’ll still get my live baseball in one way or another.

Maybe this is the year I finally set foot on Staten Island for a Staten Island Yanks game. Amazingly, though I have spent nearly three decades living in New York or close outside it, and though I have been to Queens and the Bronx hundreds of times, I’ve never made the journey to the city’s 5th borough. Cue up your Staten Island jokes.

Meanwhile, Trenton is a place that I have set foot in, but only by accident, and I vowed never to make that mistake again. But should I make an exception for Manny Banuelos, who recently received the Mo Rivera seal of approval in a major way? Maybe, maybe.

What’s your ticket situation this year?

Miguel Cabrera’s swigging-scotch-in-front-of-the-arresting-officer DUI last month was already firmly in the bad news category, but details are emerging – as details will – that make it seem even scarier. According to the Detroit News:

Before his drunken driving arrest last month, Tigers slugger Miguel Cabrera threatened to “blow up” a bar that refused to serve him and then told police to shoot him, according to a police report released Wednesday that reveals new details….

…Cabrera walked into the Cowboys Bar-B-Q & Steak Co. after last call and was asked to leave, bar manager Fletcher Nail said in a statement to police.

The ballplayer ignored the manager and walked up to a table of strangers and began talking to them, said Nail.

When Nail again asked him to leave, Cabrera patted a bag on his shoulder and leaned down close to the manager’s face.

“You don’t know me,” Cabrera told him. “I will kill you. I know all of you, and I will kill all of you and blow this place up.”

The News also has video of the arrest, but I felt uncomfortable watching; it’s too embarrassing. Anyway, you don’t even know what’s really going on with a public figure lie Cabrera, but if he doesn’t have a serious problem he’s doing a great impression of someone who does, and I hope the Tigers are doing what’s best for him.

Meanwhile the Mariners recently started giving players and employees key fobs with the number of car services on them. That’s one of those good common sense sort of things that can only help, and can’t hurt, but I always wonder how much responsibility – if any – clubs have, or ought to have, for their players’ extracurricular behavior. A guy who drives his Rolls Royce drunk despite having a truck of security professionals with him is probably not going to be reasoned with.

Few things in sports are more frustrating than lost potential. It’s why Joba Chamberlain gets everyone so worked up, why we’re all rooting for Mark Prior, and why Mickey Mantle is a tragic hero instead of just a hero. And it’s why I’m feeling for the Mets and their fans with the news Carlos Beltran has tendinitis in his other, “good” knee and will sit out some games. Again.

Few players are more graceful, or better at so many different aspects of the game, than Carlos Beltran when he’s going good. An amazing defender, a smooth graceful swing, controlled speed. Unfortunately, it’s been years since he’s been healthy. And maybe this latest setback is no big deal – maybe it really will only set him back a week or so. I don’t know, though. I would like very much to be wrong, but it’s starting to look to me as if Beltran, for all his talent and all the effort he’s put into rehab, just isn’t going to be able to stay on the field. That pisses me off, because Beltran deserves better than to be remembered for freezing on the killer curveball that ended the 2006 NLCS.

Also, the Mets have had no kind of luck recently. They’ve made some very dumb moves [wave to Oliver Perez!], but they’ve also made theoretically good ones like the Beltran signing that just didn’t work out. They are due for some breaks, or would be if the universe worked like that.

Kim Ng

Yesterday the news came that Joe Torre, in moving to his new gig with MLB, is taking Dodgers Assistant GM Kim Ng with him. She told the LA Times she still wants to be a GM eventually (she has already interviewed for three GM positions); if we get a woman GM in baseball in the next decade, she will likely be the first. To the best of my knowledge, Ng is the only woman who’s really been seriously considered for that gig. The Yankees Assistant GM Jean Afterman – who took over Ng’s job when Ng left for LA in 2001 – is the only other woman in a front office position that high, so far as I’m aware, but I haven’t heard anything about her being considered for a top post anywhere, nor do I know if she even has any interest in that (although this 2007 Crain’s article implies that she does, or at least did at one point).

Ng, on the other hand, has frequently been discussed as a candidate (and even championed for that role by Joe Torre, quoted by Yahoo! as saying a few years ago: “Dealing with her this winter, this spring and so far this summer, I’ve been impressed with how ready she’d be for something like that… I hope to hell it happens. She’d be a ground breaker not only for baseball but for women.” No wonder he took her with him to MLB, thereby helping her escape from the McCourt’s sinking ship, and hopefully positioning herself well for future openings.

Realistically, there will not be a female manager any time soon – even setting aside sexism (of which there is still plenty in baseball), the pool of candidates is almost entirely former professional players. There are reasons for that, and you can count on one hand the managers who never played pro ball. Still, though there would be challenges, I don’t doubt the right woman could do the job; there are female neurosurgeons and astrophysicists, and managing a baseball team ain’t that. But how a woman would even get herself in a position to be considered I honestly can’t see, at least at this point. As for general manager, though, there’s no reason I can think of why gender should matter a whit. Right now there’s a dearth of candidates, but Ng seems as qualified as many current GMs and more qualified than some.

There are far greater issues facing woman in America today, but any time someone wants to do a job they’re capable of but doesn’t get the chance, it’s a situation that should be rectified. Although she certainly seems qualified, I don’t know enough about Ng to say with any certainty whether she would be a good general manager. But it would be great if we got a chance to find out.

I guess he was sort of the Coco Crisp of his day. Too bad he played so long ago, or he might have made himself some nice endorsement deals. Presenting:

Bud Weiser.

Bud Weiser not shown.

Weiser came about his nickname honestly – he was born Henry Budson Weiser in 1891 (about 13 years after Adolphus Busch, who had quite a name in his own right when you think about it, started his famous brewery). That was in Shamokin, PA, where Weiser also died, in 1961, and is buried in the fantastically named Odd Fellows Cemetery.

He never made it to the majors, but he had a long minor league career, playing with a few pauses here and there from 1911 to 1928, with 10 different teams from Scranton Wilkes-Barre to Dallas, the Charlotte Hornets to the Scottdale  Scotties. I bet Bud Weiser could have told a few stories.

Bonus names: Among his teammates were Ezra Midkiff, Wheat Orcutt, Norwood Hankee, and Bunny Hearn.

Norwood Hankee!

Last Sunday evening, I was at work, editing down the AP obituary of Duke Snider to a word count that would fit our available space. There was one sentence that caught my attention, and I debated for a moment whether I should cut it, because I thought it was unclear:

Snider hit at least 40 homers in five straight seasons and led the NL in total bases three times. He never won an MVP award, although a voting error may have cost him the prize in 1955. He lost to Campanella by a very narrow margin – it later turned out an ill voter left Snider off the ballot, supposedly by mistake.

There are a few things that are odd there – why mention that the voter was ill? Do we not have his name, and why not? Why “supposedly” by mistake? Didn’t anyone ask?

Anyway, I decided to leave it in, after confirming the loose outline of events on Wikipedia – which said, at the time (it has since been amended), that a BBWAA writer in the hospital had mistakenly put Campanella down twice, in first and fifth place, when he’d meant to put Snider in one of those spots. If he had, Snider would have won the MVP. That still seemed odd (again, why mention the hospital? Did he die later and they couldn’t ask him? Then why not say that?), but fine. I finished editing it down, ate a sandwich  and went on to other work.

Joe Posnanski, on the other hand, wondered about some of those same things and then started digging. That response is one of the reasons why he is – for my money, and a lot of other people’s – the best sports writer going at the moment. He doesn’t simply accept things at face value. I also take his ensuing post on the subject as a good lesson about following up when something seems off. If a story doesn’t make sense, there’s probably a different story behind it – I should listen to those instincts and, more than that, follow up on them. (And also, for the love of god, never rely on Wikipedia. I know this – and I never do when I’m writing or reporting – but I often use it as something of a fact checker. Nine times out of 10 it’s accurate, but for anything work-related or important, that’s not good enough).

You should go read Posnanski’s whole post, but the general thrust is:

Here’s is what the box says happened: There was indeed a writer who put Roy Campanella first and also sixth on his ballot, just like Feller said. Whether this was done by a writer who was sick and/or from Philadelphia is not made clear, and is probably not important. The BBWAA could have invalidated the ballot, and that must have been considered. But they did not. And they also did not just give Campanella the top spot and erase the fifth spot.

What they did was this: They moved everybody below No. 5 up a spot — six to five, seven to six, and so on. And for the bottom spot they inserted, yep, our favorite Philadelphia relief pitcher Jack Meyer.

There’s more to it than that and plenty of context, but I don’t want to quote too much of Posnanski’s post – I want you to go read it.

I also want to see if we can’t get “a hospitalized BBWAA writer” to catch on as a description of something a little fishy. E.g., “Joba says the weight he added is all muscle? Yeah, I dunno, that sounds a little like a hospitalized BBWAA writer to me.”

It’s been an eventful offseason for the Yankees’ various relationships with Scott Boras. First he picked up Robinson Cano as a client – in time for Cano’s first really big payday. Then it was reported that Nick Swisher had switched to Boras, but that turned out not to be true (he actually went with Dan Lozano). And today Mark Teixeira told reporters that he’s dropping the man. From Marc Carig in the Star Ledger:

“Now that the contract is over with, I don’t want to be ‘Scott Boras client,'” he said. “I want to be Mark Teixeira, baseball player, helping this team win championships.”

Teixeira has contemplated a switch for more than a year, even hiring another agency to handle his off-field charitable efforts. Though their business association has ended, Teixeira said Boras will continue to collect his percentage of the first baseman’s salary.

“Scott did a great job getting me my contract,” Teixeira said. “I wanted to be in New York from the beginning, and everything that I’ve asked for has come through so far. And from here on out, there’s no reason to worry about the contract. It’s all about winning championships and helping out the community.”

Given how Alex Rodriguez’s relationship with Boras went, it seems that while Boras is clearly the most effective agent in the game for getting big money contracts, he’s not particularly sensitive to his clients’ other desires.

Now, a ton of baseball players talk about “helping out the community” and then just set up an unspectacular charitable foundation on the side and leave it at that, but the Yankees at the moment have a few players who seem to take it very seriously (most notably Sabathia, Granderson, and Swisher), and maybe Teixeira is really serious about doing a lot in that area. He’s such a carefully bland guy in interviews that’s it’s hard to get a sense of what he’s actually like, or what he really cares about – but I can’t write him off as entirely dull because on the field, he often reacts to opponents like a real red-ass. And it takes some guts to fire Scott Boras, I’d imagine. Anyway, another footnote in the Boras saga – one day, though maybe not til well after he’s retired, there’ll be a fascinating book written about that guy.

I cannot believe that, until he appeared in a spring training game for the A’s on Sunday, I was unaware of the existence of minor league pitcher:

Josh Outman.

That’s right.

I learned via the inimitable Lisa Winston that there is also a minor league pitcher for the Padres named Will Inman. I’m not sure whether Inman and Outman have ever played against each other. If that ever happens in the future I hereby vow to liveblog the crap out of it.

In any case, the good news for Outman, at least in my fevered brain, is that he ought to have a leg up on previous pitcher Name of the Weeks like Kevin Slowey and Grant Balfour…

There’s a story in the Times today about Derek Jeter’s infamous new mansion – St. Jetersburg, as the locals have dubbed it. 30,875 square feet, two three-car garages, and no yard.  Right on the road with a six-foot fence for privacy. “Seven bedrooms, nine bathrooms, a pool, two boat lifts, a drive-through portico,” whatever that is.

I dunno, you guys.

With the caveat that Jeter has the right to do whatever he wants… this just seems strange,  doesn’t it?  Jeter’s spent his New York tenure living well – apartment in Trump Towers, famous girlfriends, tropical vacations, clubs – but he hasn’t typically been so over-the-top about it. If it’s possible to party with models in a classy sort of way, he generally has. And I admit I don’t know much about the etiquette of mansion-building… but isn’t this a little… tacky?

How big is The House That Jeter Built? Well, it is slightly smaller than an average Best Buy electronics store, and twice as big as the late owner George Steinbrenner’s 13,480-square-foot house in South Tampa.

Rodney Kite-Powell, curator for the Tampa Bay History Center, said Jeter’s house was bigger than all but two of the original 1920s-era apartment/hotel buildings originally built on Davis Islands.

Whenever star players are in contract negotiations, there’s always a moment where I think, “How the hell can $15 million a year (or whatever it is) not be enough for you?!” But it’s become clear over time that when you have that kind of money it just doesn’t seem like as much as one might think it would.  So I might say to myself, “Who would ever need that much space?! One boat lift really wouldn’t suffice?” But I guess it’s all relative, and when you get to that level, your perspective is different. Also, to be honest, I am not entirely sure what a boat lift is, but if it involves moving boats around in any way then I think my point stands.

Jeter won’t talk about this – the mansion, not the definition of a boat lift –  which is understandable, but I’m genuinely curious as to what his thinking was here.

And regardless: Can you imagine how much crap A-Rod would take, if he built this?

Last night I got home around 2 AM and still had some work to get done; this ad came on at about 3:30. You will note that it’s for a personal injury law firm and that it features a crudely drawn rapping, dancing squirrel.

I don’t think they should be allowed to air something like this at that hour. If it wasn’t for YouTube, which confirmed for me that this is a thing that exists, I might have checked myself into Bellvue.

1-800-VICTIM2 YOU CALL!

I’m tired and grouchy today, and Alex told me I was having an Oscar Madison kind of sports writing day. Which I am. This got us on a stream-of-consciousness email thread that moved naturally onto Jack Lemmon and led to our discovery of the following facts:

-Alex can’t stand Billy Wilder’s “The Apartment,” which in case you haven’t seen it, is awesome;

-He thinks Alfred Hitchcock is overrated;

-He doesn’t like Jimmy Stewart;

-He didn’t come right out and say it, but I assume he hates puppies and picks his teeth with their adorable little bones.

Meanwhile, I don’t like Faulkner and am kind of bored by Buster Keaton.

Pistols at dawn.

What do your friends or loved ones inexplicably dislike?

It seems like a lifetime ago that YankeeWorld was obsessed with three minor-league pitching prospects: The Big Three of Phil Hughes, Joba Chamberlain, and Ian Kennedy. And even though our wildest dreams for that trio might not have come true, given the unpredictability of pitching prospects in general (TINSTAAPP!), it’s actually pretty impressive that they’ve had as much success as they have. Ian Kennedy is 26, started 32 games for the Diamondbacks last year and came out of it with an ERA+ of 111; Phil Hughes is still finding his way a bit, but at 24 gives every sign of becoming a solid stater; and Joba, well, if we’re all a little disappointed, he still may well end up being a valuable major leaguer. Hopes for those three were so high – it’s easy to forget that while they didn’t turn into the trio of aces that we might have imagined in our less guarded moments, all of them have been helpful to major league teams, and that’s nothing to sneeze at.

Anyway, spring training is the time to dream on these things. Now we’ve got a brand-new trio of new prospects to hang our hopes on, the junior Killer B’s: Andrew Brackman, New York’s own Dellin Betances, and Manny Banuelos. There have been encouraging stories and profiles on each of them recently – ’tis the season – and even for a cynical veteran of spring training coverage it’s easy to get caught up in the high hopes. Even as I was writing this post, we got this from the YES Network’s Jack Curry:

There’s a lot to like about each of those guys. Brackman  may be the one I’d most like to see succeed this year, just because he’s been in the organization the longest and, a year ago, looked like he might be a bust. Bettances is a NYC kid and, as detailed in the link above, was in the bleachers for David Wells’ perfect game – you’ve gotta love that. And Banuelos, from Mexico, very nearly a foot shorter than either of those guys and a crafty lefty in the making, will be a fine underdog in this six-footed race (although it seems horribly unfair that he’s already being compared to Andy Pettitte. No pressure or anything).

It’s human nature to dream on these kids but I hope we don’t have such crushing expectations for them that, as with The Big Three, it’ll seem disappointing if in three years they aren’t all dominant aces. Growing your own innings-eaters and relievers is nice too, and if all of these guys end up healthy and in the majors that’ll be quite a success in its own right.

One of the pitchers who will be competing for a roster spot with the Washington Nationals this year is:

Garrett Mock.

No word yet on whether he will be joined by other Nationals hopefuls like Robert Jest, Julio Chortle, or Bert Scoff.

When is it okay to abandon your team?

I ask, of course, because of the Knicks.

Photo from the Daily News

I’m not really asking for myself, because I’m not a real Knicks fan. Baseball is my sport. In basketball, I’ve always been rather free with my affections. As a kid I watched the Bulls, because they were on TV a lot and because Michael Jordan. Then in the Patrick Ewing era I liked the Knicks, because I loved everything having to do with New York City. After the Yankees started winning so much I started to feel guilty about it and in the winter of 1999 adopted the Nets, who had always previously sucked, but they disappointed me by (briefly) not sucking during the Jason Kidd years. I moved to Brooklyn after college and went back to the Knicks. So I’m no model fan anyway, and I almost never go to games at Madison Square Garden, because I can’t afford it. But I still think in general terms it’s an interesting question.

Probably most of us would agree that you never bail on a team just because they’re lousy. I mean, you can, of course, but it’s unseemly. You stick it out — that’s a central tenant of what it means to be a fan. But players can be replaced or traded, and general managers can be fired. What about when the team’s ownership is inept, malignant, self-destructive, obnoxious and too flush with inherited billions to ever, ever be forced to sell? This weekend came the news, or at least the very strong rumors, that James Dolan is taking over and (probably – safe bet) bungling the Carmelo Anthony negotiations. And that Isiah Thomas is “consulting” or “advising” (when asked, he refused to say) and calling the shots and not ruling out a return to a prominent role with the Knicks.

I’m not a lifelong die-hard Knicks rooter like so many New Yorkers, and right now I’m glad. Because if Isiah Thomas returns to any kind of meaningful role with the team, I’m done with this team. How many times does he have to demonstrate that, although he was a great player, he is an abysmal coach and GM? (To say nothing of his unfortunate tendencies towards sexual harassment). How can James Dolan possibly be both that oblivious and that contemptuous of Knicks fans? And since he clearly is, why would we ever expect him to change at this point?

The Nets are moving fifteen minutes from my apartment in a year and a half. They have returned to their usual suckiness, and I hate the way they bullied and bribed that new stadium through. And yet. You can say what you want about Jay-Z – but, damn it, he would never in a million years put up with this Isiah Thomas crap.

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Anyway, I’m curious to hear your thoughts. When is it okay to ditch your team? If you’re a Knicks fan, do you have a breaking point – and if so, have you reached it yet? If not, what would it take?

I very much enjoyed this tweet from Jon Heyman:

Not because of the stats-don’t-show-David-Eckstein’s-huge-heart sentiment, which has been thoroughly deconstructed from the very earliest days of FJM. But because thanks to a forgotten apostrophe, you’ll notice that this actually refers to rick eckstein as “it,” and david eckstein as his (its) “criminal brother,” who is not in a camp yet. Presumably a camp for criminals.

Today I bring you one Gus Godbold (photo unavailable).

Sounds pretty badass, but not much is known about Godbold – he played from 1948 to 1950 for minor league Philadelphia As teams in Moultrie (?), Tarboro (?!) and Fayetteville, batting .270 for his career.

Say what you want about Joba Chamberlain’s weight, at least he seems (thus far) to have learned his lesson regarding driving under the influence. Slipping back into destructive behavior this spring, though, is Miguel Cabrera, who got arrested last night on DUI charges and then some. Per the TCPalm, when police arrived:

Cabrera, of Boca Raton, grabbed a bottle of James Buchanan’s Scotch Whiskey and started drinking.

…Cabrera, whose eyes were bloodshot and speech “heavily slurred,” was handcuffed and walked towards a patrol vehicle before being told to get in the vehicle.

“Do you know who I am, you don’t know anything about my problems,” Miguel Cabrera is quoted as saying.

A deputy reported Cabrera was put in handcuffs after not following orders. Cabrera also “kept running out in the road with his hands up.”

A deputy asked Cabrera to get his a patrol vehicle, and he said, “(Expletive) you.”…

Yikes. And this mug shot is not at all reassuring:

I’ve had a special fondness for Cabrera ever since 2006, when in the 10th inning of a game against Baltimore, he swung at an intentional walk pitch that wasn’t far enough outside and knocked a single into center field, leading to a Marlins win. It was just an awesome moment, and while I’m sure it’s happened at some point before in baseball’s long history, I’d never seen it before, and was delighted. I don’t know how long this video will be up (since MLB still doesn’t understand how to interact with fans online and insists on removing every 3-second clip of free advertising anyone puts up), but here it is for now:

Anyway, needless to say his epic screw-up in 2009 took some of the shine off, but it’s sad to see such a fun player careening off the rails. (Probably unnecessary disclaimer: of course, from a human standpoint, it’s sad no matter who it is.)

Meanwhile, over in Dodgers camp, a somewhat different kind of freakout: a day after his agent said that reliever Ronald Belisario might not be able to play in the US this year because of visa issues, Belisario says the delay is simply the result of a lost passport. From the LA Times Dodgers’ blog:

Ronald Belisario told a Venezuelan newspaper that he lost his passport and that he should be able to report to camp soon after obtaining a new one.

But that’s news to Belisario’s agent, Paul Kinzer, who said on Wednesday that his client will probably miss the entire season because of his inability to gain legal entry into the United States.

“That would be news to me,” Kinzer said. “I hope that’s true.”

Kinzer said he has lost touch with the hard-throwing reliever, who hasn’t reported to camp on time for the third consecutive spring.

“He’s gone kind of quiet,” Kinzer said. “I haven’t heard from him in a few weeks.”

That’s just… really weird. Missing passport or no – being late to camp (again, and just a year after treatment for substance abuse) and not even checking in with your agent is a sign that something is very off.

So, it’s been kind of a rough first week of spring training so far for a few teams. Maybe baseball needs to develop a more aggressive substance abuse program for its players, or tougher rules about getting help, counseling, or rehab after incidents like this. And maybe let’s ease off Joba’s extra 15 pounds, at least until we see how he pitches. There are problems and then there are problems.