Recently, the New York Times reposted a 1976 article by Clark Booth about violence and football. It originally appeared in The Real Paper.

Well-worth your time:

Of all the studs who played football in the NFL during the Vietnam years (and were presumably eligible), only one went to war, almost got his foot blown off and returned with a Purple Heart and Bronze Star.

The only one was Steeler running back Rocky Bleier, whose wartime experiences, not so oddly, offer some insights. To Bleier, there are some interesting parallels between survival in war and survival in pro football. He says:

U.S. Army
Vietnam Veteran and former Pittsburgh Steeler Rocky Bleier poses with Capt. Doug Larsen, who tries on Mr. Bleier’s four Super Bowl rings, at the North Dakota National Guard’s 2009 Safety Conference in 2009.“War injuries and football injuries. The experiences and the reactions are quite the same. In battle action, you’re concerned with something more than where you got shot. You’re concerned with where the enemy might be. You want to know where you are.

“You could be shot in the stomach. Your leg could be broken and you wouldn’t even know it. You would just go on.

“Now you [pointing at me] could twist your ankle and not walk in a week. I could play on that ankle a whole week. The focal point of my attention is not on that injury, it’s on getting back into the game. It’s the intensity of what’s happening at the moment. It’s the hostility of the moment. Medically, I can’t understand it. But psychologically I can.”

War and pro football. The stakes, to many, are about the same. As is the importance they attach to it. War and death. The two images that bring the most clarity to the discussion. The metaphor works. Even the commissioner sees it that way.

Asked at his Friday news conference if he could explain the mounting incidence of serious injury in the game, Alvin “Pete” Rozelle replied, “The problem is we have bigger, faster people banging into each other more often. It’s like having a BB gun [the way the game was] and a cannon [the way the game has become]. The cannon hits with much greater force.” End of discussion.

The animation in this movie looks wonderful.

Eric Chavez is back.

[Photo Credit: Jim McIsaac/Getty Images]

Geoff Dyer goes all word nerd in the Times and I love it:

It started with the jacket copy for the British hardback of Richard Holmes’s wonderful “Age of Wonder.” We learn there of the astronomer William Herschel’s “tireless dedication to the stars” (the actual stars, that is, the ones out there in space, before they were superseded — and possibly even outnumbered — by those in the realm of film, pop and sport). This connection between an adjective and the stars made me curious about the extent to which a word can continue to shine after the life has gone out of it. Thereafter I started to notice that “tireless” and “tirelessly” were cropping up all over the place, often in works of considerable literary merit. In Jonathan Coe’s biography of the experimental novelist, for example, I read that B. S. Johnson “worked tirelessly for the trade union movement.” There was nothing particularly wrong with this particular instance, but the cumulative effect of encountering tirelesslys made me — taking my cue from Holmes again — wonder. Like a tired person trying to get to sleep who is kept awake by sounds from the street that he or she has for years scarcely noticed, I found that the word had become suddenly unignorable.

It intruded, if only in a pea-under-a-mattress way, on my enjoyment of two of the best books I read last year. Wade Davis’s “Into the Silence” is a brilliantly thorough narrative of the first attempts to conquer Everest, starting with the climbers who had fought in the First World War and climaxing with the disappearance of Mallory in 1924. It would be churlish when considering such a long book to make too much of the “tireless efforts” of one member of the team on behalf of the Everest project, or the description of another member as “tireless.” But one can, I think, question the accuracy of this shared appellation. I mean, were these people never tired? (Yes, yes, I understand, this is a context in which people are not just tired; they’re depleted beyond the limits of human comprehension — but keep going anyway.)

What words bother you? “Literally” is literally killing me these days because I literally hear people using it literally all the time.

Over at Deadspin, Erik Malinowski has a long piece about the making of the “Homer at the Bat” episode of the The Simpsons. Worth checking out.

Before we jump whole hog into spring training, let’s take a look back at the way we left things in 2012, after a seven game World Series featuring an all-time classic in Game 6.

Poised one strike away from their first World Championship the Rangers gacked both chances and lost Game 6 and then the Series.

So unbelievably close to ecstasy. Twice. Fans surely began plans for the parade as Neftali Feliz offered to David Freese, wrecked them, revived them, and then wrecked them again in a matter of minutes. Nelson Cruz misplayed Freese’s two-out, two-strike flyball into a game tying triple. Josh Hamilton reestablished the two-run bulge, only to watch Lance Berkman’s two-out, two-strike single tie the game again in the tenth. Freese homered to win it in the bottom of the next inning.

The Rangers jumped out to another two-run lead to start Game Seven, but by this point they should have realized that two-run leads were just making the Cardinals angry. The Cardinals erased the lead and stormed ahead to their eleventh title.

It’s the saddest of all losses, for me anyway, to be so close to success, only to have it slip away. Miserable. Horrible. Indelible. But not, as it turns out, uncommon.

Twenty one World Series have featured a team on the cusp of winning a ring, leading the potentially deciding game (OTC games from here on, for On The Cusp), only to lose the game and the Series. The losing team held that lead with six or fewer outs to go eleven times. Two losers whittled immortality down to a single, slender strike.

Here are the worst losses of all time, according to me. It’s a reminder that the brightest lights of baseball history for some cast out some of the darkest shadows for others.

Let’s get the Yankees out of the way first. As bad as these losses were, even in the throes of despair, we wouldn’t have traded places with any other fans of any other team in any other sport in the history of the universe.

In Game 7 in 1960, the Yanks led the Pirates by three with six outs to go to claim the title (and reached a 94% win probability, the fourth highest of all time for a losing team), but the Pirates capped a five run outburst with a two-out, two-strike, three-run homer to take a 9-7 lead into the ninth. The Yankees did manage to tie, but lost on the famous Mazerowski death blow. Devastating to be sure, but if any team and fan base could be insulated from a loss like that, it was the 1960 Yankees who had won eight of the previous twelve titles before the loss and would win the next two afterwards.

The 2001 World Series, for so many of us here on the Banter, was the worst loss we’ve ever experienced. Hard to recall that night and believe there were many worse fates on a baseball field. But for me, the Yanks never seemed likely to win. The lineup appeared to be broken beyond repair and Andy Pettitte allowed fifty runs in their first shot at it in Game 6. In Game 7, the Yankees bundled an improbable 2-1 lead to Mariano, thanks to Soriano, Clemens and a nifty relay to third. Mariano had good stuff in the eighth, but in the ninth, things went off the rails immediately. Because of the slim lead and Mo’s error on the bunt, the Yanks win expectancy never got higher than 82%, which isn’t even in the top ten of all time OTC losses.

The first team to lose the World Series in a truly heart wrenching fashion was the 1912 New York Giants. They approached Game 8 of the series (Game 2 had ended in a tie) with Christy Matthewson on the hill and confidence high. Matty coughed up two late leads. In the seventh, he allowed a two-out pinch-hit double which tied the game at one. Then leading by a run in the tenth, his centerfielder dropped a ball and Matty couldn’t recover. The Giants, who reached a maximum of 85% win expectancy (WE), got within two outs, but like the Yankees in 2001, this deciding inning never looked secure. Tris Speaker tied it with a single to right and the ill-advised throw to the plate set up the winning sac fly.

The fallout was extreme for one man – Fred Merkle stood in Soriano’s position during the 2001 Series, about to be the hero with a go-ahead hit prior to the meltdown. Instead, Merkle is now only known for the time he failed to touch second base in the 1908 pennant race. I’m sure he’d have liked to add a “slash hero” to his boner.

The Giants also pop up as the second team to lose with victory close at hand. In 1924, up three games to two, they led Game 6 of the Series in the fifth but couldn’t hold on. They then rebounded and took a two-run lead into the eighth of Game 7, but blew it when Bucky Harris tied the game with a two-out, bases loaded base knock. The Giants stranded a lead off triple in the ninth, and lost in the 12th. Walter Johnson pitched four scoreless in relief for the win for Washington.

The Big Train was in the station again the following year, taking the ball in the Game 7, but with the opposite result. The Senators bats were ready to repeat and staked him an early four spot, but Johnson gave it all back. He held a 6-4 lead in the seventh, and blew it. He held a 7-6 lead with two outs and nobody on in the eighth. And again, he gave it away. Consecutive doubles tied the game and then a walk and an error by his shortstop extended the inning for Hall of Famer Kiki Cuyler, who dealt the telling stroke with a two-run ground rule double. It was the 15th hit off a spent Train.

The Senators never won again, so that sucks. And they have the distinction of being the only team in history to lead three OTC games, and to lose them all. They kept getting closer, 20 outs away in Game 5 (66% WE), 19 outs in Game 6 (71% WE) and then four outs in Game 7 (85% WE) only to blow it each time.

Walter Johnson, Christy Matthewson and Mariano Rivera figure in the worst losses of all time. A rotten occasion, but good company nonetheless.

The 1985 Cardinals were two outs away from winning the World Series, and should have been only one out away. Don Deckinger’s infamous blown call to start the ninth set up an inning from hell for Todd Worrell. Much like Mariano in 2001, he almost righted the ship when he nailed the lead runner at third on a sac bunt attempt to leave runners at first and second with one out, but Daryl Porter gave up a passed ball to undo that good work. Dane Iorg delivered a game winning, pinch hit single.

The Cardinals held a 3-1 series lead in 1985, but they never led in Games 5 and 7. They reached a WE of 84%.

What’s left? I’m sure you can guess. The 1986 Red Sox, the 1997 Indians, the 2002 Giants and the 2011 Rangers. Each team was plagued by significant title droughts. The Giants had never won since abandoning New York, the Indians were such a living joke that, like the Senators in the 1950s, they could only win in fiction, The Red Sox made otherwise sane people believe in curses, and the Rangers, while lacking in historical collapses, had, unlike the other teams, never, ever won one.

I’m going to put the 1997 Indians fourth here. The long-suffering fans of Cleveland had not celebrated anything since a Browns championship in 1964. Lebron James was only 13 years old, and perhaps already rooting for the Yankees. They led Game 7 against the Marlins 2-1 and had a chance to increase the lead in the top of the ninth. Big Jim Thome could not drive in Roberto Alomar from third with one out (WE peaked here at 89%) and the one run lead didn’t budge.

Closer Jose Mesa came on in the ninth and went single, whiff, single to set up the tying sac fly. The Indians didn’t threaten in extra innings and Renteria won the game with two outs in the eleventh.

I know this was hard to take in Cleveland, but I don’t believe many Indians fans were sure of victory. First of all, they only had 86 wins and had to beat far superior teams in the ALDS and the ALCS. Plus, Mesa had blown two games already in that same Postseason. I’m not sure any Indian fan’s stomach was settled when he took the ball. These were not the 1954 Indians.

Those guys lost to the Giants, who happen to also own the third worst loss in history. In 2002, the Giants were looking at a championship drought just about as long as those 1997 Indians (48 years vs 49 years). In 2002, with Barry Bonds putting on a Ruthian display of dominance, they came to the brink. With a 3-2 lead in the Series, they led Game 6 by five in the seventh. That was good for a WE of 97%, second highest of all time for a loser.

Russ Ortiz got one out before two singles in the seventh. Dusty Baker decided to go to the bullpen, but as Ortiz left the mound, Baker gave him the game ball. From Little League up on through to the Show, back to down to beer league softball, I’ve never even heard of someone doing that. (Unless it was a record, or a first MLB hit or whatever, but that’s not the same). Felix Rodriguez came in and allowed a three run jack to Scott Spezio.

Baker finally got out of the seventh with Tim Worrell, but he did not go for the kill in the eighth with Robb Nen. He let Worrell get in deep trouble first. (If you haven’t had enough Yankee misery, this inning reminds me a lot of Game 5 in the 2004 ALCS when Torre let Gordon put the game in inescapable jeopardy instead of going for the kill with Mariano.) Worrell let up a bomb and two hits and Nen came in for a really tough save. He couldn’t get it. He let up a go ahead double to Glaus.

The Giants took a brief lead in Game 7, but the Angels equalized in the same inning. Garret Anderson’s bases clearing double in the third was all the Angels would need for the Series win.

The 1986 Red Sox and the Rangers have the last two spots and it’s up to you how you want to rank them. I put the Red Sox misery ahead of the Rangers. The Red Sox were 68 years deep in an 86-year drought. The Red Sox fan base let itself believe that fate was against them, refusing to put proper accountability on the players and the management. The Red Sox came the closest to winning without actually winning, attaining a 99% WE at 5-3 with two outs and nobody on in the tenth inning of Game 6. And that after blowing 79% WEs in the fifth and seventh (a 2-0 lead and a 3-2 lead). The Rangers got to 96% in the ninth and then blew it. They scaled back up to 93% with Josh Hamilton’s tenth inning blast. Then they blew that.

If we just left it there. I think it’s a slight edge to the Sox. Each team got within one strike of winning the World Series. Twice. (Knight and Wilson in’86 and Freese and Berkman in ’11) Even after putting the outcome in doubt, the Red Sox were down to a final strike on Mookie Wilson. Bob Stanley uncorked a wild pitch to tie the game. Bill Buckner did his thing for the winning run. Two devastating, rapid fire body blows. The Rangers big play was the two-strike Freese fly ball. Would have been caught by most right fielders. Maybe even should have been caught by the hobbled Cruz. But a guy reaching for a ball he can’t quite reach won’t live on in the same kind of eternal infamy as the ball trickling through Buckner’s legs.

And Lance Berkman is a borderline Hall of Famer with an incredible track record. Mookie Wilson was just OK. Berkman got a clean hit. Mookie, well, you know…didn’t.

But maybe that’s splitting hairs. No matter, the real separation comes in Game 7. The Rangers took a lead, but blew it immediately. The Cardinals controlled the game from there. 1n 1986, the Red Sox took a 3-0 into the sixth inning. They had a WE of 88% in that inning, by itself the seventh highest perch from which a team has fallen. And it all came crashing down a second time.

I don’t konw what misery would do without all that company.

Three weeks ago, with the Knicks floundering amid the Giants’ Super Bowl victory, the anticipation of Yankees’ arrival in Tampa for the start of Spring Training would have been met with great anticipation and fervor. Jeremy Lin changed that. The Knicks are relevant. Madison Square Garden is buzzing. Baseball is on the back burner, save for those of us who follow the sport more closely than the winter sports.

From a newsmaking perspective, it was a relatively quiet winter for the Yankees. They took care of the CC Sabathia contract early; Jorge Posada’s retirement marked the next phase of the end of the Core Four; the pursuit of CJ Wilson wasn’t as aggressive as the pursuit of Cliff Lee a year ago, so it wasn’t as much of a shock or a perceived loss when the Orange County Angels signed him. The Yankees did make the backpages — in baseball-related news, anyway — by trading Jesus Montero and Hector Noesi to the Seattle Mariners for Michael Pineda. Shortly thereafter they signed Hiroki Kuroda. The respective deals left no doubt that Allan James Burnett’s time as a Yankee was limited.

And so it was that the Yankees ended the Burnett Era on Friday by paying the Pittsburgh Pirates $20 million to take him off their hands in exchange for two minor leaguers. Burnett can now put the “Pie” in Pirate.

The timing of the Burnett trade was similar to the one that sent Alfonso Soriano to the Texas Rangers in exchange for Alex Rodriguez eight years ago, although to be sure it is not nearly as significant a deal, and it won’t cause anywhere near the circus that A-Rod did. Jettisoning Burnett is more of a simple “addition by subtraction” move. There were many who viewed getting rid of Alfonso Soriano similarly (considering what he has become, and how that move indirectly pave the way for Robinson Cano’s emergence, maybe the folks with that view were correct).

Monday’s signing of Raul Ibanez assures they have a left-handed hitting DH who can also play a little outfield to spell either Brett Gardner or Nick Swisher. It also marks a homecoming for Ibanez, a native New Yorker. Look for many of those stories over the next six weeks, particularly as the Yankees prepare to break camp.

Other than the typical puff pieces — how does the pitching staff shape up, particularly now with three arms under the age of 30; how is the respective health of the aging left side of the infield; who is the 25th man, etc. — it figures to be a quiet Spring. That was until Mariano Rivera revealed that 2012 would be his final season.

Even with the buzz Mo’s statement caused both locally and nationally, it won’t cause nearly the level of craziness that David Wells’ book, Jason Giambi and Gary Sheffield’s respective roles in the BALCO scandal, a certain trip to Japan, or the afterglow of a World Series championship did. And that’s fine by the Yankees. It leaves more time and room for Jeremy Lin and the Knicks to own the spotlight.

Man, Chad Jennings does a good job at Lo-Hud. Here’s some highlights from yesterday’s Yankee camp, including this bit from Russell Martin on A.J. Burnett:

“I think sometimes he would let negative thoughts get into his mind and they would affect him a little bit. It wasn’t the fact that he didn’t care or anything; he probably cared more than anybody. He’s just very hard on himself and sometimes over-critical, and when you do that, sometimes you just go the wrong way. That’s what happened with him sometimes; he was over-critical of himself instead of just simplifying the game. He would listen to everybody trying to help him out, and when you do that, it becomes chaotic. I think that’s what was happening in his mind.”

I wasn’t sorry to see Burnett go. He was frustrating to watch but I never hated him. Yeah, the pie thing was silly, but Burnett didn’t seem like a punk. Guy wasn’t Carl Pavano. He was exactly the dude they signed,  fine in 2009 but I don’t think anyone was surprised how he performed the last two years. I don’t have any hard feelings, do you?

[Photo Credit: Matt Slocum/AP]

Will this be Mariano Rivera’s final season? Marc Carig thinks it just might be.

[Drawing by Francesco Francavilla]

That’s what I thought when I read this farewell to Yankee blogging post by our old pal Cliff Corcoran. Of course, you can read Cliff all season long over at SI.com but it looks like his days as a Yankee blogger are over. It’s good news for him–he’s got wonderful reasons for calling it quits–and sad news for us, if we’re going to be selfish about it. Cliff’s series previews have been a part of the fabric of each Yankee season here at the Banter for years. They will be missed.

It’s been a terrific run. Congrats, Cliff. And again, we’ll be reading you over at SI.com.

You’re the man.

According to two reports (Buster Olney, Joel Sherman) that I found via Craig Calcaterra at Hardball Talk, the Yankees have agreed to a 1-year, $1 million deal with Raul Ibanez. He’ll be the left-handed DH presumably and will be able to play the field if the need arises. I haven’t heard any Yankee fan or analyst that likes the move and perhaps they are right. I just can’t get myself too worked-up over the part-time DH. If he’s a bust, they cut him and make a move later in the season, cause that’s how they roll in Chinatown, Jake.

Pitchers and catchers report today. Chad Jennings has some notes already. The intrepid Marc Carig has more.

It’s gunna be a fun season, for sure.

Meanwhile, the Knicks host the defending World Champs at the Garden this afternoon.

Happy Sunday, y’all.

[Photo Credit: Attimi Rubati]

Heppy Saturday.

[Picture via Holy Friend]

Bernard joins Clyde and Breen tonight to call the Knick game.

Hey Now.

Via Hardball Talk, C.C. Sabathia is in good shape; Hideki Okajima is not.

Oh, and according to Buster Olney, A.J. Burnett is this close to being a Pirate.

And Jon Heyman reports that Ibanez and Chavez are going to play in the Bronx this year.

I got an e-mail from my pal John Ed Bradley the other day with an attached image of this painting:

I bought the picture at auction in Florida last week. It’s by an artist I collect named Reeves Brace. She died in 1932 at age 34. Her name at birth was Virginia Reeves. She used her last name as her first name when she became an artist and married Ernest Brace–an eccentric but nice touch. Most people just called her “Reeves.” Her husband was a fine writer named Ernest Brace; his brother helped start the publishing firm Harcourt Brace.

Reeves was a member of the art colony up in Woodstock, and she often worked in NYC. She might’ve painted this scene as a magazine illustration. I’ve been collecting her work for years although it is difficult to find and rarely comes up for sale. Her obscurity is largely a result of her early demise. Distraught as a result of a failed marriage and the stress of surviving as an artist during the Depression, she hanged herself by her silk stockings from the bathroom door of a hotel room in New York City.

She was quite the beauty, too. She still had a steady hand when she painted this canvas. I find her fascinating and have long hoped to dig deeper into her life and write about her. For now, I content myself with her oil paintings that hang in my writing studio.

The auction house didn’t identify the location but I think this is Yankee Stadium circa 1930. I think some of the artist’s details tell the story and might help us determine the year it was painted. The ads along the outfield wall (Mrs. Wagner’s Pies, Singing Shaves), the buildings in the background…all should provide clues.

Did deep outfield really have a hump like that where warning track now would be? The artist also gives us the depth of the fence in right and shows how the lime stripe tracked up what looks like a board pole.

I love how the figures with their backs turned to us are dressed. Everyone has his or head covered. The men in fedoras, one with a flower or a card or something in the band. They appear to be wearing jackets.

I asked Glenn Stout–winner of the 2012 Seymour Medal for “Fenway 1912”— when the picture could have been painted and he pegged it somewhere between 1932-34. The “Mrs. Wagner’s Pies” sign was up from ’32-’35, he told me. “Google tells me that a sign that read ‘Ever Ready Blades for Singing Shades’ graced the fence in 1932 (see listing at bottom of page).”

It was either the spring or the fall because the fans were dressed for the cold weather but since there is no bunting it wasn’t a World Series game. And:

There is no warning track, but there always was at Yankee Stadium – an actual running track, and the feature was later adopted elsewhere one they realized it was useful. There was , actually, a short, mild rise in CF and Right Center – past the warning track and the stands – the track didn’t skirt the edge of the stands precisely , but was an oval, so it was in front of the stands in CF and fight center, to stay even. So the painting is not accurate, but merely representative.

Of course, I was able to identify the batter.

What a find by John Ed. I thank him for sharing it with us.

Reeves Brace, third from left: New Paltz, N.Y., 1930

For more on The Kid, check out tributes by Greg Prince and Jason Fry at Faith and Fear in Flushing, Ted Berg over at Ted Quarters, and Jay Jaffe at Baseball Prospectus.

Gary Carter, Rest in Peace.

[Photo Credit: Bernard Brault/AP]

I love books. Love them as objects. I want to hold them, sometimes mark them up with a pen, dog-ear the pages. I like to look at them on my shelves at home. I don’t own a Kindle or a Nook but I don’t have any beef with them either. For some people they make all the sense in the world. I think you can like both formats. But this piece by Tim Parks in the New York Review of Books gave me a new appreciation for E-books:

Literature is made up of words. They can be spoken or written. If spoken, volume and speed and accent can vary. If written, the words can appear in this or that type-face on any material, with any impagination. Joyce is as much Joyce in Baskerville as in Times New Roman. And we can read these words at any speed, interrupt our reading as frequently as we choose. Somebody who reads Ulysses in two weeks hasn’t read it any more or less than someone who reads it in three months, or three years.

Only the sequence of the words must remain inviolate. We can change everything about a text but the words themselves and the order they appear in. The literary experience does not lie in any one moment of perception, or any physical contact with a material object (even less in the “possession” of handsome masterpieces lined up on our bookshelves), but in the movement of the mind through a sequence of words from beginning to end. More than any other art form it is pure mental material, as close as one can get to thought itself. Memorized, a poem is as surely a piece of literature in our minds as it is on the page. If we say the words in sequence, even silently without opening our mouths, then we have had a literary experience—perhaps even a more intense one than a reading from the page. It’s true that our owning the object—War and Peace or Moby Dick—and organizing these and other classics according to chronology and nation of origin will give us an illusion of control: as if we had now “acquired” and “digested” and “placed” a piece of culture. Perhaps that is what people are attached to. But in fact we all know that once the sequence of words is over and the book closed what actually remains in our possession is very difficult, wonderfully difficult to pin down, a richness (or sometimes irritation) that has nothing to do with the heavy block of paper on our shelves.

The e-book, by eliminating all variations in the appearance and weight of the material object we hold in our hand and by discouraging anything but our focus on where we are in the sequence of words (the page once read disappears, the page to come has yet to appear) would seem to bring us closer than the paper book to the essence of the literary experience. Certainly it offers a more austere, direct engagement with the words appearing before us and disappearing behind us than the traditional paper book offers, giving no fetishistic gratification as we cover our walls with famous names. It is as if one had been freed from everything extraneous and distracting surrounding the text to focus on the pleasure of the words themselves. In this sense the passage from paper to e-book is not unlike the moment when we passed from illustrated children’s books to the adult version of the page that is only text. This is a medium for grown-ups.

[Photo Credit: Digital Journal]

Here’s an ESPN report from the Red Sox training camp:

“When I look at the program we devised, I don’t think of it as tough. But it seems it’s different because a lot of people are frowning. I just asked them to give (it) a few days,” Valentine said, according to The Boston Globe.

“We all know that nobody likes change except for those who are making other people change to do what they want them to do. I happen to be one of those guys who likes change because guys are doing what I want them to do,” Valentine said, according to the report. “I would bet there will be 100 guys who won’t really like it because it’s change for them. But they’ll get used to it.”

…”Everyone says (spring training) is too long. I think that’s baloney,” Valentine said. “To get guys really ready, I think everyone’s working the deadline to get a starter with 30 innings and five (starts). The numbers just don’t compute.”

Ten Hut.