Balls And Strikes

An experiment with a motif: random sports thoughts, labeled as elements of a 'pitch count.' Too obvious, perhaps, but then, maybe that's a good theory for life: write like no one's reading.

BALL ONE: Here's an excerpt from an article in World Soccer, concerning the original Ronaldo--not the newer model from Portugal--and his successful return to Brazilian League soccer:

"But almost a decade and a half in Europe has reduced his tolerance for some of the more informal aspects of Brazilian organisation. In May he was critical as the podium caught fire when his club received the Sao Paulo state championship trophy."

What a prima donna.

STRIKE ONE: Michael Phelps' coach, Bob Bowman, reacted sternly after Phelps lost a race--and a world record--to a German wearing a polyurethane bodysuit that swimming's international governing body has voted to outlaw sometime next year. Bowman talked about encouraging Michael to boycott international events until this swimsuit is banned, implying that such technological elements ruin everything.

Losing Phelps would cost organizers lots of money, so it is an effective threat, whatever your position on Swimsuitgate might be.

Nevertheless, I can't help but picturing Bowman as a spoiled kid announcing he's going to 'take my swimmer and go home.'

It's also an ironic development when you consider the controversy over the Nike-designed LZR suit Phelps wore in Beijing--and which he is contractually obligated (there's that money motif again) to keep wearing, which prevents him from trying these other suits.

BALL TWO: Considering the potential effects of Brett Favre's summer-long flirtation with and eventual rejection of former rivals, the Vikings, one is tempted to think it was all orchestrated by Green Bay and Favre to rattle and destabilize Minnesota. All that talk by the Packers last year of not letting Favre un-retire to sign with Minnesota, the mediocre season with the Jets, it was all a prelude to keeping Minnesota on tenterhooks right up to training camp, telling quarterbacks Tavaris Jackson and Sage Rosenfels that they weren't necessarily first- and second-choice for the position. And now there are even rumors that the Vikings might turn to just-released ex-con Michael Vick in the wake of being spurned by Favre, which would pretty much slam the door on Brad Childress's talk of building a team without character issues.

It proves how loyal a Green Bay son Favre really is, that he let his name be dragged in the mud for being wishy-washy all these months, just to screw over the Vikings one last time. Clearly those snow-bound, apple-cheeked Wisconsin natives have read their Machiavelli.

Baseball '09, Volume XI: Night Baseball

Night baseball deserves a quiet night. Or, barring that, a good beer or two, clear skies, a minimum of chilly breezes, and a portion of irony.

So last night was successful.

The Giants were playing the nondescript Pirates of Pittsburgh. Nondescript is not really fair, perhaps, except that their starting pitcher was Charlie Morton, whom I believe they got in a trade with Atlanta for their last remaining star outfielder, so I knew nothing about him, and let's face it: Charlie Morton is a fairly nondescript name. The Pirates have traded several of their stars this year, and two remaining stars, Jack Wilson and Freddy Sanchez, did not play last night--both were traded today, Wilson to Seattle and Sanchez all the way down the hall to the Giants' clubhouse, which ties in to the irony which will be discussed later. The upshot was that I really didn't know much about any of the Pirates, except that they are youthful and have collected some promising young batters.

Maybe it was the quality of light, or maybe it was the relatively sparse attendance, but there was something kind of tired about the atmosphere in the early stages of the game. Even the grass seemed a little faded; I suppose that could be a good metaphor for the progress of a baseball season through the heat of July and the mid-season stages, if I were so inclined as to look for elaborately picturesque metaphors. I am so inclined, of course.

Or maybe it was a sense of resignation from the crowd after Barry Zito's first pitch was lashed for a double, and the Pirates quickly had a 1-0 lead.

But if there is one thing distinctive I've noticed in the games I've seen Zito pitch this year, other than the fact that his pant legs are tucked into his high black socks, which is very distinctive during the high leg kick of his windup, it is that Zito will keep you on the edge of your seat and worried, even when he is pitching quite solidly. This is barring the few games in which he has been hammered; nevertheless, he is better than his 6-10 record indicates, even if he hasn't exactly been worth the $126 million we paid him.

And for today's delicious bit of irony, consider the case of Eugenio Velez, who has been up and down between the majors and minors for the last couple of years, and was up from the minors to fill in at second base, presumably while the Giants worked a trade for more offense from that position, a trade that would result in Freddy Sanchez. In the meantime, last night was Ryan Garko's debut with the Giants, and he went 0-4, which is not unexpected for his first night in a new league. However, what was unexpected was for Velez to provide 66.6% of the Giants' offense on the night, whacking a solo homer in the second and driving in Fred Lewis in the 6th inning--Velez also scored the only run of the Giants' extra-inning win this afternoon, being driven in by the once-again-so-aptly-named Randy Winn.

The Giants did annoy me again by stranding so many runners, as they so often do, as we all so often do to the ones who love us, akin to a ship passing stranded swimmers while still having plenty of life-preservers to go around, but they executed perfectly in a couple key moments: Fred Lewis singling, stealing second, and coming around to score on Velez' double; Randy Winn playing a perfect sacrifice bunt to move Andres Torres to third base for Pablo Sandoval to drive in with the winning run in the 7th; and Sandoval taking off from first on the pitch to facilitate a perfect hit-and-run with Bengie Molina lacing a single to center field--they didn't score on this play, but it was unexpected, because Sandoval is nicknamed Kung Fu Panda in part, I think, because he doesn't look like a speed demon on the bases.

All in all, a satisfying 3-2 victory at home, even if $8 dollars for a bottle of Anchor Steam and $7.50 for a softball-sized chicken sandwich seems to be approaching airport-level pricing for food.

Baseball '09, Volume X: The Trade

Trades. The shifting of a reality. One day, a player is not playing for you; the next day, he is, and the narrative is changed.

It isn't to say that the future is changed; once a trade is made, a potential future without the player no longer matters, no longer exists, alternative history novelists and quantum mechanics be damned.

I can't say that with a straight-face; of course the other futures still matter. Sci-fi alt-histories are sweet.

There is a little shock of excitement to see the trade rumors begin to fly, to see which ones come true and which do not pan out. I can't possibly explain why this appeals, except to refer to the larger scope of the appeal of baseball, the strategies of team-building or the quest for instant success, the allocation and expenditure of resources, depending on whether your goals are short- or long-term. Economists might find much to love in this.

And on a more visceral level, when your team makes a big change, you can't help but think happy thoughts and that surely the new guy will be the next coming of Will Clark, Willie Mays, and Christy Mathewson all rolled into one. Unless your team is Oakland, and then you think Well, there goes Matt Holliday. Here come three more prospects. Guess we'll wait until 2011 again.

The Giants needed some sort of momentum shift today. Coming off the All-Star break, we went 3-7 and fell two games behind the Rockies in the wild card race, losing 2 of 3 in Colorado over the weekend.

Today it was announced the Giants traded minor league pitcher Scott Barnes for Ryan Garko, a power-hitting first baseman from the Indians who played his college ball in Stanford. He will play his first game for the Giants tomorrow night, and it just so happens I have club level tickets, so stay tuned for a report.

I don't know much about Garko, but I like what I hear. Young, good hitter, the possibility of signing him to a longer term contract--I would hate for him to be a half-year rental, because I don't think we are quite close enough to World Series caliber to make a deal for a hired gun, as it were. Besides, look at how Holliday the hired gun worked out for Oakland; he failed to clean up that town so was shipped out into the sunset.

The interesting thing is that we have a prospect, Jesus Guzman, tearing up the minor leagues with his bat. Apparently we decided a guy named Jesus was not our savior for this season. Garko is older, more polished, apparently better defensively.

Plus, everyone knows Buster Posey is going to be our savior next year, and it would be selfish to expect more than two saviors on one team, Tim Lincecum being another messianic figure.

In any case, this trade either gives us the time to develop Travis Ishikawa or Jesus Guzman further in the protective shadow of Ryan Garko--assuming he proves capable of casting said shadow--or possibly using Guzman as trade bait for further help, possibly in the pitching rotation that has shown vulnerability behind Lincecum and Matt Cain, our two all-conquering All-Stars. Ishikawa would not be trade bait; I could see Guzman being attractive to teams looking for hitting.

But more importantly, we are buyers, not sellers, before the July 31st trade deadline. That in itself is exciting, because the Giants are trying to improve. That feels like personal validation.

This is the time to decide which way the team and the season go. Seriously, at this point, things could go either way; we could challenge for a playoff spot, or we could fade. There have been great memories so far, and more hope and expectation than I predicted before the season.

I'm looking forward to watching the rest of the narrative.

Baseball '09, Installment 2

The next set of installments from my chronicle of the baseball season, brought here to consolidate my sports writings. You're welcome.

Volume IV: MEMORIAL DAY

Volume 5: Radio Edition Mark ii

Volume VI: Noah's Ark

Intermission

Volume VII

Volume VIIb

Volume VIII

Volume IX

Sounder Fury

Sports are often tales told by idiots. For example, Plaxico Burress--whose name, by the way, runs a gamut of possible spellings on Google--the Giants wide receiver, illegally concealed a handgun in his pants one night when going out partying and shot himself in the leg, possibly ruining his career, and definitely ruining his street cred, or so I would assume, unless shooting yourself in the leg actually burnishes your street cred. Totally lacking in street cred myself, I don't know how it accumulates.

These extreme cases are the exceptions to the rule that any attention is good attention, a maxim that most of the sporting world follows.

Consider yesterday's Major League Soccer match between the white-clad Chicago Fire and the Seattle Sounders in their fluorescent-green uniforms. The game intrigued me, because it would be the first time I would see Freddie Ljungberg plying his trade in the U.S. I have long been an admirer of his work ethic since he played for Arsenal; nevertheless, I was disappointed by some of his actions that followed a great play.

I turned on the game in the second half, in time to see Ljungberg collect a ball in a dangerous position in the field and accelerate past the Chicago defense, heading for a clear lane to the goal. A reckless, desperate tackle by Chicago defender John Thorrington, who had already received a yellow card, tripped Ljungberg and resulted in Thorrington's ejection.

You would think the referee's willingness to issue cards would have been well-established at that point. However, three minutes later, Ljungberg gets the ball again at the top of the 18 yard penalty area, taps the ball past C.J. Brown, perhaps a bit harder than he intended, and as he goes by Brown, drops to the turf dramatically.

If there was any contact, it was very minimal. The referee felt there was not, and issued a yellow card to Ljungberg for unsporting behavior for the dive, and from my view of the replay, I would concur with the decision.

In sports, of course, the notion is "Anything goes, so let's have a go at the referee." Ljungberg got in the referee's face, clearly arguing against the yellow card, arguing to such an extent that a second yellow was produced, and Ljungberg was ejected.

The TV analysts were sharply critical, saying the ref was playing way too big a role in the game. This argument has always pissed me off. I'm biased, having refereed for several years myself, and having had my father, who also refereed, once pushed by an angry/unacceptable/jackass fan/father, but still. That's ludicrous.

Is it possible that the referee did not have to red card Freddie? Yes, it is possible. Referees are fallible and get things wrong. But according to the letter of the law, dissent by word or action is a yellow card offense, in and of itself, and, depending on what Freddie said to the referee, it could have qualified as abusive language or gestures, which merit a straight red card. It certainly did not look friendly to see him getting in the referee's face on national TV.

The thing that caught my attention, though, was the attention the TV paid as Ljungberg walked off the field. It appeared that he was certainly playing to the home crowd, exhorting them to anger over the exile of their hero, exactly like a gladiator playing to the crowd.

Obviously sports aren't the perfect metaphor for wars. Maybe they are better suited for the 'bread and circuses' atmosphere of the gladiatorial ring. Outrage and controversy generates attention, and attention sells tickets and advertisements.

There is a two-faced god of the appeal of sports. Under the auspices of the smiling face, there are skills and drama and competitive narratives; for the frowning face of chaos, there are scandals and disputes and ire, the 'kill the ref' side. You have incidents like David Beckham being fined $1000 for a confrontation with a fan. $1000 is nothing to David Beckham. Sure, Major League Soccer couldn't have fined him on a separate scale from their normal index, even though that amount is meaningless to him, but I think the attention garnered by the controversy over Beckham, for better or for worse, has the potential to bring the league greater revenue by far.

Mixed martial arts are only the most blatant example of sports as gladiatorial circus, where you have Brock Lesnar vilified by his conduct after a recent fight, which sure seems to have sparked a lot of attention.

Sports are definitely an opiate of the masses. Don't get me wrong; this is not necessarily a bad thing. People need distraction; people need stories to feel good about. The surging energy of a home crowd at a dramatic moment is a rush unlike any other. But a lot of the controversy is sound and fury, signifying nothing but an attention grab.

In this regard, sports are entertainment, pure and simple. The sort of controversy generated by missed calls or bad behavior on the playing field is very similar to, say, the controversy over the voting on So You Think You Can Dance, where in the later rounds, who stays and who goes is based entirely on popular vote. (Yes, I watch So You Think You Can Dance, and it is absurd that Janette was eliminated. People are idiots.)

It might be said that to grow interest in a product or a game, be it sports or dancing--and both soccer and the various artistic forms of dance that SYTYCD highlights are deserving of interest--a certain degree of marketing is needed to supplement the content. A pragmatist would argue that you have to take a bit of the bad with the good, and there is a lot of bad in some of the anger that is generated by such trivial things as a player being ejected from a game--yes, I say trivial, despite the large amounts of money that can be at stake in a game.

Entertainment can be simply a distraction; for example, look no farther than the travesty that Michael Jackson's death, sad as it was, supplanted the protests in Iran at the front and center of our attention.

These sorts of controversy in sport can be good, if they spark interest and thus grow the game; but it can all be a bit absurd; and we haven't even discussed the absurd money Real Madrid and the Yankees have thrown at various free agents in these economic times, moves that could backfire in the long run by pissing off people who have lost their jobs and can't afford to go to games anymore because Cristiano Ronaldo needs his 100,000 pounds a week in salary.

Gladiatorial contests were much more affordable for the public when they just killed the losers, because the dead don't need paychecks and bonuses.

Allegiance

Imagine reading The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy with no Arthur Dent. Or imagine watching Star Wars with no Han Solo: the classic edition, of course, because Han shot first.

Anyway, this is the conundrum I face going into this year's English Premier League soccer season. My favorite team, Newcastle United, was relegated at the end of last season, meaning they finished in the bottom three positions in the standings, which means they have to drop down to a lower league this year. This is as if the Athletics or the Giants were to play so abysmally that they were told to go down to Triple AAA en masse to sort things out.

This could be a useful way to deal with the Athletics, actually.

True fans, of course, would devote themselves loyally to following Newcastle's progress in the English League Championship (an ironic name, given it is technically the Second Division. The English League One, obviously, is the Third Division. Got it? Good). Only fair-weather fans or fans of negotiable affection would look to pick a new favorite team.

Well, pass me my sun block and street-walking shoes, because that's exactly what I'm going to do.

One would think that I would be satisfied with Liverpool. Liverpool has always been, if not my #1 favorite team, then probably # 1a. Liverpool gave us the Beatles. Michael Owen burst onto the world stage while wearing Liverpool Red. Liverpool won the Champions League in Turkey in 2005 in stunning fashion. My friend James is from Liverpool.

For some reason, though, this doesn't really satisfy. I think that because Liverpool has been consistently coming up just short of winning the Premiership, always in that mix of the Top Four teams, never quite breaking through, I am becoming somewhat weary of pinning a narrative of the season on their fortunes. Newcastle has been up and down, but at least there was uncertainty.

This isn't to say that I won't pull for Liverpool. But cheering for Liverpool is like rooting for that woman you have known for a long time and love as a friend, because you respect her and have lots of affection for her. I need another team to leave me feeling giddy.

There are 20 teams in the Premiership. I've eliminated a few of the teams as being unacceptable: Hull City and Stoke, last year's newcomers who managed to survive, because they in essence shoved Newcastle out; this year's newcomers, Burnley, Wolverhampton, and Birmingham, because I just don't care: Birmingham would be closest, but it's Birmingham. I just can't find it within myself to care about Birmingham. Not that I've ever really been there. For me, Birmingham is simply a transit hub; I would change train lines there on my way from London to Aberystwyth, and it is through where we flew to and from Mallorca.

From the rest, I've culled it down to six candidates, including Liverpool. Forthwith, a presentation of the attractions and repulsions of each club. The chief requirements in this utterly scientific process were location, the role of Americans, and talismanic figures.

And at the end, a poll!

Here we go, excluding Liverpool, and with apologies to my British friends who may actually like some insulted towns and teams:

1) Arsenal. Location is key for Arsenal. I love London, and it is one of the only British cities with soccer teams in which I have spent much time--London gives this list Arsenal, Fulham, and West Ham, and Chelsea and Tottenham were near-misses.

There is something inherently dignified about Arsenal. I call it the Hornby Effect. Nick Hornby loves Arsenal, as described in Fever Pitch, and anything Nick Hornby says has to be right. Arsenal has always seemed like perhaps the quieter older brother of the flashier Man United or Chelsea, though not without charismatic stars like Cesc Fabregas, and before that, Patrick Vieira, Thierry Henry, and Dennis Bergkamp.

However, Arsenal seems to be potentially entering a tailing-away period, possibly less-well-equipped to keep up with Chelsea and Manchester and Liverpool at the top.

2) Aston Villa. Aston Villa suffers from the location question, playing in Birmingham, although with the partially redemptive fact that I think I could see their stadium from the train when I passed through, and that's just cool.

Aston Villa has been mid-table most of the time I've followed the Premiership, but they do have not one, but two American goal-keepers in Brad Friedel and Brad Guzan. This is important to me, because I feel like every American signed to play with a European team is like a small validation of me as an American soccer fan. I take my victories where I can get them.

3) Everton. Everton is led by Tim Howard, the current number one American keeper, not to mention Tim Cahill, the Australian midfielder who intrigued me at the last World Cup.

But on the other hand, this is Everton, based in Liverpool, and I think that would be just wrong to cheer for both Liverpool and Everton. It would be like rooting for both the Packers and the Vikings, or both the Red Sox and the Yankees.

4) Fulham. I actually have a personal connection with Fulham. My grandmother's cousin Colin who lives in London is a big Fulham fan. I've walked past Craven Cottage--Fulham's stadium. Fulham is a mid-sized club that has played hard to stay in the Premiership year after year. And Fulham has a history of welcoming Americans, from former players Brian McBride and Carlos Bocanegra to current players Clint Dempsey and Eddie Johnson. It helps to root for a team when there are specific names to root for as well.

But is there actual hope for Fulham to win great things? As a fair-weather fan, I'm allowed to have certain expectations for a return on my emotional investment.

Before I list the final candidate, I need to say this: when Michael Owen signed with Newcastle a couple years back, I was joyful. Michael Owen is the talisman for me who followed Alan Shearer as my icon. Matching Owen with Newcastle was the best of all possible worlds, especially when Alan Shearer was brought in as manager in an ultimately-futile effort to save the Magpies from relegation.

Please bear this in mind when I mention 5) Manchester United.

I know. This is like rooting for the Yankees. They always win and have tramloads of money. I have rooted for them in the Champions League when they bore the English banner, but otherwise, they have always been the (Red) Devil you had to root against, that your team had to get past in order to win the league. I feel almost dirty listing them as a possibility.

But they signed Michael Owen. Plus, they sold Cristiano Ronaldo, who always amazed and annoyed me at the same time.

So now I'm torn. Do I make a deal with the (Red) Devils, knowing that hopefully Newcastle will be right back up in the top-flight next year, making it a one year Faustian bargain?

Decisions, decisions. Time for a poll. Cast your vote, if you care, as to which team I should follow.

Baseball '09

Let the games begin. I love writing about sports. Not everyone loves reading about sports. Don't ask me why. If everyone were rational, this wouldn't be an interesting world to inhabit.

The point is, I'm going to create different foci for my blogs. This one will be my sports playground, where I can write my biased opinions and musings about that particular paradigm of interest. Mostly, it will be baseball and soccer, hence the title, which plays on a pun on 'pitch.'

To start, a collection of links to some of my posts so far this year concerning my project of attending as many baseball games as possible, at least one a month. Why did I set myself this project? Because it's baseball, obviously.

Volume I

Volume II

Random Baseball Thoughts

Volume III

The rest will follow, as one pitch follows another, and as red cards follow Mexico when they play the US.