Baseball, Life, and Other Stuff

Multi-Baseball Tasking

Though I am posting this on Wednesday morning as usual, I am blogging here on Tuesday evening at a veritable baseball smorgasbord.  I have Charlie Dodge and Andrew Kipps on the computer doing the New Market Rebels' webcast, while alternating between the Orioles/A's game and the College World Series on TV.  As for the Orioles, they enter the game as the hottest team in baseball as they are on a season-high four game winning streak . . . and just had a runner thrown out at the plate in the 1st.  As for the CWS, I'm rooting for those southern boys from South Carolina to beat those dirty hatted Bruins from UCLA.

Weird moment:  I heard the ball pop the catcher's mitt in New Market while watching it hit the catcher's mitt at the exact same moment out in Omaha.

Rebel fans might be interested to know that South Carolina's starter is named Mike Roth.  No, it's not that Mike Roth.

Every game gives you something you've never seen before.  UCLA's Beau Amaral just got caught leaving second base too early, which helped squelch a would-be Bruin rally in the 1st.

The Rebels are playing Winchester tonight; former Royal Kevin Kouzmanoff just flied out to end the 3rd for Oakland.

Having a chance to just sit here and listen to Charlie, rather than working a game with him, gives me an even greater appreciation of what a good eye for detail he possesses and what a pleasant and professional manner he has.

Blake Cooper, last night's winner for South Carolina threw 136 pitches in his 8 innings.  MLB managers take note--his arm is still attached.

The Orioles are playing much more like the coldest team in the game.  They've gotten the lead-off hitter on in the first 4 innings and haven't scored one of them yet.

According to the ESPN crawl, someone took a shot in a World Cup game.  Both announcers fainted.

If the NCAA insists on allowing metal bats, could someone invent a bat that would emit a wood sound when it strikes a ball?  That ping is more grating than a hip-hop ring tone.

The 5th straight lead off hitter for the Orioles reached base.  This one scored, but the Orioles could not score another run in the inning despite having 1st and 3rd and none out.  The Orioles and the Rebels look awfully similar in this regard this year.  And I do mean awful.

UCLA has broken through in the 5th, scoring their first run in these finals and they lead the Gamecocks 1-0.

MASN flashed a fascinating note:  On this day in a 1913 contest between the Reds and the Cubs, only one ball was used in the entire game.

Coco Crisp just made a great catch in center field for the A's to save a run in the bottom of the 7th.  What a great name for a ballplayer.  Or a cereal.

The A's have 9 hits as we play in the 8th and none were exactly scorchers.  I've seen members of the Temperance Union hit the bottle harder than the A's have hit the ball tonight.

Does this sound familiar?  South Carolina has had runners on base in every inning tonight through the 6th and hasn't scored yet.

Former Staunton Brave Luke Scott is up with a man on and one out in the 8th.  I predict a home run to tie the game. . . . ALMOST!  A double off the right field wall to drive in Nick Markakis.

Why is it when you're watching two games at once, that commercials are often on at the same time, far more than it seems the odds would suggest.

Matt Weiters is pinch hitting.  Should I be so bold as to make a second prediction of a game-tying single to left?  No.  He walked. . . . Of course; the Orioles strand two and trail after 8, 3-2.  SC has stranded 10 runners through 7 innings.  At least the Rebels are adding runs when given the opportunity tonight.

UCLA has an old-fashioned Brooklyn Dodger B on their hats.  That makes sense.  U C L A would stretch from ear to ear.

I've been watching the CWS and I've just switched back to the Orioles only to find that they've given back the run in the top of the 9th that they just scored in the bottom of the 8th.  Koji Uehara, which means "Disabled List" in Japanese, has surrendered the marker.

South Carolina strands another runner in the 7th.  The Orioles have stranded 13 through 8.  They've mustered only 5 hits.

Winchester has scored 4 runs in the top of the 9th to pull to within 2 runs at 7-5 . . . but Tony Hearrell has just recorded the final out--finally.  The Orioles are no longer the hottest team in baseball, losing to Oakland 4-2.  This occurred within 10 seconds of the end of the New Market game.  Meanwhile, the CWS is in the top of the 8th.

South Carolina has its lead off hitter on in the 8th.  Is this one of those games in which one team leads and leads and leads and then loses the game in the blink of an eye at the end?  I'm feelin' it. . . .  UCLA just tried the old fake throw into center field, but the SC runner on 2nd saw it all the way.  One of the things that makes college baseball so entertaining. . . . The game is tied on an error after a great at-bat by Bobby Haney.  It was a tough play. . . . There are still streaks of sunlight in the Nebraska sky beyond the outfield fence at 9:35 their time.  Rosenblatt Stadium is a beautiful park. . . . Tie game heading into the 9th.

The Bruins' first baseman, whose error allowed the tying run to score is being shown in the dugout with an ice bag on his right hand.  Punching the bench undoes an error, right?  Of course, that's just my maturity talking.  When I was his age, I would have reached behind me, picked myself up, and thrown myself down the dugout steps.

An error on SC and now a single falls just in front of the center fielder with two out. . . .  SC closer Matt Price has issued an ugly, four-pitch walk to the 9th place hitter and the Bruins have the bases loaded.  The pressure is visible . . . Niko Gallego, son of former Athletic Mike Gallego is at the plate.  Strikeout on 3 pitches.  Price recovered his poise nicely.

Meanwhile, both schools football coaches are in the stands.  Yes, that was Steve Spurrier cheering Price's strikeout.

Here's another great thing about college baseball.  Only one commercial between innings.

Dean Espy, the Bruins' first baseman has had to come out of the game with his bad hand.  Now the Bruins second baseman is at third, the third baseman is at first, and there's a new second baseman.  Will the defensive rearrangement come back to haunt UCLA?  Not in the bottom of the 9th; we're heading to extra innings.

While waiting for the 11th inning to begin, it has struck me:  What the heck does FIFA stand for anyway?

Lead-off walks.  SC's first batter in the bottom of the 11th, Scott Wingo, has walked and taken second on a wild pitch.  Dan Klein, the Bruins closer and the Orioles 3rd round draft pick, has now thrown around 70 pitches and is approaching starter totals.  He's clearly tiring. . . .  UCLA's new first baseman just saved the game for now by making a great pick of a low throw on a sacrifice. . . . South Carolina has won it on a single to right by Whit Merrifield.

I'm just short of 5 hours of baseball tonight, having started at 7:00.  As I type this, my DVD clock, which runs a tad fast says 12:00.  It's been fun sharing the evening with you folks!

A Mo-mentous Week

A friend of mine retired last week, the day before his 87th birthday.  Mo Weber buttoned his jersey, pulled on his stirrups, and bloused his pants for the last time this past Wednesday.  For 65 summers, he had gone to work, teaching young men the game of baseball.  To see him discuss the game, however, is to realize that work is not the appropriate word.  No, it would be much more appropriate to say that he answered his calling to teach the game that is his passion.

How many moments comprise those 65 seasons?  Mo can recount a phenomenal number of them.  Ultimately, however, as in all things, the final moment arrived.  Passion cannot overcome 95 degree afternoons behind the batting cage and long rides in a bus with no air-conditioning to Covington and Haymarket and other points up and down the Shenandoah Valley.  Not when you're about to turn 87.  And not when the game excited you so, and the players meant so much, that even at 87, you couldn't sit down in the dugout, but would instead pace up and down offering encouragement.

Many Rebel fans were saddened, even dismayed by the news of Mo's retirement.  Not I.  For now, we get Mo's company in the stands.  The grandstand is now a throne and baseball courtiers will slide across their bleacher seats to listen in on a lifetime of baseball knowledge, soaking up Mo's passion for the game and compassion for the young men who play it.

Ironically, retiring as a coach has allowed Mo to stay in the game.  With no 5 o'clock batting practice to attend and no long bus rides, Mo has energy enough to be a fan. 

I'll miss standing in the afternoon sun behind the cage, listening to Mo instruct and encourage his hitters.  I'll miss the runs to Subway which we routinely took once batting practice ended and the other team took the field. . .  But then, I have a long list of things that I miss . . .

Happy birthday, Mo, enjoy your retirement, and welcome to the stands. 

Photo courtesy of Melissa Dodge.  More of Melissa's photos from Mo's birthday celebration will soon appear on the Rebels' website.

Straighten Up

The College World Series has been an exciting affair so far, topped by Texas Christian University's come-from-behind 11-7 victory over Florida State on Wednesday night, a game that eliminated the Seminoles.  Naturally, I was rooting for Florida State since they have two former Valley Leaguers on the squad in the person of starting third baseman Sherman Johnson (Covington) and catcher Parker Brunelle (Harrisonburg).

The Seminoles' loss does not bother me; what bothers me is the way TCU's Matt Purke wears his hat.  Perhaps you've seen the goggled freshman pitcher with his baseball cap slanted some 30 degrees or so to the right.  There's a reason it's called a "uniform," kid.  Teams have uniforms to signify that they are, indeed, teams and not individuals.  That sideways hat may as well have the intitials "MP" on it rather than "TCU," because it's clear that Matt Purke is all about Matt Purke and not about Texas Christian University.  A perfect swing, a high leg kick, a graceful glide across the outfield says "I have style."  Wearing your hat sideways just says "Look at me."  Why not put your jersey on backwards, Matt, and really get people to look at you?

Interestingly Rule 9 Section 2 h on p108 of the NCAA rule book states that the pitcher shall not "wear jewelry or clothing items that a batter or umpire considers distracting."  Let's see if any batters make an appeal to this rule as the tournament moves forward.

Then, too, as Al has pointed out, one of UCLA's pitchers appears to be wearing a faded green rag with a brim, but upon closer inspection, it is a ratty old hat.  That's a disgrace to the uniform, too, but perhaps he is afraid to wash the luck out of this old cap.  If that's the case, I'll give that guy a pass.

World Cup Snooze Fest

The World Cup is boring.  There, I said it.  Now admit it to yourself.  Any sport in which a 2-0 final is considered a blow-out is boring.  During the College World Series, one of the World Cup updates on the crawl at the bottom of the screen noted that one shot from inside the penalty box hit the cross bar.  This would be like having a crawl on the bottom of the World Cup coverage that would read, "Albert Pujols hit a long foul ball that was almost a home run."

World Cup soccer players are so good that they don't bother to defend one another; they just kind of watch each other until everyone catches his breath and then someone kicks it down the field. Occasionally, one side or the other manages a corner kick, a feat that sends the announcers into paroxysms of excitement so great that some actually faint, while others throw themselves prostrate before a Pele bobble head.  This Babble of Joy continues even after the corner kick is not converted into a goal, which it never is.

This is not to say that the World Cup is not entertaining.  When for example, a blue player brushes against a red player, the red player often plummets to the ground, writhing in pain, grabbing first one shin and then another, because he can't quite remember which one is injured; then the coach runs out, the trainer runs out, the injured player pulls out half of his hair and finally, just before the surgeons come out to amputate the damaged limb, the red player gets up, takes his position, and play continues.  You won't see performances like that from a collection of Tony Award winners.

Then, too, there is the highly entertaining aspect of which set of fans will endanger themselves the most by tearing apart the bleachers on which they are standing or rushing the chain link fence surrounding the pitch en masse until it begins to look like a people colander.  I am waiting for a team to actually convert a corner kick, which will be the first time this has occurred in the last 12 centuries of soccer at which point I have no doubt that the defending team's fans will actually pull their own heads off their bodies, juggle them for 5 minutes on their feet and thighs, and then kick them onto the field in disgust.  Cleaning up all those rolling heads ought to add 5 or 6 minutes of stoppage time.  Of course, I'll just be catching that on SportsCenter.  Even with fans pulling off their own heads, the World Cup is too boring to actually sit down and watch.

Safe at Home in the "W" Column

I had a great time this past week, signing copies of Safe at Home:  A Season in the Valley at the two "W" franchises in the Valley League, Winchester and Waynesboro.  It was a real pleasure talking to fans and the parents of players.

Jim and Karen Shipp, owners of the Winchester Royals were gracious hosts as were Chris and Crystal Graham, uber-volunteers who perform many tasks for the Waynesboro Generals.  The Grahams, owners of Augusta Free Press, also happen to be the publishers of Safe at Home.  Chris does the webcast for the Generals and it was fun sitting in with him for an inning.  The only problem with my visits to Winchester and Waynesboro is that New Market lost big in both games!

I'm happy to say that I'll be returning to Winchester on July 15th for another signing.

On July 7th, I'll be appearing on TalkRadio WRNR AM 790 in Martinsburg from 9:00-9:30 talking Valley League baseball.  Tune in if you're in the Eastern Panhandle or click on their link and listen in live!

On a program note of my own, I'll post again tomorrow (if I remember)--on the World Cup--rather than Wednesday, as we will be in Salisbury, MD Wednesday morning with Sarah, for Salisbury University's freshman orientation day.

Ode to Wally Bunker

The year 1964, when I was 7 years old, was a landmark for me.  In February of that year, I saw the Beatles for the first time on my grandmother's 13" black and white television; a set so full of vacuum tubes and other hardware that it weighed as much as our big screen TV does now.  In September, I became smitten for the very first time, over twins, actually.  I always kind of liked Joanne Pokorny more than Vicki Pokorny and on one morning in December before class started, I knew what it was like to have someone smitten with me when Joanne walked up to my desk and, without a word, placed a "Gino Marchetti Day" button in front of me, turned, and left without saying a word.  The future Hall of Famer was always my favorite Colt.

In between the two winters of 1964, there was Wally Bunker.

Bunker was one year out of high school and all of 19 when he recorded a victory for every year of his life against only 5 losses that year, and led the Baltimore Orioles to within 2 games of their first pennant.  Bunker was to Baltimore baseball that year what Stephen Strasburg is to Washington baseball this year, only without the advanced hype.  So taken were Oriole fans with their young phenom that prior to the June 17th game, that is to say 46 years ago last evening, the pitching mound was renamed "Baltimore's Bunker Hill" and christened with dirt from the actual Bunker Hill in Boston.

The 1964 Rookie Pitcher of the Year hurt his arm towards the end of that season.  He would win only 41 more games over the next 6 1/2 years before calling it quits at age 26.

Bunker had one more moment of glory in him and I was there to witness it.  In game three of the 1966 World Series, he threw a 6-hit shutout against the Dodgers.  Bunker was 21.  The Oriole hurler who had shutout Los Angeles the previous game was all of 20.  That was Jim Palmer.  Dave McNally, who would throw a third consecutive shutout for the four game sweep, was the old man of the group at 24.

Those three guys in particular looked young on their baseball cards, unlike some players of the day who were 30 and looked to be about the same age as my great uncle.  I figured that I would become 19 or 20 soon enough and I would join Wally Bunker, who would still be 19 of course, and the rest of the Orioles and we would have fun and win pennants forever. . . .Wally Bunker, a grandfather now at age 65 is indeed happy, an artist living in South Carolina according to Mike Klingaman's report in a Sunpaper's article from last year.

I suppose that the moment when adulthood truly begins is not when we comprehend our own mortality, but that moment of sudden awareness when we realize that nothing stays the same.  I became aware of the world in 1964, but it would take a few more years before I would learn that Wally Bunker was not going to pitch forever.

Some time after that, however, I learned that while yesterday is over, it is never gone.  Somewhere inside me, (for who knows where the heart files its memories?) the Beatles are new, first love is fresh, and Wally Bunker is still throwing his sinker under the bats of American League hitters.

Knowing that I was a huge fan, my cousin met Wally Bunker in a Baltimore restaurant and had him autograph this napkin in 1965.

Only in Baseball

Only in baseball.  Former Rebel player and current Rebel webcast color analyst, Jay Lively and I were discussing the interesting--or hilarious--things that baseball players will do to entertain themselves or to feed a superstition.  Jay, a former reliever, has been known to don a foam shark hat in order to insure good fortune when he played for New Market.  Then, of course, there's the relatively famous photo of the Rebel relievers, sitting in the bullpen, wearing plastic rain bonnets in order to insure a "rain of hits."  You never see a group of defensive backs on the sidelines wearing rain bonnets to appease the football gods and bring about a touchdown.  In fact, there are no football gods, but I digress.

At no time do ballplayers become more creative than during a rain delay and no rain delay performance that I've ever seen can top the one put on by Western Kentucky and Florida Atlantic during a recent delay.  Check this out.  This footage is absolutely hysterical and the "acts" were basically made up on the spot according to New Market Rebel and Western Kentucky Hilltopper, Brian Edelen.  That's Brian, second row, left seat on the roller coaster and it is he who is the sniper in the stands.  The Rebel right-hander told us that, in fact, there were several more skits that never made it onto the video as the delay lasted about an hour and half.  Of course, the best part of the video occurs at the end when a player and the FAU head coach analyze the rain delay antics in the same serious way with which they might have discussed the game itself.

Only in baseball.

Author or Writer?

I just read a most fascinating author biography that appeared in an on-line version of a literary journal.  It stated that the author was the winner of a writing prize, that she had received three fellowships, and was currently living in New York and working on a collection of short stories.  The bio then noted that the story that followed was her "first story accepted for print publication"!  How does one win prizes and fellowships as a writer if one never has anything published?  I think it is because we have an increasing number of authors in this country and fewer writers.

An "author" is someone who majors in English, gets a masters degree in creative writing, interns in a publishing house or at a newspaper, then gets a job teaching writing at a community college.  The "author" then submits stories and poems to magazines and literary journals run by other "authors."  They publish each other's stories, award each other prizes, and revel in the self-satisfaction of being an "artist."

A writer does stuff and then writes about it.  Mark Twain was a printer, a steamboat pilot, a miner, and a reporter.  He wrote about real people who did real things.

That's exactly the problem with the subject matter of most authors.  The only life they know is that of an author and so we get lots of stories and novels about introspective writers contemplating the world.  And don't get me started on most modern "poetry."  That stuff reads like a list of Boggle words and makes even less sense.

I've often heard it said that writers write.  I don't think that is quite accurate.  Authors write; writers do stuff and then write about it.

Summer . . .

. . . one of the most magical words in the English language.  Indeed, the last day of school--what a wonderful phrase!-- has arrived in most places.  Tuesday marked Washington County's special occasion and to me, these early days in June, before the 4th of July; heck, before actual summer was really even here were the best days of summer vacation.  Lightning bugs and long evenings; the first sleep out and the first sleepover;  endless games of "three flies in" and having the time to make a detailed study of every cloud that passed by on a given afternoon.

I am reminded of all this by five boys whom I saw yesterday.  Four were peddling with great purpose while the fifth was somehow standing on the bike behind his seated buddy.  (Boys instinctively perform feats that would drive the Director of OSHA apoplectic.)  In a right-hand turn lane at a busy intersection, the boys made the turn and spread out in the roadway, two abreast.  I was turning right as well and found myself stuck behind them, but instead of getting mad that these reckless kids were in my way, I could only smile and admire them.  For it was clear from the backpacks that they were wearing and from the earnestness with which they pedaled, that they were on the First Great Adventure of the summer.  They were headed Somewhere with real purpose and muchr excitement.

Perhaps one day 30 years from now, those five men, all of whom will be in their 40s will be together again and they will regale each other with well-told tales about one of the best days from one of the best summers of their lives. . . .  Take out such a memory, dear reader and hold it.  Hold it close to your heart from whence it came and then hold it up to the summer sun and watch the joy in it sparkle.

Then vow to create as many such memories as possible this summer.  If you do this, you will free Summer from its bonds of Spring and Autumn; it will become Eternal and the magic it contains will know no age.

More Closer Inanity

One day, although at the rate we're going, it will be one day next century, baseball will wake up to the nonsense of designating one pitcher as "the closer.  The latest illustration of this inanity is the annointing of Will Ohman as the closer for the Baltimore Orioles.  The lefty is the fourth pitcher so designated by the Birds, the first three having all landed on the disabled list.

Now, I like Ohman.  He's a good pitcher as his 19 strikeouts in 18.2 innings might suggest, but until annointed as the closer, he was the "left-handed specialist."  In other words, he was considered only good enough to retire left-handed hitters, a notion supported by the fact that he has racked up those 18.2 innings in 29 appearances.  In other words, he is not quite recording 2 outs per appearance meaning that he is being yanked from the game rather quickly.  How can someone be judged a "left-handed specialist" one day and then suddenly be good enough to be the closer--that is someone good enough to get three outs against three right-handed hitters if necessary--literally the next?  If anyone can explain the logic behind this thinking, please go immediately to the Comment section!

Except for a few guys such as Goose Gossage or Mariano Rivera, who have great stuff, but not the stamina for 9 innings, the pitchers in the bullpen are there for a reason:  They're not good enough to be starters!  Too often, the modern manager brings in from the bullpen a pitcher who is not as good as the pitcher he is removing from the mound.  This can be avoided by a simple shift in philosophy rather than in strategy.  Simply leave the starter in the game until it becomes clear that there's a reliever who is better than the guy currently in the game.  Then leave him in until it becomes clear that there's someone out there who's better than he is.

I'm sure we will revisit this topic again (and again) this summer.  In the meantime, perhaps someone could start a website, say "abolishthecloser.com" or something.

As for Will Ohman, the first chance he had to save a game came this past Sunday against the Red Sox.  He failed.