“Talkin’ Trapped Third Strike Pierzynski Josh Paul Blues”

Posted on by Doug Eddings · 4 Comments

I was umpirin’ in Chicago, workin’ hard behind the plate
The night was clear and cool, October 12 it was the date
‘Twas the White Sox and the Angels, vyin’ for th’ALCS
The score was one to one, the outcome anybody’s guess
And in the bottom of the ninth, A.J. Pierzynski at the plate
A curious thing happened which I now will relate

Escobar threw a low one and I made my third strike call
The ball was rolled back moundward by the catcher, ol’ Josh Paul
But A.J. he lit out for first because he had no doubt
That in his ears was never rung my battlecry, “Yer out!”
They said I raised my arm, but that just sounds like Angel panic
Hell everybody knows by now my famous strike mechanic

Now Sciocsia comes all steamin’ out of dugout number two
And he gives me quite an earful using words both foul and blue
I gave the man a listen, but my mind it was relaxed
Because I was convinced that I’d be backed up by the facts
The White Sox had a runner, and they went on to win
Cause up came Big Joe Crede and he drove that runner in

Now some will say I’m stupid or they’ll say that I am blind
Some will say I’m biased or that I had changed my mind
The hacks will say that umpiring’s the worst it’s ever been
But I don’t care because I know my conscience is quite clean
So call us morons, call us lazy cheap conniving crooks —
I made my call and that is all, the game is in the books

Doug Eddings has been a major league umpire for six years.

MMQB: Angels With Dirty Faces

Posted on by Peter King · 1 Comment

When the final out was recorded in Monday’s 5-3 Angels win over the Yankees, I looked over and saw Brian Cashman breathe a huge sigh of relief. “Finally feels good, eh, Brian?” I asked.

He jumped up, startled. “What? Oh, no! Steelers just went up on San Diego. They win this game, I’m 13-1 in my pick’em league this week.”

What can you say about Cashman that hasn’t already been said? He helped engineer a great Yankee dynasty. He won four World Series. He remained cool under pressure. Yet as the Yankees struggle for identity in the face of their fifth straight season without a win, Cashman is among the likely casualties; his contract up, the GM will not return in 2006.

Don’t believe the rumors about Cashman going to Oakland or Philadelphia, either; free of George Steinbrenner’s temper, he’ll almost certainly take a year off. Relax. Hit the links. Maybe even go to a few of those football games he loves so much. Bon voyage, Brian.

As for the Angels? They deserve every bit of their success. For all the talk about smallball, Moneyball, Ozzieball, and Buckyball, the defining moment of the AL playoffs so far may well be Darin Erstad’s full-extension dive to snag the last out of game three. This is an Angels team that isn’t afraid to ruin their uniforms. Maybe we should call it Dirtyball?

This Week’s Terrific Ten

1. St. Louis. Mike McGuire could use a guy like Jim Edmonds out there in the battlefield.
2. Chicago White Sox. If Ozzie Guillen’s enthusiasm was any more contagious, it’d be the bird flu.
3. Houston. Let me put it to you this way: 20 years from now, we’ll be talking about what Roger Clemens did on Sunday the way we talk about the moon landing.
4. Anaheim. I don’t know if they’ve got enough left in the tank, but that Ervin Santana is something special.
5. Boston. If Adam Vinatieri could only throw a slider.
6. Atlanta. Might as well pencil them in for NL East title #15. There’s no way Jeff Francoeur won’t be next year’s Derrek Lee – or at least, next year’s Marty Cordova.
7. New York. A-Rod in the bottom of the ninth in October is the opposite of clutch. Jeffrey Maier could have gotten out of that at-bat without hitting into a double play.
8. San Diego. Say this for Jake Peavy – he sincerely wanted the ball in game four. Now that’s a man.
9. Cleveland. They’ll be back and better than ever in 2006. Travis Hafner looks like he could take snaps for the Browns if the Trent Dilfer experiment doesn’t pan out (and it won’t).
10. Chicago Cubs. Pitchers and catchers report in just five months, North Siders. Till then, enjoy the beautiful new Soldier Field and the work of the fine barista Megan W. at the Wrigleyville Starbucks (and hey, Megan, easy on the acoustic Alanis!).

Ten Things I Think I Think:

1. I think “Curb Your Enthusiasm” is firing on all cylinders again. Welcome back to the big leagues, Larry David.
2a. I think the J.P. Losman era is finally over in Buffalo. Kelly Holcomb’s experience was all it took to beat the Dolphins.
b. Ben Roethlisberger, meet Joe Theismann. Joe Theismann, meet Ben Roethlisberger.
3a. I think Chone Figgins could be the difference between the Angels going to the World Series and not. He played like he was point-shaving the ALDS, and Anaheim still won.
b. I think there’s one word for Roger Clemens at this point, and that one word is hero.
4. I think Brad Butler’s cheap shot on Mathias Kiwanuka in Saturday’s Virginia/BC game showed genuine classlessness. There’s no excuse for that sort of thuggery; Chuck Cecil would be ashamed of being mentioned in the same breath as Brad Butler right now.
5. I think that come the signing period, Aaron Small might be this year’s Derek Lowe, regardless of the Yankees’ early exit. How can he not expect Eric Milton money, the way he pitched down the stretch?
6. I think the Gillette M3 Power is a heck of a razor.
7. Coffeenerdness: I think the mint chocolate chip mocha freeze needs to be enshrined in the Starbucks hall of fame. As a seasonal item, it’s as under-utilized as caramel apple cider – or Jonathan Papelbon, for that matter.
8. I think the Pirates made a big mistake in hiring Jim Tracy as manager. I realize there’s a lot of work to be done in Pittsburgh, but Lloyd McClendon fouled up a pretty good thing in Daryle Ward this year; when Ward got hot, McClendon started benching him for Brad Eldred, who could barely hit his weight. That in mind, Tracy’s roster management with Los Angeles in 2004 ought to send shivers down the spine of any intelligent Pirates fan. When you’ve got a Roethlisberger on your team, you don’t play Tommy Maddox.
9. I think Skateboard P’s “Can I Have It Like That” might – MIGHT – just get my 30 points in this year’s Pazz & Jop poll.
10. I think reruns of “Degrassi Junior High” are the finest thing to happen to late-night TV since Shannon Tweed.

Obscure Factoid That May Interest Only Me:

Colgate sophomore Mary Beth King reports that the price of a venti hazelnut latte at the sole Starbucks in Hamilton, NY increased – INCREASED – to $2.71 this week. Hey, Mary Beth, is that in euros?

Who I Like Tonight, And I Don’t Mean Tim McCarver:

Give me the White Sox in six and the Cardinals in five. I’m not convinced that the Angels can summon the energy to beat a refreshed White Sox team, and I’m not convinced that the Astros can do anything about Albert Pujols. He’s a pretty good hitter.

What’s on Ozzie’s Mind: Playoff Edition

Posted on by Ozzie Guillen · 6 Comments

A lot of people email me to ask me why I manage the way I do. Man, if I answered every single email, I’d never get any managing done around here! But I try, because the fans are the third most important thing in baseball. The second is the game. The first is winning.

I have to be honest, or else I will be a liar. And no one ever called Ozzie Guillen a liar. They’ve called me a lot of stuff. They’ve called me pendejo. They’ve called me a racist. They’ve called me a homo-hater. They’ve called me crazy, loco, insane in the membrane. But you know what? Ozzie’s just gotta be Ozzie. That’s what got me through my long career: playing with guts and heart, swinging at balls over my head, doing what it took to try to win. And that’s how I got where I’m at today: the manager of the Chicago White Sox, the team that’s playing for the chance to be in the World Series.

Hey, if we stink it up, I’m gonna tell you, “Man, we stunk.” If we play so bad I want to vomit, I’ll vomit right in front of you, I don’t care. If I wanna drop an f-bomb, then you better wear your kevlar jockstrap, because you’re gonna catch some f-shrapnel right in your f-crotch. They don’t call me Crazy Ozzie for nothing! Hell, Crazy Ozzie calls himself Crazy Ozzie!

I was watching a movie the other night, that movie about the English kid and his dog, don’t remember the name of it, guess I better ask my son Ozney, he loves all that stuff. Anyway, this English kid really loves cheese, and he makes all these inventions to get the cheese. The White Sox, we’re like that kid. Except we love winning. If we gotta invent some runs to get wins, we’ll do it. There’s no shame in that. But I’d rather that Paul Konerko hits a three-run shot every game. And if he doesn’t do that in the playoffs, we’re probably gonna lose.

You know what’s good clubhouse music? Coldplay. A lot of you guys in the media are down on Chris Martin, but you know what? He has a way with a melody…My favorite place to go for a drink in Chicago is the Green Mill. I know it’s all high-toned and North Sidish, but it’s still the best bar in town…I wonder if today’s kids know how important it is to have good handwriting. I practice mine every day, making out the lineup card, but I also like to write a good letter. Ozney, Oney, Ozzie Jr., they don’t write letters the way I do. It’s a shame.

My favorite color? Don’t laugh, but it’s White Sox Black…You know who’s a class act? Bobby Cox. Except for the alcoholic wife-slapping thing…Intelligent design makes sense to me; how else do you explain Scotty Podsednik?…For whatever reason, even though Carla Gugino is hot times three, I’m not interested in “Threshold”…I don’t think there’s a worse situation than having to borrow toilet paper from Dustin Hermanson in the next stall.

Some people said that I should have had Brandon McCarthy on the postseason roster instead of Damaso Marte, considering that Marte is such a pain in the ass that he gets booed by the home fans. Those people are probably right…I have an infected boil, but I’m not telling where…Look up “smart cookie baseball reporter” in the dictionary and you’ll find my niece, Ana Maria — but she’s on my crap list for picking the Angels over us!…If you don’t love limes, you have a screw loose.

These are some of what’s on Ozzie’s mind before tonight’s ballgame. Hope I don’t make any stupid freakin’ mistakes that cost our team the game and therefore the series!

Ozzie Guillen is the manager of the Chicago White Sox. He was the AL Rookie of the Year in 1985, was a three-time AL All-Star, and played more games in a White Sox uniform than anyone else, unless you count the other three guys.

Consider The Pennies Pinched

Posted on by Bob Ryan · Leave a comment

Now that the Sawx have been hung out to dry, and all that’s left is, um, everything – signing half the team, the GM, the manager, the beermen, the scoreboard operators, the contracting crew to dismantle the 406 Club terrarium, Hazel Mae’s concubines – it’s the perfect opportunity to look back on what could have been. Right? What’s a baseball season in Boston without uncalled-for second-guessing? It’s a day without the Big Dig, that’s what.

In case you just got over your hangover from last October’s glorious Word Series run, here’s what happened: to reload and take aim at a second consecutive World Championship trophy, Boston doled out nearly twenty million dollars to fill forty million dollars’ worth of holes. Whether they be mercenarial check-cashing turds or bright-eyed pants-hitching gamers, the players Theo Epstein selected as His Guys contributed, for better or worse, to the fate of the 2005 Boston Red Sox. And there was no bang when the Red Sox fate was sealed. The White Sox strutted onto the baseball field much like the Sawx of last year did, and they reduced Boston’s idiot bluster to a faint, hollow whimper.

Never let it be said that these guys Theo inked to multi-million dollar deals weren’t His Guys – Theo let proven performers walk into greener, leafier pastures, because their self-valuations and his valuations of their worth didn’t see eye to eye. The thought behind these moves was simple, and certainly understandable to any poor kid forced to go to the grocery store with your mom: if you look hard enough and long enough, you can save yourself a couple bucks and find something of similar quality to the more expensive brand-name goods.

So goodbye to Pedro, D-Lowe, and Orlando. Fare thee well to the best pitcher of his generation, a misunderstood workhorse, and an unsung clubhouse leader. Say goodbye to over thirty wins, to amazing death-defying derring-do in the field, to players getting duct-taped to the dugout poles. Boston doesn’t need you anymore. We’re gonna shop smart. We’re gonna pay a 42-year-old to stab us in the back. We’re gonna sign a former Chicago Cub to pitch our barn-burners. What the hell, we’ll also sign a guy with oatmeal for a shoulder to toss a couple innings, too. And as for shortstop? Got it covered – there’s a former World Series stalwart, with a slow bat and footwork to match, just waiting to take our money and run. And swing and miss. And groundout. And throw into the first base boxseats. And so on.

Now, I’m not saying that anyone could have predicted that these things would have happened – if someone did, then I bet they also predicted that Griffey Junior wouldn’t get hurt, that the White Sox would be baseball’s best team, and that the Yankees’ season would be saved by two starters no one would touch with an A-Rod slap. Those folks – the ones that bend spoons and read minds – are rich. So are the Red Sox. And folks that have Scrooge McDuck’s Money Bin at their disposal have no need to be frugal with the ducats. As the adage goes, you need to spend money to make money. In baseball, the adage should be changed to read, “you need to spend money to make playoff tickets.” The Red Sox didn’t spend. They aren’t making playoff tickets. Quod erat demonstrandum. That’s Latin for, “which was to be demonstrated.”

In other words: duh.

Boston Globe columnist Bob Ryan is a lover, not a fighter.

Joe Morgan’s Political Soapbox

Posted on by Joe Morgan · 1 Comment

ed: Due to his responsibilities as a member of E$PN’s playoff broadcast team, Mike Piazza was unable to write his regular “Political Soapbox” column. Piazza will return to his regular schedule following the playoffs.

Hey, fans. Joe Morgan here. You know, putting together a Supreme Court is a lot like putting together a baseball team. Since Mike Piazza asked me to fill in for him here on Yard Work, I figured I’d take a look at the Roberts Court as if it were a batting order. Hope you like it!

1. Antonin Scalia: Now, I don’t wanna stereotype here, folks, but the thing about the Italians, and you know this, is that they’re wily. They’re sneaky. They’re confident. They’re sure of themselves. These are the qualities you want in a leadoff hitter. Tony Scalia isn’t going to worry about whether that pitch is too low. He’s going to just slap it into the gap right by those liberals every time.

2. David Souter: Look at a guy like Souter – he’s taken so many positions in his career, you don’t know what angle he’s going to hit it back at you! He’s kind of like the ultimate switch-hitter, you know? You ask any manager, they’ll tell you they plug a guy with that kind of versatility right in the ol’ two-hole. That’s a fact.

3. Clarence Thomas: Clarence Thomas has classic doubles power. He’s not a great hitter, but he’s a mistake hitter. Mistake hitters hit mistake pitches. And Clarence Thomas will make a pitcher pay for his mistakes.

4. John Roberts: You want your Chief Justice cleaning up. He’s the engine that really drives the motor of the legal system in this country, and he’s got to be the linchpin of your order. I’ll tell you, too. John Roberts can really hit a hanging curveball a mile. See, a hanging curveball hangs – rather than drop down to the hitter’s knees, it stays up in the zone, about yay-high. When you pitch a ball like that to an experienced barrister like John Roberts, you’re in for a world of trouble. Just like David Wells the other night!

5. Stephen Breyer: Now even though Stephen Breyer’s from Oakland, he knows how to steal a base, which is a remarkable thing to have in a #5 hitter. If I’m managing this team, I have to think long and hard about moving him up in the order if we’re facing a righty. Because if Stephen Breyer catches a righty offguard, he’s heading right for second base. Now if he hits second, it’s the responsibility of the next man up to move him over to third to set up for the sac fly or the suicide squeeze – just like it’s Stephen Breyer’s responsibility as the junior justice to get John Roberts his coffee every morning. That’s the level of respect this team shows a rookie like Breyer. He’s only 67, and he’s got a bright future ahead of him.

6. Anthony Kennedy: And fortunately for Steve Breyer, Anthony Kennedy is one of this great nation’s best at doing the little things – advancing the runner over, hitting the sac fly, getting the productive out. Kennedy’s like a big old bear running the basepaths, but that’s fine for him, because #6 hitters don’t need to steal bases. #6 hitters are responsible for adding a little punch to the heart of the order. If a #6 hitter strikes out, you’re going to pat him on the ass and tell him he did a good job, because he made the pitcher realize that there’s more to a lineup than the 3-4-5 guys. Anthony Kennedy makes people forget all about Robert Bork, but most of all he adds depth to this lineup where it matters.

7. John Paul Stevens: Stevens may be getting old, but he’s got a lot of heart. You can’t put a price on teamwork, and you definitely can’t underrate experience when it comes to baseball. I remember back in ’83, he threw a hell of a lateral to Byron White and gave Sandra Day O’Connor the meanest forearm to the throat I’ve ever seen during a friendly game of two-hand touch at Judicial Branch Field Days. So down goes Sandy, coughing up blood, and ol’ Whizzer does the Heisman pose over her prone body and runs it in for the touchdown. You think Stevens isn’t going to be the anchor of the Supreme Court infield? In Washington, I hear they call him “Johnny Hustle.”

8. Ruth Bader Ginsburg: Now, ever since Ruth Bader Ginsburg got that hip replaced, she’s been pretty slow in the field. You’ve got a couple options – you can either DH her, or you can stick her out in right. It really depends on a number of factors. She runs like George Foster out there, but that’s okay. She plays the game the way it was meant to be played. Pretty good for a #8 hitter.

9. Harriet Miers: Okay. You’re picking a Supreme Court justice. You know that your preferred candidate isn’t a top 100 jurist. But she’s got guts, right? She’s got ethics, right? You don’t worry about whether she’s the most ethical or most intelligent candidate out there. You want someone who has intangibles. Someone’s whose a capital “T” Team player. You want someone who’ll defer to the vets by passing on the opinions in the Court. And that’s what Miers brings. She brings the humility while still maintaining pit-bull strength against the defense.

And that’s why I support President Bush’s nomination of Harriet Miers to be the next Supreme Court Justice of the United States.

More Cowbell Than You Will Ever Need — Bonus Mailbag Edition!

Posted on by Bill Simmons · 1 Comment

Breathe easy. Breathe easy. We’re in the playoffs.

After a week of biting my nails in front of the TiVo, David Ortiz’s heroics, and late-night panic sessions on the phone with Dad, we made it. We made it.

Now can somebody explain to me why the Yankees won the AL pennant even though they had the same record as the Red Sox? When did baseball turn into the NFL, where head-to-head matchups matter? I never heard anybody say a word about the importance of head-to-head matchups until the last weekend of the season. What’s next, home run hitting contests instead of playing extra innings?

I’m sick. Food doesn’t taste good anymore. I can’t sleep through the night. In anticipation of each 7:05 PM start, I’m so nervous that I have to go dry heave on the lawn in order to relieve myself before the game starts. My girlfriend won’t have anything to do with me when I’m like this, and you know what, I don’t care. She grew up in Des Moines and doesn’t have a clue what it was like to grow up a Red Sox fan. I don’t have time to think about her right now because what looked to be unthinkable a few weeks ago is now a blunt reality — Boston and New York are tied in the standings. My body is violently shaking as I type this and I seriously don’t think that I can retain my composure in any social situations until either the Red Sox win another World Series or Derek Jeter gets impaled on the tip of a rusty spear. I figured you would understand what I’m going through.
— Larry S, Boston MA

I received approximately 2500 emails just like this one during the last ten games of the season. This was going to be a reader email column, but it was far too painful to review them all after watching the Red Sox get thumped 14-2 at the hands of the suddenly threatening White Sox, who have now won six straight dating back to the end of the regular season. So, I sat at the computer, called an audible, and decided to turn this column into a mailbag. No Red Sox questions allowed. Let’s go.

What’s more morbid: the quest for a new Left Eye or the quest for a new Michael Hutchence?
— Julie T, Lincoln, NS

SG:Michael Hutchence, no contest. Left Eye died in a car crash, which can happen to anybody. But dying by asphyxiation from a self-pleasuring experiment, that’s a different story. Can a person’s death officially be called a tragedy when nobody can recall the cause of death while keeping a straight face? Is there an Unintentional Comedy scale for death? So obviously, due to the strange and unusual circumstances surrounding Hutchence’s death, the search for his replacement is considerably more morbid and creepy. But the band made a good choice with JD Fortune, even if he does look a bit too much like that singer from the Killers.

What is the 80’s music equivalent of the Red Sox-Yankees rivalry? I’m not sure what the best answer is, but surely some members of the Smiths are involved?
– Fred G., Chicago, IL

SG:[I know what you’re thinking — there aren’t supposed to be any Red Sox questions! But this isn’t a Red Sox question, it’s a Sox-Yanks question. Totally different things.]

You might be on to something with the Smiths, but after they broke up, Morrissey started his solo career and the others sorta vanished, and they didn’t really interact with each other at all after that. So as far as I can see, there’s no real rivalry to speak of, at least until the lawsuits started flying but that didn’t happen until the 90’s.

The best analogy I could come up with is Arcadia vs The Power Station. Duran Duran virtually created MTV, sold millions of records, and no longer had anything to prove in the music industry. So they broke up and formed those bands more or less to spite each other. They spent the second half of the 80’s sniping at each other and each had pretty good success when all was said and done.

The Power Station convinced Robert Palmer to be their singer, which is the 80’s music equivalent of the Yankees trading for ARod. TPS didn’t need Palmer, they would have been hugely successful even if they had brought in some unknown singer and coasted on the fame of the unrelated Taylor trio. They brought in Palmer to stick it to Rhodes and LeBon, just because they could.

No word on whether Arcadia tried to recruit Palmer as well (to make the analogy that much more complete).

How the hell did you ever find a girl that would put up w/ your mind-numbing non-informed skeevy bullshit, let alone a girl that will SLEEP WITH YOU on a regular basis w/out you opening up yr wallet?
— Larry B

SG:Where did you get the idea that I found a girl that sleeps with me? Once they get pregnant and pop out your shorty, all bets are off on the nookie front. I miss college, I really do. Back then, you never had to worry about responsibility and honor and stuff. (note to self: MAKE SURE SPORTS GAL DOESN’T READ THIS COLUMN. MUST DELETE INTERNET WHEN I GET HOME)

Are you actually buddy-buddy w/ Chuck Klosterman, or is this a case of keeping your enemies closer?
— Joe D., New York, NY

SG:We disagree about the merits of Coldplay and the social significance of the “OC”, but we’re friends nonetheless. However, you do have a point: if he ever pushed my buttons regarding the Red Sox then he might find himself reeling from a coconut shot to the head. That’s all I’m saying.

On September 13, you said that a Jonathan Papelbon relief appearance against the Blue Jays was the key moment in the Red Sox’s 2005 season. In light of the Yankees subsequently catching and passing the Red Sox in the standings, do you care to revise your statement?
— Pete H., Indianapolis, IN

SG:[This is not a Red Sox question either. It’s equally about the Blue Jays. Totally different things.]

You’re correct. In light of the Blue Jays and Red Sox playing a far more significant series after I wrote that, it’s time for an update. The key moment of the season happened in the 9th inning of that game on the 29th. Ortiz had tied the game in the eighth with his something like his 30th big clutch hit of the month (I lost count midway through September. You know, we need a new name for what Papi does on the field, because “clutch” doesn’t seem to cut it anymore. Lots of players are clutch, but Ortiz is on a higher level. He doesn’t clutch games, he seizes them in his hands. If Buck and McCarver can trip over themselves inventing five new phrases every year to tell viewers how great Derek Jeter is, then surely they can find time to think up new descriptors for Ortiz. Right?). Then, Vernon Wells came up for the Blue Jays in the ninth. How many times have you seen your team come back, only to have their opponents take back the lead immediately, breaking the hearts of the fans and the backs of the players? Retiring the Jays in the 9th and giving the Red Sox a chance to win in the bottom of the ninth couldn’t have been more crucial.

Who was on the mound in this situation? Who else but Jonathan Papelbon? And what happened? He enticed a ground ball straight to Edgar Renteria, who fired a perfect throw over to first base for the out. This was a moment, there’s no doubt about it. Remember, the lowly Blue Jays had taken two out of three in the series and were threatening to make it three out of four. Right in the middle of the last week of the season, when every Red Sox game counts. That throw to first said “it’s not going to happen for you guys tonight — this game is OURS”. I’ve been critical of Renteria in the past, but if he doesn’t make that assist, then Wells gets on, the Blue Jays probably go on to win the game, the Yankees come to town ahead by two games instead of one, and the Red Sox are shut out of the postseason. You couldn’t ask for a better play by your shortstop in a game that big. Willie Mays has “The Catch”, but as far as I know, nobody has claimed “The Assist”, leaving it free for the taking. Trust me, 2004 had “The Stolen Base” for Dave Roberts, and 2005 is all about “The Assist” for Edgar Renteria.

My girlfriend’s best friend got married last weekend, and I was supposed to go with her to the wedding. However, with four teams fighting for three playoff spots in the AL, and the wild card up for grabs in the NL, there was no way I could possibly attend. I brought up the subject with her, but of course, she got angry and yelled at me. So I hid out at a buddy’s place where she couldn’t find me and watched MLB Extra Innings for the entire weekend. I’m not sure if my girlfriend ended up to the wedding by herself because we haven’t spoken since and I’m a little bit afraid to call her now. Do you have any advice? Was I justified in ditching the wedding for baseball? Months ago, when I agreed to go with her, how was I to know there would be so many playoff possibilities going into the final weekend?
— Terry D., Victoria, BC

SG:You’re writing to a guy who missed a large chunk of those games because he had a book tour planned months in advance. It’s my vindictive side talking — if I had to miss out, then you should have too. However, my decisions were partly shaped by my own personal interests. I want the book to be a success, so of course I had to go on the tour. But what did you have to gain by going to this wedding and putting up with your girlfriend’s chatty, annoying friends? Agreeing to attend the wedding in the first place was an altruistic move on your part, so morally speaking, at least you have that in your favor.

As for the current status of your relationship, it’s deader than Alan Trammell’s relationship with the Tigers. And just like Trammell, you didn’t do anything horribly wrong, and probably didn’t deserve to be let go. But you’re done. Enjoy the playoffs.

YARD WORK EXCLUSIVE: Scott Boras’ Farewell Letter to John Hart

Posted on by Scott Boras · Leave a comment

Dear John,

So this is it. Thirteen years as a general manager coming to an end. I can hardly believe it. Never let it go unsaid that you have done an incredible job with Texas — not to mention all of those years in Cleveland — and I speak for the entire network of baseball agents when I say that you shall be missed.

Not only have you given Rangers fans a sense of hope with that young burgeoning nucleus of superstardom you inherited — led by, let it be said, Mr. Teixeira* — but you have helped a lot of ballplayers realize their truest fiscal potential. I look back at that contract you gave Chan Ho Park in 2002 and I am still impressed by its unprecedented generosity and largess. Fifty years from now, when pundits gather to discuss the great philanthropists, it will not just be the names Carnegie and Rockefeller that proudly waft through the cigar-tinted air. The name Hart will join that proud role call. This is a distinction to be proud of, John.

(*By nodding as you read this statement you have hereby agreed to renegotiate Mark Teixeira’s contract — should you fail to do so, he is hereby released by the Texas Rangers as an unrestricted free agent.)

And your generosity does not stop with baseball players. Let me put down in writing that I respect your unwavering willingness to always take my calls, despite the vile reputation naysayers have pinned on me. Even after I convinced Juan Gonzalez into leaving the Rangers because of some dubious “conflict of interest” — oh, the follies of youth! — we remained close compatriots. Haha. I appreciate your loyalty throughout that ordeal, even after your superior deigned to place a bounty on my head. Such faith I will not soon forget.*

(*This sentence is not a binding statement — be it in personal, emotional or financial matters — and will in no way impact any future business dealings involving myself or my clients with John Hart, the Texas Rangers organization or any future endeavors, be they baseball-related or otherwise.)

I also want you to know, John, that I still look back fondly on the Alex Rodriguez talks. Remember that cabin we rented up there in Montana — just you, me and Alex? Even after Alex and I came at you a little rough, you still managed to show us a smile. It was then that Alex knew he had found his home for the next ten years. And even though things later soured, I know that Alex still keeps close to his heart the tapes of those “negotiations” (wink wink!*), so not all has been lost. Why, just the other day Alex told me that he could not bear to touch a studded leather belt without thinking of your left eye, bloodied and swollen shut. Ask that cuckolded caretaker Cashman if he can say that!

(*This wink was simply a sign of professional affection, and not an allusion to past events involving torture, rape and late night complex carbohydrate binging that absolutely never occurred.)

Anyway, excellent work on promoting young Jon Daniels to take your place. He seems like a smart lad — Cornell is quite an institution! — and regardless of his actual works he will make you look like a genius. If the Rangers once again become contenders, it’s because of your moves, be they roster additions or promoting the young Daniels. If, on the other hand, the Rangers flop, it’s all due to the misguided follies of some neophyte charlatan who managed to somehow charm you into thinking he was worthy of such responsibility. This maneuver is the sort of Machiavellian gambit I can appreciate, John, and I want you to extend to both of you my warm congratulations.

One last thing before I conclude, though: you will regret declining the option on Kenny Rogers’ contract. All I have to do with that cottonheaded pitcher is point at you and say, “burritocam” and he’ll do such things to you and your precious family that your meals for the next eight months will involve either an IV drip or a jar of applesauce. Mark my words, John — you know I do not make idle threats. You saw what happened to DePodesta during the Derek Lowe negotiations. If you truly believe that he walked with a cane for three months because of he slipped making a sandwich, then you are even more gullible than I originally thought.

If you want the Rangers to ever sign another All Star or collegiate All-American, and you want to keep your beautiful wife clean of the opprobrious taint to be found on the person of an unemployed and disgruntled ex-slugger, then me, you and The Gambler (AKA the soon-to-be Executive Assistant to the General Manager of the Texas Rangers) are going to have to talk business up in that cabin. Serious business.

And it goes without saying that Jeff Weaver is going to get a contract from the Rangers that will make Chan Ho Park and Darren Dreifort weep with envy: 14 years, $350 million. Say it with me, John, or you’re a motherfucking dead man.*

(*The preceding two paragraphs were not written by Scott Boras, and you are entering a unfathomable world of pain if you ever so much as fucking think of suggesting otherwise, you useless jagbag.)

Best of luck in the future,

Scott Boras

Tram & Trace

Posted on by Jim Tracy · 2 Comments

TRACE: Howdy, folks! Major League Baseball manager Jim Tracy here. Me and my new friend Al Trammell were let go by our teams on the same day, so the folks at this website thought it’d be great to team us up to chat with you fine folks out there on the Internet, and share with your our experiences playing and helming the greatest game in the world.

Now, I gotta say, coming down the stretch, I was braced for the worst. I expected McCourt to cut bait with me back when they neglected to renew my option for next year, so I’m taking this turn of events in stride. Still, though, losing your job – either by choice, like me, or by getting fired, like Al – is a tough row to hoe, and it’d be even tougher were it not for the help and support of some folks.

First and foremost, I’d be remiss if I didn’t thank my buddy Bill for sticking up for me after my mutual parting-of-the-ways with the Dodgers. In case folks forgot, the role of the press is to be there to stir things up, and ask the questions most folks are afraid of or don’t know to ask. I know Paulie, all nice and cozy in the comfort of his air-conditioned office, pointing and clicking to his heart’s content, didn’t like Bill taking shots at him day in and day out. It’s part of the business, though – you’re there to be second-, third-, and fourth-guessed, and sometimes folks need to roll with the punches to prove they’re worth swinging at. And, really, given some of the moves he made this past offseason, it’s no wonder Bill and other blue-bleeding folk were pig bitin’ mad about this year’s team. Hopefully, Paulie will learn his lesson and not do to the new guy what he – inadvertently, I’m sure – did to me.

Al, I’m sorry, I’ve been hogging the microphone. You have anything to say?

TRAM: …

TRACE: Um, Al? You there, buddy?

TRAM: I can’t believe they fired me.

TRACE: There you are!

TRAM: Unreal. Thirty win improvement in one year, and they fire me. Like I’m some stand-in lame duck. Like it’s my fault I had to play Omar Infante all the time. Like I’m the one that signed Ordonez and that free-swinging slaphead.

TRACE: Ha, ha! Like I said, being let go is tough.

TRAM: Oh, yeah – and Troy Percival. That was a great move, too. Nothing we needed more in Detroit than another washed-up pumpkin chucker making millions of dollars. And speaking of washed-up pumpkins, I’d like to give a speicial “shout out” to my “homey”, Da Meathead, for speaking up about me after I’m gone. You’re a class act, without the “cl”.

TRACE: Ha, ha! I hear that. You see what I got for Christmas last year? A smirk, a merc, and a jerk! Wish I could find the receipt! Anyway, for all you folks worried about where I’ll end up . Don’t worry. Folks know what I’m capable of, and there are plenty of jobs out there for me, be it managing, or general managing, or even broadcasting. The great thing about being in baseball is that, once you remove all the backstabbing and double-dealing and shady shenanigans, it’s just one big happy family. It’s like one big 26-team house. Or 30-team – I forget. Everyone knows everyone else, and everyone knows what everyone’s capable of. And the experience you get in the major leagues cannot compare – I repeat, it cannot compare to the experience you’ll get playing any other sort of baseball. Why else do you think folks always seem to hire folks that used to do this or that for other teams? Experience, that’s why. For instance – not to rub salt in the wound, Al – but rumor has it that the Tigers are looking to hire former World Champion manager Jim Leyland.

TRAM: You can’t be serious.

TRACE: From my mouth to your ear, Tram.

TRAM: Unreal.

TRACE: I know it’s tough to cope with, Al, but you have to admit, he’s got a great track record.

TRAM: Track record? Track record of what? What in the hot sticky hell of hells has Jim Leyland ever done? I hope Bond and Nate have Doug Drabek on speed dial, so they know what to do when Jimmy Boy leaves them in there for 150 pitches. That walking coffin nail managed the greatest hitter to ever play the game THROUGH HIS PRIME and won nothing! Hell, he ran one of the most talented teams of the 80s and 90s into a brick wall every damn year. If Bobby Cox is a genius, them Leyland’s gotta be a god or a demigod or something! And – no doubt his crowning achievement – he lead the best team video rentals can buy to a World Series win. And then ran like a chicken the minute times got tough. Christ, Jim, YOU could win a ring if you had Kevin Brown & Al Leiter & Gary Sheffield. Eight years ago. (Hi, George.)

TRACE: Al, I see what you’re saying, but you can’t fault the guy for showing up for work. There have been plenty of teams with talent that went nowhere fast. Take a look at the Dodger teams I managed. Once upon a time, they were chock-full of talent: LoDuca, Karros, Brian Jordan, Adrian Beltre, Hideo Nomo. Guys that could win you ballgames. More importantly, guys that KNEW how to win. A break here or there, those teams could’ve done something. It’s too bad Mr. DePodesta didn’t see it fit to stick with these proven guys. Sometimes, you gotta look past numbers and making moves for the sake of moving.

TRAM: Yeah, like firing a guy with a THIRTY WIN IMPROVEMENT under his belt. Hey, Jimmy, if you’re reading this – good luck getting that hot-tempered no-talent ‘roid case to not call for the fastball every time someone reaches base. And ask for a nice signing bonus – Salem Lights ain’t cheap. And, hey, how about lobbying Double D to sign AJ Burnett, Jimbo? He’s already broken in! Pairing him with I-Vanna Be The Center Of Attention should do wonders for clubhouse morale!

TRACE: Ouch! Looks like someone got their tail caught under a rocking chair! Speaking of morale, Al, and this kinda goes back to what I was saying earlier – one thing you cannot underestimate is the impact of personnel moves on the make-up of your clubhouse. Now, don’t get me wrong – guys like Jeff Kent and JD Drew and Milton Bradley are fantastic hitters. But, as you folks know, great hitters aren’t great people. There were lots of problems with this year’s Dodger team, and the lack of chemistry was no doubt part of the problem. Also, I dunno what folks are thinking, giving money to a guy as brittle as JD Drew.

TRAM: Oh would you just stop?!! The Dodgers would’ve run away with the division with the team they had. Newsflash: Drew hurt himself BECAUSE HE WAS HIT BY A PITCH ON HIS WRIST. And even so, if you weren’t so dead-set on playing crap hitters all the time, and letting your starters hang themselves, and relying on chumps all damn day to get key outs, you might actually still have a damn job, you stubborn know-nothing asshat! I would LOVE to see you flail around in a division with teams that can actually win a game more than once every three days.

TRACE: Al, with all due respect, I know you’re hurting, but you lost 100 games your first season as a manager, and never finished above .500. I’ve won 85 games or more four times, and even managed a win against the eventual National League Champions. Now, honestly, you were a great player and all, but who do you think knows what they’re doing when it comes to the game behind the game? And who do you think folks are gonna listen to – an ex-jock, or a guy with actual credentials?

TRAM: Oh, I’m sorry, Trace. Were you talking? I couldn’t hear you because I was too busy polishing my World Series ring.

TRACE: Yeah, you and I-Rod.

TRAM: TO HELL WITH I-ROD. Hit another single, you spastic f-

TRACE: OK, then. On that note, this is Jim Tracy, manager of the 2004 NL West Champion Los Angeles Dodgers, saying SWING FOR THE FENCES!

TRAM: Don’t you mean, “this is Jerky McJerkington, saying HAVE YOUR BEST HITTER BUNT THE RUNNER OVER WITH ONE OUT IN AN EXTRA INNING GAME?”

TRACE: Al, goddamn it, shut the Hee Seop up!

Fever of Beisbol: My “Picks to Clique” 2005

Posted on by Ana Maria Callejeo Guillen · Leave a comment

Many of you have written me to ask me who will win this year World Series. The answer, is “I do not know!” No one knows, not even this so-says-he called Spartacus. May be I should not say this, but he is what we call in Venezuela “a homely dog running around in the streets looking for a master or at least some food, but no one will give him any, so he sings a sad song in the streets.” (Do you have this idioma in Englis?) Plus, he is clearly insane, thinking that the Giants would win. Pobrecito.

As to who I want to win: well, that is a clear answer that you can pretty figure out if you are paying attention. There is only one team that is left for me — but the answer may surprise you!

A lot have said to me that, “I will be going for the White Sox because of my uncle.” It is true that Ozzie is a family member of me, and many is the time we have laughed and talked about beisbol and life together at suave resorts in and around our native land. But that does not cloud my judge. To me, the sport I love the most is más importante than all the family in the world. Also, Ozzie is a little weird and kind of crazy, although he deserves Manger of the Year award for 2005 and this is clear and iron-bound.

I would be happy for the Blanco Sox except that besides Ozzie there is only one other Venezolano on the team, Mr. Freddie García. They will clearly beat the Rojo Sox, as Gonzalez is the only guy on their team from our beautiful land, and he is a scrubber. For all the Latin support for the Rojo Sox, no offense but those hitters are mostly Dominicanos and we all know about them. (Although, David Ortiz, call me!) So Blancos win there.

My favorite of teams left is the Los Angels of Anehim. Look at their roster: Frankie Rod! Kelvim Escobar, with his name of a scientist who also drug deals! Maicer Izturis, of whom I once shot with a balloon filled with mango jelly at his six birthday party and he cried, so cute! Juan Rivera, who is darkly handsome and can get in line for a cup of coffee in the bigs, if you whiff my meaning! They will obliterate the Yanquis, who have none of my countrymens at all, another dark chapter in Yanqui history.

(I think Presidente Chávez is correct about this. You perhaps saw me on his show, “Aló Presidente,” last Saturday? We talk for three hours about beisbol — quite a keen player as a kid! very knowledge! — and about politics, of course he is a master at that. He think that a curse has descended on the Yanquis for having the name Yanquis. He also think that even though he was treated liek a hero in the South Ebronx after his U.N. speech where he made Bush a bitch a little, the people there do not really support such a team. He calls for the Rojo Sox because he likes their color and scrappiness, but I point out their suck relief pitching and he suddenly wants to sing folk songs from the 19 century. So I sing. He is our leader! And very handsome caudillo, too.)

In the National League: it is a sorry state of affairs. Only two of the four teams left are laden with any people from my lovely place. Clearly, Ramon Hernandez will power los Daddys past the Aint Louis Cardinals, and likewise with Humberto “Humberto” Quintero and the Astros over the Braves, who are not so brave after all. (Although, Andruw Jones from Curacao, call me!) But I see that all the E$PN publicos say that the Astros will win the World Series, and this cannot be. In Venezuela, we root for the underdoggie. So it will be the Padres and you hear it here first of all.

In the Series, I predict that the Angeles will beat the Padres. I also predict that there will be party down here that last for days and weeks. We will alls end up in jail! Just like old times!

Ana Maria Collejeo Guillen is the top baseball writer for El Universal. She is also nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize for her humanitarian work in the barrios of Caracas. Her newest album, “¿Donde Está el Amor Que Tu Me Prometió, Está Allí Algo Más Tu?,” is due in November on Luaka Bop.

Playoff Viewer Guide

Posted on by Robert Christgau · Leave a comment

New York Yankees vs. Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim
TS: Aaron Small or Gary Cherone? Lucky — yes. Pretty — no. Fucking old — yes and yes again. (Shawn Chacon is Nunu Bettencourt, reason enough for those pinstripes to don vanity license plates.) The Yanks en largesse are tres Bon Jovi, proof positive on both counts that the US is just one big Jersey ‘burb — “Have a Nice Day” indeed. Vlad is Eddie Van Halen, the alpha and the omega, yin and the yang, vodka and tonic. Gah, enough muse-ic — on a landscaping crew, Erstad would clean gutters, Anderson fake-trim hedges, Colon down Little Debbies, K-Rod weed-eat the fuck out of my goddamned flowers. Just worthless, from top to bottom. Yankees in 4

Boston Red Sox vs. Chicago White Sox
I am not to be trusted — “Just a rock critic,” snaps Hoberman, that style-stealing wanksta — but the ChiSox have popped my can all year long. Gimme no-talent how’d-they-do-thats over gee-whiz pyros any day (i.e. Johnny Thunders should strangle Hendrix with a guitar string right about now). And so who knows how these Alabaster Sox win, but win they do. If our country was worth two damns Contreras would be this postseason’s sob-story but fuck if we don’t hate immigrants, too. Instead it’s who — that redneck Rowand? Speaking of rednecks, who’s to say that New England’s got class? There’s something about this Sox team that screams KISS REUNION even if Pedro and his midge are Queens-stranded. Wake me for “Black Diamond.” Red Sox in 5

San Diego Padres vs. St. Louis Cardinals
In St. Louis they take two things seriously: baseball and Nelly, which suits me so long as we’re talking Country Grammar and not that corpo-job “Air Force Ones.” And considering the Padres’ postseason presence, maybe I mean pre-three divisions, too. Ignore the pundit bullshit: the Padres have only hope to win this series — a plane crash. And maybe even their own. Cardinals in 3

Houston Astros vs. Atlanta Braves
Atlanta fans, help me out here: why should I care? Fourteen straight is hard to fuck with but can you thrill it up a little? Not this year, cuz the ‘Stros are The Team To Beat, with arms like British Madonna and bats like… well, let’s not talk about those. Still, Andruw can’t pout his way around the bases and Chipper’s done like Goodie Mob. Hate to bear the bad news, but Astros in 4