The Kid Stays in the Picture

Last Sunday, I went to the Mariners/White Sox game. Ken Griffey did not start, but in the 9th inning, the Mariners were trailing 3-2, with 2 out and 2 men on base. Griffey came in to pinch-hit with the game on the line, and for the next 64 seconds, excitement was in the air!

Through 16 games, Griffey is batting .226. A double on opening day has been his only extra-base hit thus far. Predictably, Griffey's lack of production is becoming a driving force among those covering the Mariners. While some writers offer theories in regards to fundamentals, others simply wonder how much a 40-year-old with several surgeries behind him could have left in his tank.  But of course, any time an aging superstar starts to show his age, you can be assured that some misguided rube will champion the self-righteous position of the fan who considers "few things sadder" that witnessing such a legend "embarass" himself.  These were the same whiners who projected their own self-hatred onto a fat, jump-shooting Michael Jordan in a when he dared to put on a Wizards uniform past his prime.  Really, you consider it painful that a guy who used to get 3 hits per 10 at bats now only gets 2 hits per 10 at bats?  Go fuck yourself.  


The truth of the matter is that 40-year-old baseball players are SUPPOSED to have terrible numbers.  If there is one major fallout of the steroid era, it is the fact the two most famous cheaters became the most famous specifically because they cheated when they were old.  Bonds and Clemens ruined the curve for older players, because instead of their bodies breaking down like they were supposed to, each pumped themselves full of every possible hormone, and were rewarded with multiple MVPs and Cy Youngs.  


In the final season of his career, 43-year-old Willie Mays batted .211.
In the final season of his career, 42-year-old Hank Aaron batted .229.
In the final season of his career, 40-year-old Frank Robinson batted .224.
In the final season of his career, 42-year-old Stan Musial batted .255 (his career avg. was still .331.)
In the final season of his career, 40-year-old BABE FUCKING RUTH batted .181.


Griffey is one of the very few players in baseball whose legacy has been helped by the steroids scandal.  After all, the standard-issue excuse has been that players used them to recover quickly from injuries, and as every Reds fan will testify, Griffey was never one to be accused of coming back too quickly from pain.


If anything, baseball should be celebrating Ken Griffey and his .220-esque average.  In a sport that gets wrapped up in it's on sanctimonious nostalgia far too easily, what better way to market its return to Americana values than to shout out to all who will listen, "Hey, it's the new era of MLB, when old players look like old players again!"


And remember this, angry Mariners fans.  Griffey may be struggling at the plate, but he continues to lead the team, and all of baseball, in the all-important category of "Ichiro tickling."

Red Hot

In the last couple weeks, I've spent a significant amount of time watching Cincinnati Reds games online.  A few games ago, Thom Brennaman made an offhanded comment about it being the 20th anniversary of the 1990 World Series campaign, and three thoughts quickly entered my mind.

1.  Holy shit, I'm old.

2.  Why isn't Fox Sports Midwest making a bigger deal about this? It would be great to have a flashback each game with highlights of the corresponding game from the 1990 season.  Which would you rather see - highlights of Paul O'Neill winning a game with a walk-off single, or more replays of Joey Votto striking out twice a game?

3.  I AM OLD.  AND WHERE'S QUINONES?

In an attempt to feed my nostalgic hunger, I discovered something amazing.  I don't know how it came to be that I had never seen this video before, but now that I have, I can't imagine I ever lived in a world that did not include the glorious rhymes of B-Lark and The Homeboys.

Good heavens, where do I start?  Paul O'Neill gets things off to a rousing start, and honestly looks like he's reading a statement in a POW video.  Seriously, this is the face of a man who is blinking in morse code for help.

While hearing B-Lark take the mic, I find myself puzzled.  Obviously the video does not match the audio on the track, but the audio has some sense of vocal inflection, and you would think that when recording the video portion, he might appear slightly life-like, but no such luck.

But let's move to Eric Davis and his RIDICULOUS READING GLASSES!  What is happening there?  They're so distracting that I barely notice his entire acid-washed wardrobe.  He must have won those frames in a dance off with that spaz that shows up at the end of the "Beat It" video.

If there's one aspect of the 1990 Reds that truly separates them from any other team in history, it has to be the Nasty Boys.  Aside from closers, there's no such thing as a stud pitcher in a major league bullpen, and yet this team had three of them who were not only great, but became oddly famous as well.  And as great as they were on the mound, they were equally as AWFUL when trying to speak in rhythm!  But I do appreciate the guy attempting to "conduct" on the left of the screen.

Remaining highlights include Billy Hatcher rapping with the ferocity of Jim Caldwell, Mariano Duncan wearing pants up to his nipples while paraphrasing MC Hammer, and of course, the obvious appeal of Chris Sabo lisping all over the studio in a manner that makes you wonder if this whole thing was a cruel prank on Spuds.**

I'm just sayin'...

Kids, please listen to the 1990 Cincinnati Reds - say no to drugs, AND say no to crack.  We can all win the World Series of life.  Take it from Jose Rijo's sunglasses.

**Further evidence of the team ganging up on Spuds happens in the post-music video portion of the clip, where the 1990 team appears at a reunion from last year.  All players are wearing their jerseys EXCEPT for Sabo.  I believe it's because he got bad advice from everyone else in regards to wardrobe.  In actuality, he probably forgot it at home.  Ob La Di, Ob La Da

Bad Idea Show Review: Len and Bob Bash at House of Blues

On a Thursday night when the Chicago windchill descends to 40 degrees BELOW ZERO, it's nice to think about baseball. And in this day and age when everyone is bleeding cash, it's a positive experience to attend a charity event and give yourself a nice ego boost to balance the depression on viewing your checking account balance. With that in mind, the sold out benefit at the House of Blues benefiting Cubs kids charities had all bases covered.

Opening the show was Cubs fan Tom Morello, which seemed fitting. When it comes to putting together a children's' charity event, I've always claimed that the main ingredient is vitriolic political rock, especially when the inspiring anger solely revolves around a President who has less than a week left in office. Within Morello's set, he ripped through an cover of AC/DC's Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap, but replaced the lyrics with new ones all about the Bush administration. My show-going colleague hit the nail on the head when she called it "The worst Weird Al song ever." Morello did better off ripping through an inspired version of Bruce Springsteen's "Ghost of Tom Joad," then closed his set shouting through an angry 10-minute diatribe over "This Land Is Your Land," while an increasingly bored crowd waited it out.

With that unevenness behind, the giant novelty check was wheeled out claiming a donation of over $41,000 for the night. The applause was quickly drowned out by the Cubs rep remarking to the crowd that in the previous two years of this benefit, the Cubs have won two straight division titles. Surprisingly, this did not go over well with Cubs fans - it's almost like they want more than a division title! Another thing that's great about events like this in Chicago is that any time somebody mentions the Cubs at all, the Sox fans (about 1/3 of the crowd) vehemently boo. It's all very entertaining for a charity event.

Spirits were due for a pick up. Enter The Hold Steady. Not only is their most recent album title a constant motto for Cubs fans, but the band took to the stage and represented with flying colors for the children. Having seen this band five times in the last couple years, their evolution as stage musicians has been intriguing to see. When I saw them at the Music Mill in 2007, I dubbed them the heir apparent to Guided By Voices based on their sheer enjoyment of playing live, combined with the copious amounts of booze they consumed throughout the set. At each show since then, they've been drinking less, and sounding better. Who knew those two factors might be related?

As Andy Kindler accurately noted on the Late Show, it always seems odd that one of the most engaging frontmen in rock looks like he should be doing your taxes. Nobody leaves unaffected by Craig Finn's manic shuffling, including my show-going colleague who was inspired to buy their first two albums from the merch table after the show. The mundane stories of boys and girls in America consistently are transformed into epic tales of spirituality and self discovery, with sweeping guitar hooks and an almost embarrassingly optimistic view that "We can all be something bigger." The pure earnestness of the redemptive powers of music strip away even the most jaded cynicism, and it's a mesmerizing experience.

If that wasn't enough to get everyone on the same page, Finn proved he can unify through other methods. After kicking off the set by ripping through eight straight songs without a spare moment, Finn naturally took time to talk up the Twins, eventually reaching a truce with Cubs and Sox fans alike by pointing out that "at least we all hate the Yankees."


The Hold Steady - Constructive Summer (fan video)

Let's Engrave Two

Monday was a rainy opening day at Wrigley Field, but spirits were high. Not only was all of Wrigleyville worshiping at the altar of Fukudome (while watching the remaining 8 spots in the lineup bat 2 - 31 on the day) but Ernie Banks had his statue unveiled at the corner of Clark and Addison. I watched the game at a friend's place a block from the stadium, with several die hard Cub fans, most of whom took notice of Jesse Jackson (in attendance for reasons unknown) wedging himself between Banks and Hank Aaron in every camera shot.

The game itself was a standard Cubs outing, tying the game in the bottom of the 9th on an electrifying Fukudome home run, only to lose in 10. A couple hours after the game ended, I decided to head home. I walked past the statue while heading for the El and stopped to take a quick glance. It looked nice, and there were still occasional fans posing for photos next to Mr. Cub.

I turned to keep walking. Then something caught my eye at the base of the statue. The quote that Ernie Banks is known for.Can you see (or rather, not see) what I didn't see?




If you're looking for an apostrophe in that first word, keep looking. It's not there.

Was Fukudome in charge of proofreading this thing as well? "Let's" is a contraction of "let us."

Leave it to the Cubs to put up a statue that they'll now be forced to correct at some pre-dawn hour this week. In the team's defense, it could have happened to anyone. Contractions kicked my ass in the 5th grade too.

My Bad, Goose

As I was bopping about various news sites and blogs this afternoon I passed a headline detailing Rich "Goose" Gossage's singular election to the Baseball Hall of Fame. The story was accompanied with a recent photo of Goose complete with handlebar mustache.

I skimmed the article trying to discover the last player to be posthumously elected to the Hall before Gossage, but none was mentioned. I pulled up the Google News accounts and a second article made nary a mention of Gossage's recent demise. All reports plugged his 22-year career, 3.01 ERA and 310 career saves, but none brought up the fact that this guy would leave the induction podium unfortunately empty.

I just could not fathom how a player's untimely death is not part of any story about a legendary closer getting 86% of the writers' votes and then I remembered I'm not that big of a baseball fan.

Baseball is a very distant fifth on my sports ladder, but I'm still interested enough to be informed, albeit sometimes that information gets muddled once you throw in closers who played for both the Cubs and Padres and had distinctive facial hair.

Goose Gossage is heading to the Hall of Fame, and he's very much alive. Unlike Rod Beck, God rest his soul.

By the way, when oh when will the Hawk get his due? Put Andre Dawson in the Hall of Fame already.