April 01, 2008

RAINOUT READING: "ASSIGN YOGI BERRA TO CAPE CANAVERAL; HE COULD HANDLE ANY MISSILE"

Opening Day at Yankee Stadium cost Horsefeathers approximately $50 (parking+ lunch) and the game was cancelled due to a light misty drizzle. Chatting with an employee who was present for her 28th Opening Day, she mentioned there'd been 2 cancellations for snow, but this was the first she'd seen for mist. Further proof that we're becoming a nation of wimps! After struggling through horrendous traffic we returned home and consoled ourselves with memories of when baseball was still a game. Here is our all time favorite baseball poem. Anyone who loves the game, even Yankee haters will enjoy this one, by Marianne Moore:

BASEBALL AND WRITING

Fanaticism? No. Writing is exciting
and baseball is like writing.
You can never tell with either
how it will go
or what you will do;
generating excitement -
a fever in the victim -
pitcher, catcher, fielder, batter.
Victim in what category?
Owlman watching from the press box?
To whom does it apply?
Who is excited? Might it be I?

It's a pitcher's battle all the way - a duel -
a catcher's, as, with cruel
puma paw, Elston Howard lumbers lightly
back to plate. (His spring
de-winged a bat swing.)
They have that killer instinct;
yet Elston - whose catching
arm has hurt them all with the bat -
when questioned, says, unenviously,
"I'm very satisfied. We won."
Shorn of the batting crown, says, "We";
robbed by a technicality.

When three players on a side play three positions
and modify conditions,
the massive run need not be everything.
"Going, going . . . " Is
it? Roger Maris
has it, running fast. You will
never see a finer catch. Well . . .
"Mickey, leaping like the devil" - why
gild it, although deer sounds better -
snares what was speeding towards its treetop nest,
one-handing the souvenir-to-be
meant to be caught by you or me.

Assign Yogi Berra to Cape Canaveral;
he could handle any missile.
He is no feather. "Strike! . . . Strike two!"
Fouled back. A blur.
It's gone. You would infer
that the bat had eyes.
He put the wood to that one.
Praised, Skowron says, "Thanks, Mel.
I think I helped a little bit."
All business, each, and modesty.
Blanchard, Richardson, Kubek, Boyer.
In that galaxy of nine, say which
won the pennant? Each. It was he.

Those two magnificent saves from the knee-throws
by Boyer, finesses in twos -
like Whitey's three kinds of pitch and pre-
diagnosis
with pick-off psychosis.
Pitching is a large subject.
Your arm, too true at first, can learn to
catch your corners - even trouble
Mickey Mantle. ("Grazed a Yankee!
My baby pitcher, Montejo!"
With some pedagogy,
you'll be tough, premature prodigy.)

They crowd him and curve him and aim for the knees. Trying
indeed! The secret implying:
"I can stand here, bat held steady."
One may suit him;
none has hit him.
Imponderables smite him.
Muscle kinks, infections, spike wounds
require food, rest, respite from ruffians. (Drat it!
Celebrity costs privacy!)
Cow's milk, "tiger's milk," soy milk, carrot juice,
brewer's yeast (high-potency -
concentrates presage victory

sped by Luis Arroyo, Hector Lopez -
deadly in a pinch. And "Yes,
it's work; I want you to bear down,
but enjoy it
while you're doing it."
Mr. Houk and Mr. Sain,
if you have a rummage sale,
don't sell Roland Sheldon or Tom Tresh.
Studded with stars in belt and crown,
the Stadium is an adastrium.
O flashing Orion,
your stars are muscled like the lion.

March 30, 2008

OPENING DAY AT THE HOUSE THAT RUTH BUILT

        Horsefeathers will be at his house of worship, Yankee Stadium, for its final opening day services. Hope may spring eternal, but not for this Yankee fan. The team will be lucky to win half its games. With aging stars locked into long term contracts, and young pitchers with fragile arms, their vaunted offense won't be enough. Without performance enhancers, Posada, Jeter, Damon, Matsui and Abreu are all on the downslope, some steeply, and A-Rod will be pitched around. Then there's the defense---pathetic. Casey Stengel said "I hate them guys who knock in 2 runs and let in 3." Well the Yankees have that kind of defense. Can Joe Girardi refrain from overusing his young stud pitchers? Not with the newest generation of Steinbrenner oafs breathing down his neck. Which pitcher will be first to blow out his arm? My guess: Joba Chamberlain.

      Our prediction: The Detroit Tigers, led by the surpisingly effective Dontrelle Willis, will win in the American League and easily prevail over the New York Mets in the World Series. We hope we're wrong and that all the Yankees young pitchers remain healthy while their older players hold off Father Time for one more year, but we don't think it will happen.

January 01, 2008

WHEN BASEBALL WAS AMERICA'S GAME...

...and America was still America.

BABE RUTH AND THE HOLOCAUST.
Don't miss the letter to the editor from the Babe's granddaughter.

October 19, 2007

NOBODY ASKED ME BUT...

"A reflective reading of history will show that no man ever rose to military greatness who could not convince his troops that he put them first, above all else."--Gen. Maxwell Taylor

Let us now praise famous men:

Joe Torre was never the greatest tactical manager; Bobby Valentine, Tony LaRussa and others have been more open to employing advances in Sabermetric research. Torre was not an innovator, like Casey Stengel. However, Churchill was not the greatest military tactician either. Both Torre and Churchill were exceptional, inspiring leaders of men who understood human psychology and got the most out of their followers. Torre brought out the best in his players and the worst in the Yankee ownership.

If there’s a corner in hell for people who dishonor the great game of baseball, the Steinbrenner family and Randy Levine deserve a special place.

Joe Torre should be manager of the year for 2007. He led an injury plagued, pitching starved Yankee team to the playoffs. The Yankees never quit, even when they were 14 games back, and that testifies to Torre’s skill as a leader, a motivator of men.

Among his other recent accomplishments, Torre integrated a contingent of young Latin players into the Yankee team culture. It’s known among baseball players that Latin players don’t patiently wait out pitchers because “you don’t walk your way off the island.” The interests of the team are not their primary concern. Notice that Joe Torre got such players as Robinson Cano and Melky Cabrera to be team players, willing to take walks and sacrifice when needed. That’s no small achievement.

Anyone with the slightest knowledge of sabermetrics knows that a short series is a crapshoot. A team that has won 58% of its games going against one that has won 56%. Anything can happen. To fire a manager for failing to win a 3 of 5 series suggests not just malice and stupidity, but infantile grandiosity. Joe Torre leading a team of celebrity millionaire young athletes into the playoffs 12 years in a row puts him up there with the greatest managers in major league history.

Mariano spoke. Jorge spoke. How come Derek Jeter had nothing to say about Joe Torre when a word from him could have assured Torre's return? Oh Captain, my Captain.. where were you?

This 60+ year season ticket holding Yankee fan will be rooting for the Red Sox. The lifelong love affair is over--unless and until Joe Torre is part of a group that buys out the Steinbrenners.

July 28, 2007

BOURBON AND BASEBALL

        Horsefeathers and two baseball loving friends completed a 36 hour excursion from New York to Lexington Ky., for a class A Lexington Legends night game, and to Cincinnati for a Reds day game, with enlightening stops enroute at the Woodford Reserve bourbon distillery and the Louisville Slugger bat factory. Both games were crisply played one run affairs, the first featuring a home run by Koby Clemens, the second a homer by Ken Griffey, Jr. Watching the very young minor leaguers, struggling hard to make it to the show, gave us a renewed appreciation for the effort and skill involved, the harsh demands of America's game. When you're digging in at the plate with runners in scoring position, the spotlight is pitiless. It doesn't care about your hopes and dreams, nor about who you are or who's your daddy; there is no affirmative action to assist those less talented. There is no room for utopian egalitarian fantasizing by players, coaches or managers. Not all are equal. Strike out and you're booed; get a hit and you're cheered. Strike out too often and you're gone.
        Seeing all this up close made Horsefeathers reflect on the topic of Barry Bonds, world class cheater. Unquestionably a great player, he should nevertheless be condemned and shunned by the Commisioner, (and all who love the game) the official representative of the game.
        Excelling at baseball requires exceptional physical skills, plus practice and training over many years. It is a team game within which the individual has ample room to succeed or fail. Introducing performance enhancing drugs, especially steroids and human growth hormone, makes a mockery of the efforts by all the other players who don't cheat. This is not simply a moral matter; it is a practical one as well. If one of those struggling minor leaguers is working his way up the ladder legitimately, and another, slightly less talented, passes him because of using performance enhancers, it penalizes the honest player and subverts the game itself. We know that baseball heros are human, with all the flaws and failings of the rest of us. However, within the game we have a right to expect players to utilize their physical skills without biotechnological enhancement. Imagine that biotechnology advances to the point where bionic arms can throw 100mph fastballs forever.
        Horsefeathers is aware that, within the game, players strive for an edge--stealing bases, stealing signs, etc. However, no player is more important than baseball itself, and Barry Bonds has trashed the greatest game ever invented. Barry Bonds with his glittering earring and his casual lies is a perfect representative of our age of narcissism, in which his own numbers in the record book matter more than his team, more than his personal honor, and more than the game itself. His home run record is an insult to Henry Aaron, a man who endured hardships Bonds never knew, yet always behaved with dignity, personal honor, and respect for the game. What must go through his mind when he sees a brazen fraud take away his hard won records? Barry Bonds should be elected to the Hall of Shame and his home run record be marked forever as the record of a cheater.

March 02, 2007

CONGRESS: WHAT DOES IT DO WHEN IT'S NOT HELPING OUR ENEMIES?

        Tim Marchman explains how our political leaders are trying to 'help' the great American game--baseball.
        "...The influence of Congress on baseball is uniformly wicked and lamentable as it neglects what needs attention and gives its attention to the most trivial affairs, and most every politician who opens his mouth on the subject comes across as uninformed or as a charlatan..."
See the rest here.

February 04, 2007

SUPER BOWL SUNDAY: LET BASEBALL BEGIN

        Super Bowl Sunday is here, and with it come the Marxist sociologists masquerading as sports writers. All this ink spilled over the skin color of the coaches, as if Jackie Robinson was just now breaking the color barrier. (By the way, when invoking Robinson, someone should remind these locker room Lenins that he was, horror of horrors, a strong Republican) and over the medical consequences of playing football. Is anyone shocked at the fact that concussions occur frequently when big strong men collide, and those collisions have health consequences? That's why most of us seek to avoid them and fork out big bucks to those who seek them out. But the delicate creatures who now cover sports are most interested in flattering themselves for noticing the phenomenon. They write as though they were deep thinkers, empathically concerned about improving the world so the unenlightened who play games don't hurt themselves and aren't exploited by greedy capitalists.

        Sam Johnson conveyed something essential about aging when he wrote:

"Condemn'd to hope's delusive mine,
As on we toil from day to day,
By sudden blasts, or slow decline,
Our social comforts drop away..."

        One of life's social comforts used to be reading the sports pages. Horsefeathers is old enough to remember when reading about a ball game in the next day's papers was eagerly anticipated. This was in the days when radio broadcasts of baseball often consisted of the sound of a teletype machine in the background followed by a 'recreation' of the events taking place far from the studio: "Here's Stan (The Man) Musial at the plate. The pitcher winds and throws a fastball high and tight. Musial uncoils from his question mark stance and lines one to the warning track. The right fielder leaps and can't reach it as it caroms off the wall in Sportsman's Park. Musial lopes into second with his league leading 60th double." Such descriptions were based on a teletyped message: "Musial, 2B, RF." Writing was vivid, evocative and at times almost poetic. There are lines written by Jimmy Cannon, Red Smith and Roger Angell that stay in the mind all these years later. "You're Yogi Berra who wanted to be like all the other guys. Now all the other guys want to be like you."(Cannon), etc.
        Still the games survive, at least until Sharia law prevails. Thankfully baseball begins in 2 weeks and on Super Bowl Sunday Horsefeathers will be staring at the tube--although we share Rogers Hornsby's sentiment that there is only one true American game, baseball. Maybe if television existed back in the 1920's Hornsby would have given a slightly different answer to a questioner, "What do I do in the off-season? I stare out the window and wait until spring."

November 22, 2006

BASEBALL'S MVP VOTE: PROOF THAT SPORTSWRITERS ARE DUMB AS MOST OTHER JOURNALISTS

And now to important matters: baseball.
        The farce of the Most Valuable Player award continues. In 1925 Roger Peckinpaugh hit .294 in 422 at bats, while Al Simmons hit .387 in 654 at bats. Peckinpaugh won the MVP. Perhaps Derek Jeter can draw consolation from that fact as he reflects on losing this year's American league MVP to Justin Morneau.
        Tim Marchman, our favorite sports writer, points out the value of this absurd choice. In time to come "perhaps millions of drinks will be won on bets involving Justin Morneau's name."

"The selection, announced yesterday, of Minnesota first baseman Justin Morneau as the American League's Most Valuable Player is dumb and indefensible, good evidence of why no one takes baseball writers seriously. Morneau wasn't the best, or the second-best, or the third-best player among first basemen and designated hitters. He wasn't the best or second-best player on his own team. He wasn't even the best player with the initials "JM" on his own team. (You take the guy with 130 RBI and I'll take Joe Mauer, a Gold Glove-caliber catcher who led the league in batting average, and we'll see who wins more games.) He wasn't one of the five best players in the division. He wasn't one of the 10 best players in the league..."
See the rest here.

October 08, 2006

NOBODY ASKED US BUT...

(Hattip to the late, great Jimmy Cannon)

This year's Yankees were never as great as the pundits said, and are not as awful as they're saying today. They're a good team that got beaten by another good team, with better pitching, in a best of 5 series. It happens all the time. That's why they play games, rather than anoint winners on sports talk radio.

Would someone please explain how Kenny Rogers can throw 93mph fastballs at age 41, when he was a junkball pitcher at age 35 who couldn't top 86mph? We have our suspicions about what the Yankees players meant when they said he was a "new" Kenny Rogers.

What marketing genius decided baseball at Yankee Stadium needs the accompaniment of deafening rap music? Probably the same genius who thought we should be repeatedly instructed to "clap, clap, clap" and "get loud".

I see two essential functions for government: 1)providing for national defense and 2) making it illegal to start baseball games after 8PM.

Why is there always a guy a few rows ahead of you, who stands up to use his cellphone and is oblivious to the shouts of "down in front"?

Are there any slower moving lines than the lines at the concession stands in Yankee Stadium?

Before we're inundated by psychobabble explaining A-Rod's difficulties, shouldn't we consider possible physical reasons? A-Rod has always had a long looping arc to his swing, but had sharp enough reflexes to get his bat around quickly. We think his reflexes have slowed and he tries to compensate by starting his swing earlier. This leaves him very vulnerable to breaking balls and changeups away. Most players, at least those not on performance enhancers, start to decline around age 29-30. So A-Rod's supposed inability to handle pressure, may actually be a case of physical decline, now being exploited by good pitchers.

Joe Torre's strengths and weaknesses as a manager are, by now, well known. The same people who are blaming him for the Yankees failure in the ALDS were praising him in September for the team's success following the injuries to Matsui and Sheffield. Firing Torre will do nothing to improve the team's chances.

From 'clueless Joe' to Saint Joe and back; it was an 11 year round trip for the Yankees' manager. We trust he remembers Casey Stengel on managing: "It's getting paid for homeruns someone else hits." Casey certainly had the best perspective on managerial success and failure. In 1950, Casey's friend, Billy Meyer's Pirates fell to 6th place while the Yankees won the pennant and World Series. Stengel said, "Billy, what I can't understand is how I got so smart so fast, and you got so dumb."

April 11, 2006

OH CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN: OPENING DAY AT THE HOUSE THAT DEREK JETER RESTORED

"...There was an awful rainbow once in heaven:
We know her woof, her texture; she is given
In the dull catalogue of common things.
Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings,
Conquer all mysteries by rule and line,
Empty the haunted air...
--John Keats, Lamia.

        Horsefeathers enjoyed a perfect spring afternoon, the day before Passover, at his own house of worship, Yankee Stadium, attending the home opener of the baseball season. The long winter of our sporting discontent is over. No more clock driven sports, like football and basketball, as substitutes for the real thing. The game was preceded by a superb rendition of the National Anthem by the West Point glee club while the flag was unfurled by the Corps of Cadets after they were introduced as representing the American ideals of honor, courage and patriotism. Two fighter jets roared low over the Stadium, Yogi Berra tossed out the first ball, and the game began. During a moment of silent remembrance for the troops fighting to defend our freedom, we thought of the absence of any such heartfelt tribute at this year's Super Bowl. Say what you will about George Steinbrenner, he surely understands that baseball would be the target of Islamo-Nazi fanatics, as a representative creation of infidel America. To give a jihadi paraphrase of Jacques Barzun "Whoever wants to destroy the heart and mind of America had better destroy baseball".
        The game began and the early Yankee lead faded as their starting pitcher, Chien Ming Wang, struggled. Kansas City extended its lead and the Yankees' bats seemed to slow down and turn leaden. How many summer hours have we wiled away, watching slow grounders to short and weak popflies to short right field? How many pages of newsprint have we devoured, in vain search of explanation and prediction? It was deja vue all over again. 27 outs and now we were at 21, 22, 23---and here came the Captain, Derek Jeter with the Yankees trailing.
        Lately Jeter has been under severe scrutiny by science---the science of Sabermetrics. We are grateful to these researchers who have quantified and rendered statistically intelligible athletic performance that had been subject to superstition and fantasy. They have lately told us that Derek Jeter's actual skills, as opposed to his image with the public, are limited. His range at shortstop is nowhere near the range of most of his major league peers. He can't go to his left. His at bat power numbers are less than great. He's a singles hitter, far less potent with the bat than his teammate, Alex Rodriguez. Still, we know there's something that does escape the statistical eye; anyone watching Jeter over the years has become familiar with the extraordinary baseball intelligence that puts him always in the right place at the right time. There are those singular artistic defensive plays he paints on the green canvas. Jeter from nowhere, taking a relay throw from right field and backflipping it to prevent a run from scoring. Jeter spotting a fly ball over his shoulder, not looking back and gloving it while diving over a tardy outfielder. Jeter catching a foul pop up and diving headlong into the seats. Today, as the sun was concentrating its rays on left field, the crowd was leaving and the Captain had taken the collar, going a harmless zero for three. Derek Jeter, the singles hitter, now, according to the laws of Sabermetrics, at 30, starting the downslope of his career. Derek Jeter, whose name seems more suited to a Professor of Post-Modern literary studies, than a major league shortstop; Derek Jeter, whose graceful acrobatic leaps and throws from deep short, are deemed of little or no utilitarian value; Derek Jeter, whose numbers will never come close to A-Rod's, but whom every Yankee fan would prefer to see up there with the game on the line. Derek Jeter who stands now, in the late afternoon, under the declining sun, delicately at the plate with one foot on tip toe like a pinstriped Baryshnikov poised to leap free of gravity, but not to uncoil in the most violent sudden way, which he now does- his bat, with a flick of the wrists, flashing through the air like a magic sword, lashing out at an advancing and dangerous foe. His body turns violently as his hips rotate and the bat collides with the tumbling baseball. And now, there's a brief hush in the crowd as the ball leaves his bat, not violently at all, but lazily, languidly, a pop fly, a spheroid rainbow, drifting towards left field, surely bound for the glove of the left fielder. In the stands we turn our heads disappointedly to watch its beautiful slow, slow flight, while time seems to suspend itself. There's the ball and look now, amazingly it's carrying away, away, away, as the left fielder first starting in, now suddenly realizing, turns his shoulder, puts his head down and runs desparately and helplessly towards the outfield wall. The hushed crowd also realizes and now erupts as the lazy fly ball carries well beyond the reach of the left fielder, into the eager grasp of a fan. It's the decisive winning moment, Opening Day.
        As the late great Jimmy Cannon might have said: "You're Derek Jeter, who once wanted to be like all the other guys, and now all the other guys want to be like you."

March 08, 2006

VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES: THE CASE OF BARRY BONDS

        Horsefeathers has lamented the decline of quality in American popular culture. We wonder what the ghosts of Jo Stafford and Frank Sinatra would have to say about this year's Oscar winning song, a ghastly assault on the senses, depicting the hard life of a pimp. This decline has been evident in other spheres as well: one that particularly bothers Horsefeathers is the quality of newspaper sports writing. We long ago ceased reading the New York Times sports pages because the writing had less to do with sports than with politically correct social agendas. The writers seem aggrieved affirmative action hires, determined to hit the reader over the head with the racist, sexist horrors of sport. When the New York Sun began to compete with the Times, we turned with trepidation to the sports pages. We were amazed to find writers who are knowledgable about the sports they cover, and interested in the actual games played and their role as entertainment. Today's issue has a special treat: two articles by Tim Marchman. One about Kirby Pucket's death and one about Barry Bonds's drug use. Marchman is unusual in that he possesses the factual knowledge of a good journalist, plus the gift of character evocation of a novelist---which he is. He deftly explores the motivations that drove each man, their demons as well as their talent. For Barry Bonds, it wasn't enough to be one of the 10 greatest players of all time; he had to be the greatest, and the drugs made him just that.
        In concluding his article on Bonds, Marchman writes:
"...what people really want to know is how and why a player as great and uniquely gifted as Bonds - had he retired after the 1998 season, he'd have been a first-ballot Hall of Famer - could have risked his health and reputation in the prideful pursuit of more greatness.

That is the essence of the steroids scandal, and why Bonds's story resonates so much more than those of less gifted but equally guilty players. Ultimately, the simultaneously grandiose and prosaic answers (to oversimplify, it's in the nature of greats to never be satisfied) are probably best dealt with by a different kind of writer than Fainaru-Wada or Williams entirely. Until the great Bonds novel is written, though, the clear telling of the facts about his life and his downfall is what we have to go on. They're sad enough on their own."

        While we're waiting for that future artist's work, we can turn to Dr. Johnson who many years ago explored the motivation of individuals like Bonds. An all consuming "Ambition to be great", hubris, leads inevitably to downfall. As Johnson put it in his magnificent poem, The Vanity of Human Wishes:
"...Unnumber'd Suppliants croud Preferment's Gate,
Athirst for Wealth, and burning to be great;
Delusive Fortune hears th' incessant Call,
They mount, they shine, evaporate, and fall...

...From every Room descends the painted Face,
That hung the bright Palladium of the Place,
And smoak'd in Kitchens, or in Auctions sold,
To better Features yields the Frame of Gold;...

...The Form distorted justifies the Fall,
And Detestation rids th' indignant Wall..."

        Barry Bonds's fate has already been determined. Now its just a question of how far he will fall.

September 24, 2005

LIFE REMAINS A METAPHOR FOR BASEBALL

        Horsefeathers has been spending considerable time recently at his House of Worship, Yankee Stadium, and as a result has been neglecting the undoubtedly larger issues of the day. Still there is something to be said for spending time away at the ballpark, amongst 50,000 American patriots, enjoying the National Anthem, Kate Smith singing God Bless America, and the national pastime. Baseball is a humbling game, not for utopian perfectionists. It reminds us that wars are not easily won, that there are setbacks to be overcome. Even the greatest players, like A-Rod, make outs 2/3 of the time. Similarly, the fan who expects victory in every game will be disappointed. Regret over lost opportunities (how could we lose so many to Tampa Bay?) is constant. Still, hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul--and hope was in short supply for Yankee fans through much of the season
        Horsefeathers has enjoyed criticizing George Steinbrenner as much as any Yankee fan. Our complaints have ranged from resentment over the price of a beer at the ballpark---$8.50 for a watered down Bud and, God preserve the memory of Billy Martin, sushi between innings---to “the Boss’s” interference in the day to day running of the ball club. We detest the loud rock music at the ballpark, the canned demands that fans “get loud”, in short,anything that detracts from the game itself. In principle, we dislike the notion of big bucks buying a winner. Yet in this bizarre and wonderful season, with the Yankees, amazingly still in the pennant hunt, we say ‘thank you’ to George Steinbrenner. This may be the most remarkable season in the Joe Torre era. As the high priced stars broke down and the baseball pundits gleefully predicted the collapse of the Yankees, somehow it hasn't happened--much to Horsefeathers' amazement. Instead, a bunch of no-name players proved equal to the challenge. Who ever thought of Robinson Cano—the Yankee farm system was supposedly shot- Aaron Small, a 33 year old, lifetime minor leaguer, Bubba Crosby, (both obtained by Brian Cashman in a trade for Robin Ventura, now out of baseball) Shawn Chacon, the Colorado loser, in the line of Yankee winners? Bubba Crosby is especially inspiring, for he looks like an average kid, with (deceptively) average ability. When he hit his spectacular game winning homer against Baltimore, and his teammates erupted in glee, who didn't identify with him? When he said he had never done that, even in Little League, how many of us who coached Little League were transported back to the thrilling days when one of our 11 year olds launched a game winner over the right fielder's head? And then there’s the phenomenal return of Jason Giambi, the one steroid using player who handled his situation with dignity and grace. Here’s to you Jason---and to Joe Torre and Don Mattingly for sticking with you when most of us fans were eager to see you booted off the team. So whatever happens from here on, Horsefeathers raises a glass to George Steinbrenner. The Boss wants a winner, but he is, like his hero, George Patton, flexible enough to adapt to changing circumstances. We hope he is enjoying this great and glorious season as much as we fans. Win or lose, these Yankees have earned the respect we were so reluctant to give.

August 05, 2005

HARD WORKING CONGESSMEN TAKE UP THE CHALLENGE OF HUMAN NATURE, BASEBALL DIVISION

"Suppose you were an idiot. And suppose you were a member of Congress. But then I repeat myself."
--Mark Twain

        Horsefeathers certainly regrets the use of the drug du jour, steroids, by ballplayers, just as he regretted the past use of amphetamines, marijuana, uppers and downers of all kinds, including alcohol as stimulants to better performance. Just as he regretted the enormous quantities of aspirin he downed himself, each time he pitched a game in high school, and just as he regrets the shoulder pain that lingers 50+ years later. Just as we will regret,in the future, the new designer drugs now being developed. But then again, there are lots of things we regret about human nature and one of the least of them is the performance enhancing 'cheating' by ballplayers. Parenthetically, one of the great features of baseball is that it has its elaborate rules, but also acknowledges efforts to bend the rules---'stealing' bases is admired. Stealing signs is common. Trying to deceive the umpire is part of any good catcher's skills. Fielders routinely pretend to touch a base, hoping to gain a split second advantage. At least in the instances of steroid use so far exposed, the only actual physical risk is to the ballplayer. When human nature manifests itself in the form of millions of jihadis seeking to explode their way to utopia, we think that's what our government should be addressing. Instead, we have our representatives rushing for the TV cameras to denounce and threaten Rafael Palmeiro for lying about steroid use! We could use some of that fierce passion applied to Islamic jihadis, but that might be dangerous, so our spineless representatives look for easy targets. Their shameless posturing seems to confirm another of(see above) Mark Twain's observations: "There is no distinctly native American criminal class... save Congress."
        Tim Marchman, in our opinion, far and away the best baseball columnist currently writing, starts his column today with the question "Why should congress care?" and goes on to write: "The ongoing clown show that is the response of Congress and Major League Baseball to the game's steroids crisis reached a new low this week with the announcement that the Government Reform Committee, as part of a perjury investigation, requested documents relating to disgraced Orioles slugger Rafael Palmeiro's failed drug test, and that MLB and Palmeiro were complying with the groundless request.

The involvement of Congress this year with baseball's drug problem has been almost entirely characterized by ridiculous posturing and outlandish grandstanding, but this latest absurdity is the clearest evidence yet of the essential unseriousness of our elected representatives, who really ought to be ashamed of themselves.

"If we did nothing," Rep. Tom Davis, the committee's chairman, asked a reporter, "I think we'd look like idiots. Don't you?" The rejoinder writes itself."
See the rest here.

July 30, 2005

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO AN AMERICAN ORIGINAL: CASEY STENGEL

"There's somebody ready to employ you if you're on the ball."
--Casey Stengel

        Horsefeathers thought we would pause from the challenging task of dispelling cant, to gratefully record the 115th birthday on July 30, of a quintessentially American genius, Casey Stengel. We intended to discuss his daring platoon system that revolutionized baseball strategy, his willingness to ignore the resentment of his star players and his skill at handling athletic prima donnas(“the secret of managing is to keep the 12 guys who hate you away from the 13 who are undecided”.)Then we re-read Casey’s famous testimony before a Senate Committee investigating the need for government intervention in the game. We realized how much we miss him for his deft handling of the politicians who sought to cash in on baseball's popularity by their very public posturing and fake concern for its problems. How similar to today's camera hogging blowhards: the insufferable Sen. Schumer, the bloviating Sen. Byrd, the pair of phony Massachusetts moralists, Kennedy and Kerry, the blow dried camera hogs like Biden and Mc’Cain. They may be worse, but they are cut from the same Senatorial cloth as the men who quizzed Stengel. And guess who wound up looking like a fool? It wasn’t the man in the witness chair.

        Here’s a portion (the full transcripot is here)of his testimony wherein Casey deals with the unquenchable thirst of government officials to intervene in an industry they know nothing about. The hapless Senator Carroll is trying hard to get Casey to say that baseball needs the tender ministrations of lawmakers like himself, to set it right.

Senator Carroll: Do you feel, you have had experience through the years—
Mr. Stengel: That is true.
Senator Carroll: With the draft system, and the reserve clause in the contracts. Do you think you could still exist under existing law without changing the law?
Mr. Stengel: I think it is run better than it has ever been run in baseball, for every department.
Senator Carroll: Then, I come back to the principal question. This is the real question before this body.
Mr. Stengel: All right.
Senator Carroll: Then what is the need for legislation, if they are getting along all right?
Mr. Stengel: I didn't ask for the legislation. (Laughter).
Senator Carroll: Your answer is a very good one, and that is the question Senator Kefauver put to you.
Mr. Stengel: That is right.
Senator Carroll: That is the question Senator O'Mahoney put.
Mr. Stengel: Right.
Senator Carroll: Are you ready to say there is no need for legislation in this field, then, insofar as baseball is concerned?
Mr. Stengel: As far as I'm concerned, from drawing a salary and from my ups and downs and being discharged, I always found out that there was somebody ready to employ you, if you were on the ball
Senator Carroll: Thank you very much, Mr. Stengel.

        And then there’s the insufferable Sen. Langer, so terribly concerned about the potential ‘monopoly’ status of baseball, requiring, naturally, legislation he could craft. He tried unsuccessfully to pin Casey down, and finally gave it one last shot. Casey proves more than his match as a defender of free enterprise and competition in the market place.

Senator Langer: Mr. Chairman, my final question. This is the Antimonopoly Committee that is sitting here.
Mr. Stengel: Yes, sir.
Senator Langer: I want to know whether you intend to keep on monopolizing the world's championship in New York City.
Mr. Stengel: Well, I will tell you, I got a little concerned yesterday in the first three innings when I saw the three players I had gotten rid of and I said when I lost nine what am I going to do and when I had a couple of my players I thought so great of that did not do so good up to the sixth inning I was more confused but I finally had to go and call on a young man in Baltimore that we don't own and the Yankees don't own him, and he is going pretty good, and I would actually have to tell you that I think we are more the Greta Garbo type now from success. We are being hated I mean, from the ownership and all, we are being hated. Every sport that gets too great or one individual, but if we made 27¢ and it pays to have a winner at home why would you not have a good winner in your own park if you were an owner. That is the result of baseball. An owner gets most of the money at home and it is up to him and his staff to do better or they ought to be discharged.
Senator Langer: That is all, Mr. Chairman. Thank you.

Indeed, thank you Casey, and Horsefeathers happily admits you into the folly, ignorance and cant clearing Hall of Fame.

December 07, 2004

Baseball, Steroids, and Human Nature

“He may not throw a spitball, but he sure spits on the ball.”
---Casey Stengel on a pitcher suspected of throwing the illegal pitch.

        Shortly before the Jason Giambi steroid scandal broke, Horsefeathers was chatting among a group of physicians, including a leading authority in the field of sports medicine, about Curt Schilling’s recent great win against the Yankees. The morning of his heroic victory, Schilling was barely able to walk. Later that day, following surgery and the injection of pain-killers, he risked serious long term damage to his foot to pitch the game of his life. Each time he strode towards the plate to hurl a 90+mph. fastball he put enormous pressure on his injured ankle. No physician, I was assured, would have argued on medical grounds for the Schilling procedure, and certainly none would have argued that he go ahead and risk permanent damage by pitching that day. Performing the surgery verged on medical malpractice, and would have been such for anyone but a professional athlete like Schilling. Yet every one in our group, including the aforementioned expert, agreed---if offered the choice between the possibilities for permanent damage and pitching that historic game, it wasn’t even close- we’d each have chosen to pitch.
        Now, however, the cantmeisters are out in force, demanding the heads of Giambi, Bonds, Sosa, and all the other steroid sculpted sluggers, like Mark Mc’Gwire, who’ve entertained us mightily over recent years. U.S. Senators, seeking face time for future Presidential runs are weighing in with threats of government intervention. What next, a Secretary of Sport meting out punishment to base stealers? A bureaucracy to assess whether pitchers are coming inside with fastballs too often? The lynch mob insists the steroid users have “damaged the game”. What nonsense! The greatness of baseball is damaged as much by its stars’ misbehavior as the greatness of chess is damaged by Bobby Fischer’s craziness. The half life of this manufactured scandal will be less than the time from now until Spring training. But while it's still lighting up the sports pages why stop with the latest generation of miscreants? Let’s empty the Hall of Fame of all those great ballplayers who used such “performance enhancers” as amphetamines, or cocaine, in the ‘60’s-‘90s? And what about those other timeless performance enhancers, known to be used not just by ballplayers, but even by sportswriters-alcohol, nicotine, caffeine and sex? Let’s evict Jimmy Cannon and Red Smith from the pantheon of baseball writers. And why stop there, when our moralists can cite high minded and authoritative medical knowledge? Shouldn't Babe Ruth’s misbehavior invalidate his accomplishments? What a bad example for America's youth. Surely, his ‘life style’---constant partying, bootleg (illegal) whisky, nicotine, and late nights with countless women had something to do with his death at age 53. Off with his head. Mickey Mantle is said to have hit some of his most titanic home runs while severely hung over: (“I saw 3 balls at once so I swung at the middle one.”)Towards the end of his booze shortened life he was prevailed upon by our medical moralists to issue a demeaning mea culpa to his fans. Let’s also kick Joe DiMaggio out of the Hall of Fame; it turns out he was a chain smoking, paranoid, caffeine addicted, ulcer ridden cheapskate. Half the members of the Big Red Machine played high on amphetamines and/ or cocaine. Shall we evict Joe Morgan, Johnny Bench and teammates from the Hall? Granted, Barry Bonds, Giambi, Canseco and many others broke some utterly ineffective laws proscribing drug use, just as their predecessors did to get booze during prohibition. However, you would think, from reading the sports pages and listening to sports talk radio, that they’d murdered innocent children in the cradle. Any sentient sports fan past the age of 6 has been well aware that Popeye shaped athletes got that way with artificial help. We’re talking about ballplayers, not candidates for sainthood.
        Let us remember that baseball is a form of entertainment, no matter what various wordsmith intellectuals like John Updike and Roger Angell may assert. Do we demand that actresses and actors not “enhance” their bodies with plastic surgery or control their weight with amphetamines and other drugs? Did we insist that Judy Garland or Miles Davis perform only while sober and drug free? Was Janis Joplin, wailing “Come on, come on, come on, take another little piece of my heart, baby..” less authentic because she was stoned and drunk while singing? Horsefeathers would suggest that the pundits who feign shock over the latest news about human nature, are as hypocritical and phony as the various targets of their wrath. Jason Giambi made a deal with the devil and now the price has come due. Before we join the witch hunt of condemnation let’s ask ourselves what each of us would have done in his or Barry Bonds’s shoes. In Horsefeathers' case, unfortunately, no matter how much human growth hormone or prednisone we might have taken we'd have been in approximately the same position as the rookie minor leaguer who wrote a letter to his mother saying “I’ll be home soon; they’ve started throwing the curve ball.” Horsefeathers will, however, continue to enjoy the game, not expecting ballplayers to be noble role models for the youth of America, and recalling what Casey Stengel once said of Bobby Richardson, a virtuous man: "Look at him- he doesn't drink, he doesn't smoke, he doesn't chew, he doesn't stay out late, and he still can't hit."

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