Time-out

I'm off for a week of well-earned vacation in deepest Burgundy:



In my absence, the blog will be in the very capable hands of faithful reader DBF (possibly the only follower of the Oakland A's in Conflans-Sainte-Honorine), who is under instruction to share whatever pearls of wisdom he may have with the, erm, thousands of Baseball Desert readers around the world.

In the event of him suffering writer's block, I'd like to point you in the direction of two blogs I've come across recently: petite anglaise, the diary of a thirtysomething in Paris, and crinklybee, the musings of a Geordie exiled in Manchester. Neither of them have anything at all to do with baseball, but they're both extremely well-written and therefore highly recommended: you'll laugh (possibly out loud in the office), you'll cry, you'll probably add them to your bookmarks...

How Not To Be A Big-League Ballplayer

If David Ortiz is a shining example of how it should be done, then Barry Bonds is his polar opposite. Nothing has been proved regarding his alleged use of steroids, so I'm not going to be judge and jury on that issue - with a bit of luck, the full story will come out sooner or later.

I have to say, though, that his 'press conference' (and I use the term in the loosest, Giambi-esque sense of the term) earlier this week was quite a spectacle. I saw the edited highlights on MLB.com, but David Pinto pointed readers in the direction of the transcript of the conference, which gives a much clearer picture of the whole charade.

Bonds, like Giambi, made it clear that, for legal reasons, there would be no questions on BALCO. Fair enough, but in the end, every question was twisted and turned and thrown back at the reporters. At times, Bonds reminded me of my kids when they're trying to argue with me - when anything resembling a reasonable argument has been countered or dismissed, they try to decoy me. In their case, they'll pick up on some unimportant detail ("you said le chambre, when it's actually LA chambre") and try to focus the argument on that; in Bonds' case, he kept throwing things back at reporters, repeating himself and generally changing the subject to avoid having to actually answer the question. He plays for the Giants, but this press conference proved that he's also one of the all-time great dodgers.

The one point that did clearly emerge from all the smokescreens that Bonds attempted to throw up is that he would like bygones to be bygones:

But, things that happen in sports, in all sorts of sports, it's time to move on. Every time there has been incident, it has been corrected and now that it's being corrected, I think we need to go forward, move forward, let it go. Y'all stop watching Red Foxx in rerun shows and let's go ahead and let the program work and allow us to do our job.

His willingness to embrace the new measures implemented by Major League baseball is admirable, but Jayson Stark reminds us (and Bonds) that it isn't going to be quite that easy. Bonds says that he's never had so much support, but it will be interesting to see how the press and the fans and even Major League Baseball handle him approaching - and possibly breaking - Hank Aaron's home-run record. If and when it happens, I won't be there to watch it - not because it might be a record which is tainted, but simply because life is too short to waste time on someone I don't admire or even like that much. Bonds may hit himself into the record books, but he's going to have a lot of trouble earning the title "home-run king".

How To Be A Big-League Ballplayer

All the controversy surrounding steroid use in baseball has some people contemplating a glass which looks half-empty, but for my part I subscribe to the David Ortiz 'glass-is-half-full' school of thinking. On the day that Giambi and Bonds reported to Spring Training amid speculation and rumour as to their performance, both past and future, Ortiz was to be found spreading his infectious smile all over Fort Myers.

I hear all the time how we should stop setting our sports heroes up as role models, because we're almost always headed for disappointment. The problem is that having these heroes is a natural by-product of the game, whether you're 5 or 35 years old, so maybe what we should be doing is concentrating our efforts on those who are worthy of such attention, and Ortiz definitely falls into this category.

Since Ortiz helped the Red Sox to their first World Series victory in 86 years and was handsomely paid for doing so, it would be easy to argue that he has every reason to be happy with his lot, but one glance around the major leagues will tell you that a fat contract does not necessarily a happy ballplayer make.

I have little patience with any ballplayer who bemoans his working / salary conditions. I don't care what the relative value of their talents is (i.e. are they making as much as they ought to, given what owners seem to be raking in?), because in absolute terms (i.e. with regard to the average salary of average folks), getting paid anywhere from $400,000 to $18m to play baseball is a better deal than most of us will see in any number of lifetimes. I'm with Ben Folds' songwriting protagonist on this one - I hate hearing belly-aching rockstars (or ballplayers) whine and sob.

With that in mind, it was good to read what Papi had to say yesterday:

"Money is not everything in life, you know," said Ortiz. "I think if you look back, I bet you all of us have been in worse situations before and you don't know where you're going to be next. I really think that every day that you wake up in life, you have to appreciate and thank God for that. That's me. I was born with nothing and now I have something. Now that I have something, I'm not going to be picky about it, you know. I appreciate what I have and what I got."

Words to live by...

Wish You Were Here

The Nats in Viera, Fla.


The White Sox in Tucson, Ariz. (photos AP)

Thomas Boswell called it 'The Season of Sweet Boredom'. Sounds about right to me...

Behind the pinstripes

The New York Times has a good article on Bernie Williams' recent trip to Colombia and Venezuela in his capacity as cultural ambassador for the United States.

Sometimes those pinstripes and that interlocking NY logo just rub me up the wrong way (please step forward, Mr. Gary Sheffield - with friends like that on the team, Giambi doesn't need any enemies) - but Bernie has always been one of the exceptions. One of the students at his baseball clinic in Barranquilla summed it up nicely:

"I hate the Yankees, honestly, because I like the Braves," said Cristina Vargas, the only girl present. "But Bernie? He's Bernie."

Nattitude

And you thought you were happy to see the start of spring training? Can you imagine what it feels like for these guys to finally have A Place to Call Home?

I liked the makeup of the team and its attitude when it was up in Montreal, and the move to Washington has done nothing to change that - I'll be following their season with a lot of interest. Now it's up to the team and the organisation to win over the fans and prove that the decision to move the team was the right one. Baseball fans in Montreal have every right to feel that they got stiffed by Major League Baseball, but that's all the more reason for us to wish that the same thing doesn't happen in Washington.

If it were to happen, it certainly won't be for lack of enthusiasm on the part of the players:

"I know I'm ready to go right now," said [outfielder Brad] Wilkerson. "Our talent is a lot better than we showed last year because of injuries. Two years ago, we were tied for the wild-card spot with a month to go in the season. If we stay healthy, I think we could be there [in contention] at the end of this year, too."

Maybe, maybe not, but if you're looking to win over the fans with your attitude, that's about as good a way of going about it as there is.

Update: If you want a taste of the inside story from the Nats' camp, Balls, Sticks & Stuff recommends the blog being written by the Washington Post's sportswriters.

Wake up and smell the pine tar

It may be a grey day in Paris, and the calendar may not say March 21st, but spring is nonetheless officially upon us.

Although the flocks of spring creatures have yet to make their customary trips south, sightings have already been reported of the great-striped Junior and the very rare Spring Pedro.

The voice of reason inside my head tells me now and again that I should worry about getting this worked up over a bunch of millionaires turning up for work after 3 1/2 months' vacation, but mostly I don't hear it - it's drowned out by the shouts of "Play ball!"

Inside the lines

I don't claim to be any kind of baseball writer, but in my more idle moments - of which there are many over the winter - I often think that getting paid to watch baseball for eight months a year would be a nice way to earn a living. The only drawback I can see is that there has to be some measure of objectivity to the writing - the writer can never truly be just another fan in the stands, rooting for the home team (if (s)he has a home team).

The return of baseball to Washington D.C. has Thomas Boswell pondering these questions and looking forward to the Nationals' spring training with the joy and enthusiasm of a little kid. If this week's steroid revelations (or non-revelations) have left you feeling a little jaded, then Boswell's article is the ideal pick-me-up:

From the camp opener in February until October, a big league team is with you for 7 1/2 months. Baseball insinuates itself into every night of spring and summer, as well as the best days of fall. Then it returns to help us endure the end of winter as we wait for Opening Day.

It's been a long time coming for the people of the nation's capital, but as of next week they're finally going to have a home team to root for once again. That prospect has Boswell so excited that he's even thinking about crossing the line - both literal and figurative - that separates him from those he writes about:

The return of the Nats will complete a circle for many of us, while starting a whole new cycle for others. The first big leaguer I ever interviewed was a Senator in their last season here in 1971. Lenny Randle was in the RFK Stadium outfield during batting practice. So I walked out to talk to him. Why not? What line drives? Isn't that where you interview 'em?

"I don't think you're supposed to be out here," said Randle, one rookie to another.

To this day, I doubt I've set foot inside the lines again. But on Tuesday in Viera, Fla., I'll be tempted. I feel a need, shared with many, for some tactile sense that the Nats are back. For months, people have asked me earnestly, "Is it really going to happen?" As if this is all an incredibly elaborate practical joke on a scale slightly smaller than faking the first man on the moon.

"I think so," I say, but don't go further.

This return of the team makes children of us all. I feel too young to know such an important thing for certain. So, just to be sure, next week I may walk to right field and touch the grass.

Screw steroids - this is what baseball is all about.

What the truck...!!??

Yesterday The Soxaholix were pregnant with anticipation. Today it happened. You can almost hear those sweet line drives...

When You Say Nothing At All

So Jason Giambi's much-touted press conference came and went, and when it was over, no-one was really any the wiser as to the facts of the case. There had been hopes that Giambi would clear up some of the rumours and mystery surrounding his leaked Grand Jury testimony, but alas, it wasn't to be. Instead, he spent the best part of 45 minutes apologising to the fans, to his team-mates and his ballclub, but refusing to go into the details of exactly what he was apologising for.

There have been a lot of takes on Giambi's non-disclosure, but ESPN's Jayson Stark seems to sum up the situation best:

[Giambi's] agent, Arn Tellem, said Thursday that while Giambi can't specifically acknowledge much of anything, it shouldn't be all that hard for people to connect the dots and get a true picture of exactly what Giambi is apologizing for. And, in fact, it's not.

But since Giambi can't say it with words, he needs to spend the rest of his life saying it with actions.

He needs to play baseball, and hit baseballs, like the Giambi of old, if that's still possible. He needs to be as well-behaved a citizen as any baseball player in this universe. He needs to stay out of Page Six in the Post. He needs to keep telling the truth on the witness stand, no matter what that entails. And he needs to prove he's worthy of the second chance the Yankees are giving him only because they have no other choice.

I'm torn on the Giambi issue, I really am. Though no-one has actually officially said it yet, it appears that he used banned substances to make him a bigger, better ballplayer. That makes him a cheat, and it becomes very hard to defend his position. However, Giambi has one redeeming feature: he allegedly told the truth to the Grand Jury. OK, as redeeming features go, telling the truth (under threat of sanctions) once you've been caught doing something illegal is not going to make anyone's top 40, but everything is relative. As Jayson Stark rightly points out,

Giambi didn't say he thought he was ingesting pine nuts, or sunscreen, or disinfectant. He didn't dance around the truth like the rest of the BALCO all-stars did (allegedly, of course). He took a deep breath and told his story. The whole story.

He didn't do it for money or publicity, either, as has been the case this week. Maybe he did it to protect himself, maybe he did it out of some twisted sense of honour, maybe he did it simply because he was headed down a dead-end street and this was the only possible way out. Whatever his reasons, I find myself condemning what he did, but at the same time hoping that he does get himself back on track. Rightly or wrongly, he's become Public Enemy No. 1 as far as performance-enhancing drugs are concerned (even if others were using them before him and are now trying to make a buck or two with their sad kiss-and-tell memoirs) and he's going to have to deal with that. He screwed up on the public stage, and will now have to try to repair the damage on that same public stage. Nothing is going to be easy any more for Giambi, and there's no reason it should be. One can but hope that he gets out out of the whole sordid mess in one piece.

Odd-shaped balls

I hear there's some football game happening tonight in Jacksonville. I know nothing about football, so no in-depth analysis from The Baseball Desert, I'm afraid. I don't even know enough to have a favourite team for tonight's game (Beth, Tom - don't yell, OK?), so go, erm, Eagl...iots!?

A load of old balls

I didn't comment on the whole Red Sox 'Ballgate' thing when it blew up because it just seemed so ridiculous, but yesterday's headline news was the straw that broke this particular camel's back.

The infamous Renteria-to-Foulke-to-Mientkiewicz baseball that represented the final out of Game 4 of the World Series finally arrived at Fenway Park, and Red Sox president Larry Lucchino had this to say:

"It's an important part of Red Sox history and it should be a ball that's honored and shared".

For God's sake, Larry - you can hono(u)r #9 or Yaz or Wade Boggs, but why (and how...) the hell are you going to honour a baseball? I know it's an important little piece of history, and that you're all excited that you finally spirited it away from that sneaky former Red Sox first baseman, but don't get carried away, OK? By all means, honour the team that brought the World Series trophy back to Boston, but leave it at that. I mean, honouring a baseball would be as bright an idea as believing in some bizarre 86-year curse, and nobody is stupid enough to do that, right?

The rest of the dream

There has been a lot written about this article over the past couple of days. One of the, shall we say, 'livelier' critiques comes from basegirl:

How silly of me, I forgot what a "hero" Sir A-Rod is because he can get his pampered ass out of the house by 7am to go to the gym. Brother, please, if I can manage to get my own self out of the house by 7 - and I sure as hell ain't making $25.2 million a year playing a little boy's game for a living - then spare me the histrionics about your sacrifices.

Kristen has a point - in fact, several points - but what struck me in particular was the "little boy's game". Not just careers but entire lives are built around baseball, a lot of people make a lot of money from taking it very, very seriously, people analyse and theorise about it for money or just for the hell of it, but at the end of the day, this multi-billion dollar business is just a little boy's game, albeit raised to the nth degree.

I know that, for all my desire to be a sophisticated and knowledgeable baseball fan, at heart I'm still that little boy, and I'm sure I'm not the only one. However, one of the advantages of being a little boy at 35 - as opposed to at 10 - is that although you may still have some of the same dreams, you now have the wherewithal to make some of them come true. Baseball Musings last week linked to a blog that Mets fan Eric Brown set up to record the time he spent at a Mets fantasy baseball camp, which includes classic moments such as this:

The ball carried over the head of the leftfielder (okay, the left fielder was former pitcher Buzz Capra and he broke in on the ball when I hit it, or so I’m told) and took a few hops before hitting the fence. I rounded first and second, but put on the brakes instead of trying for three (never make the first or last out at third), safe with a stand up double off John Stearns.

Cutting-edge baseball analysis it is not, but if you're looking for a virtual breath of warm Florida air and a little hero worship, go check it out.

"You're out of order!"

The Superbowl? Not really my cup of tea...
Sammy Sosa? Been there, done that...
Barry Bonds' knees? *Yawn*...
Bizarre story from an English non-league football match? Now we're talkin'!

P.S. Angel Hernandez, please take note...


Thanks to long-time Baseball Desert supporter (and sometime Oakland A's supporter) Tim for the link.