The southpaw challenge

I'm a southpaw, a lefty, one of the few, the proud, the 10% or so of people who drive the IT department nuts because our mouse is on the wrong side of the keyboard and the buttons are reversed. Of course, to make things easier, I adapted to a right-handed world. I didn't have much choice -- before the emergence of the Internet it was damn hard to find left-handed scissors, you know.

The one place I couldn't adapt was in sports. While I bat right for some reason, I throw left and, as a result, my options on the baseball field were limited (pitcher, first base, or outfield). The infield activities in baseball just are not designed for lefties. Put me at third base and it will look like I'm having spasms as I charge a bunt and then try to contort my body to allow me to throw to first base. Righties simply pick the ball up and throw across their bodies. Sure, I played shortstop during the summer when the camp counselors had pickup games on Sunday evenings but there was no way that would have happened if we were in any sort of league.

While it's been a while since I've played organized baseball or softball, it all came back to me this evening as I read this article in the New York Times about Benny Distefano, the last left-handed catcher the play in the major leagues. What's interesting is that unlike the legitimate issues facing a lefty at second, third, or shortstop, the issues facing lefty catchers seem to mostly be derived from that most annoying of rationales: it's just not something that's done. Distefano last caught 20 years ago and there isn't a single lefty catcher in the minor leagues. That doesn't seem quite fair.

On the other hand, three of the last four presidents (including our current commander in chief) are lefties so we southpaws are obviously doing something right...or left.

Well, now what do I do?

I'm conflicted.

I'm not sure what to do.

Or how to react.

David Ortiz, the beloved "Big Papi" of the Boston Red Sox, tested positive for steroids in 2003, according to the New York Times.

Papi's statement indicated surprise and a desire to find out what he's supposed to have tested positive for before he would comment further.

I hope it's false though in baseball's steroid era, I sadly lean toward accepting the NY Times report as correct.

If it is, it sucks big time, tarnishing two World Series titles and leaving me and millions of Red Sox fans confused. We roundly booed and loathed Barry Bonds, took great pleasure in chanting STEROIDS! and CHEATER! when Alex Rodriguez, and looked on with confusion and contempt as fans welcomed Manny "I need my female hormones" Ramirez was welcomed back to the Dodgers after serving his 50-game suspension for using banned substances. They cheated (in the case of the players) and ignored the cheating (the fans). How could anyone with a love and respect for the game support and encourage these guys?

But now it's Big Papi, not some guy I never liked or crowds on the other side of the country.

What the hell do I do?

Do I boo the next time I see him? Do I sit stoically? How do I react when the Fenway fans start to cheer him during the next homestand? Do I rationaize and say "this is different than the other situations somehow"?

If it's true, I'm disappointed and, I guess, not entirely surprised. But neither feeling helps me figure out what the hell I do now when I see Big Papi come up to bat.

Never forget...baseball is a business

I grew up spending parts of my summers on Cape Cod and going to Cape Cod Baseball League baseball games. Played by college students using wooden bats, the non-profit CCBL has been a spawning ground for major league players (in 2008, 205 major leaguers in 2008 played on the Cape at some point) for decades, which is why I read with surprise that MLB is dropping the hammer on CCBL teams for trademark issues. Really? The Harwich Mariners have been around longer than the Seattle Mariners and you're going after them for not using an MLB-approved vendor for jerseys, hats, etc.? As a result, some teams like the Orleans Cardinals (my "home team" when I was on the Cape) are no more, electing to change their names to stick with local vendors and keep their costs low.

As a marketing guy, I understand the value of a brand and the need to protect a trademark but the now-former Orleans Cardinals had been around forever. Seriously, if there was going to be a challenge or weakening of the trademark, it would have happened already. It seems clear that what this is actually about is the dollars to be gained via the MLB licensing fee, its financial agreements with vendors who saw a slice of the pie that they didn't have, and all cloaked in the legalese of trademark protection while the threat of MLB withholding $100,000 in support is used to force compliance. Good for the renamed Orleans Firebirds as they updated their their red bird logo and switched to another name. While I'll probably always think of them as the Cardinals, fans on the Cape will enjoy the same great baseball and the Firebirds and local Cape vendors will enjoy a merchandising bonanza. Play ball!

Manny being stupid and leaving us wondering

Can I just go on the record as being sick and tired of the "Steroids Era" in baseball? I love baseball and am just fed up with the fact that we can't enjoy the game anymore without some jackass getting caught with a needle in his butt, a piss-poor excuse (my cousin made me do it; my doctor said it was OK) at the ready, and fans ready to accept these poor misguided souls back with cheers and applause. Why? These people cheated. Why on earth would they be cheered on and welcomed back with open arms?

Manny Ramirez is just the latest to get caught. "Manny being Manny" turned out to be "Manny with a syringe in his fanny."

What's worse is that the memories you have of the game get tarnished as memorable and joyous events are revealed to have been brought to you by some chemical concoction. Did I really believe that the Red Sox had somehow avoided the scourge of steroids? No, of course not. Still, it's almost painful that because of Manny and his female fertility drug, the validity of the greatest sports moment in my lifetime -- the Red Sox finally dispatching the Yankees and going on to win the World Series in 2004 (sorry but I didn't see the hockey game at Lake Placid in 1980) -- is now being called into question. Sports Guy Bill Simmons recently offered a great look at how it feels to have those doubts raised as well as how we might have just been ignoring the obvious. I feel his pain.

In a way, perhaps ignorance is bliss. You can just watch the game without doubts or cynicism. On the other hand, you can keep your cynicism and play baseball on the Wii. Just enter the cheat code "triplecrown" to boost your hitting by 50%. It's too bad someone at the game developer didn't have a more wicked sense of humor and choose "steroids" as the cheat code.

Opening Day

It's like a breath of fresh air...Opening Day at Fenway. Delayed 24 hours due to weather, it didn't matter because the boys from Beantown were out on the field against the Rays. It ended with a solid 5-3 win and we've got 161 more games to go. Baseball is back -- in Boston, soon in Triple AA Pawtucket, Double AA Portland, and college ball with the Newport Gulls. Can there be a better indicator that summer is on the way? Play ball!

Home Grown

Two big thumbs-up to General Manager Theo Epstein and the management of the Red Sox for some great long-term moves in the last few weeks. Locking up reigning MVP Dustin Pedroia, Kevin Youkilis, and lefty Jon Lester -- all products of the Red Sox farm system -- for multi-year deals at reasonable money gives the team a fantastic core of young talent for the next 4-6 years. Filling in the gaps as necessary with free agents and new players coming up through the ranks, Theo and his compadres have the Red Sox looking very good for years to come.

Less than 1 months until the season starts. Can't wait!

Temptation vs. the desire to believe

Alex Rodriguez tested positive for steroids in 2003, the year he won the MVP award and hit 47 homers -- that's the bombshell that went off on Sports Illustrated's web site yesterday. I heard the news and, in all honesty, didn't know what to think. I was all over the map.

I felt sense of glee -- Anything that makes the Yankees squirm has got to be a good thing and I've never been a fan of A-Rod, especially after the 2004 season and his various tabloid appearances. This was the icing on the cake following Joe Torre's book and I really didn't feel bad for Rodriguez -- he made a conscious decision to do it and expose himself to the risk of being, well, exposed.

I was surprised but only a little bit -- You see players like Derek Jeter and Dustin Pedroia who kill themselves playing the game and never in a million years would I believe that they were taking something extra. With Rodriguez, I might not like him but I always thought he was one hell of a ballplayer. If the Red Sox had managed to trade for him in the offseason following the 2003 ALCS collapse, I would have been pleased at least to start (just goes to show that fans cheer for the laundry, not the guys wearing the laundry, I guess). But A-Rod is a man with immense natural gifts for baseball who was on his way to being potentially the best or one of the best to ever play the game. Why did he do it? Was his drive to succeed so strong that he felt this was the only way to cement that reputation?

I felt a sense of resignation -- just one more player unmasked as a cheat and a liar. Are any of these guys clean? There was Mark McGwire who I cheered for as he broke the home run record. There was Barry Bonds, a supremely talented player whose bitterness at being overshadowed by McGwire and Sosa led him to become Barry Bloat and the poster child for steroids. The list goes on -- Rafael Palmeiro, Miguel Tejada, Roger Clemens, Sammy Sosa, the Giambi brothers, Chuck Knoblauch, Andy Pettitte, and more. Even someone like Nomar Garciapparra (who, to be fair, has never been linked to performance enhancers) certainly raised questions among many fans following the display of his ultra-built physique in Sports Illustrated and his repeated physical breakdowns in the years. It reached the point where people were surprised that he wasn't named in the Mitchell Report on performance enhancers in baseball.

Most of all, I felt another twinge of disappointment when it comes to a game I adore. Call me naive but I want to believe that baseball is a game, that what we're watching is fun and true and pure. Of course it isn't -- major league baseball is a multi-billion dollar business. Whether it's alcohol, greenies, coke, steroids and whatever designer drug comes next, this stuff has always been part of baseball since the start because baseball is played by humans and we are a competitive, driven species. Even the smallest edge is enough to turn a player from a minor leaguer to a major leaguer, a backup on the bench to a starter raking in tens of millions of dollars a year.

As Crash Davis so eloquently points out, the difference between a career .250 and a career .300 hitter is just 25 hits...one extra hit a week over the course of a season, "just one more dying quail a week and you're in Yankee Stadium." The temptation to seek that edge, to get those millions, must be enormous. If I was one of those guys, someone just on the cusp, would I be able to resist that temptation? I would hope so but when $10 million a year for 5 years is out there, just within reach, vs. $2,500 per month as a journeyman in AAA ball, who knows. But A-Rod? He was never just on the cusp. He was a great player with regard to his skills right from the start.

What's sad is that the question is even out there for players and that as a result, every time we watch a hitter slap one out of the park or throw some ungodly breaking stuff, we now wonder if what we're seeing is real.

I wrote about baseball and its cathedrals and country churches last year as I was really ramping up here on Walks in the Marsh. Yes, going to a big league park is an experience but more and more, I find myself drawn to the minor league and summer college ball games. I guess I'm a romantic, pining for the halcyon days of baseball that probably didn't really exist. However, we can still wish and hope for them, for a time when baseball was just a game and it was good and right. In the meantime, I won't be surprised anymore at the news coming out of major league baseball and other sports. Sad and disappointed maybe, but no longer surprised.

Sure they lost but...

As he almost always does, Sports Guy Bill Simmons nailed it when he wrote about the stunning comeback by the Red Sox last Thursday. Sure, we know how the story ends but Simmon's stuff is always worth reading.

Game 7, here we come

Just once, I'd like the Red Sox to win the American League Championship Series easily. They do know that they don't get extra points for a higher degree of difficulty, right? Of course, I'm willing to accept the stress now as long as they're able to win Game 7 and then win the World Series easily like in 2004 and 2007.

You just have to wonder how the players on the Tampa Bay Rays are feeling at the moment as Boston stunned them in Game 5 and completely controlled Game 6. Lester vs. Garza should be an exciting matchup yet again but you have to wonder if momentum in this type of a series actually does counts for something. If so, the Red Sox are looking pretty good.

Mystique and Aura get new hats

Harvey Araton of the New York Times offers a great look at what last night meant to the Red Sox:

"In the house for the late-night miracle of Fenway Thursday into Friday morning were Mystique and Aura on a traitorous visit from the Bronx, along with a longtime Yankees fan in a Red Sox cap, in cahoots with a delirious Nation as the home team staged baseball’s greatest post-season comeback in a mere 79 years..."

One ugly, one not

Brief musings after Game 2 of the American League Championship Series:

The Tampa Bay Rays looked like they were nervous, tight, and pressing in Game 1. In Game 2? Like they were loaded for bear and not prepared to roll over at any point.

Game 1 was excellent -- not perfect or one of those "wow, I can't believe I saw this happen" games -- but very entertaining with some great plays and pitching on both sides.

Game 2? Not so much. Sure, home runs are fun to watch but 7 of them in one game? That's not evidence of superior hitting but of pitchers who aren't on their game.

I think "Daisuke Matsusaka" must be Japanese for "Harry Houdini". He walked the bases loaded in the first inning of Game 1 and then got 3 straight outs. That's the 15th time he's wiggled out of a bases-loaded jam without giving up a run. Opponents are now batting .000 against him with the bases loaded! How on earth do you get into that jam so often and still manage to escape?

Mighty mite Dustin Pedroia is one of the most entertaining players to watch in all of baseball.

Where has Big Papi gone? He's looking positively mortal. Is his wrist still causing that much discomfort?

Is Josh Beckett done for the ALCS? If the Sox make it to the World Series, will he be available? Can they win it all without Beckett or Lowell, or without Papi firing on all cylinders?

5 hours and 27 minutes to play Game 2? Yikes!

I think Terry Francona is certainly the best Red Sox manager in my lifetime and as such has earned some leeway with regard to his in-game choices but I do question his decisions to bring Dice-K back in at the star of the eighth inning in Game 1 and going to Mike Timlin instead of Paul Byrd in the eleventh inning in Game 2. The Dice-K call? No harm no foul as Okajima and Masterson bailed him out. The Timlin call? Oops.

You've got to love Joe Maddon who remarked "In a straight-up race, I've got him over Seabiscuit. I'm dating myself a bit. I'm sorry, but that's the first horse that came to my mind," after Fernando Perez scampered home ahead of J.D. Drew's throw to score the winning run in Game 2.

Jason Bay may not be a masher like "Manny being Manny" Ramirez but he's batting .440 in the post-season with 3 home runs, 3 doubles, 11 total hits, 9 RBI, and 4 walks. He's getting on base better than 50% of the time and is a solid left fielder. The Red Sox have Jason Bay under contract for next year. I hope they're willing to lock him up for a few more years, after that.

Game 3 - Monday at 4:30 PM in Fenway. Let's hope Jon Lester spins another gem.

Hoo-Ray

Kudos to the worst-to-first Tampa Bay Rays on clinching the American League East title. Go Red Sox!

The Upstarts

The postseason is almost upon us. The Red Sox look to be playoff bound...only they're not where we expected to them be. After dropping 2 out of 3 in Tampa, the Sox find themselves looking up at the surprising Tampa Bay Rays.

Huh?

These are the former "Devil Rays" we're talking about, the team that had never come within 65 percentage points of even a .500 season. And they're in first?

Oh yes, and they look very good doing it. They're young, they're fast, they're playing with energy, they look like they're having fun doing it, and damn it, they're fun to watch.

Except when they're stifling the Red Sox.

But unlike when the Yankees would beat the Sox, I don't hold any animosity towards the team from Tampa. Sure, they've had more than their share of brawls with the boys from Boston but few were really egregious and, from the fans' perspective, none of them left a lasting bad taste. My biggest concern during those fights was that no one actually got hurt or did something off-the-charts stupid and get suspended for too long (unlike the Bronx/Boston fisticuffs in which events like this are a source of joy for fans...though to give him credit, Varitek won't autograph pictures of this donnybrook because he thinks it sets a bad example).

For years, the Rays tried to survive and thrive on past-their-prime players like Fred McGriff, Vinnie Castilla, and Jose "Needle in My Butt" Canseco, hoping to bash their way to respectability. Now, lugs like that are gone and the veterans on the team, players like Cliff Floyd and Carlos Pena, are showing some leadership as well as some pop in the field. But it's the young players in the field and on the mound who are leading the way now. Even oft-injured Rocco Baldelli - the Pride of Woonsocket, RI - worked his way back from a series of alternately bizarre injuries (torn ACL while playing catch in the backyard with his little brother) and mysterious ailments (a mitochondrial disorder) just in time to fill in admirably following an injury to another player in August.

However, it's the manager, Joe Maddon, who deserves so much credit. Wearing his Elvis Costello glasses and urging his players to take chances, he's a manager you just have to love to watch. His players have apparently bought into him as well:

Sure, Maddon has adorned the clubhouse with inspirational quotes from the likes of Albert Camus. (“I don’t think he ever played here,” Upton said.) But players know they have the only manager in the big leagues with a cooler music collection than theirs, and he infuses them with the same free spirit he has carried through three decades in professional baseball. (NY Times, August 8, 2008)

After the Rays finished dead last in 2007, he decided to set a new goal and changed the equation. His new view on the world? 9=8.

Maddon suggested that a team with nine players on the field (10 including the DH, but when you’re making a claim like “9=8,” you can take some liberties) who executed properly and well for nine innings every night would allow his team to be one of eight in the postseason.

“I wanted nine more wins out of the offense, nine more wins out of the defense and nine more wins out of the pitching staff than last year,” Maddon said last week.

That improvement would tack on 27 wins to Tampa’s total of 66 victories a year ago.

“Two plus seven equals nine, nine equals eight, that would put us at 93 wins for the season, which I thought would get us into the playoffs,” Maddon concluded. (WEEI)

OK, he lost me on how the math works out but when it comes to the actual results on the field, 9=8 may actually equal #1.

Of course I'll be cheering on the Red Sox through the remainder of the regular season and well into October. However, if the worst should happen and the Sox were to fall by the wayside, if the Rays are still in it, I'll put on a 9=8 shirt, borrow some Elvis Costello glasses. and cheer on a team that plays like they love it.

Now if only they could get some of their own fans to come out and cheer for them...

The country churches of baseball

So when it comes to those smaller country churches of baseball, where does one go?

For us, Hadlock Field in Portland, home of the Red Sox' Double A farm team, the Portland Sea Dogs, is now an annual stop. Hadlock boasts the "Maine Monster", a duplicate of Fenway's Green Monster (all the better to give Red Sox prospects some extra experience) and "Slugger", the team's mascot who is supposed to be a large harbor seal, I believe. The brick exterior is both classy and classic. The aluminum bleachers remind me of a high school stadium and as fans stomp their feet in anticipation of a big play, it can almost be deafening. The walls are adorned with the jersey numbers and names of major leaguers who passed through Portland, and in a nod to the neighborhood, a lighthouse emerges majestically from beyond the centerfield fence following every Portland home run.

It can be quirky, too - it's shaped like a fishhook, the Sea Dogs bullpen is on the second floor of the right field bleachers, and like minor league parks around the country, the fences can look like the Yellow Pages. But you're right on top of the action, the food is tasty, the view is great from anywhere in the park even as it seats almost 7,000, the between-innings entertainment is, well, entertaining (don't miss the rubber lobster toss!), tickets are cheap, and the quality of the game and the players is well worth the trip. If we were ever to relocate to the Portland area, Sea Dogs season tickets would be among our first purchases.

Not a bad seat in the house at Hadlock Field

The "Maine Monster"

Home run!

And closer to home, we never miss an opportunity to spend an evening at Cardines Field, nest of the Newport Gulls, who play in a wooden bat summer collegiate baseball league. The games start late in mid-June and wrap up in early August, played by college students from around the country. While the legendary Cape Cod Baseball League (spawning grounds of Red Sox players like Jason Varitek, Nomah, Jacoby Ellsbury, and Mike Lowell) has a longer track record (I used to go to Orleans Cardinals games 30 years ago), the talent in the New England Collegiate Baseball League is just as good and a number of alums have already made it to the majors.

Future major leaguers?

I'm proud to say that I've a devoted fan since the Gulls moved to Newport. That first summer, I was probably one of 20 to 30 fans who would show up for virtually every game. Since that time, the Gulls have become a summer fixture in downtown Newport drawing more than 50,000 people with their $4 tickets, expanded seating (up to 3,000 people now), great and inexpensive concessions (thick cheeseburgers hot off the grill for just $2.50), Gully the Mascot, and fun play both during and between innings.

Delivering the first pitch...

And then scooting off the field!

Sometimes there's even inadvertent fun during the innings, like when the skunk squeezed under the fence and wandered into right field in the middle of the game. It took the right fielder a minute to realize what was going on and then he promptly displayed his speed when he bolted toward the infield. 20 minutes later the skunk got bored and wandered away, apparently not a fan of the bright lights.

A fixture of the games is at the top of the 8th inning, any small kids in the stands are invited to gather along the left field line and then charge into the outfield en masse to be the first to tag Gully who is patrolling deep centerfield. A bit of trivia...it used to be called "Tackle the Gull" for several years until the Gully suit-wearing volunteers rebelled - it's easy to understand why after seeing the brave soul in the giant seagull suit climbing the centerfield fence during one game to escape the tackling hordes! That's not something you'll see at Fenway, my friends!

(Special thanks to my friend Nicole C. for the great onfield photos at Cardines Field.)

At Play in the Fields of the Lord

The weather is starting to turn a bit. Some colors other than green are appearing on the leaves. There can be just a bit of a bite, well maybe just a nibble, in the air at night. On our trip to Maine two weeks ago, we actually found ourselves wearing long pants and fleece jackets as we walked down Congress Street in Portland early one evening on Labor Day weekend. But summer didn't feel over because our destination was Hadlock Field, home of the Portland SeaDogs, and we were going to watch baseball.

Never much of a church-going person, baseball might be the closest thing to an organized religion in my life – the "Church of Baseball" if I may steal a phrase from Annie Savoy. I look forward to it all winter then soak it in throughout the spring, summer, and fall and then immediately return to waiting for it start again. I love it. Not in a stat freak or trivia sort of way – but in "a good game of baseball is a thing of beauty to watch" sort of way. I love to play it, I love to watch it, and there's no other game that transports me in the same way.

Football is fun – an entertainment on Sundays broken up by commercials and punctuated by groans and shouts as the players smash into one another (there's a reason military phrases lend themselves to football and it might be the only sport that can lead my mother to scream "take his head off" as happened during last year's Super Bowl). But baseball, well that's a sport that lends itself to a cool late August evening watching the players who dream of making the big leagues on that broad swath of green. And for me, my favorite place to watch a game isn't Fenway or even in a truly fantastic newer stadium like Camden Yards in Baltimore. Sure, the major league game is fun and the skill level on display can take your breath away but baseball is an intimate game and it's hard to feel that intimacy, to be transported when you're in a modern cathedral.

And that's what major league stadiums are – cathedrals where 45,000 people come to cheer and sob and celebrate. They can be awe-inspiring – watch Dennis Quaid's face when he enters The Ballpark at Arlington at the conclusion of The Rookie and in his face you'll see the reflection of every kid when they come up the walkways from the concourses and see that brilliant green field and the lights and the crowds for the very first time. But it's so big and so overwhelming that you can get lost in it, that the game can almost get lost in it as you sit and cheer and worship with the masses.

The view from the outfield bleachers at Fenway

For some, that's the joy of baseball and I can appreciate it the same way I can appreciate Westminster Abbey in London. But when it comes right down to it, I'm drawn instead to the smaller, plainer, more humble churches that dot the New England landscape and to smaller ballparks when I really want to lose myself in the game and the atmosphere.