EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
One afternoon, a woman walked into the kitchen in the big, old home in which she grew up and found her mother standing by the stove, holding an old pot, crying.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
It seemed that during the most desperate days of the Great Depression, when the woman’s father had been without a job for years, he was walking down the street and saw in the window of the local discount store the very pot her mother was holding. It cost ten cents, and when the man reached into his pocket, he found a dime – and nothing else.
“I just knew you could use a pot like that, so I went in and bought it for you,” the father told his wife.
Having come across the pot, the woman was overcome by the memory of her deceased husband’s generosity and no doubt remembered the sacrifices the family made during a horrible era in American history, so the woman wept. For millions of Americans, The Great Depression remains a stark symbol of despair and misery. Of hopelessness. And, yes, of tragedy.
So, when Ohio State athletic director Gene Smith had the nerve to offer hard times as the reason why five Buckeye football players sold memorabilia and exchanged items for getting some free ink done, El Hombre had the same sense of fury he did after suffering through “Caddyshack II.” Smith actually said that the players’ misdeeds were grounded in the good intentions of helping their families, as if they were Depression-era kids trudging off to work in the factories in order to put food on the table for their starving parents and siblings.
Smith’s attempt to make the Buckeyes’ shenanigans seem noble was rendered even more ridiculous when former OSU players began weighing in on the matter. For instance, Antonio Pittman tweeted the following: “This osu tattoo stuff is silly. Cats been getting hookups on tatts since back in ’01.” Guess times were tough then, too.
The swag-for-ink scandal, coach Jim Tressel’s subsequent cover-up, half-assed apology and wrist-slap, two-game penalty (whatever will the Bucks do against Akron and Toledo?) and the administration’s rather cavalier attitude toward the entire situation provide a perfect microcosm into the rudderless, leaderless state of collegiate athletics. Watching Smith try to justify the players’ rule breaking with his “helping their families” rationalization was disgusting, but OSU president Gordon Gee, whose bowtie should be festooned with scarlet and gray pom-poms, was worse. His response to a question regarding whether he considered firing Tressel was one for the books. “No, are you kidding?” he said. “Let me be very clear. I’m just hoping the coach doesn’t dismiss me.”
And there it is, ladies and gentlemen, the best evidence yet that college sports has spun so far out of control that no one can possibly save it. While Gee was cracking wise with his remarks – at a time when there was no room for sarcasm – he gave a little insight into who has the power at Ohio State. When you win as many games as Tressel does, fill the stadium to bursting and make the Buckeye brand a national commodity, you do not lose your job for lying to your “superiors” or the NC2A.
Firing Tressel would be the worst thing OSU could do, because this is not a case of integrity, rather a bottom-line issue. No Buckeye fan wants to go back to the days when the only way a John Cooper-led team could beat Michigan is if the Wolverines were poisoned before kickoff. Ohio State owns the Big Ten football world, and that brings with it giant piles of cash. The payoff OSU would have received for having the guts to fire Tressel for his transgressions wouldn’t have come close to the benefit he and his high-rolling program provide to the athletic department coffers. Let’s be honest here: This is no longer about institutional credibility. It’s all about a corporate approach to sports that is utterly beholden to the almighty buck(eye).
Ohio State isn’t alone. As much of a cartoon character Gee may be and as ham-handed as the school’s handling of Tressel’s cover-up and subsequent lying might be, they aren’t much different than the ways many other big-time schools operate. As coaches bloviate about wanting to “make a difference” in the lives of players and “provide second chances” to those who run afoul of the law or NC2A regulations, this is all about winning. And presidents like Gee have sacrificed the schools’ reputations and principles in return for wins and money. Worse, they are abdicating their authority to bottom-liners like Tressel, whose futures are shaped by on-field success, rather than graduation rates and other measurements of a university’s – rather than an athletic department’s – relative health.
Anybody who read last week’s Sports Illustrated article about its survey (in conjunction with CBS News) of the criminal pasts of players on last season’s pre-season top-25 football teams learned a valuable lesson about what matters on campus these days. When asked about whether it might make sense to run background checks on prospects, coaches responded that if they did it, rivals would use that against them on the recruiting trail. At no time did a president stomp his feet and declare that there must be an end to a culture that is running amok. As long as presidents are rubber-stamping the creation of phony-baloney majors in which to stash players ill-equipped for real academic work, giving coaches free rein over the players they court and allowing a wild-west atmosphere to prevail with cash and prizes available to the best of the best, college athletics will continue to drown in its own filth.
Ohio State’s handling of the Tressel incident has been comical and outrageous, but it can’t be considered surprising. Until a courageous group of presidents stands tall and refuses to allow its institutions to be sullied any further, this kind of behavior will continue – and even intensify. It sure is fun to experience the spectacle of college athletics, but it’s becoming more and more a guilty pleasure. If people like Tressel, Gee and Smith had a quarter of the character found in the man who spent his last dime on a pot for his wife, college sports would be a better place.
Sadly, that isn’t the case.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: The NC2A men’s basketball tournament welfare program continues through Sunday, as large conferences hold their post-season affairs in attempts to help members get extra wins to gain admittance to the round of 68. Sorry, mid-majors, but there’s no room for the inn for you, now that Colorado picked up a quarterfinal victory, Washington beat Washington State…Now that the Heat have beaten the Lakers, all is right in Miami, and plans can continue apace for the championship parade. The smartest thing Erik Spoelstra did was let Dwyane Wade take the big shots down the stretch vs. L.A. As much as LeBron James is heralded as the league’s best player, he isn’t the game’s best clutch player – not even close. There’s a reason why he chose to team with Wade and Chris Bosh, and it’s because James isn’t the kind of player capable of carrying a team to a title. He’s a good – very good – second banana to Wade, and the Heat will be better off if Wade handles the heavy lifting at the end of games from here on out…Eldrick Woods may become a championship golfer again, but he isn’t close to that level right now. No longer in a cocoon protected by PGA sycophants, fawning sponsors and fearful rivals, Woods must rely on what he has inside. As he has proven over the past 18 months, that isn’t a lot…Shame on the NHL for not suspending Bruins defenseman Zdeno Chara for his hit on Montreal’s Max Pacioretty earlier this week. Pacioretty had already played the puck, and Chara used his elbow to slam Pacioretty into the bench divider along the boards. It was a cheap shot, and by not penalizing Chara, the league showed that it has a long way to go before people will think it cares about cleaning up its goon-like play. While other pro sports leagues are at least trying to cut down on hits that lead to concussions, the NHL continues to foster an anything-goes culture.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? It is now official: the Phillies need a second baseman. Whether Chase Utley has patellar tendinitis or degenerative cartilage under the kneecap, he can’t play baseball. And he probably won’t be able to play for the rest of the season. In fact, given the severity of the injury and the possible treatments beyond replacement of the kneecap, his career could be in jeopardy. If the Phillies are serious about winning the World Series, they have to make a dramatic move, because Wilson Valdez won’t cut it for 162 games. It would hurt to take on Michael Young’s salary, but it may be the only reasonable solution. Though 34 and expensive, Young is versatile, durable and productive. He’ll hit about 20 homers and knock in 80 runs. That’s not too shabby, especially for a team with questions about what it will get from the corner outfield positions. Joe Blanton has pitched well this spring, but he is a luxury on a staff with four “aces.” Trading him for Young would boost the payroll, but it may be the only way to make sure the Phils can achieve their goals. Put it this way: Do you think the team would be happier paying $8 million more than it wants to reach the Series or spending $160 million on a first-round playoff exit? Thought so.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: Today could be the day it all comes crashing down, or perhaps the NFL and its players will agree to another extension and week of posturing. Remember that even though the players are making millions, they remain a labor force going up against an ownership group unwilling to provide a truthful accounting of its expenses. It’s tough to feel the same sympathy for Ray Lewis as it is for a factory worker trying to support his family, but as long as the owners continue to hold back on the facts of their business, it’s impossible to believe they’re not trying to cheat the players. The owners are furious they conceded too much in the last CBA, and they don’t want to lose this time. Fair enough, but at least be truthful about it, rather than trying to convince fans that you – the same people who force season ticket holders to buy exhibition games at full freight – have their best interests in mind. It’s a 50-50 bet that an agreement will be reached in the next couple weeks, but don’t lose sight of the parties’ goals. Yes, the players want as much money as possible, but they also want good healthcare after they retire and deal with dilapidated bodies and softening minds. The owners want money, too, and they try to convince us they’re struggling, even as their franchise values soar to nine figures and TV networks stampede to their offices with gigantic checks. Both sides are trying to win the P.R. fight for fans’ hearts and minds in this negotiation. Be careful to whom you pledge your troth.
-EH-
Showing posts with label Chase Utley. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chase Utley. Show all posts
Friday, March 11, 2011
Friday, October 9, 2009
A Flood of Memories
EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
There was no fanfare two days ago to mark the 40th anniversary of one of the truly seminal moments in sports. Maybe because it didn’t involve Cowboy Quarterback or LeBron James or this athlete with that reality-show chippy, no one bothered to notice. But it should have been commemorated with a giant retrospective, instead of falling into history’s abyss. Hell, it didn’t even show up on any “This Day In Sports” lists.
If you know what happened on Oct. 7, 1969, go straight to the head of the class, because you pay attention to the whys and wherefores of sport, rather than the daily blithering of synergy-chasing media outlets. It was on that date the Phillies traded Dick Allen, Cookie Rojas and Jerry Johnson to the St. Louis Cardinals for Tim McCarver, Joe Hoerner and Byron Browne.
And Curt Flood.
At the time, it was a big deal because the Phils were finally breaking ties with the disgruntled – and highly-talented – Allen, who had emerged as one of baseball’s most dynamic sluggers. But because of his treatment in Philadelphia, both by teammates and fans, Allen wanted out. By dealing him to St. Louis, the Phillies were giving up their main bat, but they were hoping that Flood’s speed, average and slick glove would compensate somewhat.
It never happened. Unhappy with the Phillies’ dreadful play, the prospect of what he considered playing in a racist city, the idea that the Cardinals would trade him in the first place, and that he learned of the deal from an assistant GM and not the big boss, Flood refused to report to Philadelphia. Not only that, but he wanted to choose where he played. Imagine that; Flood wanted to be a free agent.
Fans who don’t remember the late 1960s and early ’70s – or the 100 years of baseball before that – can’t fathom a world in which a player who was without a contract wouldn’t be able to cut his own deal. Flood could have made $100,000 (real money back then) to play for the Phillies, but he refused. On Christmas Eve, 1969, he sent a letter to baseball commissioner Bowie Kuhn that outlined his case.
“After twelve years in the major leagues, I do not feel I am a piece of property to be bought and sold irrespective of my wishes. I believe that any system which produces that result violates my basic rights as a citizen and is inconsistent with the laws of the United States and of several States(sic). It is my desire to play baseball in 1970, and I am capable of playing. I have received a contract offer from the Philadelphia club, but I believe I have the right to consider offers from other clubs before making any decision. I, therefore, request that you make known to all Major League clubs my feelings in this matter, and advise them of my availability for the 1970 season.”
Flood had taken on the cherished MLB reserve clause, which had tied players to their teams. Once you signed with a team, you belonged to that team – forever. Satan had a better escape clause than baseball did. Contracts arrived in the mail each winter, and players signed them, no matter how insulting they were. Okay, so maybe somebody like Babe Ruth had some leverage, but Curt Flood did not. He belonged to the Cardinals, and if they wanted to trade him to the Phillies, the Dodgers or Ulan Bator Yakherders, there was nothing he could do about it.
As you can imagine, Flood’s letter was received with the same enthusiasm in the Majoke League Offices as news about the debut of “Cougar Town” was at the National Organization for Women’s headquarters. Kuhn and MLB fought Flood to the death in court, and vanquished him. The reserve clause won, because the Supreme Court upheld a 1922 ruling that favored the outdated model. Flood sat out the 1970 season, played 13 games with the Washington Senators in 1971 and retired. He had a career .293 average, won seven gold gloves, registered 200 hits twice and played on a pair of World Series champions.
That’s a pretty impressive resume, but it’s nothing compared to what his reserve-clause challenge meant to baseball players – and, ultimately, all professional athletes. Though the 1975 arbitrator’s decision to make pitchers Andy Messersmith and Dave McNally free agents was based on the reserve clause’s ambiguous language and not Flood’s lawsuit, all professional athletes should applaud the courage he displayed in challenging an entrenched, parsimonious hierarchy. It’s no coincidence that the reserve clause endured for decades before Flood’s challenge and only five years after it. The clause would have been overcome eventually, even without Flood’s actions, but his willingness to fight for his beliefs and demand to be treated with dignity by MLB owners required a rare fortitude.
Sadly, few professional athletes know of Flood and his stand. They sign their gigantic contracts, but they don’t know what went into paving the dusty road that leads to their sporting penthouses. Curt Flood gave up his career for his principles. He sacrificed a lot of money. But he never let go of his beliefs. Forty years later, MLB players ought to rename their union in his honor. It’s the least they can do for the man who had the guts to stand up to the baseball barons and demand something better.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: Golf and rugby have been added to the Olympic roster for the 2016 and ’20 Games, while baseball and softball remain on the sidelines. Geez, wonder if a certain billionaire golfer’s worldwide popularity had anything to do with it, not that the IOC cares about money…After beating the Packers last Monday night, Cowboy Quarterback cured the common cold and rescued a toddler who fell down a well. espn plans a four-hour special on the big day during the Vikings’ bye week…Danica Patrick is considering a limited NASCAR arrangement for 2010. It would be an interesting move for the Indy racer, who would no doubt be asked to drive in a bikini, the better to appeal to stock car racing’s effete clientele…So Lamar Odom married a Kardashian sister last week after knowing her for something like two months. He’s convinced it’s true love. El Hombre believes it’s even money the thing doesn’t last six months.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT: It is hardly stretching things to declare Saturday’s third game of the Phillies NLDS against Colorado a must win. Thursday’s loss to the Rockies was a disastrous brew of poor starting pitching (grow up and pitch well while the sun is shining, Cole), shaky managerial decisions (what, Bunning and Short weren’t available, Charlie?) and a lack of offense (remember when Chase Utley was reliable?) that resulted in a 1-1 tie in the best-of-five minefield. Now, all the Phils have to contend with in Denver is weather straight from Joe Stalin’s gulags, a starting rotation so jumbled it’s a wonder Joe Roa doesn’t come trotting out onto the mound for the first inning Saturday and a sinking feeling that the team’s offensive shortcomings during the regular season are being exposed further during the playoffs. This team has won a title, so dismissing it is dangerous, but the Rockies are a strong adversary, and it’s time for the big guns on the roster to step up over the weekend to prevent a disaster. That means some long balls from the middle of the order and a starting pitcher not named Lee with the huevos to deliver seven or eight strong innings.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: Florida State board chairman Jim Smith wants Bobby Bowden out of the head football coaching position, preferably yesterday. Shame on him. First of all, his comments create instability that hurts the team on the field and the recruiting trail, where rival coaches can tell prospects that no one knows what’s going to happen in Tallahassee. Second, Bowden is more responsible than any 100 people for helping FSU develop a national reputation. Before he got there, the school was a regional concern, not too far removed from being a women’s college. Now, it is known all over America, and Bowden has brought hundreds of millions of dollars into the university’s coffers. For that, his contract – which runs through next season – should be honored, and Bowden should be allowed to close his career with dignity. Smith’s upset the Seminoles are 2-3, but he shouldn’t be sacrificing the man who has done more for the university than anybody else. Let Bowden have his victory lap next season and then move on.
-EH-
There was no fanfare two days ago to mark the 40th anniversary of one of the truly seminal moments in sports. Maybe because it didn’t involve Cowboy Quarterback or LeBron James or this athlete with that reality-show chippy, no one bothered to notice. But it should have been commemorated with a giant retrospective, instead of falling into history’s abyss. Hell, it didn’t even show up on any “This Day In Sports” lists.
If you know what happened on Oct. 7, 1969, go straight to the head of the class, because you pay attention to the whys and wherefores of sport, rather than the daily blithering of synergy-chasing media outlets. It was on that date the Phillies traded Dick Allen, Cookie Rojas and Jerry Johnson to the St. Louis Cardinals for Tim McCarver, Joe Hoerner and Byron Browne.
And Curt Flood.
At the time, it was a big deal because the Phils were finally breaking ties with the disgruntled – and highly-talented – Allen, who had emerged as one of baseball’s most dynamic sluggers. But because of his treatment in Philadelphia, both by teammates and fans, Allen wanted out. By dealing him to St. Louis, the Phillies were giving up their main bat, but they were hoping that Flood’s speed, average and slick glove would compensate somewhat.
It never happened. Unhappy with the Phillies’ dreadful play, the prospect of what he considered playing in a racist city, the idea that the Cardinals would trade him in the first place, and that he learned of the deal from an assistant GM and not the big boss, Flood refused to report to Philadelphia. Not only that, but he wanted to choose where he played. Imagine that; Flood wanted to be a free agent.
Fans who don’t remember the late 1960s and early ’70s – or the 100 years of baseball before that – can’t fathom a world in which a player who was without a contract wouldn’t be able to cut his own deal. Flood could have made $100,000 (real money back then) to play for the Phillies, but he refused. On Christmas Eve, 1969, he sent a letter to baseball commissioner Bowie Kuhn that outlined his case.
“After twelve years in the major leagues, I do not feel I am a piece of property to be bought and sold irrespective of my wishes. I believe that any system which produces that result violates my basic rights as a citizen and is inconsistent with the laws of the United States and of several States(sic). It is my desire to play baseball in 1970, and I am capable of playing. I have received a contract offer from the Philadelphia club, but I believe I have the right to consider offers from other clubs before making any decision. I, therefore, request that you make known to all Major League clubs my feelings in this matter, and advise them of my availability for the 1970 season.”
Flood had taken on the cherished MLB reserve clause, which had tied players to their teams. Once you signed with a team, you belonged to that team – forever. Satan had a better escape clause than baseball did. Contracts arrived in the mail each winter, and players signed them, no matter how insulting they were. Okay, so maybe somebody like Babe Ruth had some leverage, but Curt Flood did not. He belonged to the Cardinals, and if they wanted to trade him to the Phillies, the Dodgers or Ulan Bator Yakherders, there was nothing he could do about it.
As you can imagine, Flood’s letter was received with the same enthusiasm in the Majoke League Offices as news about the debut of “Cougar Town” was at the National Organization for Women’s headquarters. Kuhn and MLB fought Flood to the death in court, and vanquished him. The reserve clause won, because the Supreme Court upheld a 1922 ruling that favored the outdated model. Flood sat out the 1970 season, played 13 games with the Washington Senators in 1971 and retired. He had a career .293 average, won seven gold gloves, registered 200 hits twice and played on a pair of World Series champions.
That’s a pretty impressive resume, but it’s nothing compared to what his reserve-clause challenge meant to baseball players – and, ultimately, all professional athletes. Though the 1975 arbitrator’s decision to make pitchers Andy Messersmith and Dave McNally free agents was based on the reserve clause’s ambiguous language and not Flood’s lawsuit, all professional athletes should applaud the courage he displayed in challenging an entrenched, parsimonious hierarchy. It’s no coincidence that the reserve clause endured for decades before Flood’s challenge and only five years after it. The clause would have been overcome eventually, even without Flood’s actions, but his willingness to fight for his beliefs and demand to be treated with dignity by MLB owners required a rare fortitude.
Sadly, few professional athletes know of Flood and his stand. They sign their gigantic contracts, but they don’t know what went into paving the dusty road that leads to their sporting penthouses. Curt Flood gave up his career for his principles. He sacrificed a lot of money. But he never let go of his beliefs. Forty years later, MLB players ought to rename their union in his honor. It’s the least they can do for the man who had the guts to stand up to the baseball barons and demand something better.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: Golf and rugby have been added to the Olympic roster for the 2016 and ’20 Games, while baseball and softball remain on the sidelines. Geez, wonder if a certain billionaire golfer’s worldwide popularity had anything to do with it, not that the IOC cares about money…After beating the Packers last Monday night, Cowboy Quarterback cured the common cold and rescued a toddler who fell down a well. espn plans a four-hour special on the big day during the Vikings’ bye week…Danica Patrick is considering a limited NASCAR arrangement for 2010. It would be an interesting move for the Indy racer, who would no doubt be asked to drive in a bikini, the better to appeal to stock car racing’s effete clientele…So Lamar Odom married a Kardashian sister last week after knowing her for something like two months. He’s convinced it’s true love. El Hombre believes it’s even money the thing doesn’t last six months.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT: It is hardly stretching things to declare Saturday’s third game of the Phillies NLDS against Colorado a must win. Thursday’s loss to the Rockies was a disastrous brew of poor starting pitching (grow up and pitch well while the sun is shining, Cole), shaky managerial decisions (what, Bunning and Short weren’t available, Charlie?) and a lack of offense (remember when Chase Utley was reliable?) that resulted in a 1-1 tie in the best-of-five minefield. Now, all the Phils have to contend with in Denver is weather straight from Joe Stalin’s gulags, a starting rotation so jumbled it’s a wonder Joe Roa doesn’t come trotting out onto the mound for the first inning Saturday and a sinking feeling that the team’s offensive shortcomings during the regular season are being exposed further during the playoffs. This team has won a title, so dismissing it is dangerous, but the Rockies are a strong adversary, and it’s time for the big guns on the roster to step up over the weekend to prevent a disaster. That means some long balls from the middle of the order and a starting pitcher not named Lee with the huevos to deliver seven or eight strong innings.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: Florida State board chairman Jim Smith wants Bobby Bowden out of the head football coaching position, preferably yesterday. Shame on him. First of all, his comments create instability that hurts the team on the field and the recruiting trail, where rival coaches can tell prospects that no one knows what’s going to happen in Tallahassee. Second, Bowden is more responsible than any 100 people for helping FSU develop a national reputation. Before he got there, the school was a regional concern, not too far removed from being a women’s college. Now, it is known all over America, and Bowden has brought hundreds of millions of dollars into the university’s coffers. For that, his contract – which runs through next season – should be honored, and Bowden should be allowed to close his career with dignity. Smith’s upset the Seminoles are 2-3, but he shouldn’t be sacrificing the man who has done more for the university than anybody else. Let Bowden have his victory lap next season and then move on.
-EH-
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Not One Hall of a Pitcher
EL HOMBRE KNOWS SPORTS
We should be happy about one thing regarding Bloody Sock Schilling’s recent retirement announcement: There was no teary press conference. Oh, you can bet he will break down at some point during the “exclusive” three-minute, in-depth “conversation” he has with a sympathetic slo-pitch tosser some time in the next month, but for now we can be thankful that Schilling did not produce a maudlin event, during which he tells us, “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry.”
Since he didn’t pitch last season, Schilling is now four years away from Hall of Fame eligibility. That means we have less time than usual to argue about his credentials. And, make no mistake; it’s going to be one helluva debate. Few players in recent baseball history are as polarizing as Schilling. He may not be in the class of BALCO Bonds, who divided fans into two camps: Realists and those who believe the Yankees’ 2010 pitching rotation will be Santa Claus, The Easter Bunny, The Tooth Fairy, Sasquatch and Whitey Ford, but Schilling was pretty divisive.
The trouble began during the Phillies’ improbable 1993 drive to the NL pennant. Schilling, who had shown glimpses of being something special the previous season by going 14-11 with a 2.35 ERA blossomed into a stalwart, winning 16 games and throwing a gem in the World Series. Fans loved him, but his teammates didn’t quite embrace his look-at-me qualities, such as covering his head with a towel in the dugout whenever volatile closer Wild Thing Williams took the mound, and calling into sports radio stations at all hours to advance his personal agenda. By the time he worked his way out of town by meddling in front-office affairs and demanding (rightfully so) a better supporting cast, Schilling wasn’t exactly the most popular player in the organization. He behaved himself better in Arizona, teaming with Randy Johnson to help the Serpents to the 2001 World Series title, but Schilling always preferred to air his concerns publicly, rather than handle them behind the scenes. That led to continued conflict with teammates, who favored man-to-man methods, rather than man-to-microphone.
When Schilling signed with the Red Sawx, he earned plaudits for announcing his arrival on sonsofsamhorn.net, a fan web site. It was a savvy move to gain support and popularity but again another Schilling tactic to keep himself in the spotlight. A mere press conference wasn’t enough. He had to commune with the people. Only, he wasn’t really communing, rather giving the illusion of hanging with them by posting on the site. Shrewd.
Then came the Bloody Sock. Whether that indeed was blood on the sock, or it was ketchup, Mercurochrome or Sloe Gin, the legend of the night has been overblown. That’s not necessarily Schilling’s fault, although he could have changed the sock once the bleeding had been stanched. But it shouldn’t have any bearing whatsoever on whether he gets into the Hall of Fame. Thousands of baseball players work through injuries; the big difference is they don’t celebrate it for the TV cameras. Chase Utley played just about the entire 2008 season with a torn labrum in his hip, but every time he was asked about his condition, he downplayed it. Perhaps Utley should have left the syringes used to give him painkilling injections lying around the clubhouse. Then again, given the climate in baseball these days, that wouldn’t have been such a good idea, since Utley didn’t want people to start calling him “Chuice.” But you get the idea. Utley could have played up his injury but didn’t.
Enough about Schilling the man, except to say that his work fighting ALS does deserve major kudos. A lot of professional athletes set up “foundations” and say they do charity work, when all they do is appear at a few events arranged by their minions. Schilling was – and is – committed to the fight and has built up some political capital because of it.
So, what about the Hall? This is a tricky one, because there are plenty of arguments on both sides. His 3,116 strikeouts are a compelling opening gambit, since the 3,000 number is something of a magic mark. He won 20 games three times, hardly overwhelming but more than Greg Maddux and most other pitchers with whom he is compared. Schilling was an animal during the 2001, ’04 and ’07 post-seasons, and his 11-2 career record in the playoffs and Series is impressive, indeed. Schilling had a 4.38 strikeouts:walks ratio, the best ever, and he had two seasons with double-digit complete games, quite an accomplishment in today’s seven-innings-or-bust climate. Those who support Schilling say he was the “dominant pitcher of his age,” which serves as the criteria for many arguments for the Hall. That’s the main case for Sandy Koufax’s truncated career, although let’s be honest, Schilling (and really nobody else) was not Sandy Koufax.
The anti-Schilling side has some pretty heavy artillery, too. His 216 wins are hardly overwhelming. They are three fewer than Kenny Rogers’ total, and he isn’t going to Cooperstown. Schilling pitched for 20 years, and though he battled injuries, he had only nine seasons in which he posted double-digit victory totals and an above .500 winning percentage. He never strung together more than three years of prosperity and had seven sub-.500 seasons, an 8-8 campaign and a 9-8 year. That doesn’t scream long-term greatness. And to those who look at his 3.45 ERA as lower than the average of the age, consider that Schilling pitched the majority of his career in the National League, which didn’t have a DH. Schilling never won a Cy Young Award, although he did finish second three times. While he does get points for his endurance, his 83 career complete games fall well short of Jack Morris’ 175.
Speaking of Morris, if Schilling goes into the Hall, so should Morris. Morris won 254 career games, had three 20-game seasons and 2,478 strikeouts. And what about Bert Blyleven, who won 287 games, struck out 3,701 and had a career 3.31 ERA? Even Jim Kaat, who won 283 career games, had a trio of 20-win seasons, a 3.45 ERA and 2,461 Ks can make a case if Schilling gets in.
When Sports Illustrated football writer Peter King discusses the credentials of those who are being considered for inclusion in the Pro Football Hall of Fame, for which he casts one of the few votes, he sometimes refers to players who belong in the “Hall of Very Good.” That seems to be Schilling. If we divorce ourselves from the bloody-sock drama and accept his post-season success as a strong argument, rather than an absolute requirement, for Hall inclusion, we see a pitcher who had several strong seasons during a 20-year career but not the kind of complete dominance during any prolonged stretch or longevity to close the deal.
Schilling will get plenty of support, and he already has his advance team working hard on his behalf. He’ll make some compelling arguments himself, you can count on that. But he’s not a Hall of Fame pitcher. And if he gets in, then voters had better be committed to enshrining a bunch of similarly very good hurlers, because they will have established a new standard.
And that will be worthy of some tears.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: The West Michigan Whitecaps, a Class A minor-league baseball team, will offer fans a 4,800-calorie, four-pound hamburger this season. What’s the big deal about that? The Celtics have been serving up a 205-pound hot dog for the past three weeks: Stephon Marbury…Let’s hear it for the NFL’s new rule that prohibits players on the ground from hitting quarterbacks. What’s next, flag football? It’s unfortunate that Tom Brady tore a knee ligament last year in the opener when he was hit by a scrambling Kansas City lineman, but if the league protects quarterbacks any more, they’ll be able to sit in the pocket and get pedicures without worrying about getting hit…New Browns (and former Jets) coach Eric Mangini has issued an open invitation to Cowboy Quarterback to visit Cleveland’s training camp. Isn’t that nice? Maybe he can teach Brady Quinn and Derek Anderson to retire a couple times and hold a franchise hostage. Or, he can show them how to fade down the stretch of a season… Congratulations to Japan for winning the World Baseball Classic. Anybody who takes that as a sign that U.S. baseball is in trouble needs to add some HGH to their common-sense gland. Despite the best efforts of Majoke League Baseball and its propaganda partners, nobody cares. Okay, nobody in America cares. They went crazy in Tokyo – and then went back to their 90-hour work weeks…Catholics in southeast Michigan are furious with the Tigers for scheduling their home opener this season at 1:05 on Good Friday afternoon, right in the middle of the time Catholics believe Christ was on the cross. Talk about bad karma. Well, guess you can kiss those Central Division title hopes good-bye, Detroit. Here’s an idea: Next year sponsor a religious intolerance night and get the Lutherans, Methodists, Jews, Buddhists, Muslims and Shintoists mad at you, too. Brilliant.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? Andy Reid held a sit-down with local newspaper writers yesterday to give his spin on the Eagles’ off-season moves and to look ahead. As usual, it was enlightening and was sprinkled with the usual sampling of “I don’t want to get into that” “We’re always looking to improve our team” and “I’ll always look at something if there is a great player out there.” Truly enlightening. It is Reid’s prerogative to obfuscate and parry as much as he wants with the media. But must we be subjected to these semi-annual wastes of space that do little more than send the media diving into the morass of his answers with the same enthusiasm Kremlinologists used to reserve for analysis of who was in favor based on where they were standing on Lenin’s Tomb during the annual May Day festivities? Enough, already. Let Reid talk from the “podium” during the season and leave him alone the rest of the year. We’ll all be better for it.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: The folks at NC2A HQ in Indianapolis must be thrilled with the name-brand Sweet 16 that has emerged from the original tourney pairings. All of the top three seeds survived, and no hyphenated schools, satellite campuses or colleges named for Colonial-era heroes can be found. Of course, the first two rounds were far more bland than usual, but safe is good when you’re investing so much money, especially in this economy. So, enjoy the games and keep the following in mind: Purdue over Connecticut; Villanova over Dook and Syracuse over Oklahoma. Enjoy.
* * *
ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD: This is the 250th “El Hombre,” and as the world embarks on the semiquincentennial celebrations of the column’s bicenquinquagenary, know that this has been a delightful ride that ain’t ending soon. So, to those who can’t stand the sarcasm and Animal House references – or for those demented minds who crave more – keep on reading. The best is yet to come.
-EH-
We should be happy about one thing regarding Bloody Sock Schilling’s recent retirement announcement: There was no teary press conference. Oh, you can bet he will break down at some point during the “exclusive” three-minute, in-depth “conversation” he has with a sympathetic slo-pitch tosser some time in the next month, but for now we can be thankful that Schilling did not produce a maudlin event, during which he tells us, “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry.”
Since he didn’t pitch last season, Schilling is now four years away from Hall of Fame eligibility. That means we have less time than usual to argue about his credentials. And, make no mistake; it’s going to be one helluva debate. Few players in recent baseball history are as polarizing as Schilling. He may not be in the class of BALCO Bonds, who divided fans into two camps: Realists and those who believe the Yankees’ 2010 pitching rotation will be Santa Claus, The Easter Bunny, The Tooth Fairy, Sasquatch and Whitey Ford, but Schilling was pretty divisive.
The trouble began during the Phillies’ improbable 1993 drive to the NL pennant. Schilling, who had shown glimpses of being something special the previous season by going 14-11 with a 2.35 ERA blossomed into a stalwart, winning 16 games and throwing a gem in the World Series. Fans loved him, but his teammates didn’t quite embrace his look-at-me qualities, such as covering his head with a towel in the dugout whenever volatile closer Wild Thing Williams took the mound, and calling into sports radio stations at all hours to advance his personal agenda. By the time he worked his way out of town by meddling in front-office affairs and demanding (rightfully so) a better supporting cast, Schilling wasn’t exactly the most popular player in the organization. He behaved himself better in Arizona, teaming with Randy Johnson to help the Serpents to the 2001 World Series title, but Schilling always preferred to air his concerns publicly, rather than handle them behind the scenes. That led to continued conflict with teammates, who favored man-to-man methods, rather than man-to-microphone.
When Schilling signed with the Red Sawx, he earned plaudits for announcing his arrival on sonsofsamhorn.net, a fan web site. It was a savvy move to gain support and popularity but again another Schilling tactic to keep himself in the spotlight. A mere press conference wasn’t enough. He had to commune with the people. Only, he wasn’t really communing, rather giving the illusion of hanging with them by posting on the site. Shrewd.
Then came the Bloody Sock. Whether that indeed was blood on the sock, or it was ketchup, Mercurochrome or Sloe Gin, the legend of the night has been overblown. That’s not necessarily Schilling’s fault, although he could have changed the sock once the bleeding had been stanched. But it shouldn’t have any bearing whatsoever on whether he gets into the Hall of Fame. Thousands of baseball players work through injuries; the big difference is they don’t celebrate it for the TV cameras. Chase Utley played just about the entire 2008 season with a torn labrum in his hip, but every time he was asked about his condition, he downplayed it. Perhaps Utley should have left the syringes used to give him painkilling injections lying around the clubhouse. Then again, given the climate in baseball these days, that wouldn’t have been such a good idea, since Utley didn’t want people to start calling him “Chuice.” But you get the idea. Utley could have played up his injury but didn’t.
Enough about Schilling the man, except to say that his work fighting ALS does deserve major kudos. A lot of professional athletes set up “foundations” and say they do charity work, when all they do is appear at a few events arranged by their minions. Schilling was – and is – committed to the fight and has built up some political capital because of it.
So, what about the Hall? This is a tricky one, because there are plenty of arguments on both sides. His 3,116 strikeouts are a compelling opening gambit, since the 3,000 number is something of a magic mark. He won 20 games three times, hardly overwhelming but more than Greg Maddux and most other pitchers with whom he is compared. Schilling was an animal during the 2001, ’04 and ’07 post-seasons, and his 11-2 career record in the playoffs and Series is impressive, indeed. Schilling had a 4.38 strikeouts:walks ratio, the best ever, and he had two seasons with double-digit complete games, quite an accomplishment in today’s seven-innings-or-bust climate. Those who support Schilling say he was the “dominant pitcher of his age,” which serves as the criteria for many arguments for the Hall. That’s the main case for Sandy Koufax’s truncated career, although let’s be honest, Schilling (and really nobody else) was not Sandy Koufax.
The anti-Schilling side has some pretty heavy artillery, too. His 216 wins are hardly overwhelming. They are three fewer than Kenny Rogers’ total, and he isn’t going to Cooperstown. Schilling pitched for 20 years, and though he battled injuries, he had only nine seasons in which he posted double-digit victory totals and an above .500 winning percentage. He never strung together more than three years of prosperity and had seven sub-.500 seasons, an 8-8 campaign and a 9-8 year. That doesn’t scream long-term greatness. And to those who look at his 3.45 ERA as lower than the average of the age, consider that Schilling pitched the majority of his career in the National League, which didn’t have a DH. Schilling never won a Cy Young Award, although he did finish second three times. While he does get points for his endurance, his 83 career complete games fall well short of Jack Morris’ 175.
Speaking of Morris, if Schilling goes into the Hall, so should Morris. Morris won 254 career games, had three 20-game seasons and 2,478 strikeouts. And what about Bert Blyleven, who won 287 games, struck out 3,701 and had a career 3.31 ERA? Even Jim Kaat, who won 283 career games, had a trio of 20-win seasons, a 3.45 ERA and 2,461 Ks can make a case if Schilling gets in.
When Sports Illustrated football writer Peter King discusses the credentials of those who are being considered for inclusion in the Pro Football Hall of Fame, for which he casts one of the few votes, he sometimes refers to players who belong in the “Hall of Very Good.” That seems to be Schilling. If we divorce ourselves from the bloody-sock drama and accept his post-season success as a strong argument, rather than an absolute requirement, for Hall inclusion, we see a pitcher who had several strong seasons during a 20-year career but not the kind of complete dominance during any prolonged stretch or longevity to close the deal.
Schilling will get plenty of support, and he already has his advance team working hard on his behalf. He’ll make some compelling arguments himself, you can count on that. But he’s not a Hall of Fame pitcher. And if he gets in, then voters had better be committed to enshrining a bunch of similarly very good hurlers, because they will have established a new standard.
And that will be worthy of some tears.
* * *
EL HOMBRE SEZ: The West Michigan Whitecaps, a Class A minor-league baseball team, will offer fans a 4,800-calorie, four-pound hamburger this season. What’s the big deal about that? The Celtics have been serving up a 205-pound hot dog for the past three weeks: Stephon Marbury…Let’s hear it for the NFL’s new rule that prohibits players on the ground from hitting quarterbacks. What’s next, flag football? It’s unfortunate that Tom Brady tore a knee ligament last year in the opener when he was hit by a scrambling Kansas City lineman, but if the league protects quarterbacks any more, they’ll be able to sit in the pocket and get pedicures without worrying about getting hit…New Browns (and former Jets) coach Eric Mangini has issued an open invitation to Cowboy Quarterback to visit Cleveland’s training camp. Isn’t that nice? Maybe he can teach Brady Quinn and Derek Anderson to retire a couple times and hold a franchise hostage. Or, he can show them how to fade down the stretch of a season… Congratulations to Japan for winning the World Baseball Classic. Anybody who takes that as a sign that U.S. baseball is in trouble needs to add some HGH to their common-sense gland. Despite the best efforts of Majoke League Baseball and its propaganda partners, nobody cares. Okay, nobody in America cares. They went crazy in Tokyo – and then went back to their 90-hour work weeks…Catholics in southeast Michigan are furious with the Tigers for scheduling their home opener this season at 1:05 on Good Friday afternoon, right in the middle of the time Catholics believe Christ was on the cross. Talk about bad karma. Well, guess you can kiss those Central Division title hopes good-bye, Detroit. Here’s an idea: Next year sponsor a religious intolerance night and get the Lutherans, Methodists, Jews, Buddhists, Muslims and Shintoists mad at you, too. Brilliant.
* * *
YOU GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT? Andy Reid held a sit-down with local newspaper writers yesterday to give his spin on the Eagles’ off-season moves and to look ahead. As usual, it was enlightening and was sprinkled with the usual sampling of “I don’t want to get into that” “We’re always looking to improve our team” and “I’ll always look at something if there is a great player out there.” Truly enlightening. It is Reid’s prerogative to obfuscate and parry as much as he wants with the media. But must we be subjected to these semi-annual wastes of space that do little more than send the media diving into the morass of his answers with the same enthusiasm Kremlinologists used to reserve for analysis of who was in favor based on where they were standing on Lenin’s Tomb during the annual May Day festivities? Enough, already. Let Reid talk from the “podium” during the season and leave him alone the rest of the year. We’ll all be better for it.
* * *
AND ANOTHER THING: The folks at NC2A HQ in Indianapolis must be thrilled with the name-brand Sweet 16 that has emerged from the original tourney pairings. All of the top three seeds survived, and no hyphenated schools, satellite campuses or colleges named for Colonial-era heroes can be found. Of course, the first two rounds were far more bland than usual, but safe is good when you’re investing so much money, especially in this economy. So, enjoy the games and keep the following in mind: Purdue over Connecticut; Villanova over Dook and Syracuse over Oklahoma. Enjoy.
* * *
ONE MORE FOR THE ROAD: This is the 250th “El Hombre,” and as the world embarks on the semiquincentennial celebrations of the column’s bicenquinquagenary, know that this has been a delightful ride that ain’t ending soon. So, to those who can’t stand the sarcasm and Animal House references – or for those demented minds who crave more – keep on reading. The best is yet to come.
-EH-
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)