It’s All So Sad You Have to Laugh

The first question that must be addressed…Who is Julio?

The tenor of the situation with the San Diego Padres Baseball Club is well summed up in the erratic nature of this article on MLB.com. The first question sets the stage, where for some reason the name of Julio takes the place of Khalil Greene where the former short stop is clearly being discussed. While this has to be chalked up to some strange typo…it provides a wonderful chance to laugh as Manager Bud Black seemingly tearfully expounds…“Julio will be missed.”

In other more tangible instances, the state of baseball in America’s Finest City leaves little room for laughter. But it’s paramount to find some humor in it…lest we go insane…so let me help.

The root of the trouble seems to be the pending divorce of principle owner John Moores from his wife Becky. I find nothing funny in this tragedy of thier personal life…but it clearly is starting to turn the wheels toward selling the team. It is in the absolute destraction of Moores from what really is going on…where laughter abounds.

In a more recent article…Moores clearly shows he is completely disconnected from reality. Before taking in this quote from the above article…remember the moves the Padres have made ammount to 3 large deals and a 4th left undone. That 4th… obviously the attempt to unload the contract of a Cy Young Award Winning #1 starter in Jake Peavy. The other three: 1-Trading Khalil Greene. 2-Taking a deal for the All -Time Saves Leader off the table. 3-Bringing back Brian Giles.

With all that in mind, John Moores makes this statement; “It’s[losing 99 games] not going to happen again in 2009. We’re going to put together a much better team.”

Now I ask you…how can you not have that statement back to back with the moves the Padres have made this season…and not burst out laughing?

Not a Single Day Without that Blue Bear and that Mad Dog

The year was 1987. It was a  warm July day in Southern California.  Sometime late in the day a man and wife made a mad dash for the hospital, reaching the delivery room just in time to welcome a bouncing baby boy into thier lives. He was given a stuffed blue bear and probably went to sleep for the first time in his life shortly thereafter.

Two days later Joseph Windell Cox, your’s truely, was back home in Hemet, CA, while miles north in San Francisco one Gregory Alan Maddox was making the 26th appearance of his major league career. While I sucked my finger and listened to the music box in that little blue bear, The Mad Professor was getting lit up in a rough two inning start. However, from then on, for the most parts of every April to September of my life, that same right hander would take the mound every 5 days. And now that has come to an end.

For most of that career the Maddox was dominating two time zones away from my California homes. But he was always there, always in box scores, just one of those constants in baseball, like the box score itself.

There are very few players that capture that sort of longevity. The ones that do, no matter who they play for, your team or your rival, always fall into special esteem to stand forever in your mind.

In that ’87 season Maddox was the same 21 years old that I am today. His career on the field was just getting underway, as mine is now in the broadcast booth. A common love for the game of baseball has connected us, albiet from a 20 year distance, each and every day, each and every game.

So, before I start talking about life being so daily and break into a chorus of “The Circle of Life”…here’s to Greg Maddux, to the past and to the future. Most of all to the game that changes those two modes into memories and hopes, baseball.

Las Vegas:Where GM’s Make Mistakes Too

The baseball world and mind converges on Las Vegas. With a real lack of activity leading up to the Winter Meetings this off season, there could be some high level deals made in places other than the black jack table and roulette wheel this week.

The meetings are a bit like sweeps week in television. Sometimes it just takes that concentration of attention to bring the big news to light. Things will start with the retirement of Greg Maddox tomorrow. The Mad Professor will be hanging up the spikes of his Hall of Fame career the same day the Veteran’s Committee is set to announce a couple of new entries into that shrine.

With some of the preliminaries out of the way, deals may come to light. Now, I’ve never been to the Winter Meetings (if it wasn’t for finals I would be there now) but I hold no delusions that the GM’s are sequestered in some conference room until at least some of the suspense of the hot stove is lifted. There is a reason these things are always held in fair weather, south of the Mason Dixon, its almost a vacation, with a little work mixed.

So the key is, how much work will those with the fate of millions in thier minds and moneyclips do? In my humble and completely unfounded opinion, I don’t really forsee this week solving the Sphinx of MLB 2009 in one fell swoop. There may be a trade or two, a signing here and there, but in reality this will be the final test of the market for those big names. They’ll take what they gather, sleep on it, and maybe before Christmas, we’ll have some answers.

Of course on the other hand the sun may stand still over the Nevada desert and deal after deal will be finalized and it will be on to spring training and points beyond.

Whatever the case, it’s sure to be an exciting time. In months to come decisions made in Vegas that go south will be defended with tearful cries of, “I never meant to hurt anyone, these people were my friends.” With the same token…good deals made this week may give some fans a vindication only rivaled in that town by a Goldman Family press conference.

Hey baseball…be sure to say hey to the Juice for me.

Yes I am with the Brewers…I’m Ben Sheets…that’s Jason Kendall.

Had the security guard come up to the other half of the faux battery of me and my fellow Seamhead in the Maryvale Baseball Complex practice bullpen, that phrase more than likely would have been uttered. But instead they asked me if we were with the Brewers…and I went with no.

 

Lets get this straight…the following is not meant to say baseball makes you lie. But rather baseball is a game that can not only provide the swagger to give that answer to a really dumb question…but also it can provide an extreme confidence for life.

 

Think about it…what is one of the first phrases you are taught when you step onto a little league field? “I got it, I got it, I got it!” That makes it clear to your team who is going to catch the ball. To do that…you have to believe that you can guide your glove under that plummeting sphere of seams and cork.

 

The next phase of the game that can instill confidence can also…in one sweeping curve of that same sphere…leave even the largest major leaguer questioning. Feeling the sting of bat on ball can supply the utmost confidence. Conversely the sting of ball on back can leave a hitter with a permanent foot toward the bucket. Even still…though cowering and quivering, the line-up will turn around and up to the plate will march that same victim for another shot at confidence.

 

Even with failure directly in the rear view, baseball forces its combatants to push forward and keep going. And if you don’t think that’s a confidence every single person will need sometime in their life…then I’ll tell you a first hand story of a 16-year-old who threw high and tight to Barry Bonds…then struck him out with a wicked bender. 

We Went, Now You’re Gone Amigo

Not sure how many times I repeated the phrase, “We go as you go Amigo” over the past few years to exhort now former Padres short stop Khalil Greene. But however many the total is…there shall be no more.

The trade that sent Khalil to the Cardinals for a pitcher looking to extend the legacy of Todd and Tim, officially ended what was a roller coaster ride for the Padres, their fans, and the shortstop that gave them ball park poetry in motion just about every night.

There are few people around the baseball world who would doubt Khalil’s potential, especially defensively. However after his strong rookie campaign…holes in his bat eventually led to an uncharacteristic lashing out at an immovable object and the breaking of his hand that ended his Padre career. But during that career, when Khalil was up, so were the Padres.

There is example after example of players who through some unnamed reason have had a strange affect on the success of thier team. Never was it more clear than when Khalil went down this season. With his injury what started as a “lower than expectations” season, quickly devolved to a complete disaster hardly topped in franchise history.

So the sinking ship in far SoCal has lost another shipmate. I wish him all the best, and am sure he will be an impact player in Cardinal Red. After all, there was once another smooth fielding Wizard of a short stop, who did a back-flip from Padre Brown to Redbird Crimson…and the rest is history.

Thanks for the memories Khalil…you and your brother both.

Dynasty in the Desert

Being the winner of anything for five years in a row is quite an accomplishment. In major sports there are very few teams at any level that can lay claim to any sort of streak such as that. Add the Phoenix Desert Dogs of the Arizona Fall League to that fraternity.

Its with sad reverence that I bring up this story. In previous posts I mentioned the AFL as a way to make it through the dreary (89 days) time before spring training brings are boys of summer back. Sadly now even that came to a close with the Dogs win over the Mesa Solar Sox today.

The dominance for the Dogs still must be recognized. The question is, what sparks a dynasty in a league that is defined by different players from a wide variety of teams each season. Maybe its the confines of Phoenix Municiple Stadium where they play their home games. Having been there, its a nice park but I don’t see it as an advantage. So what is it? Perhaps its not really a dynasty.

By definition yes, five years makes you a dynasty. But really in this league it just comes down to the individual players each year. The players that come to the desert with an agenda of work, improvement and turning heads will be the most successful in the fall league. It just so happens that the players most exemplifying this over the past five years have made thier home at the corner of Van Buren and Galvin Parkway in the city of Phoenix.

So a tip of the cap and a wish of good to those players…along with all the boys of the late fall…for giving us all baseball for a few more weeks, holding that summer sun back up into the sky just a bit longer.

Don’t Call Us, We’ll Call You

It takes two to tango. Can’t shoot without bullets. The chicken is involved but the pig is commited. Ok, that one not so much, but the others are all age old sayings depicting mutual interest or lack their of.

So why do some baseball GM’s, who shall remain nameless, seem to think they can simply run and gun from thier ballpark offices and make things happen when clearly there are no other interested parties. If a player, any player, is on the trading block, common sense tells us another team must do two things. Have the desire to make an offer on the player, and the means to make an offer. If those two things are present then the team that is dangling the player may have some action. Its only at that point second guessing cases of trades can make their way through our panel of judges: Ernie Broglio, Ray Sadecki and Delino DeShields.

However, no matter how good a player may be, how pressing a need the dangling club may think another club has for that player, if the aforementioned aspects are not present in the minds of the potential buyer, nothing will happen. Seems simple, and yet some men, responsible for running some of the largest businesses in the country seem to overlook that fact.

Maybe a discussion on involvement v. commitment is warranted after all.

Heroes Get Remembered; But Legends Never Die

Anyone that has ever talked to me or read this blog will inevitably take away two observations. One, “This kid really has a thing for baseball.” Two, “Baseball really can be a parallel to real life.” The first is a given. I have attempted to convey the second in every forum from this, to research papers and even in speech classes. So here is another shot.

For me, memories and the order they take in my mind are often shaped solely by the circumstances of an instant. An otherwise bright sunny day can be instantly tarnished when the other guy backs his car into you. By the same token a dreary, rainy, good for nothing day can go down as the best ever if spent with someone you love. Baseball memories and moments are also defined by those same circumstances of an instant. The situation of a single game or a single moment may define a memory, or even make it legendary, despite meaning very little in even the grander scheme of the season.

Courtesy of Baseball-Almanac

To illustrate this I take you back to July 5, 1996. The San Diego Padres, for the first time in one young fan’s life are making a push for the post-season. However, it’s still a long way to October so the games don’t have the must win status they would gain. Still, on this day the Padres were locked in a tight extra inning scuffle with the division rival Giants. With a man on second and two down in the bottom of the 11th, up stepped a journeyman named Brain Johnson. He was typical of this Padres team, made up of mainly unheralded talent and a few stars, just contending out in the wide open west. But this day would imprint Johnson in the mind of that young fan, not just as the hero of the game or week, but as a legend.

All of a sudden, Johnson swings and connects; it’s a roller to the left side of the infield, deep enough in a hole to make it close at first. The runner from second, who happened to be Rickey Henderson, possibly the fastest ball player ever, broke(cleat) on contact, and no doubt would score. But in order to secure the run and win, Johnson would have to be safe at first. As the ball headed toward the first baseman’s glove Johnson dove headlong towards the first base bag, just in time to beat the throw. Padres win.

Now in subsequent years the young fan would speak ill of the cardinal sin of diving head first…anywhere. However, in that instant, a move of sheer determination had won the game and nothing could be more heavenly.

As years passed that fan would more readily point to that play than any other, not only in that exciting season, but as a most memorable play ever. The Padres finished off their first division championship in 12 years with a three game sweep of the hated Dodgers, on the last weekend of the season. And yet Johnson’s play, in early July, remains as a legend that will continue on in the mind of that young fan.

While the Reggie Jackson’s and Babe Ruth’s cemented places as heroes and legends with feats on the grandest stages, names like Jim Ray Hart and John Vander Wal may be held, not on an even scale of better or best, but in a different legendary realm for reasons known only to each fan. It all depends on their personal circumstance…that one instant. Whatever the reason, the player…the moment…will never die.

-Author’s Note: Yes, I did just finish watching the Sandlot before I wrote this.

Thank’s for the Memories. Can I Get You a Cab?

There is occasionally an eerie bond between longtime members of certain teams and the fans of those franchises. I think in today’s free agent market, the scarcity of these “lifers” or even long timers, is so rare that fans latch on to players like never before. Then the aforementioned free agency rears its head and the debates begin. What do fans owe these players? What do the players owe the fans and the franchise? Over and over again a team may be backed into a corner and over pay for sentiment. But just in the same way, a player may leave a city they have built a life and career in, because there is not proper compensation.

His jersey hangs on my wall and Hells Bells means just one thing to me, but would Trevor Hoffman really mean much for the 2009 Padres?

Baseball is a business, the player owes the team and the fans the services they are paying him for. For the length of his contract that player should do all they can to get out there on the field every game and play to win. After the contract is up, they are a free agent. Which means just that, free. If they feel they need to stick to the city fine, if not, they don’t really owe the fans any more than they have, or should have, already given.

All of that being said players could do fans a favor and not try to hold up that home town organization. Don’t come in thinking, “Well I am the face of this franchise, the fans love me, the organization wouldn’t dare not sign me, so I can get a huge contract even though I’m on the way out the door.” Please, just don’t. If you can go get a bigger deal someplace else, do it. If you can’t and there is a decent deal from the home town team, don’t drive it up with rumors of heading somewhere else (like a certain well storied baseball city on a swamp) just to get more money from home. That is not the way to go. It may seem to an average fan that the front office is the bad guy, but that’s not always the case.

A note also to the fans, try to cut through the clutter of sentiment that dominates too many franchises these days. Not history and tradition, those are great if you’ve got it, but nothing good can come of signing a guy solely on what his zip code was growing up, if his brother is on the team, or how long he has been with the club. If you want to follow a player, fine. But if you want to be a fan, know what’s good for the team and when to let go.

So good luck to free agents and clubs as the bidding begins on Friday. And best wishes to fans everywhere for decent signings that give your team (or player if that’s how you roll) what they need. 

Run Up the Colors Mr. Russell

Perhaps this means nothing. Perhaps it means something. To me it means quite a bit. My organizational award recognizing class from top to bottom goes to the Pittsburgh Pirates.

 

As anyone who knows me is aware, I am teetering on the first awkward step of a career in sports play-by-play broadcasting. While there are many in this position and the paths often differ…the common thread is the constant making and mailing of job application packages. Personally I’ve taken the “Never up, never in” approach. If you don’t putt the ball towards the hole…you won’t get a birdie. If you don’t try the running put back…you don’t get the bucket. Most importantly if you don’t apply for the job…you won’t get it.

 

It’s that thinking that led me to send off a shot in the dark for the vacant spot in the Pirates broadcast booth. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t kid myself into thinking I am nearly the qualified candidate they are looking for, but still, it never hurts. So weeks went by and I didn’t hear anything. But then the mailman brought an official Pirates envelope. I knew what the letter inside would read, but still ripped it open with Christmas morn intensity. Indeed while they listened to my tape and will keep it on file…the organization could not offer me the job at this time. Nevertheless, in that simple letter, the standing of the Pittsburgh club jumped up in my esteem.

 

Any company, sports based or not, that clearly takes the time to treat a brash, no business clogging their mail room, running up their auditory time, generation y, entitled youngster, that way is a class organization. In appreciation of their actions, not only does the letter reside on my fridge, just below the clipping of Andrew Walter, the savior of the Oakland Raiders starting tomorrow, but I also will be giving Pittsburgh a goodwill blessing for the 2009 season.

 

While a blessing from me may not mean much, know this. I have witnesses to the fact that the same type of good feeling was bestowed upon a certain young team from the Tampa Bay area before last season. By no means am I saying I told everyone so, but if my following of the Rays like a kid playing with the stray puppy had any impact, the Pittsburgh Pirates will be afforded that same courtesy in ’09.

 

So to Buco’s manager John Russell I say, the deck is yours.