What Would Bart Do?

At my maternal grandfather's memorial service some years ago in New Haven, Connecticut, I was asked to read an excerpt from Angelo Bartlett "Bart" Giamatti's baseball tome A Great and Glorious Game, published in 1998 well after Giamatti's death. This then-nascent tradition, if I have anything to say about it, ought to endure through the paternal side of my tree.

A. Bartlett Giamatti graduated Yale magna cum laude in 1960, stayed on to receive his doctorate, and ascended from popular English lecturer to popular dean to youngest president in the university's history. He left Yale to assume presidency of the National League, then succeeded Peter Ueberroth as commissioner early in 1989. I first became aware of Giamatti's legacy shortly after his death during the Giants' pennant chase, the finer details of which started to calcify in my mind when I collected Topps 1990 card #396, shown here (and available for purchase on eBay, which apparently is in dire need of your support nowadays). In those tender stages, I largely regarded Giamatti as the head of state in our wonderful game who, following his precedessor Ueberroth's lead, boldly but justly banned Pete Rose for gambling on the outcome of big-league contests.

(And though many of you chirped or squawked at the awkward timing of such inquiry, I supported and continue to support the "nefarious" Jim Gray for putting an NBC mike in Rose's face and demanding he apologize to the world, on the night when MLB admitted Pete belongs in the Hall. Eat your heart out, Chad Curtis.)

Through my brief but heavy reading on baseball to that point, I knew that a crusty old man named Kennesaw Mountain Landis had sternly ruled the game for nearly half a century, holding no quarter with the likes of Ty Cobb, Babe Ruth, and poor "Shoeless" Joe Jackson. I took it for granted that baseball would always persevere, as long as the commissioner put his foot down when chaos began to erupt. Then the lifelong smoker Giamatti was felled by a massive heart attack, dead at 51, before he was even to preside over his first World Series.

Giamatti's dear friend and deputy, former entertainment mogul Fay Vincent, tried to guide baseball the next few years as Bart would have; for instance, Fay stood up to San Francisco Mayor Art Agnos, who wanted our earthquake-marred Series postponed well into November. But pressure mounted from several franchise owners, whom the famous lawyer Vincent accused of collusion, until Vincent's ouster in late 1992. By no accident, one of the owners spurring the campaign for that ouster, Brewers boss man Bud Selig, shortly thereafter seized baseball's throne, if in name only.

As most of you know, dear friends, this abdication sounded the death knell for justice in the governance of baseball.

The more one learns about Bart Giamatti - and we haven't much to go on besides his exile of Pete Rose, and the policies Fay Vincent attempted to effect - the more one ponders whether Giamatti could have, to any degree, spared baseball the corpulence and confederacy of its alleged renewal after the 1994 work stoppage.

Would Giamatti have eventually followed track and field's lead? Would he have implemented mandatory random drug testing, either closer to its outset in 1989 for track athletes, or sometime around 1998, following the mysterious death of Florence Griffith-Joyner and during the nation's acceptance of Mark McGwire on androstenedione? No evidence exists that Giamatti and his operatives were any less in the dark about steroids than the press and the ticket-buying public. At the time of Giamatti's and Vincent's reigns, baseball classically found itself mired in time-honored debates - over gambling, players' salaries, the modernity and soullessness of new stadia, an albatross of a television contract for CBS, Vincent's desire for realignment and for abolition of the designated hitter, and so forth. Mere trifles, you presume now, compared to the current embroglio.

On that fall afternoon in Connecticut I recited lines from "The Green Fields of the Mind," Giamatti's most revered baseball essay. Its best line, the line I want recited at my own funeral: "It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart." A work stoppage on his watch would have broken the heart of Giamatti the commissioner. It likely would not have fazed him. (Baseball owners had trusted him on account of his brio in negotiating with Yale's unions.) Faced with the prospect of an Opening Day of scabs on the diamond, Giamatti may have suggested that owners' bluster and players' greed did not rise above The Game.

But what would Bart have done about a steroid scandal? It is unfair to posit that under Giamatti's direction, baseball would have stamped out or slowed any scandal regarding performance enhancers. It is fair to posit that had a true commissioner remained in place, had we not desperately gone in search of a hero when none seemed to exist, we would not have so easily gone back on Giamatti's words when he banned Rose: "No individual is superior to the game." Much as we will never comprehend our nation's potential fate had the 2000 presidential election gone the other way, we cannot gauge the ways our sport may have blossomed and flourished if A. Bartlett Giamatti had stuck around just a little longer. Read More!

Forty-One: Reappraising The Consecutive Outs Streak

Five thousand seven hundred and fourteen strikeouts.

Two thousand six hundred and thirty-two consecutive games played.

Seven hundred and sixty-two taters ([{*}]).

A four hundred batting average.

Fifty-six consecutive games with a hit.

Forty-one consecutive outs.

Huh?

All right, perhaps that last number lacks the hallowed recognition bestowed upon some of baseball's other great achievements by the custodians of the game, the arbiters of truth and justice: the Baseball Writers Association of America (BBWAA -- egad, that reads like a craigslist personal ad!).

Why is this feat so unheralded? It is, after all, a feat shared by only two pitchers; a former Giants starter, Jim Barr; and the current White Sox closer, Big Bad Bobby Jenks. Barr first set the consecutive outs record over two starts in August 23rd and 29th of 1972 (neither of which was a no-hitter or perfect game); Jenks' tying of the record occurred over a span of fourteen appearances between July 17th and August 12th of the 2007 season. Bobby's achievement is sui generis in that all previous record holders were starting pitchers, and this warrants stricter scrutiny.

In and of itself, facing forty-one hitters in a row without so much as a hit, walk, or hit batsman is no small exploit. It is tantamount to pitching one-and-a-half perfect games. To accomplish this feat as a closer is surely a singular experience: a closer has no idea when he will be called upon, what team or what part of the order he will be opposing, and faces the less-than-optimal possibility of inheriting a situation from another pitcher where the run expectancy is higher than it would be if the closer enters the game at the top of an inning with no one on and no one out. To pitch one-and-a-half perfect games, a starting pitcher in the American League (Jenks is a closer in the AL) would essentially face nine hitters three times each in one start, then retire the first fourteen batters (1.55 times through the lineup) in his next start. A closer could conceivably face forty-one distinct hitters in pursuing the consecutive outs streak, as they typically pitch one inning per appearance. Jenks' case is an aberrant one with many exogenous factors; a more discerning examination of his streak will go a long way toward deciding how plaudit-worthy of an achievement it really was.

Bobby Jenks is an anomaly in that he entered baseball armed with a sizzling 98-100 mph (once clocked at 102 mph) fastball and, in the span of just a couple of seasons underwent a transformation into a finesse pitcher. The year in which he pursued the streak, 2007, represents the first year of that metamorphosis. Jenks saw his k/9 dip to a copacetic 7.75 after posting k/9's of 10.33 and 11.44 in the two seasons prior. In a show of his newfound finesse, Jenks posted a career high strikeout-to-walk ratio of 4.31; needless to say, he remained a very effective closer. Bobby's k rate during the months of the streak was a modest 7.25, hardly the dominating stuff one would expect of someone in pursuit of a consecutive outs record. To have a batting average on balls in play (BABIP) of .000 over a thirteen-inning span with anything less than an astronomical k rate is an example of preternatural luck, to say the least. However, to do this with a White Sox defense behind him that was second to worst in the AL, is truly remarkable. Thirty of the forty-one batters put the ball in play against Jenks and not one of these balls found a hole or a gap in what was, by every discernible measure, one of the most porous defenses in the league that year.

What about the level of difficulty encountered by Jenks? During Barr's streak he faced batters from two NL teams (the Cards and Pirates) who posted a .248AVG/.319OBP/.364SLG against the rest of the National League that year (1972). Jenks, on the other hand, faced much stiffer competition facing batters from six different AL teams who hit .264/.337/.407 off American League pitching in 2007. It is evident that Jenks had the tougher row to hoe in pursuing the streak. Below is a look at how many times Jenks faced each part of the lineup, from the lead-off spot to the ninth man in the order.

1-4 times
2-2 times
3-1 time
4-3 times
5-3 times
6-6 times
7-6 times
8-9 freakin' times!
9-7 times

More conspicuous signs of luck? Perhaps. After all, Jenks did face this guy three times in the course of the streak -- more than any other hitter. Facing the third batter in a lineup just once over a span of fourteen appearances while coming up against the No. 8 hitter nine times is more than just blessed happenstance. It is the perfect storm; and, like all of nature's beasts, it deserves due approbation lest it become a seasonal scourge on the sagacity our great custodians confer upon the sport and its sacred sanctum of numbers. Forty-one may not be as big of a number as fifty-six, or as sexy a number as seven hundred and sixty-two* (chicks just don't dig the groundball, Bobby), but it deserves its place at the Kaaba. Besides, if Jenks was closing for the Yankees or Red Sox in 2007, ESPN would still be talking about it, with John Kruk ready to proclaim Bobby Jenks' season the greatest of all-time for a closer and and other such hyperbole.

* Individual results may vary. Read More!

Don't Panic

For those of you who don't have cable, can't watch television in the morning/early afternoon, or live in a box, ESPN decided several months ago to take an expensive, hugely unnecessary stumble into the future by going live with all SportsCenter programming.

If you're having trouble imagining why this would be any different than the old format of SC -- where ESPN simply replayed the most recent SportsCenter on a loop -- that's because nothing has really changed. Not for the better, at least.

We are still treated to hour-after-hour of the same anchors saying the same stuff, since no sports news breaks before noon at least. For some reason, even though The World Wide Leader had figured this out and was saving truckloads of money on programming costs, they went ahead with their plan to be live 24/7. While there is no apparent added value (maybe Hannah Storm showcasing a different cowgirl costume every day? Josh Elliott angrily re-articulating his playoff-over-BCS college football ideas... again?), there is one big problem: the potential for error and editorializing.

With the old format, the anchors for the most part followed the script, meaning you knew what you were in for on an SC replay. With the glorious new system, you get interactions like this one. Chris McKendry was "interviewing" Buster Olney about the Yankees' nine-game win streak entering Friday's game. They had crept within a game-and-a-half of the front-running Blue Jays, with Boston only a half-game out. In reference to the two money giants nearing the top of the division, McKendry posed, in the condescending tone you would expect a fourth-grade teacher to use while asking you if you understood why she gave you a time-out:

"Buster, has order finally been restored in the American League East?"

Yes, Chris, not to worry. Everything is going to be alright. Those evil Canadians won't get in the way of your precious programming. You won't be forced to show any atrocities like this on your network. I mean, Brian Tallet?!?! Berman can't even make a cute little joke about that name! Besides, I thought Roy Halladay started all 162 games for the Jays. Or do they only play 144 up there -- I forget what the conversion rate is these days.

Surprisingly, Buster did not reaffirm McKendry's northeast-sheltered idiocy in his response. Instead, he re-stated his pre-season prediction that the Tampa Bay Rays-O'-God (no longer Devil-endorsed) would erase their then 5.5 game deficit and storm back to win the East. Needless to say, that's going according to plan.

The point is, there's no need for any of this. If the 24-hour news networks taught us anything, it's that there isn't enough news breaking in all of the world to justify their existence. Why, then, would a sports network think there is enough going on in their little slice of the pie to do the same?

On a side-note, is there a federally mandated height restriction on being a television baseball reporter? If I joined the after-work rec basketball team of Olney, Gammons, Kurkjan and Rosenthal, I'd be playing center at 5'9". Costas would come off the bench to give us a little more size down low. Read More!

Stop Already! You Are Embarrassing Yourself, Kenny Williams!

There's something to be said for aggressiveness in baseball.

A lot, actually.

Pitchers throw first pitch strikes (and even more importantly, 1-1 strikes). They buzz the batter with a 95 mph fastball up and in then drop the off-speed on the outside corner. Batters worth their salt don't settle to slap singles the other way every at bat. They slug their way to multiple base hits. Managers defend their players by ordering retaliatory pitches and get in umps' faces. General Managers pull the trigger on the big trade or free agent signing. This is no revelation, but, as with all things in life, extreme behavior leaves everyone scratching their head wondering what the hell is going between that person's ears.

Here is where the Chi Sox really make a mark on baseball, in particular their "you can't say I'm not trying" GM Kenny Williams. His inferiority complex created a very embarrassing situation this past couple days for the entire organization. I am, of course, referring to the Jake Peavy Fiasco. What kind of GM orchestrates a blockbuster 4-for-1 deal for a recent Cy Young winner without first making a ten minute call to that player for the not insignificant purpose of inquiring whether he would waive his no-trade clause?

If that isn't enough to satiate your desire to observe incompetence in action, Williams proudly announced that the deal will remain on the table awaiting Peavy to reconsider. It makes him and the entire organization look like amateurs.

No doubt the Sox are desperate for starting pitching, as is everybody in baseball. And from this desperation was bred the scenario just encountered. Every other GM would rather have Peavy then not, but only Willaims put on his Napoleon hat and tried to conquer baseball without first looking in the mirror and asking, "Do I have a clue what I'm doing?" If he did, he would have remembered that in the seemingly never-ending off-season rumors circulating throughout Williams' own Chicagotown that Peavy had no desire to go to the White Sox. But Williams took the plunge with about as much chance of success as an invasion of Moscow. And the result: the self-conscious Sox are exposed as over-aggressive know-nothings.

Where does such reckless aggression come from? It is the inferiority complex the Sox acquired from poor geography. Chicago is a dynamic city and arguably the most sports-crazed city in the country. But it has been dominated by Cubs fans for many, many years. The Sox get high-profile shout outs from the likes of Mayor Richard M. Daley and President Barack Obama but continue to fail to win the city over. They win the World Series, something the Cubs have famously failed to do, but even that doesn't convince Northsiders to switch alliances. Ken Williams has consistently been the most willing trade partner of any GM, bringing in big names on seemingly a yearly basis, but the fans just don't follow. The Sox get a new park to call home, but fans still yearn for the old Comiskey Park.

With Peavy, Williams took yet another stab at upstaging his Northside counter-part. Cubs' GM Jim Hendry was unable or unwilling to prove the rumors right and bring Peavy to the Cubs. In Williams' eyes, landing Peavy would have been a major coup for the Sox. But as with any failed coup, the failure leaves him in a much more precarious position then when he started. It seems no matter what the White Sox do, they will always play second fiddle to the team from the North Side.

One day the Sox will accept their role and stop over-compensating. They will continue to do whatever it takes to field a competitive team. But only when they stop trying so hard will they ever have a chance to avoid such embarrassing events as the Peavy Fiasco. Then maybe, just maybe, the White Sox could achieve their dream of feeling at home in their own city. Read More!

On The Agony Of The Giants' Nakedly Marginless Path

"How long, o lord, how long?" -- a lament oft quoted by Dr. Hunter S. Thompson.

Had it. This San Francisco Giants fan has bloody well had it.

After last night's pitiable blown save against the toothless-but-for-Adrian-Gonzalez San Diego Padres, we have seen this pathetic pattern play out too many times before our eyes: another game bled away by lack of SFG run support.

Photo Credit: San Diego Padres' Scott Hairston, center, celebrates with teammates Kevin Kouzmanoff, right, and Everth Cabrera after his game winning single in the bottom of the ninth inning gave the Padres their sixth straight victory with a 3-2 win over the San Francisco Giants in their baseball game, Thursday, May 21, 2009 in San Diego. Image via AP.

Last night's result squandered a sterling quality start by the preternatural Tim Lincecum. It feels as though Giants fans must pray to win each game by a 2-1, 2-0, or 1-0 squeaker.

This is intolerable.

The blame for this miserable state of affairs does not fall with manager Bruce Bochy, who is doing the best he can.

The blame for this miserable state of affairs does not fall with the personnel on the team, who are doing the best that they can. Even underachieving 1B Travis Ishikawa, bless his heart, who has not showed any sign that he might possibly blossom into the next J.T. Snow, as the Giants might've hoped he would. And that underscores the glaring problem at hand:

The blame for this miserable state of affairs falls squarely upon the Giants' front office and ownership, who decided that after having built an enviable pitching staff that putting juuust enough players of whatever quality on the field was an adequate move.

It's not.

And anyone taking the most cursory glance at this squad can see this result playing out, game by agonizing marginless game.

Losing games this way kills the fans. You watch your franchise's potential wither and die right before your eyes. It's particularly disheartening.

Now, calling up IF prospect Jesus Guzman as the Giants did yesterday is not an answer. They need players who have already proven their worth. In fact, the Giants could have made a play for the monstrous left-handed slugger 1B/OF Adam Dunn before the season began, but deigned not too. Dunn himself was surprised, according to the Chronicle. And as of today he is tied for third-most home runs for the 2009 season, playing for the dead-last Washington Nationals.

The Giants must stop playing marginless baseball. The "braintrust" must make a move to upgrade the team's offensive firepower as this season drags its recurrent nightmare before the remaining SFG fans. How many more excruciating losses will it take?

How long, o lord? How long?

Photo Credit: San Francisco Giants starter Tim Lincecum winds up to throw a pitch to San Diego Padres' Brian Giles in the first inning of a baseball game Thursday, May 21, 2009 in San Diego. Image via AP.
Read More!

Plaudits and Audits: The 2009 Atlanta Braves

Is this the year the Atlanta Braves begin to recapture their mid-nineties predominance with a return to the postseason? Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. The Braves have made appearances in every postseason from 1991 to 2005 (not counting the strike year in '94, of course), but have been missing in action ever since, leaving TBS's national viewers to spend their autumnal discontent watching wholly wholesome and frothy cable programming. The familiar elements of yore are no arcana: The tomahawk chop; the tantalizing triumvirate of Maddux, Glavine, and Smoltz; Dave Justice and Halle Berry; the Crime Dog, Fred McGriff; and, of course, the amicable John Rocker, to name just a few.

Yes, nostalgia is fun; marginalia, however, is not. The 2009 Braves find themselves in a National League East division replete with talent and imbalance; they are no exception. The team is composed of a curious mélange of the salty and the seasoned. Parting ways last season with their slugger, Mark Teixeira, the Braves added a non-spectacular Angel to their outfield in Garret Anderson, as well as another unheralded former Angel, Casey Kotchman, to replace (that's being diplomatic) Teixeira at first base. Atlanta also picked up two dependable vets for their starting rotation, signing Derek Lowe to a four-year deal and acquiring Javier Vasquez in a trade with the Chicago White Sox. Complementing (and/or perhaps just complimenting) the veterans on the roster are a group of hit-and-miss youths: Catcher Brian McCann; short stop, Yunel Escobar; second baseman, Kelly Johnson; right fielder, Jeff Francoeur; and spring chicken hurler, Jair Jurrjens. Oh yeah, did I mention they still have first ballot hall-of-famer, Chipper Jones?

The Wheat: The Braves, who, at the time of writing, find themselves just two games behind the first place, defending champion Philadelphia Phillies, have the best rotation in the NL East. In fact, they have the only thing approaching a playoff rotation. Acquiring Javier Vazquez from the beleaguered White Sox may quietly be the best pitching acquisition in the NL this past offseason. Vazquez clearly loves being back on NL turf, with an FIP (Fielding Independent Pitching) of 2.74 and phenomenal k/9 of 11.26, placing him behind only the Giants Tim Lincecum and NL East rival ace, Johan Santana. His strikeout-to-walk ratio, which has always been solid (a career k/bb of 3.38) is second only to Dan Haren in the NL this year, with a ratio of 5.21 strikeouts to walks. Combined with the pitching performances of Lowe and Jurrjens, as well as a pen consisting of Rafael Soriano and Mike Gonzalez, the Braves have a 3.75 FIP and a HR/9 of 0.67, which is good for first and second in the NL respectively. That's some serious grist for the hill.

The Chaff: Fielding and hitting. Two Angels do not a Teixeira make. Kotchman is an immense downgrade from Teixeira at first, and Garret Anderson should be out of baseball at this point, with all discerning indications pointing to career lows in defensive play and offensive production. The Braves are a bottom-five team in isolated slugging, runs, and baserunning. Outside of the aging and injury-prone Chipper Jones, and the services of catcher Brian McCann, there isn't a soul on the team who has a shot at 25 homeruns. While the Braves have high hopes for second baseman Kelly Johnson, he finds himself occasionally platooning with the recently injured Omar Infante, as he posts an ice cold line of .239/.315/.376. Look for him and his defense to improve as the season progresses. It's worth noting that only the Mets and Dodgers have grounded into more double plays this year, coupled with the fact that the Braves have a league-low 8 stolen bases (having been caught 7 times); needless to say, this is not a fleet-footed ball club. The Braves also find themselves a bottom-five team defensively, according to the excellent baseball analysis site, FanGraphs dot com.

The Payoff Pitch: The Braves' additions of Vazquez and Lowe combined with the play of Jair Jurrjens, give them a cavalcade of solid starters no other NL East team can boast. I mean, outside of Johan Santana and a star-crossed Cole Hamels, who else can strike fear into the hearts of men in that division? (Certainly not a parade of No. 3 pitchers in Miami Gardens) However, Atlanta's lineup is a coterie of decaying, declining, glad-I'm-not-defraying veterans who cannot compete with the potent mashers of the Mets and Phils. In addition to some health, some luck, and a defense that should improve ever-so-slightly, the Braves have an exigent need for a corner infield/outfield slugger to replace the mordant milieu of metastasizing mediocrity . Matt Holliday, much? Tomahawk chop! Fin. Read More!

Barry Bonds' 756th HR: My View From Center-Left

Originally broadcast on SFist.com, this is what I saw on August 7, 2007.

Well, that was fun.

Last night out in the center-left bleachers, each time Barry Bonds came to bat, the crowd rose giddily to their feet. The stands brimmed with grins and shouts of encouragement and nervous energy. Mitts were pulled on and pounded in anticipation. With each pitch thrown to him, photoflashes flared all about the stadium like Chinese New Year firecrackers.

In his first two at-bats Bonds hit a double and a single. The crowd applauded appreciatively after each. It was far better than seeing the oh-fer-three Barry of the night before. The lead flipped back-and-forth between the Giants and the Washington Nationals as the two pitchers had their offerings slopped all around (and out of) the park.

Then: Bottom of the fifth, one out, no one on, everyone on their feet, all eyes on one man.

Three separate sounds essayed from the crowd when it happened.

At the crack of the bat, there was a beat of silence. A collective breath drawn in. Could it be?

As the ball reached the top of its arc, that intake of air exhaled into an involuntary ohh! The sudden sound of thousands of eyes yanked wide in disbelief.

Its apex reached, the ball tore back down towards the stands in the deepest part of the park. Center-right. The last thing we saw in center-left was the dull white shape jounce off a scrum of humanity that swelled like a sponge to greet its descent. In an instant, the crowd's OHH! became a YaaAAA!

Disbelief tore through to realization. And then we were all jumping and shouting and jumping.

A great burst of laughter! High-fives flew as thick as anti-aircraft flak. It was a great loosing of energy, comparable only to a quake. Shouting and cursing and laughing from all quarters. Shock. People did not know what to do with themselves. It had happened. It happened right now, right in front of us. Strangers hugged one another rib-tight, leaping up-and-down in unison, shouting and cackling in celebration. He'd done it. He'd done it tonight, right now. The heft of this stupid record made people hug each other.

Bouncing, bounding, laughing, we were looking to see our own disbelief reflecting in another witness's glee. Looking to share it with everyone around us. There was a gout of light as fireworks scoured the gray sky above us. No sense of sound. We never even saw him cross home plate. We were busy celebrating what he had done.

But why celebrate? Why celebrate this petulant stand-offish jerk with the strained little-boy's voice? Did he cheat? Prob'ly. He hasn't been caught, but overwhelmingly it doesn't look good.

So, why did we cheer for Barry?

It may be as simple as this: In that moment when we were there with him, wanting nothing more than to see him to hit it out, he hit it out.

Might be as simple as that, at least for last night.

Last night; that was fun. Read More!

Welcome to the Fray

Well, then. It's about time.

We've tossed this idea around for several years. We recognized the need to create a forum for intelligent, informed minds with something to say as a counter-balance to the pervasive idiocy that surrounds most mainstream sports coverage. It was easier to sit back and watch others for a while, but there is no definitive voice to help re-instill sanity any longer. Now is as good of a time as ever to start.

That being said, let's get down to some business.

Contrary to a report earlier today in the San Francisco Chronicle, reports of Eric Chavez's death have been greatly exaggerated. The headline declared:

ERIC CHAVEZ (sic) CAREER IN CRISIS


However, if one takes a little closer look at the article (which is, let's face it, what we're here to do) one can see that Susan Slusser is simply rebel-rousing here:

The next time Eric Chavez's back goes out, it will be the end of his career.

Oh. The next time. As in, he didn't throw it out last night while vomiting at the sight of Sean Gallagher's mullet (or ERA). So, you're writing an article to let us know that just in case Eric Chavez should injure his back again, that his career will be over.

Thankfully, Slusser articulates this immediately. And by immediately, I mean in graph eight:

So the only hope Chavez has for continuing his Gold Glove career is to rehab his back, strengthening the area so that it is more stable, and crossing his fingers that nothing goes wrong.

Oh, so he's not even having surgery. He's rehabbing, just like every other athlete who doesn't need surgery.

Just to be clear, this would be like saying that if Koyie Hill chopped off his fingers again in another off-season buzz-saw accident, he probably wouldn't be able to throw a baseball for a living anymore.

There have since been a couple of stories published in reaction to Slusser's, which more accurately articulate the severity of the situation. Congrats, Chronicle. Setting the bar for journalism at the height even a paraplegic midget could clear.

Now, to be fair, anyone who pays any real attention to the Oakland Athletics (like, say, their beat writer) should know that it has been several years since Eric Chavez has had much chance of ever returning to the 30/100 form we saw from him in 2001-05. It's a sad possibility that we may never see him casually pick rockets out of thin air at the hot corner anymore, but the A's have been prepared for that possibility for a while. Keep an eye out for Tommy Everidge— who is basically Jack Cust trained to play third base— to make an appearance before season's end.

Enough for now. The Nuggets are up 10 on the Lakers early. Chauncey Billups is vying for my Person of the Year Award for '09. To be continued... Read More!

Obituaries: David Ortiz

David Ortiz was a Major League Baseball player/designated hitter from 1997 until 2009. He met an ignoble end in the 2009 season, when he suffered a fatal free fall from the left field wall in Fenway Park. He was 33.

This potentially premature, irreverent obit is a well-founded fear for many in Red Sox Nation. The team's affable slugger, affectionately known as "Big Papi", is in the midst of one of the longest homerless droughts of his career; he has not homered in 158 plate appearances this year, and his last regular season homerun occurred on September 22nd, 2008 against Cleveland. Ortiz remains in Boston's all-important No. 3 hole despite his underwhelming line: .200/.318/.300; and it is clear that Sox manager Terry Francona will have to make some tough decisions regarding Ortiz's role in the lineup if his slump continues on in to June and beyond.


So, just what is wrong with Big Floppy? Has he lost his footing on the steep and slippery precipice of eternal Juan Gonzalezdom? (A player who, coincidentally, saw his ascendancy evaporate at age 33, the same age Ortiz is today) Whatever the case may be, let us do our due diligence and start with his 'death' and work our way back. As it stands, Ortiz is maintaining a healthy walk rate of 13.3%, which is equivalent to his career walk rate of 13.5%. While the selectivity is a good sign, what Papi is doing when he makes contact with the ball is most disconcerting. Ortiz has always been an extreme fly ball hitter, and this year that trend has continued unabated to an even greater degree. However his infield fly ball rate is currently twice the percentage of his career total, and with no homeruns to show for a guy who has a career HR/FB% of nearly 19 percent, the numbers tell an alarming story about what Ortiz is doing when he does hit the ball. In short, Papi is hitting a lot of weak pop flies to the infield and is not driving the ball to right or left, resulting in a lot of soft outs and weak singles.

One might point out that Papi had a similarly slow start in April of last year, before going on a Papi-like tear in the month of May and subsequently suffering a wrist injury that kept him out for six weeks. A closer look at the numbers would suggest that this year is markedly different from Ortiz's less-than-elite 2008 season. At month's end this time last year, Ortiz had 13 homeruns and slugged .617 in the month of May alone. Papi essentially played two elite months of baseball last year; two solid, if unPapi-like months; 1 month and a half on the disabled list; and one bad month of baseball, April, in which he still hit 5 homeruns. In his 2009 season hitherto, Ortiz has played a bad April and an even worse two weeks in May, resulting in Terry Francona's decision to bench Ortiz over the weekend against the Mariners, citing Ortiz's need for a "mental break". Given the fact that Ortiz is due $25 million by the Sox before his contract expires in 2010, and that he is at an age where most sluggers begin to see a decline in their skills, the Red Sox might have a Big Ugly on their hands before too long.

To be fair to Ortiz, there are a number of players with comparable skills that have been pronounced dead before, only to resurrect their careers and continue to produce into their mid to late thirties. Carlos Delgado and Jim Thome are two names that come to mind. I would be remiss, however, if I did not address the Big Elephant in the room: steroids. It is well known fact that Ortiz was a moderate run producer who never had an OPS higher than .839 or a season with more than 20 homeruns until he joined Manny and the Red Sox in 2003. It was here that he became one of the premier sluggers in all of baseball, posting career highs in homeruns and OPS, whilst helping Boston break the "Curse of the Bambino". With Manny recently outed for taking a banned substance, Ortiz has become ensnared in the performance enchancing drugs discussion as well. Did Papi's relationship with Manny extend to PEDs? Hard to say, really. It is clear, however, that his marked improvement during the Manny years is suspect, and with baseball keeping a watchful eye on its biggest stars, it will be interesting to hear what people say if Papi can no longer produce. If I had to offer a final pronouncement on Ortiz's prospects, I would say three things:

1) His days as an elite slugger in the game are over
2) The Sox should try to trade Ortiz to a desperate team, even if it means eating some of that contract a la the Tigers and Gary Sheffield
3) Steroids, which Ortiz has denied taking and called for bans against users, will begin to overshadow his achievements if he cannot find his way up the bone-jarring cliff armed only with spit-spackled batting gloves for equipment. Read More!