Thoughts on "42"

I tried to avoid reading reviews before seeing it on opening night because I didn’t want someone else’s complaints about the film in my head as I watched it. Didn’t want baseball historians nitpicking things, didn’t want film critics bashing the acting performances, cinematography, musical score or who knows what else. So, with that in mind, here are five things I took away from “42”:

1)     The acting was good. Not great, but good enough.

a.       I had been apprehensive about Harrison Ford taking on the role of Branch Rickey. Would I be thinking to myself “Look, that’s Harrison Ford!” or would he immerse himself sufficiently enough that I could forget it was Ford beneath all that makeup?  I think he succeeded. He dominated his scenes without hamming it up or turning Rickey into a caricature. Bravo to Mr. Ford.

b.       Chadwick Boseman’s role was difficult. The movie did not really allow for many nuances in Jackie Robinson’s character, since the film focused on a three-year span in Robinson’s life. During those three years, Robinson had to turn the other cheek; in other parts of his life, he was much more combative. Boseman wasn’t always 100% believable to me off the field, but on the field, he did well.

2)     The little things were brilliantly done. The CGI images of the stadiums in the film (particularly Ebbets Field) were gorgeous. The uniforms were as well. I’m not an historian, but if those things had not been done right, they would have bothered me. I also enjoyed the Red Barber-isms in the latter half of the film. I intend to work "tighter than a new pair of shoes on a rainy day" into some sort of work-related conversation this week.

3)     The action on the field was pretty good. The sliding, the fielding, the baserunning all looked believable to me. And using an actual pitcher like CJ Nitkowski was a very savvy decision. As we all learned watching Bull Durham, it’s darn near impossible to teach an actor how to pitch without looking like a buffoon. Much better to leave something like that to a professional.

4)     The movie to which I compare “42” the most is “Miracle,” the story of the 1980 U.S. Olympic hockey team. Why? Because I already knew the story going in. The hockey team, made of up of college kids, stunned the world by beating the mighty Soviets, who routinely humiliated the NHL’s best. “Miracle” did justice to the story and then some. Would “42” do the same?

5)     In my mind, the answer is a resounding yes. Many baseball analysts have complained that the movie did not cover enough of Robinson’s life. That’s an apples-and-oranges argument to me. The movie sought to tell the story Robinson breaking the unwritten color barrier in major league baseball. It does that in grand fashion. It was not an attempt to chronic Robinson’s entire life, or even his entire career. Most importantly, writer-director Brian Helgeland did not take liberties with the action on the field just to enhance the story. The uncomfortable scenes with the Phillies manager Ben Chapman happened. Racist Dodger teammates really did circulate a petition against Robinson. Robinson really did hit a late-season, game-winning home run off the Pirates pitcher who drilled him early in the season. The movie is a terrific 30,000-foot view of Robinson’s 1947 season that will thrill viewers who don’t know Robinson’s story and should not disappoint those who do. That’s enough for me.

It's all dead

“It’s all dead.”

Tanya and I listened to the voicemail again. And again. Then once more.

It was from the oncologist’s assistant.

“It” is the cancer that had invaded my wife’s body and hijacked our lives.

It’s all dead.

This lady wouldn’t call and say such a thing without the oncologist’s blessing, would she? Surely he has seen the test results and given her the OK to let us know, right?

The double mastectomy and the chemotherapy had succeeded.

In spite of all the awful side effects (hair loss, painful white-blood cell booster shots, agonizing pain in her fingernails, plus other indignities I won’t list here), the sleepless nights, the lingering stares of strangers in public, the frustrating callousness of so-called “friends”, all of it….my wife wins.

Tanya 1, Breast Cancer 0. How you like them apples?

She was so excited; she immediately drove to her parents’ house to tell them the good news. She wrote the following on her blog:

·         I'll see my girls graduate high school.

·         I'll get to see them both go to college and decide what they want to do with their lives.

·         I'll get to see them meet the man of their dreams and fall in love.

·         I'll get to see them get married - I loved the day Chris and I got married and hope that they have as wonderful of a day as we did.

·         I'll get to see them have children - my grandchildren. I don't want them too early but I can't wait to meet them. They are going to be so special. I'm going to spoil them rotten. I'm going to smooch on them and bake cookies with them and just love them so much.

·         I'm going to see my daughters be mothers - and I know they'll be great at it.

Me, I wanted to jump up and down and scream, but I was hesitant. I wanted to hear it from the doctor himself. No mix-ups at the lab, no “unfortunate miscommunications” or some such nonsense that would shatter our hearts. We have pieced them back together so carefully after she was first diagnosed with breast cancer eight months ago. The thought of having them broken again was too much for me to even think about. No, I wanted to hear the oncologist tell my wife that she is officially IN REMISSION. Then I could finally relax and celebrate her – our – victory over breast cancer.

When we finally met with him the following day, he said the magic words, but not without some added drama.

He noticed swelling in her left leg during his exam and immediately worried about a blood clot. That put the brakes on the whole celebratory mood. You see, my wife was having another surgery the next day to have her ovaries removed. It was supposed to be a fairly simple outpatient procedure; she would be home by early afternoon if all went as planned.

A blood clot in her leg would scuttle all those plans. I thought to myself, “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Can’t even imagine what my wife was thinking.

Other plans for that day were rescheduled; in their place was an ultrasound. All the “what-ifs?” reared their ugly heads again. What if they find one? The next surgery would be delayed, right? What happens then? We’re supposed to be celebrating and chanting “RE-MISS-ION!” like Cardinal players chanting “HAPPY FLIGHT!” during the 2011 World Series run (if you’re not a Cards fan, trust me – it was really cool). We’re not supposed to be in a goddamned hospital waiting room, scrambling to find someone to pick up our daughters from school.

Fortunately, nothing abnormal showed up on the ultrasound. Surgery #2 could take place as scheduled the next day.

The best part of the day was sitting down with our daughters and telling them the cancer is dead. Our 12-year-old tends to keep things bottled up inside. She didn’t say much at first, but we caught a glimpse of her joy when she hugged our cat a few minutes later and heard her whisper, “The cancer is gone, kitty. I’m so happy.”

Our younger one is 10. She wears her heart on her sleeve and grinned happily. She told me later that night that she would give up her One Direction concert tickets if it meant Tanya never had cancer again. Given her obsession with this British boy band, this would represent a major sacrifice in her world. I had tears in my eyes as I repeated it to Tanya later.

And I could allow myself to start thinking about our life in the long term again. We can make plans. This September will mark our 15^th anniversary. I look forward to it now with a full heart instead of a heavy one.

My wife’s blog closed with this line:  I am starting a new chapter. I have shut the door. Another opened. Life is good.

I agree and add this final thought: cancer can still suck it.

You never think it's going to happen to you

It’s been pretty quiet on the personal blog here lately.  For a good reason.  This is the most personal thing I’ve ever written.  It might get a little angry and profane. If you’re easily offended by that, you probably should just stop reading now.

 

It was just an average late summer day. I don’t remember much about it, until that evening. My wife Tanya and I were sitting on the couch in our family room. Out of the blue, she tells me she found something on her left breast. Since it wasn’t my hand, I knew it probably wasn’t good. The knot in my stomach confirmed that. She had a mammogram scheduled and would I go with her? (As if she had to ask.)  She had noticed it the previous Friday and then kept it to herself all weekend, wondering if she was overreacting, panicking over nothing.

She wasn’t.

The mammogram found “suspicious” things in her breast. I have really come to hate the word “suspicious.” It’s doctor-speak for bad news. The biopsy confirmed what we feared: my wife, who I have loved for 17 years, who has put up with me all that time, who gave me two beautiful daughters, who has never smoked, done drugs, or intentionally hurt anyone her entire life, has breast cancer.

 

Holy fuck.

If there is a more horrifying word in the English language than cancer, I can’t think of it. What’s your reaction when you hear that word in a medical sense? Does it make you cringe? It means that person is going to suffer. You think of chemotherapy, radiation, losing your hair, looking sick. It means people give you that “aw, you poor thing” look. It’s just the fucking worst.

For me, the initial shock was horrible. I can’t even imagine what it must have been like for her.  Almost immediately, we plunged into a seemingly endless parade of tests and meetings with doctors. Some of the tests came back with encouraging news. All the doctors agreed it had been caught early, so the cure rate was very high. Surgery was scheduled for Oct. 9. Tanya elected to do a bi-lateral (double) mastectomy to reduce the risk of reoccurrence as much as possible. It sounded so severe to me initially, but if it meant she is here to grow old with, then it’s a price we were gladly willing to pay. We were scared, but optimistic.

Surgery went as well as it could have. The first two weeks were rough. For Tanya, especially, but also for the girls, her parents and family, my mom and stepdad. I have this perpetual knot in my stomach that periodically expands and overwhelms me to the point I can barely breathe. At least I have been able to do things to help her so I don’t feel useless. But if you have ever watched a loved one trying to recover from surgery or illness (or both), you know how miserable it is to watch. I’d carry it all on me in a second if it meant she didn’t have to go through all this crap.

Ever since then, she keeps getting the rug yanked out from beneath her. Going into surgery, we were told that her lymph nodes looked clear. That meant that once the surgery was done, she should be 98% cancer-free. That didn’t last long.  The surgeon came out afterwards and said that she found a lymph node that looked “suspicious” (see, there’s that word again), so she removed several more so they could be tested.

Enough of them came back positive for cancer that the cure rate changed and the oncologist said the cancer was a more aggressive Stage 3 instead of the more easily cured Stage 1. We were stunned.

Because the body has thousands of lymph modes scattered everywhere, the risk of it spreading is terrifying. Because of this, Tanya then had to undergo a bone scan and a pet scan to see if the cancer had spread. The PET scan came back clean, which meant that it wasn’t in any of her organs. That was a huge relief.

The bone scan did not come back clean, goddamn it. The oncologist called Tanya himself. You know that’s a bad sign. It is her left hip. The normal reading on the scan is supposed to be a 2 or less. A “3” is considered suspicious (do you get why I fucking hate that word now?). Her reading was a 9.3.

Oh God, no.

 

A bone biopsy and oncologist visit later, it is confirmed. Tanya’s cancer has spread to her hip. This time, stunned doesn’t even begin to cover it. I’m still speechless. I’m not a cancer expert, but I know what it means when someone has cancer in his/her bones. It changes the cancer level to Stage 4.

It is not curable. NOT. CURABLE.

Later, to me, she says, are you fucking kidding me? How much more of this shit am I supposed to handle? I have no answers. I only have shoulders to cry on.

These past two weeks have been agonizing. Just a month ago, we were being told that it was 98% curable. Come to find out it isn’t curable at all. The best that can be done is to put it in remission. Our daughters are 11 and 9. Tanya has had a long-running joke with the girls that she will live to be 112. That joke used to make me laugh. Not anymore.

I know cancer can strike anyone at any time, but this is just the most unfair goddamned thing. I don’t want to hear any of this “Everything happens for a reason” bullshit, either. There is NO reason for this to happen. Not to Tanya.

Our daughters have asked why this is happening. I don’t have any good answers. I myself have asked for, demanded even, an explanation for why. I have gotten nothing. I need one, or else I will never understand this whole wretched nightmare.

 

I have learned something during all this: most people are kind, decent and generous. The support Tanya has received is nothing short of incredible. Some of that support has come from unexpected places, which is heartening. On the flip side, several people we thought were friends have vanished. POOF. Maybe it’s because they don’t know what to say. It is a brutal situation. Believe me, words often are hard for me to come by right now. While I can understand that, I can tell you that I will no longer be one of those people who avoids a friend in need. Paying it forward may be a cliché, but when you receive that kindness from people, it gives you strength you never expected.

I am hoping and praying (ambivalently) that Tanya keeps drawing on that strength because she starts chemo tomorrow. If you are one of the vanishing friends, you can piss off. I can no longer be bothered by people like you who can’t spare a moment of their precious time to offer support to a friend.

 

Although we’ve been dealing with this for a little over two months now, we’ve only started down this hellish road. I don’t know how, but I will gather all the strength necessary to help my wife and daughters make it through. In the meantime, we plug along day by day. I don’t know what else to do. Like Tom Hanks’ character said at the end of Cast Away, we have to keep breathing because tomorrow the sun will rise and who knows what the tide could bring.

Bolstering the Cardinals' bullpen (again)

Posted on 27 July 2012 by Chris Caylor

About this time last year, the St. Louis Cardinals were in dire need of pitching help. Adam Wainwright was out for the year, Jake Westbrook was struggling, and the bullpen was like Forrest Gump’s box of chocolates.
Once again, this season, the Cards need some reinforcements for their pitching staff. Chris Carpenter is out for the year, Jaime Garcia is out until mid-August (best case) and the bullpen has been up and down, particularly from the left side.

Last year, they dealt away Colby Rasmus and other spare parts to acquire Edwin Jackson, Octavio Dotel and Marc Rzepczynski. Rzep, known as “Scrabble” to many fans, became the top lefty specialist; Dotel took over the “fireman” role, often coming in to get strikeouts in key situations. We know how well that deal worked out for the Cardinals.

Here we are in 2012, and the Birds on the Bat need a similar deal. Scrabble has struggled this year. Rookie Barret Browning has done quite well so far, but will it last? Brian Fuentes was recently added to the roster in hopes he has something left. Since Fuentes was dumped by the Oakland A’s, I’m a bit skeptical. But hey, he can’t be any worse than J.C. Romero, right?

At closer, Jason Motte has been solid. Mitchell Boggs has a nice scoreless streak going, but I’m just not sure he is the right guy to take over Dotel’s role from 2011. Fernando Salas, such a rock last year, pitched so poorly earlier this year he was sent to Triple-A Memphis (although he has improved since being recalled). Victor Marte was used heavily the first two months of the season and wore down. He was sent down earlier this week to make room for Fuentes. The remaining bullpen spot has been a revolving door that need to be slammed shut (paging Chuck Norris!).

With that in mind, here are three relievers the Cardinals should target who would solidify their bullpen for another stretch run:

1) Matt Belisle, Colorado Rockies – The Rockies are reluctant to trade the consistent Belisle, as he is signed to a club-friendly deal through 2013 with a mutual option for 2014. With Todd Helton nearing the end of the road and Allen Craig looking like the long-term first baseman in St. Louis, first base prospect Matt Adams should be enough to pry Belisle away.

2) Wade Davis, Tampa Bay – Davis would be starting for most teams in baseball, but he has done well out of the pen this year, pitching to a 2.70 ERA with 52 strikeouts in 46 2/3 innings. Adams also should be enough for the Rays, who have got to be sick and tired of Carlos Pena and his anemic production.

3) Jason Marquis, San Diego - Just checking to see if you’re paying attention. Put the sharp object down, please. Luke Gregerson is the guy to get from the Padres. The former Cardinal farmhand has been the epitome of steadiness in San Diego, pitching to a 1.12 WHIP the past three seasons and striking out over a batter per inning. Gregerson likely would come at a cheaper cost than Belisle or Davis (Robert Stock maybe?). Plus, bringing him back to the Cardinals would help negate the disastrous Khalil Greene trade.

Any of these relievers would be capable of assuming the fireman role so capably filled last year by Dotel. I don’t expect a huge trade like last year’s Colby Rasmus deal, but we know that Cards GM John Mozeliak is unafraid to make moves to bolster his team’s roster. If Mozeliak is able to patch his team’s bullpen as well as he did in 2011, the Cardinals would again become the most complete team in the NL Central. As well as the Pirates and Reds are playing right now, it’s becoming clear that the Cardinals need to make a move before the deadline if they want to keep pace.

 

A Tribute to Darryl Kile

It’s strange how you remember certain events in your life.  I don’t mean the obvious ones (wedding, birth of a child, major world event, etc.).  I mean smaller, random moments that have an unexpected affect on you.  Darryl Kile’s untimely death 10 years ago today was one of those times for me.
 

I remember exactly where I was when I heard about Darryl Kile’s death.  It was a Saturday afternoon, and my wife and I were at a car dealership looking at an SUV.  We had found out the previous Mother’s Day that she was expecting our 2^nd child, so we were going to need a bigger vehicle.  As is normal for me, I was wearing a St. Louis Cardinals cap.  After a few minutes of looking around and speaking with a salesman, he noticed my cap and said: “Hey, sorry to hear about your team’s pitcher.”

I had not heard anything about Kile yet.  Cardinal fans were still coping with the death of legendary announcer Jack Buck just four days earlier – ironically, a game Kile started. I looked at the sales guy blankly and said “What are you talking about?”

“It was on the radio,” he said. “I think it was that guy who used to pitch for the Rockies….” he trailed off, trying to recall the pitcher’s name.

 “Darryl Kile?” I asked, feeling a knot in my stomach.

 “Yeah, that’s the guy.”

 I no longer felt like car shopping.  We left the dealership and I immediately tuned the car radio to a sports-talk station, which confirmed that 33-year-old Darryl Kile had been found dead in his hotel room that morning. He left behind a wife, 5-year-old twins and a 10-month-old son, as well as friends all across the game of baseball.

“So sad,” said my wife.  The rest of our drive home was silent.

*      *      *      *

I remember seeing Darryl Kile pitch for the Astros back in 1991 and being convinced he was a stud in the making.  In his first start in the majors, he pitched six no-hit innings before being pulled from the game. Good fastball, ridiculous 12-to-6 curve, bulldog mentality on the mound (same thoughts I had a few years about about Adam Wainwright). In 1993, he made the All-Star team and permanently etched his name in the record books with a no-hitter against the Mets in September.  He was on the way to being an ace.  His last year in Houston, he went 19-7 with a 2.57 ERA, 1.18 WHIP, 205 strikeouts in 255 innings pitched.

Then he left Houston to sign with the Colorado Rockies.

He said he enjoyed pitching in adverse conditions and wasn’t intimidated by Coors Field.  There was no humidor at Coors Canaveral in those days. Kile’s devastating curveball didn’t curve at altitude.  The fastball didn’t move the same way it did at sea level.  The result in 1998 was a stunning reversal from the previous season: Kile led the NL with 17 losses, his ERA ballooned to 5.20, and he allowed an average of 10 hits per nine innings. The next season was worse. It was painful to watch.

Through all that, though, Kile never complained.  He made 67 starts in his two years with the Rockies, pitching 421 innings. As the beatings continued and the losses piled up, Kile made no excuses.  He didn’t blame the thin air, the huge outfield, the punchless road hitting, none of it.  He put the blame on himself for not doing his job well enough.  I admired his poise.  The results were ghastly, but Darryl Kile was a stand-up guy his two years with the Rockies. Unlike Mike Hampton and Denny Neagle a few years later, he never quit on his team. 

By the time the Rockies traded him to St. Louis after the 1999 season, I felt relief for him, as well as excitement as a Cardinals fan.  He was going to the right team to resurrect his career.

And did he ever.

His first season in St. Louis, Kile won 20 games, made the All-Star team and finished fifth in Cy Young voting.  That deadly curve started dropping off the table again.  His strikeout-to-walk ratio was the best of his career.  He and close friend Matt Morris were one of the best 1-2 punches in either league.  They reached the NLCS before losing to the Mets.  In 2001, they were just as good. Kile pitched the last part of that season with an injured shoulder that required surgery after they were ousted in the NLDS by the eventual World Champion Arizona Diamondbacks.  He was ready to go by the following spring training.

Kile often was seen working with Morris and prized young lefty Rick Ankiel.  He got along with catcher Mike Matheny so well he once told Tony LaRussa “if Matheny isn’t catching, I’m not pitching.”  LaRussa didn’t quibble.

On June 18, 2002, Kile pitched the Cardinals into first place in the NL Central with 7 2/3 brilliant innings against the Anaheim Angels.  Four days later, they were at Wrigley Field to face the hated Small Bears.  With Kile’s competitive nature, he surely must have been looking forward to that type of rivalry game. But when he was absent during pregame warm-ups, teammates grew worried.  Matheny requested that someone check Kile’s hotel room.

 

Joe Girardi’s choked-up announcement that there had been “a tragedy in the Cardinals family” chills me even now.

*      *      *      *

People rarely speak ill of the deceased, but I remember being amazed at the number of stories about Darryl Kile – not only the player and teammate, but the husband, father, and friend.  Todd Jones wrote a touching letter to Kile’s children in The Sporting News.  He was so well regarded that his former teams, the Rockies and Astros, both chartered airplanes so his former teammates could pay their respects.  All three teams placed memorials in their ballparks as a tribute to the man.  The Rockies’ tribute was particularly impressive, considering how horribly his stint with the team had gone.  It spoke volumes to me about how well-liked and respected he really was.

Kile’s jersey hung in the dugout for each game the rest of the season, but the Cardinals avoided any public “Win it for Darryl” proclamations.  The situation could have turned into a made-for-Disney rallying cry; instead, the Cardinals narrowed their focus to the baseball field.  They added Scott Rolen to the lineup and dominated the NL Central, winning it by 13 games.  The night they clinched the division, Albert Pujols carried Kile’s jersey out to the field where the team celebrated. St. Louis finished with a 97-65 record. I don’t recall who noted it first, but the Cardinals had won 57 games after that awful June day.  Darryl Kile’s uniform number was 57.

They celebrated again after knocking the Diamondbacks out of the playoffs.  However, there would be no Disney-like finish to the season.  After blowing the 1-0 lead to the San Francisco Giants in Game 5 of the NLCS, the stunned looks on the Cardinals’ faces said it all.  It wasn’t supposed to end with a crushing, two-out rally in the bottom of the 9^th.  Yet, it did.  Just like that, the season was over. LaRussa called it the biggest disappointment of his career.  The Cardinals were left to face the chill rains of the fall without their friend and teammate.

*      *      *      *

Ten years later, Darryl Kile’s death still saddens me. It’s not just that he played for my two favorite teams (Cards and Rockies); no, it’s more that he was one year older than me and had kids about the same age. Just thinking about not being able to play catch with my daughters, take them on a roller coaster, or just hug them makes my heart ache.  A good man was taken from his family too soon. 

 

That’s not to say the whole story is sad.  Besides the 57 regular-season wins, there are some other interesting facts and figures from that season, some of which dovetail into 2012.

§  The team that Kile beat in his last start is the team that beat the Giants in the World Series.

§  Albert Pujols now plays for those Angels.

§  Number 57 hasn’t been retired, but no player has worn it since 2002

§  The Cardinals and Astros both established the Darryl Kile Good Guy award, for players who best exemplify Kile's traits of "a good teammate, a great friend, a fine father and a humble man."

§  The first recipient of that award was Mike Matheny

§  Mike Matheny is now the Cardinals’ manager

Although it’s comforting to that believe the 57 wins were a sign from above, I tend to believe it was just a coincidence.  But it was (and still is) a really cool coincidence.

The daughter whom I watched sleep that June day is now 11.  Earlier this year, we were at a Rockies game when she asked me about the DK57 sign in the Rockies bullpen.  After I explained, she asked me if Darryl Kile was one of my favorite players.

 

“Yes, honey,” I said. “Yes, he was.”

What would instant replay serve? You really have to ask?

Johan Santana’s no-hitter against the Cardinals last weekend has generated all sorts of discourse about instant replay, incompetent umpires and asterisks. I got into one myself with former big-leaguer @DougGlanville, Chicago sports blogger ChiTown (@ChiTownSports), and an ESPN guy named T.J. Quinn (@tjquinnespn).  Glanville had written about the “imperfections” in baseball (http://ideas.time.com/2012/06/05/baseball-is-never-perfect/), and how they’re a part of baseball lore (which is 100% true).  What really caught my eye, though, was Glanville’s opposition to instant replay.  A former player against something that would hold the umpires accountable and help keep teams from getting hosed on a call?  I was surprised enough to add my two cents.

ME: “I wonder if Armando Galarraga feels the same way.” 

Galarraga, of course, was famously robbed of a perfect game by umpire Jim Joyce a few years ago. More on that below. Turns out, I wasn’t the only one who disagreed with Glanville’s take. 

ChiTown‏: Fans pay see the 'human element' in players, not umpires.

Doug Glanville‏:  Good comment. But I think people gained a different take after Jim Joyce.

ChiTown:  I appreciated Jim Joyce but I bet he would have appreciated replay.

T.J. Quinn:  probably, but the way joyce and galarraga handled it transcended sport.

So there the hyperbole starts – the blown call “transcended sport.” Yes, both men were classy and acted like gentlemen. Maybe it seemed so unusual because of the Bob Davidsons and AJ Pierzynskis of the sport. But, really, all they did was handle an awkward and embarrassing situation like a couple of mature adults. Isn’t that expected of us on a daily basis?

Turns out, Glanville wasn’t going there, anyway. His point was that he didn’t want robot umpires taking over everything.  Well, we’re in complete agreement on that one.  @ChiTown didn’t want robot umpires either. Our point was for bad umpires to be held accountable for their many high-profile mistakes, and for baseball to use available technology to eliminate as many of those mistakes as possible. Quinn, however, went in a, um, different direction:

T.J. Quinn‏:  I don't know what ultimately would be served by technical precision. But I know those men gave my kids something permanent.

Oh, boy. Here we go.

Is that not the most ESPN-type answer? Seriously? Did Gregggg Easterbrook write this? PLEASE, WON’T SOMEONE THINK OF THE CHILDREN?!?  What would be served?  Are you kidding me?

/Pauses, counts to 10

/Takes deep breath

Okay, here’s what would be served: the game of baseball. That’s all. The “technical precision” would ensure that critical plays are called correctly? That one team isn’t getting screwed out of the playoffs by one umpire’s horrible call? That baseball shows a willingness to step into the 21^st century?  Nah, never mind that stuff; let’s focus on family values. Hey, if TJ Quinn wants to use Galarraga/Joyce as a teaching point for his children, bully for him. But you don’t know what would be served by technical precision? That’s just ignorant. We could get that kind of drivel from Mike Lupica.

It reminds me of the media folks who got carried away and proclaimed that people will remember the Galarraga/Joyce game in the same vein as a no-hitter or perfect game. Of course, this reasoning is ludicrous.  Near no-hitters and almost-perfect games don’t end up in the record books or Cooperstown.  Just ask Harvey Haddix.

Look at it this way: no matter what else Philip Humber does in his baseball career, he will always be on the list of pitchers who threw a no-hitter.  Armando Galarraga will not have his name on the list of perfect games.  I wonder, deep down, would he rather have his name etched in baseball history, or be remembered as a guy who got hosed out of a perfect game by an umpire’s mistake? Instant replay would have made that question moot.  It also would have ended Santana’s no-hitter against the Cardinals.

Aside: I found the St. Louis Post-Dispatch’s asterisk attached to Santana’s no-no hilarious. Watching the NY media get all lathered up about it was equally amusing, as if they wouldn’t have done something similar had the roles been reversed. Just face it, NY: you got out-snarked this time. Deal with it.

Ken Rosenthal wrote earlier this week about baseball’s interest in the Hawk-Eye system, which is best known in tennis, where it makes a loud beeping noise when a player’s serve misses the serve box. Is this a practical answer? I’m not sure. At least it shows that MLB is considering doing something. 

Meanwhile, we’re stuck with horrible umpires like Bob Davidson, Joe West, Angel Hernandez, Laz Diaz, and Adrian Johnson. The Mets and their fans get to celebrate Santana’s no-hitter, which is great for them. The Cardinals sit and wonder “what if?”; that is something that too many players and teams keep having to ask.

Five ways to revive the Rockies

Here we are, just past Memorial Day, and 2012 already looks like a lost season for the Colorado Rockies.  We’ve seen this too many times before.  The Rockies show no sign of being able to pull themselves out of this most recent May freefall.  Here are five things that need to happen sooner rather than later:

 

1)      Fire Dan O’Dowd.  NOW.  Under his watch, the Rockies have two playoff appearances (no division titles) in 13 years.  The team caught lightning in a bottle for a month in 2007, and the team has teased its fans with “potential” ever since.  When they made the playoffs in 2009, many fans (including me) thought they had finally turned the corner.  We were wrong.  Years of botched first-round draft picks have left the team in a dead zone where -- except for Nolan Arenado -- the best prospects are years away from the majors.  O’Dowd tried to plug the team’s many holes with 30-something veteran players.  Other than Michael Cuddyer (for whom O’Dowd vastly overpaid), they have all fallen flat.  Casey Blake never made it out of spring training.  Ramon Hernandez and Marco Scutaro have barely qualified as warm bodies thus far.  And Jamie Moyer….well, I’ll get to him in a minute.  O’Dowd is once again preaching patience while the team’s youngsters develop.  Sorry, Dan.  Time’s up.  No other franchise in baseball (even the Pirates and Royals) has shown such patience with a GM with such meager results.  It’s time for a change.

2)      Don’t fire Jim Tracy – yet.  This doesn’t mean I’m a Tracy fan – far from it, actually.  His inability to construct a productive batting order is stupefying.  He also has a LaRussa-like tendency to over manage.  Remember the game a couple weeks ago where the Rockies loaded the bases with nobody out in the bottom of the 9^th and he had to send Alex White – a pitcher – to pinch-hit because he ran out of position players?  Embarrassing.  That said, I can’t think of any manager who could make chicken salad out of the chicken dung O’Dowd put together this year. 

3)      Release Jamie Moyer.  It’s been a nice human interest story, having him become the oldest player to win a major-league game and all that.  Baseball writers like Jon Heyman fell all over themselves telling us what a great story it was, while ignoring the medical miracle that is Juan Nicasio.  By all accounts, Moyer is a wonderful guy who uses his fame and wealth to help others.  But it’s a disservice to the team to keep him in the rotation at the expense of younger arms like Drew Pomeranz or Alex White.  Jorge DeLaRosa is on his way back too.

4)      Trade Jeremy Guthrie and Rafael Betancourt.  Guthrie has been an abject disaster.  The team would have been better off keeping Jason Hammel and Matt Lindstrom.  At least trading Ubaldo Jimenez, Ian Stewart, Chris Iannetta and Seth Smith brought some potential talent to the team.  Guthrie was supposed to be a reliable innings-eater who would keep his team in games and keep the bullpen fresh to back up the younger starters.  He’s done neither.   This would definitely be a case of selling low, but keeping him in the rotation at the expense of a younger pitcher is a mistake.  A team in need of a starter (hello, Phillies?) might part with a prospect for Guthrie.  If this is going to be a crummy year, put the youngsters in and let them sink or swim.  Meanwhile, Betancourt is a luxury.  His value could be maximized by moving him to a contending team in need of bullpen help at the trade deadline (Cardinals? Rays?).  Besides, he’s agonizing to watch on the mound.  Any pitcher who takes 90 seconds between pitches deserves to be shut in a dark room and forced to listen to Tim McCarver for four straight hours.  Throw the damn ball already!

5)      The time has finally come to bench Todd Helton.  Yes, he’s driven in 25 runs, but his OPS is .719 with a 22/18 K/BB ratio.  Among teammates with at least 90 plate appearances, only Scutaro and Hernandez are worse.  The saddest part is that he appears to be healthy.  Assuming that is the case, Helton no longer is an effective everyday player.  With the pitching staff in tatters, the Rockies need to get as many productive bats in the lineup as possible.  Move Cuddyer to first base and play Tyler Colvin in RF.  Or swap roles with Jason Giambi, who has an OPS of .840.  Helton has been the face of the franchise since 1998.  The man’s done enough.

Will any of these moves happen?  With the exception of Moyer’s release, probably not.  Rockies ownership would have to become bold, forward-thinking owners who care more about winning than they do PR clippings and gate receipts.  The Brothers Monfort have shown no such inclination.  As a result, the Rockies will continue to waste the career primes of Troy Tulowitzki and Carlos Gonzalez while fans count the days until Broncos training camp starts.