 |
| Another boy of summer, gone |
September 19, 1926 to February 27, 2011
Brooklyn Dodgers, New York Mets, San Francisco Giants
Hall of Famer
Rest in Peace
Sunday, February 27, 2011
The Duke of Flatbush
Edwin Donald Snider
September 19, 1926 to February 27, 2011
Brooklyn Dodgers, New York Mets, San Francisco Giants
Hall of Famer
Rest in Peace
September 19, 1926 to February 27, 2011
Brooklyn Dodgers, New York Mets, San Francisco Giants
Hall of Famer
Rest in Peace
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Forefinger Flick Games, etc.
I love playing games…seems like I have loved playing games forever. I was always compiling statistics (stats) of every game I played as a kid, and grew up playing everything I could physically play. I also played dozens of other games too, with cards, or boards, or both. Some with "armies" or men, or pieces, and some with houses, hotels, a racing car and a top hat. There were games with just pips and bids, with some of those later on involving dollars, big and small.
In later years, different games were played, like choose the best sister, of the two above, on the right, but that's a story for another day. Sorry if I have misled you, but I kept stats on stuff like that too.
I kept the statistics for every Thanksgiving Day touch football game my two older male cousins and I would play against my dad, uncle, and sister for a number of years, starting when I was about 7 years old.
I threw a ball against a rock wall in front of my house for years and years, refining my control by throwing a variety of "pitches" to a ‘strike zone’ that I had lightly painted on the wall. (the 'strike zone' is till there, though we moved out of the house in 1971) I kept stats on how many strikeouts I’d have in a game, then figured I’d thrown a shutout with 14 K’s, or maybe even a no hitter? Then, I’d go write the numbers down, have some cold water, and go pitch another game, after a brief chat with my mom to update her on the stats.
In time, my best friend Bill would join me, and we’d work shortstop-to-first base plays, refining our glove work, as the wall had some oddly pointed rocks in some areas and could create ground ball or line drive havoc. We never knew if a carom might send the ball through or over the infield and out onto the Saw Mill River Parkway, and bash a car?
There were no video games when I was a kid, so being a sports fanatic I created a hockey game using nickels as players, and a dime as a puck. I played on a trapezoidal shaped end table we had in our house. It had a inward, beveled edge, so the coins wouldn’t scatter off the "rink." I Scotch taped tiny pieces of paper with abbreviated hockey positions on each coin, because I had to know if it was Stan Mikita or Bobby Hull who had scored the goal for the Chicago Black Hawks…for the stats, or course. I’d flick the players into the puck at an angle to try and score by using the fore finger or middle finger off the thumb technique.
It was the same finger flick we all know from playing a type of football game on school cafeteria tables. The game entailed having three flicks at a straw or piece of folded paper to get the end of the straw/paper to hang over the edge of the table for a touchdown -- and then "kicking" (by finger-flicking) all those extra points or field goals through your opponents goal post thumbs with another flick.
I thought the hockey game with the movable players shooting a real "puck" was one of the great toy inventions of the 1950’s. It may well have been, because they are still being sold, and it’s still a great game.
Steven, my best friend when I was 6 years old had Electronic Football, which was really stupid. I knew, even as a 6-year old that all those jizz-jazzing men vibrating and zigzagging all over the field was dumb. What was that all about?
I had something called Mag-Power Football, where each player used two magnetic wands under the table to move two men (of 11) at a time by "dragging" them with a magnetic tug. It was a major cluster every play, as like water polo, it was too easy to jab your opponent accidentally with a wand, whack his wand off the player he was trying to move, or tip the light-weight playing field over if things were going against you.
A better game was something called Football Strategy, where offense got to call plays from a chart of 60 or more plays (not including punts and field goals), and the defense could call one of 10 defensive formations. Each play had a time assigned to it, and a clock that you would dial to the decreased time remaining. The game had a play called the Razzle Dazzle, which could gain you 44 yards, or lose you 14 yards and a fumble, or any of 8 variations in between, depending on the defense your opponent called. I don’t see the old Razzle Dazzle that much any more. I think Bill Walsh killed it?
My first great baseball (board) game was Ethan Allen’s ALLSTAR Baseball. Did anyone else have this game, or play it? You got Hall of Fame players from each league with their career statistics represented proportionally on discs of paper that fit over a spinning dial. Using that same flick, you’d spin the dial and just like Wheel of Fortune, see where the arrow pointed. It’s a collector’s item now – wish I still had mine.
I received one of the greatest Christmas presents in my life one year when my parents bought me a game called Bop Baseball. This involved a pivoting bat someone could use either left or right-handed, and a competitor pitching a small wooden, donut-shaped "puck" by sliding it (quickly or slowly) towards the hitter. There was a little chime that served as an strike zone/umpire, and a "ching" strike three was very cool, if you were pitching. The field had a number of circles on the board, and when the ball/puck was struck by the batter, and the puck landed inside of a circle on the field, the hitter would get the result indicated inside the circle. It could be a single to homerun. If the ball/puck landed outside of a circle, the batter was out. It was a great game, and my cousin Donnie and I played hundreds of games of Bop Baseball. I kept stats for all the games.
In the NYC area growing up, there was a goofy game broadcast on TV on Saturday mornings for a while called Bottle Cap Baseball. It was a real TV show with two kids competing in a game where again they were using the basic "finger flick." This game sort of combines my hockey game with Bop Baseball. I could describe it for another 100-1000 words without really capturing the essence of it. The fact is that it was an actual show with two 13-year old boys flicking little discs around some representation of a baseball field that had been painted on a glossy piece of plywood! This was really on TV in the NYC area back then. Oh yeah, New York sophistication.
Unbelievable to consider that show now, in 2011, but it was almost the kind of thing ESPN first covered 30 years ago? Remember those professional miniature golf matches they aired back in the day?
Entertainment and Sports Programming Network, indeed! Where was Bottle Cap Baseball?
Then, in 1965 when I discovered Strat-O-Matic Baseball (SOM), I felt I had been admitted to heaven on earth. SOM is to Ethan Allen ALLSTAR baseball as chess is to checkers.
Another statistic driven game with the player’s stats being on "computer" cards is APBA, which I always thought a poor runner up to SOM. I’d bet that Bill and I played close to 400 SOM games against one another as teenagers, and another 500 to 1000+ on our own. The game is still alive and well today, about 48 years after it’s launch, and better than ever in many ways. I still have my cards from the 1969 MLB season – Let’s Go Mets!
Then, at some point in the 1960’s or 1970’s, a few people got together and created what we now know as fantasy baseball, which bred all the other fantasy games millions of people play year round.
An obvious reason why fantasy sports has become enormously more popular than even the best of the board games is that someone else will compile the stats for you. There’s that and it’s also possible (and even likely) that you’ll be playing with 12 people from any age group, disparate geographic location, sex, nationality, and socioeconomic position. You play them as equals in a league competition largely dependent on knowledge of the sport, or tons of luck, or a mix of both, if one is to succeed.
Bill and I largely re-discovered our old friendship in part because of a love of baseball, and the game of fantasy baseball. We also still engage in a game of Whiffle Ball home run derby when we are able. We bet beers and forget who won, so we just pitch, swing, sweat, and have cold beers.
.
I now know people in California, Ohio, New Jersey, Massachusetts, and Vermont that I compete against regularly. Some I have never met, but I consider them friends.
My arthritic fingers are not so good for the same kind of finger flicking any more anyway, but I can still type in line up changes,and I have found other (more creative?) uses for my fingers.
Either way, the beer is still cold, I don’t have to keep the stats anymore, and playing games is still a lot of fun.
 |
| Well, I have your attention. |
In later years, different games were played, like choose the best sister, of the two above, on the right, but that's a story for another day. Sorry if I have misled you, but I kept stats on stuff like that too.
I kept the statistics for every Thanksgiving Day touch football game my two older male cousins and I would play against my dad, uncle, and sister for a number of years, starting when I was about 7 years old.
I threw a ball against a rock wall in front of my house for years and years, refining my control by throwing a variety of "pitches" to a ‘strike zone’ that I had lightly painted on the wall. (the 'strike zone' is till there, though we moved out of the house in 1971) I kept stats on how many strikeouts I’d have in a game, then figured I’d thrown a shutout with 14 K’s, or maybe even a no hitter? Then, I’d go write the numbers down, have some cold water, and go pitch another game, after a brief chat with my mom to update her on the stats.
In time, my best friend Bill would join me, and we’d work shortstop-to-first base plays, refining our glove work, as the wall had some oddly pointed rocks in some areas and could create ground ball or line drive havoc. We never knew if a carom might send the ball through or over the infield and out onto the Saw Mill River Parkway, and bash a car?
There were no video games when I was a kid, so being a sports fanatic I created a hockey game using nickels as players, and a dime as a puck. I played on a trapezoidal shaped end table we had in our house. It had a inward, beveled edge, so the coins wouldn’t scatter off the "rink." I Scotch taped tiny pieces of paper with abbreviated hockey positions on each coin, because I had to know if it was Stan Mikita or Bobby Hull who had scored the goal for the Chicago Black Hawks…for the stats, or course. I’d flick the players into the puck at an angle to try and score by using the fore finger or middle finger off the thumb technique.
 |
| It's up, and it's... |
I thought the hockey game with the movable players shooting a real "puck" was one of the great toy inventions of the 1950’s. It may well have been, because they are still being sold, and it’s still a great game.
Steven, my best friend when I was 6 years old had Electronic Football, which was really stupid. I knew, even as a 6-year old that all those jizz-jazzing men vibrating and zigzagging all over the field was dumb. What was that all about?
I had something called Mag-Power Football, where each player used two magnetic wands under the table to move two men (of 11) at a time by "dragging" them with a magnetic tug. It was a major cluster every play, as like water polo, it was too easy to jab your opponent accidentally with a wand, whack his wand off the player he was trying to move, or tip the light-weight playing field over if things were going against you.
 |
| This game is dumb |
A better game was something called Football Strategy, where offense got to call plays from a chart of 60 or more plays (not including punts and field goals), and the defense could call one of 10 defensive formations. Each play had a time assigned to it, and a clock that you would dial to the decreased time remaining. The game had a play called the Razzle Dazzle, which could gain you 44 yards, or lose you 14 yards and a fumble, or any of 8 variations in between, depending on the defense your opponent called. I don’t see the old Razzle Dazzle that much any more. I think Bill Walsh killed it?
My first great baseball (board) game was Ethan Allen’s ALLSTAR Baseball. Did anyone else have this game, or play it? You got Hall of Fame players from each league with their career statistics represented proportionally on discs of paper that fit over a spinning dial. Using that same flick, you’d spin the dial and just like Wheel of Fortune, see where the arrow pointed. It’s a collector’s item now – wish I still had mine.
 |
| Ethan Allen played MLB |
 |
| Bop Baseball |
In the NYC area growing up, there was a goofy game broadcast on TV on Saturday mornings for a while called Bottle Cap Baseball. It was a real TV show with two kids competing in a game where again they were using the basic "finger flick." This game sort of combines my hockey game with Bop Baseball. I could describe it for another 100-1000 words without really capturing the essence of it. The fact is that it was an actual show with two 13-year old boys flicking little discs around some representation of a baseball field that had been painted on a glossy piece of plywood! This was really on TV in the NYC area back then. Oh yeah, New York sophistication.
Unbelievable to consider that show now, in 2011, but it was almost the kind of thing ESPN first covered 30 years ago? Remember those professional miniature golf matches they aired back in the day?
Entertainment and Sports Programming Network, indeed! Where was Bottle Cap Baseball?
 |
| Still the best ever |
Another statistic driven game with the player’s stats being on "computer" cards is APBA, which I always thought a poor runner up to SOM. I’d bet that Bill and I played close to 400 SOM games against one another as teenagers, and another 500 to 1000+ on our own. The game is still alive and well today, about 48 years after it’s launch, and better than ever in many ways. I still have my cards from the 1969 MLB season – Let’s Go Mets!
Then, at some point in the 1960’s or 1970’s, a few people got together and created what we now know as fantasy baseball, which bred all the other fantasy games millions of people play year round.
An obvious reason why fantasy sports has become enormously more popular than even the best of the board games is that someone else will compile the stats for you. There’s that and it’s also possible (and even likely) that you’ll be playing with 12 people from any age group, disparate geographic location, sex, nationality, and socioeconomic position. You play them as equals in a league competition largely dependent on knowledge of the sport, or tons of luck, or a mix of both, if one is to succeed.
Bill and I largely re-discovered our old friendship in part because of a love of baseball, and the game of fantasy baseball. We also still engage in a game of Whiffle Ball home run derby when we are able. We bet beers and forget who won, so we just pitch, swing, sweat, and have cold beers.
.
I now know people in California, Ohio, New Jersey, Massachusetts, and Vermont that I compete against regularly. Some I have never met, but I consider them friends.
My arthritic fingers are not so good for the same kind of finger flicking any more anyway, but I can still type in line up changes,and I have found other (more creative?) uses for my fingers.
Either way, the beer is still cold, I don’t have to keep the stats anymore, and playing games is still a lot of fun.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
"Walks Don't Lie"
And now, a guest blog from my good friend Nosh, on a subject near and dear to every New York Met crank's heart...
"Walks Don’t Lie" is the incredible true story of Oliver Perez and how he conned the New York Mets into giving him 36 million dollars. Acclaimed author Stephen A. Smith tells us the incredible tale of how an autistic man from Mexico made it all the way to New York City and achieved the American dream.
Advanced Praise for "Walks Don't Lie:"
"At it's core, this is a story of hope. Because if Oliver Perez can make it in America, then anyone can." - Buster Onley
"I know you like to get blacked out drunk at these book things, but I plan on just doing a lot of blow, so I'll be fine to drive." - Doc Gooden talking to Keith Hernandez about the book.
"No we're not selling the team. The Brooklyn Dodgers will stay in my family forever! I mean, the Mets." - Fred Wilpon
"Can I get a job? Hook me up with a job then I'll tell you all you want to know about that pussy." - Tony Bernazard
"Uhh huh huh huh. Gangster man." - Jerry Manuel
"I don't have a drinking problem! You don't know about my problems." - Miguel Cabrera
"You know that moment when you realize all the foods you love are bad for you? Well I just pretended I never found out. Wait, what is this interview for again?" - CC Sabathia
"Seriously, this is a real book?" - Peter Gammons
"Oliver Perez? You seriously asking me about Oliver Perez?! How about I kick your ass right now?! Oh my bad man, I thought you were talking about a different dude named Oliver Perez." - Milton Bradley
"I throw 97. Who the hell cares where it goes?" - Oliver Perez
As you can see, "Walks Don't Lie" has the baseball world buzzing. Out this April. Be sure and reserve your copy now.
Foreword written by Luis Castillo.
Madoff Publishing 2011 inc.
"Walks Don’t Lie" is the incredible true story of Oliver Perez and how he conned the New York Mets into giving him 36 million dollars. Acclaimed author Stephen A. Smith tells us the incredible tale of how an autistic man from Mexico made it all the way to New York City and achieved the American dream.
 |
| Steven A. wrote it, simply because... |
Advanced Praise for "Walks Don't Lie:"
"At it's core, this is a story of hope. Because if Oliver Perez can make it in America, then anyone can." - Buster Onley
"I know you like to get blacked out drunk at these book things, but I plan on just doing a lot of blow, so I'll be fine to drive." - Doc Gooden talking to Keith Hernandez about the book.
"No we're not selling the team. The Brooklyn Dodgers will stay in my family forever! I mean, the Mets." - Fred Wilpon
 |
| Tony! Tony! Tony! |
"Uhh huh huh huh. Gangster man." - Jerry Manuel
"I don't have a drinking problem! You don't know about my problems." - Miguel Cabrera
"You know that moment when you realize all the foods you love are bad for you? Well I just pretended I never found out. Wait, what is this interview for again?" - CC Sabathia
 |
| Ollie, you're kidding, right? |
"Oliver Perez? You seriously asking me about Oliver Perez?! How about I kick your ass right now?! Oh my bad man, I thought you were talking about a different dude named Oliver Perez." - Milton Bradley
"I throw 97. Who the hell cares where it goes?" - Oliver Perez
As you can see, "Walks Don't Lie" has the baseball world buzzing. Out this April. Be sure and reserve your copy now.
 |
| In control, except when he's not. |
Foreword written by Luis Castillo.
Madoff Publishing 2011 inc.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
A Drunk, A Dope, A Doper, A Pujols
A Drunk
The Detroit Tigers Jose Miguel Cabrera was arrested and cited for DUI and perhaps resisting arrest last night in Florida. I used the word perhaps, because it appears on the police report, and the narrative states the an officer had to knee Cabrera in the thigh about 4 times to get him to comply with getting in the back of a police cruiser. (Good thing Cabrera is not a base stealer...just a Detroit heart breaker?)
Miggy was also wandering out into the road, waving at cars as they passed, despite a number of attempts to get him somewhere safe – like in the back of a locked police cruiser.
If there is any good news out of this, it’s that it happened in mid-February, and not the night before an important late September game in a division race. Miggy also smiled for his mug shot.
The bad news is obvious, being that Cabrera is a very troubled guy, even if he is arguably the second best hitter in MLB.
A Dope
Manny (being stupid) Ramirez had a chat with a Tampa Tribune reporter, during which he said he’s lost weight (in the hope that it helps him avoid injuries this season), and is playing with a chip on his shoulder, and wants to prove wrong all those that doubted him.
Why would we doubt Manny?
I mean aside from the fact that he’s done nothing for anyone since an electric first half season in 2009, and has shown himself to be a greedy idiot ever since?
Maybe the good news is that he only comes out at night?
A Doper
Gary Sheffield (who did not play in 2010) officially announced his retirement to the NY Post today.
I have always liked Sheff, at least as much because he was so outspoken, along with being one of most devastating right-handed hitters I ever saw.
Between him and Mike Piazza, they may have had the quickest swings anyone has ever seen? You could not throw a fastball by either – they might swing and miss, but they were never late.
Of course, just like Mike, Sheffield was named as one of the dopers in the Mitchell Report, and admitted using some of the cream at one point.
It also appears that he’s now stumping a bit for the Hall of Fame. He's got the numbers, but will he get the votes?
Good luck with that, Gary.
A Pujols
Albert Pujols reports to the Cardinals camp, and tells 47, 984 writers that he will not be discussing any contract negotiations or his impending Free Agency during the coming season.
Does he really want $300 Million over 10 years? I have heard he wants better money than A-Rod got, which is interesting if you consider Rodriguez’s contract a true outlier, like I do.
Pujols is 31 years old. Hard to imagine anyone giving him 10 years at $30 MM per, or more than the $275 MM the Yankees gave to A-Rod.
I have suggested that A-Rod retire at season end, and the Yankees could use all the money they save to sign Pujols, and switch him to third base. Then, Jeter can hang them up just in time for Hanley Ramirez to come in and play short.
On a side note, does anyone else out there ever occasionally snicker when they say "Pujols?"
How about the first name of Cleveland shortstop, Asbrubal Cabrera?
What if there was a guy named Asdrubal Pujols?
Com’ on! You know you wanna laugh.
The Detroit Tigers Jose Miguel Cabrera was arrested and cited for DUI and perhaps resisting arrest last night in Florida. I used the word perhaps, because it appears on the police report, and the narrative states the an officer had to knee Cabrera in the thigh about 4 times to get him to comply with getting in the back of a police cruiser. (Good thing Cabrera is not a base stealer...just a Detroit heart breaker?)
 |
| A happy looking drunk |
If there is any good news out of this, it’s that it happened in mid-February, and not the night before an important late September game in a division race. Miggy also smiled for his mug shot.
The bad news is obvious, being that Cabrera is a very troubled guy, even if he is arguably the second best hitter in MLB.
A Dope
Manny (being stupid) Ramirez had a chat with a Tampa Tribune reporter, during which he said he’s lost weight (in the hope that it helps him avoid injuries this season), and is playing with a chip on his shoulder, and wants to prove wrong all those that doubted him.
 |
| $2 Million worth of bunk |
I mean aside from the fact that he’s done nothing for anyone since an electric first half season in 2009, and has shown himself to be a greedy idiot ever since?
Maybe the good news is that he only comes out at night?
A Doper
Gary Sheffield (who did not play in 2010) officially announced his retirement to the NY Post today.
I have always liked Sheff, at least as much because he was so outspoken, along with being one of most devastating right-handed hitters I ever saw.
 |
| A steroid using punk? |
Of course, just like Mike, Sheffield was named as one of the dopers in the Mitchell Report, and admitted using some of the cream at one point.
It also appears that he’s now stumping a bit for the Hall of Fame. He's got the numbers, but will he get the votes?
Good luck with that, Gary.
A Pujols
Albert Pujols reports to the Cardinals camp, and tells 47, 984 writers that he will not be discussing any contract negotiations or his impending Free Agency during the coming season.
 |
| The free agent hunk. |
Pujols is 31 years old. Hard to imagine anyone giving him 10 years at $30 MM per, or more than the $275 MM the Yankees gave to A-Rod.
I have suggested that A-Rod retire at season end, and the Yankees could use all the money they save to sign Pujols, and switch him to third base. Then, Jeter can hang them up just in time for Hanley Ramirez to come in and play short.
On a side note, does anyone else out there ever occasionally snicker when they say "Pujols?"
How about the first name of Cleveland shortstop, Asbrubal Cabrera?
What if there was a guy named Asdrubal Pujols?
Com’ on! You know you wanna laugh.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
The Black Man’s Handshake
For many summers when I was a kid, my parents and my sister and I would drive from the NYC suburbs to visit my mom’s sister and her husband in Philadelphia, for a week visit.
One great part of the trip to Philadelphia for me was we always got to go to a Phillies game at old Connie Mack Stadium.
In any trip to see games there, my dad always referred to it as Shibe Park, no matter how much I corrected him. I had no idea what or who "Shibe" was, but I could recognize what a really run down part of the city the park was located in.
One year when my dad, uncle and I drove to a game we found a parking space close to the park. We got out of the car and 5 teenaged black guys seemed to come out of nowhere to ask my uncle and dad if they could "wash the car" for a few dollars?
My uncle spread a few dollars around, and we went on our way.
My dad asked Uncle George, "Why did you give them any money, they’re not going to wash the damn car?"
"I know," George answered, " but by giving them a few bucks, at least there’ll be a car to come back to when the game is over."
My dad and uncle made some racist comments that were too typical of the times, and I began to wonder how my dad could love Willie Mays so much, if he had such hatred for Negroes?
We sat in the upper left field stands that evening, and though I can’t remember who the Phillies played, I can still smell the cigar smoke, beer, hot peanuts, and hot dogs. There were some folks sitting behind us, one of whom had never seen a baseball game before. I seem to recall this guy was from Sweden, and his friends were introducing him to the classic American game. I can remember being fascinated listening to someone try to explain baseball to an adult that had no clue what the game was all about.
At another game, there was an older black couple sitting behind us, and they were laughing and sipping from a big bottle of gin for the entire game. They both had very thick southern accents, and as the game moved along, and they got more drunk, it was impossible for me to understand what they were saying, but they sure had a great time, even if it seemed to bother George and my dad a bit.
The Phillies had a big Cuban first baseman at the time named Juan Francisco "Frank" or "Pancho" Herrera, who was the object of as much scorn and heckling as any player I ever seen in over 50 years of watching baseball games. I was stunned at how nasty the fans were to him – I’d never heard anything like that at the Polo Grounds or Yankee Stadium. I found out soon enough that Philadelphia fans were famous for this type of thing, and because Pancho was big (6’3" and 220 lbs.) he became an easy target when he kept striking out about 33% of the time, instead of hitting homeruns every time at bat. My uncle got up and yelled at him that he was "bum," but everyone seemed to be calling him a bum, and booing him
Philadelphia was extremely racist back then, a blue-collar city getting more and more southern blacks moving in all the time. Pancho Herrera was not a southern black, he was a Cuban black, but the ‘hatred’ was just as palpable, and I know it translated in any language. The early 1960’s were a tough time. Boston had finally put a black player ("Pumpsie" Green) on their roster in 1960, the last team to do so 13 years after Jackie Robinson played his first game for the Dodgers.
I’m not sure of the year for the game I am thinking of, but it was probably 1961. I went to a baseball game at Connie Mack Stadium with my dad, my Uncle George, and his friend who was a captain on the Philadelphia police force. The St. Louis Cardinals were in town to play the Phils.
I would’ve been 8 years old, and the Phillies were terrible back then, but it was the only game in town, no matter how run down it was. Connie Mack’s Philadelphia A’s had played in the same park starting in 1909, when it was called Shibe Park. When Mr. Mack finally stepped down after managing the Philadelphia A’s for 50 years, it was 4 years later that the A’s were sold and moved to Kansas City. The Phillies bought the ballpark for $2,000,000 and re-named it after Connie Mack.The game I went to with my dad, uncle, and the police captain was a special event for me, as the police captain got a special parking spot, and his badge got us into the Phillie clubhouse.
I was in heaven, surrounded by real major leaguers getting ready for the game that night, and the captain brought me around to meet some of them, including Dallas Green, who was going to be the Phils starting pitcher. I shook hands with him, and he asked me what position I played, and who was my favorite player?
I told him I was a second baseman, and that the Yankee’s Bobby Richardson was my favorite player. He liked that, and said "Not Mickey Mantle, huh?"
I asked him if he was afraid of pitching to Stan Musial or Kenny Boyer, and he laughed.
He told me that I had to meet the Phillies All Star second baseman, sitting on a stool in front of his locker a few feet away.
The captain walked me over and I was introduced to Antonio Nemesio (Sanchez) Taylor, Tony, for short.
Tony was another Cuban player, originally signed by the Giants, my dad’s favorite team. I knew all about Tony Taylor, he was a good player, an excellent fielder and a guy that stole a lot of bases. Plus, he was small. The information I can find on him now says he was 5’9", and 170, but I don’t believe that. My dad was 5’7", and he and Tony were the same height, when Tony stood up to shake the men’s hands.
I don’t think Tony’s English language skills were very good back then (though I’m certain his Spanish kicked the crap out of mine), but he had a fantastic smile, and he offered to shake my hand too.
I automatically put mine in his and we shook, but as I did, I noticed that even though he was black, the palms of his hands were mostly a lighter color. It also occurred to me that I had never touched a black person before. I also thought that perhaps some of his black would rub off on my hand? I figured that’s what happened to make his hands lighten up in color?
"Thanks Mister Taylor," I said.
"You’re welcome kid," he said, smiling again.
I walked away and I sneaked a peek at my hand, to see if any black had rubbed off. I couldn’t see any, and thought about asking my dad about it, but I kept quiet.
We found our way to our box seats a couple of rows behind the third base dugout, and watched the Cards kick the crap outta the Phillies. I don’t remember the final score, but it was something like 14-4, with Musial hitting 2 or 3 doubles, and Boyer smashing two home runs. I remember hoping that Dallas Green wouldn’t be pissed at me for maybe jinxing him, but I figured he knew Musial and Boyer were great hitters before he heard it from me.
We kept the tradition alive in the coming years of attending at least one game each summer, and within a couple of years the Phillies started to become a very good team. I got a whole bunch of autographs one game, including Johnny Callison, Chris Short, and Richard "Dick" Allen, who remains one of the best pure hitters I have ever seen, and may be the best black ball player the Phils have ever had. Philadelphia and the fans made his life miserable too.
My mom made my life miserable when she washed the pants where I’d stashed the autographs, but I got over it pretty quickly.
My love of baseball took deeper roots as the 1960’s progressed, and I started to devour copies of The Sporting News, which billed itself as "Baseball’s Bible." They used to have every single box score from not just MLB games, but every AAA Minor league game each week. "TSN" was a baseball junkie’s drug, and I read and re-read each issue, and memorized all the stats.
There was a writer from the Detroit Free Press named Joe Falls, who wrote a column for TSN. I think it was sometime in the later 1960’s when he was writing about a conversation he’d had with his son, who was about 10 years old.
Falls had to explain that there were no black players allowed in the majors until 1947, which then was only about 20 years ago.
His son was astounded, and said, "Well that’s really stupid, they have the best players."
Tony Taylor stayed with the Phillies until he was traded to Detroit in June of 1971. He played parts of 3 season for the Tigers, but came back to Philadelphia for the final 3 years of his 19 season MLB career, returing at the age of 40.
I was a fan of the guy for a long time, and always rooted for him.
I’d like to think some of the black wore off on me after all.
Thanks, Mister Taylor.
 |
| Connie Mack Stadium |
In any trip to see games there, my dad always referred to it as Shibe Park, no matter how much I corrected him. I had no idea what or who "Shibe" was, but I could recognize what a really run down part of the city the park was located in.
One year when my dad, uncle and I drove to a game we found a parking space close to the park. We got out of the car and 5 teenaged black guys seemed to come out of nowhere to ask my uncle and dad if they could "wash the car" for a few dollars?
My uncle spread a few dollars around, and we went on our way.
My dad asked Uncle George, "Why did you give them any money, they’re not going to wash the damn car?"
"I know," George answered, " but by giving them a few bucks, at least there’ll be a car to come back to when the game is over."
My dad and uncle made some racist comments that were too typical of the times, and I began to wonder how my dad could love Willie Mays so much, if he had such hatred for Negroes?
We sat in the upper left field stands that evening, and though I can’t remember who the Phillies played, I can still smell the cigar smoke, beer, hot peanuts, and hot dogs. There were some folks sitting behind us, one of whom had never seen a baseball game before. I seem to recall this guy was from Sweden, and his friends were introducing him to the classic American game. I can remember being fascinated listening to someone try to explain baseball to an adult that had no clue what the game was all about.
 |
| Pancho |
The Phillies had a big Cuban first baseman at the time named Juan Francisco "Frank" or "Pancho" Herrera, who was the object of as much scorn and heckling as any player I ever seen in over 50 years of watching baseball games. I was stunned at how nasty the fans were to him – I’d never heard anything like that at the Polo Grounds or Yankee Stadium. I found out soon enough that Philadelphia fans were famous for this type of thing, and because Pancho was big (6’3" and 220 lbs.) he became an easy target when he kept striking out about 33% of the time, instead of hitting homeruns every time at bat. My uncle got up and yelled at him that he was "bum," but everyone seemed to be calling him a bum, and booing him
Philadelphia was extremely racist back then, a blue-collar city getting more and more southern blacks moving in all the time. Pancho Herrera was not a southern black, he was a Cuban black, but the ‘hatred’ was just as palpable, and I know it translated in any language. The early 1960’s were a tough time. Boston had finally put a black player ("Pumpsie" Green) on their roster in 1960, the last team to do so 13 years after Jackie Robinson played his first game for the Dodgers.
 |
| Shibe Park was built in 1909 |
 |
| Connie managed 50 years |
I was in heaven, surrounded by real major leaguers getting ready for the game that night, and the captain brought me around to meet some of them, including Dallas Green, who was going to be the Phils starting pitcher. I shook hands with him, and he asked me what position I played, and who was my favorite player?
 |
| Had a tough evening |
I asked him if he was afraid of pitching to Stan Musial or Kenny Boyer, and he laughed.
He told me that I had to meet the Phillies All Star second baseman, sitting on a stool in front of his locker a few feet away.
The captain walked me over and I was introduced to Antonio Nemesio (Sanchez) Taylor, Tony, for short.
 |
| Tony was very good |
I don’t think Tony’s English language skills were very good back then (though I’m certain his Spanish kicked the crap out of mine), but he had a fantastic smile, and he offered to shake my hand too.
I automatically put mine in his and we shook, but as I did, I noticed that even though he was black, the palms of his hands were mostly a lighter color. It also occurred to me that I had never touched a black person before. I also thought that perhaps some of his black would rub off on my hand? I figured that’s what happened to make his hands lighten up in color?
"Thanks Mister Taylor," I said.
"You’re welcome kid," he said, smiling again.
I walked away and I sneaked a peek at my hand, to see if any black had rubbed off. I couldn’t see any, and thought about asking my dad about it, but I kept quiet.
 |
| Stan was the Man |
We kept the tradition alive in the coming years of attending at least one game each summer, and within a couple of years the Phillies started to become a very good team. I got a whole bunch of autographs one game, including Johnny Callison, Chris Short, and Richard "Dick" Allen, who remains one of the best pure hitters I have ever seen, and may be the best black ball player the Phils have ever had. Philadelphia and the fans made his life miserable too.
My mom made my life miserable when she washed the pants where I’d stashed the autographs, but I got over it pretty quickly.
My love of baseball took deeper roots as the 1960’s progressed, and I started to devour copies of The Sporting News, which billed itself as "Baseball’s Bible." They used to have every single box score from not just MLB games, but every AAA Minor league game each week. "TSN" was a baseball junkie’s drug, and I read and re-read each issue, and memorized all the stats.
 |
| Joe Falls - Detroit Free Press &TSN |
Falls had to explain that there were no black players allowed in the majors until 1947, which then was only about 20 years ago.
His son was astounded, and said, "Well that’s really stupid, they have the best players."
Tony Taylor stayed with the Phillies until he was traded to Detroit in June of 1971. He played parts of 3 season for the Tigers, but came back to Philadelphia for the final 3 years of his 19 season MLB career, returing at the age of 40.
I was a fan of the guy for a long time, and always rooted for him.
I’d like to think some of the black wore off on me after all.
Thanks, Mister Taylor.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Super Bowl Whale Watching
Over the last few hours the sports books in Las Vegas have begun to take in more money on the Pittsburgh Steelers, which is beginning to balance out the dollars wagered (legally) on this evening’s Super Bowl. Having a balanced ledger is always the goal for a Vegas sports book, as they will gladly pay the winners from the losers, and pocket 10% of the amount bet on the losing bets. That 10% is called the juice, or vigorish, and it’s what pays for all that Vegas glitz, and has multi-millionaires forever planning the newest, biggest, and best ever casino.
The casinos don’t expect to exceed the record $94.5 million wagered in 2006, but they do look for the total money bet to get pretty close to that amount, once the Whales start plunking down the odd $500,000 to $2 million dollar bets, that earn them that nickname.
Assuming $90 million is bet on tonight’s game, and the money is split down the middle, the casinos will make $4.5 million on the game alone. But the real money will be made at the gaming tables, where Vegas holds an edge in every game except against a skilled 21 player.
For the most part a "Whale" in Vegas is a casino gambler, and generally a 21 player, or maybe Roulette on occasion. The man that makes a large (whale) bet on a sporting event is usually much more shy and circumspect than the typical Whale. The "classic" Whale is an obscenely rich Asian gentleman, who floats into town on a private jet (paid for by a casino), with bodyguards and lovely women in tow. He will then consume ten’s of thousands of dollars in free suites, food, and beverages, and maybe take in a huge prizefight and a top show or two comped by his hotel.
In his other time there, the Whale will also proceed to gamble 50K or more per hand at Blackjack, or some other game – winning or losing 5 or 10 million in a couple of days before moving on to some other exotic locale
.
In my time in Vegas I managed to see some enormous bets being made – 25K bets, but very few people have the guts or the money to make bets twice that size and larger, all weekend long. That’s what those Whales do.
I have also seen a few big boards in casino sports books take jumps and dives on point spreads and odds, when someone or a few someone’s wager so much money that it influences the line. For the most part, million dollar bets (if they are made in person) are made by a proxy, or a number of proxies spread about town. Or, they might be from one casino book "laying money off" to another casino, in an attempt to balance the money they have taken in on an upcoming game.
There is one thing you can be absolutely certain of with these Whales. They are not rolling in on private jets with 20 person entourages, and they are probably not spending much time at the gaming tables, unless they are killing time betting a hundred or so a hand at something once in a great while.
No, these Whales are truly professional gamblers, or more properly, professional bettors. They have examined a game they are betting in every possible way and have (at least in their own minds) established an inefficiency in the betting line on the game.
The story slowly leaking out of Vegas at this hour is that the late, big money is coming in on Pittsburgh. This can be construed to mean that the guys that are supposedly the best in the world at this kind of wagering seem to like the Steelers to beat Green Bay, or at least cover 3 points. Either that or they are putting down short money at $1 million to win $1.2 or more? It’s also very possible that they aren’t betting on who wins, but rather the total, or over/under on how many points both teams will score in the game combined.
I have a theory that I have held for many years when it comes to big games like this one today -- the single biggest game in the world from a betting perspective – and it’s that the general public is wrong a lot more often than they are right.
So, if you have yet to bet on tonight’s game, and are wondering which team to place your money on, think of your choice like this:
I want my money with the really smart, professional gamblers?
I want my money with all the losers whose juice built Las Vegas?
You decide.
 |
| It really is fabulous |
Assuming $90 million is bet on tonight’s game, and the money is split down the middle, the casinos will make $4.5 million on the game alone. But the real money will be made at the gaming tables, where Vegas holds an edge in every game except against a skilled 21 player.
For the most part a "Whale" in Vegas is a casino gambler, and generally a 21 player, or maybe Roulette on occasion. The man that makes a large (whale) bet on a sporting event is usually much more shy and circumspect than the typical Whale. The "classic" Whale is an obscenely rich Asian gentleman, who floats into town on a private jet (paid for by a casino), with bodyguards and lovely women in tow. He will then consume ten’s of thousands of dollars in free suites, food, and beverages, and maybe take in a huge prizefight and a top show or two comped by his hotel.
In his other time there, the Whale will also proceed to gamble 50K or more per hand at Blackjack, or some other game – winning or losing 5 or 10 million in a couple of days before moving on to some other exotic locale
.
 |
| A Whale is as big as it gets |
 |
| The "big" board |
I have also seen a few big boards in casino sports books take jumps and dives on point spreads and odds, when someone or a few someone’s wager so much money that it influences the line. For the most part, million dollar bets (if they are made in person) are made by a proxy, or a number of proxies spread about town. Or, they might be from one casino book "laying money off" to another casino, in an attempt to balance the money they have taken in on an upcoming game.
There is one thing you can be absolutely certain of with these Whales. They are not rolling in on private jets with 20 person entourages, and they are probably not spending much time at the gaming tables, unless they are killing time betting a hundred or so a hand at something once in a great while.
 |
| Billy is the best |
The story slowly leaking out of Vegas at this hour is that the late, big money is coming in on Pittsburgh. This can be construed to mean that the guys that are supposedly the best in the world at this kind of wagering seem to like the Steelers to beat Green Bay, or at least cover 3 points. Either that or they are putting down short money at $1 million to win $1.2 or more? It’s also very possible that they aren’t betting on who wins, but rather the total, or over/under on how many points both teams will score in the game combined.
I have a theory that I have held for many years when it comes to big games like this one today -- the single biggest game in the world from a betting perspective – and it’s that the general public is wrong a lot more often than they are right.
So, if you have yet to bet on tonight’s game, and are wondering which team to place your money on, think of your choice like this:
I want my money with the really smart, professional gamblers?
I want my money with all the losers whose juice built Las Vegas?
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Pettitte follows Snoopy, in search of carrion
It’s not like Andy Pettitte won’t have something to do this summer, even though the strong rumor is he won’t be pitching for the Yankees in 2011. He’ll be filling our TV and computer screens with his new career.
Looks like Ivan Nova has an inside track on the #4 spot in the rotation, unless some kid like Bartolo Colon, Freddy Garcia, or this new whiz kid Mark Prior wins the spot?
But take heart Yankee fans, Sergio Mitre is there to hold down the number 5 spot.
So, I gotta ask, are my beautiful wife and I the only ones that think Pettitte is part vulture?
I searched and searched for one of those (left) profile views that would show Andy checking the runner at first base, getting ready to commit yet another balk on his way to the all time record in picking guys off first base.
Is Pettitte is part beagle?
Were Snoopy and Andy separated at birth?
Here’s hoping the next road kill they consume is the carcass of Suzyn Waldman.
Looks like Ivan Nova has an inside track on the #4 spot in the rotation, unless some kid like Bartolo Colon, Freddy Garcia, or this new whiz kid Mark Prior wins the spot?
But take heart Yankee fans, Sergio Mitre is there to hold down the number 5 spot.
So, I gotta ask, are my beautiful wife and I the only ones that think Pettitte is part vulture?
 |
| A vulture, right? |
I searched and searched for one of those (left) profile views that would show Andy checking the runner at first base, getting ready to commit yet another balk on his way to the all time record in picking guys off first base.
Is Pettitte is part beagle?
 |
| Gimme Waldman |
Here’s hoping the next road kill they consume is the carcass of Suzyn Waldman.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Clutch hitter? Don't be an idiot.
There is an ongoing and persistent insistence among many baseball writers and fans that some baseball players are clutch hitters, or clutch players.
They are wrong. Don’t be like those people.
In a quote attributed to Hall of Fame infielder and manager Frank Frisch, he once said, "Have one great year and you can fool them for another 5 seasons during which everyone will be waiting for you to repeat that one great year."
In other words, perception is often much more important than reality.
These folks that that insist a guy is clutch will often mention a game or series during which a player was phenomenal – maybe cite a play or two that we all recall, that they feel clinches their argument?
But what defines "clutch" anyway? If a guy hits a grand slam in the second inning of a World Series game to give his team a 6-1 lead in a game they ultimately win 6-5, isn’t that clutch? Does it have to be a homer in the bottom of the ninth to win the game?
We are all guilty of faulty recall and we all have bias for or against one player or another, but until we actually begin to look at numbers, we can’t really begin to figure anything out – then, we look at the numbers, and we may know even less?
The reality is that unless a person is a savant like Rainman (who could keep running statistical totals in his head), none of us is able to determine by mere observation whether a player is great, or just had a great at bat, a great game, or a great series.
If during the course of a 162 game MLB season, a hitter has 600 at bats, and gets 180 hits, he will have batted .300. If he manages only 150 hits, he’s a .250 hitter. The difference of 30 hits spread out over six months becomes five hits per month, which is about one per week. My point in telling you this is that none of us are capable of being able to tell by observation alone, whether a hitter is good (.300) or mediocre (.250) by simply watching every at bat a hitter has. In a short series with a batter getting 20 at bats, the difference between .300 and .250 is 1 hit. One.
Can you track 25-27 games in a month, and keep a mental tabulation of how well a player is performing over those 100 to 130 bats?
Let me answer that question for you. No, you can’t. I bet you can't do it for a week.
Not too long after the Red Sox magical 2004 season, Sports Illustrated interviewed dozens of MLB players, coaches, managers and front office people and asked them if they thought David Ortiz was the best clutch hitter in all of baseball?
An over-whelming majority thought that Ortiz was the greatest clutch hitter they’d ever seen, with some quoted as saying "He’s (Ortiz) like an .800 hitter in clutch spots." The actual number was more like .350, which was great, but the reality was that Ortiz had a fantastic 2004 season, and a better post-season, but in his career he is actually slightly worse in post season than he is during the regular season.
The same is basically true of Derek Jeter, who is another guy we are always hearing about when the word "clutch" comes up in baseball. Fact is that Jeter’s numbers go down in the post-season. He is still excellent, but he’s not quite as excellent as he’s been throughout his career during the regular season.
A part of the Jeter mythology is whether anyone in baseball history has gotten more mileage than Jeter has over two plays? That one backhand flip to Posada to nail Jeremy Giambi at the plate in the 2001 ALCS, and the face-plant in the stands versus the Red Sox in 2003 are the proof, aren’t they?
Sorry, but no. Jeter is good in the post-season, but he’s been just as good and generally better during the regular season.
Ortiz has been a great player at times in his career, but he is not a Hall of Fame player, and Derek Jeter is a certain first ballot Hall of Fame player. But neither is clutch, they are just either great or generally good. They have also been not so good, or lousy, depending on the parts of their respective careers we wish to examine.
Take my main man Harry Schlomo (not his real name) as an example:
Harry hits 3 homers in a league championship series, and then makes a fantastic running and diving catch of a line drive in deep right-center field, and the media and the public is ready to anoint him as one of the ultimate clutch players of all time. His team wins the pennant and Schlomo is the MVP after batting .381. He then hits a game-winning homer in the World Series (which his team wins), and Harry’s legacy is made, even though he only hits .207 in the World Series, with that one homer.
I can almost guarantee you that if Harry Schlomo finds himself in another post-season after that one, he’ll be regaled as a "great clutch hitter and player," and we’ll be treated to highlights of his game saving catch, and game winning homer from that prior post-season. The announcers and commentators on FOX and ESPN won’t dwell on the fact that Harry only hit .249 during the most recent season, and spent most of it at DH, because he’s such a crappy outfielder.
Historically, there is no denying how great Reggie Jackson was in the 5 World Series in which he played – he hit .357 with ten homers in 98 at bats. But did you know that he hit only .227 with only 6 homers in 163 at bats in the 11 League Championships Series he played in?
Pete Rose was the flip side of those numbers, hitting a robust .381 in 118 at bats in the LCS, but only .269 in 130 World Series at bats.
Babe Ruth hit .326 in the World Series.
Babe Ruth hit .341 lifetime in the regular season.
I have to admit that I am guilty of the same mistake in judgment on occasion. In the Red Sox 2004 run I couldn’t stop marveling on how "clutch" Boston shortstop, Orlando Cabrera was. It seemed as though every time Boston needed a hit, he got it, and maybe that was more true than not? I don’t know about that, but I do know that Cabrera hit .294 for Boston during the regular season in 2004, and a bit less (.288) in the post-season.
I will state for the record that Carl Yastrzemski had the greatest "clutch" season I was ever able to follow, back in 1967. He won the Triple Crown that year, and carried Boston to a World Series that Boston ultimately lost to the St. Louis Cardinals.
Alas, Yaz made the final out in a losing World Series against Cincinnati in 1975, and popped out to third with the tying and winning runs on base against the Yankees in the Bucky Fucking Dent playoff game in 1978.
Lastly, for you Mets fans, I give you Carlos Beltran, and how fantastic was he in that post-season with Houston in 2004, hitting 8 home runs? Of course Mets fans can only remember that strike three yakker he took from Adam Wainwright for the final out in the 2006 NLCS. They forget that he hit .296 with 3 homers.
So, the next time you hear someone tell you what a great clutch hitter some guy is, tell them to get over themselves, or turn off the volume on the TV, because they are just plain wrong. Don't be like them.
They are wrong. Don’t be like those people.
In a quote attributed to Hall of Fame infielder and manager Frank Frisch, he once said, "Have one great year and you can fool them for another 5 seasons during which everyone will be waiting for you to repeat that one great year."
In other words, perception is often much more important than reality.
These folks that that insist a guy is clutch will often mention a game or series during which a player was phenomenal – maybe cite a play or two that we all recall, that they feel clinches their argument?
But what defines "clutch" anyway? If a guy hits a grand slam in the second inning of a World Series game to give his team a 6-1 lead in a game they ultimately win 6-5, isn’t that clutch? Does it have to be a homer in the bottom of the ninth to win the game?
We are all guilty of faulty recall and we all have bias for or against one player or another, but until we actually begin to look at numbers, we can’t really begin to figure anything out – then, we look at the numbers, and we may know even less?
 |
| "Definitely 2 for 5...a .400 hitter." |
The reality is that unless a person is a savant like Rainman (who could keep running statistical totals in his head), none of us is able to determine by mere observation whether a player is great, or just had a great at bat, a great game, or a great series.
If during the course of a 162 game MLB season, a hitter has 600 at bats, and gets 180 hits, he will have batted .300. If he manages only 150 hits, he’s a .250 hitter. The difference of 30 hits spread out over six months becomes five hits per month, which is about one per week. My point in telling you this is that none of us are capable of being able to tell by observation alone, whether a hitter is good (.300) or mediocre (.250) by simply watching every at bat a hitter has. In a short series with a batter getting 20 at bats, the difference between .300 and .250 is 1 hit. One.
Can you track 25-27 games in a month, and keep a mental tabulation of how well a player is performing over those 100 to 130 bats?
Let me answer that question for you. No, you can’t. I bet you can't do it for a week.
 |
| You are Big Papi |
An over-whelming majority thought that Ortiz was the greatest clutch hitter they’d ever seen, with some quoted as saying "He’s (Ortiz) like an .800 hitter in clutch spots." The actual number was more like .350, which was great, but the reality was that Ortiz had a fantastic 2004 season, and a better post-season, but in his career he is actually slightly worse in post season than he is during the regular season.
 |
| "Skeets" Jeter |
A part of the Jeter mythology is whether anyone in baseball history has gotten more mileage than Jeter has over two plays? That one backhand flip to Posada to nail Jeremy Giambi at the plate in the 2001 ALCS, and the face-plant in the stands versus the Red Sox in 2003 are the proof, aren’t they?
Sorry, but no. Jeter is good in the post-season, but he’s been just as good and generally better during the regular season.
Ortiz has been a great player at times in his career, but he is not a Hall of Fame player, and Derek Jeter is a certain first ballot Hall of Fame player. But neither is clutch, they are just either great or generally good. They have also been not so good, or lousy, depending on the parts of their respective careers we wish to examine.
Take my main man Harry Schlomo (not his real name) as an example:
Harry hits 3 homers in a league championship series, and then makes a fantastic running and diving catch of a line drive in deep right-center field, and the media and the public is ready to anoint him as one of the ultimate clutch players of all time. His team wins the pennant and Schlomo is the MVP after batting .381. He then hits a game-winning homer in the World Series (which his team wins), and Harry’s legacy is made, even though he only hits .207 in the World Series, with that one homer.
I can almost guarantee you that if Harry Schlomo finds himself in another post-season after that one, he’ll be regaled as a "great clutch hitter and player," and we’ll be treated to highlights of his game saving catch, and game winning homer from that prior post-season. The announcers and commentators on FOX and ESPN won’t dwell on the fact that Harry only hit .249 during the most recent season, and spent most of it at DH, because he’s such a crappy outfielder.
 |
| Reggie, Reggie, Reggie... |
Pete Rose was the flip side of those numbers, hitting a robust .381 in 118 at bats in the LCS, but only .269 in 130 World Series at bats.
Babe Ruth hit .326 in the World Series.
Babe Ruth hit .341 lifetime in the regular season.
I have to admit that I am guilty of the same mistake in judgment on occasion. In the Red Sox 2004 run I couldn’t stop marveling on how "clutch" Boston shortstop, Orlando Cabrera was. It seemed as though every time Boston needed a hit, he got it, and maybe that was more true than not? I don’t know about that, but I do know that Cabrera hit .294 for Boston during the regular season in 2004, and a bit less (.288) in the post-season.
 |
| Best ever season in '67 |
Alas, Yaz made the final out in a losing World Series against Cincinnati in 1975, and popped out to third with the tying and winning runs on base against the Yankees in the Bucky Fucking Dent playoff game in 1978.
Lastly, for you Mets fans, I give you Carlos Beltran, and how fantastic was he in that post-season with Houston in 2004, hitting 8 home runs? Of course Mets fans can only remember that strike three yakker he took from Adam Wainwright for the final out in the 2006 NLCS. They forget that he hit .296 with 3 homers.
 |
| Carlos...you suck! |
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