The Awfulness of Suzyn Waldman

I haven’t heard all the great baseball radio and TV announcers, but I’ve heard many of them in over 50 years of tuning in.

Feel the weakness of his suckness

This Blog was started (in part) when I heard the fantastic news that Joe Morgan was fired, and not returning to ESPN for the 2011 season. 


I was also hoping that Rick Sutcliffe would similarly feel the ax – which hasn’t happened, but ESPN has mercifully cut his national exposure, and to Sutcliffe’s credit, he isn’t as much of the droning sycophant as he used to be.

I know, and you don't

Morgan was an imperious and smarmy boob. He was always right about everything, and if you didn’t believe him he’d tell you that he’d played the game, so therefore his opinion trumped all others. Facts didn’t matter to Joe (he never read "Moneyball," but knew it was all wrong, and persisted in stating Billy Beane wrote the book), but what did matter was telling you 4 or 5 times why he was correct in his opinions or observations.

There was a hilarious Blog called "Fire Joe Morgan" that stopped posting back in 2008, though you can still check out most of those classic posts here - http://www.firejoemorgan.com/

I can recall listening to Red Barber and Mel Allen as a kid, and there has never been a time in my life when Vin Scully wasn’t doing Dodger games. Scully is far and away the best I have ever heard on the radio, doing a local (Dodger) game.

Something happens to guys when they get to the National stage. I think they are told to dumb-it-down, as the school of thought is the national broadcast is for the casual fan, and the local ones for the hardcore.

Tim McCarver was one of the best "color" guys I’d ever heard when he was doing Met broadcast on TV in the 1980’s, but has since become painful to listen to – too many of the same old puns, and out of date sub-references. It reminds me of the TV shows M*A*S*H and Seinfeld, which were both as good as any sitcoms ever aired during their first 3 or 4 years, then slowly but steadily slid into mediocrity until they became unwatchable.

I despised Harry Caray too. Back in the early days of cable, I had baseball games on five cable channels, and we got all the Cubs games on WGN. Harry was an obnoxious drunk, an excruciating homer, and a tireless self-promoter. He honestly believed people came to the park, or tuned into games on TV because of him. Having been a Met fan back in the early ‘80’s, I had occasion to tune into WGN, when the Mets (WOR) were not airing games. I hated the Cubs in 1984 because they were the Mets big rival, but it was Harry that made me hate the Cubs to this day.

It was bad, even before he was drunk.

Two of Harry’s most annoying bits were pronouncing names backward – "So, the Mets first baseman’s name backwards would be Htiek Zednanreh," and singing a song about (Cubs catcher) Jody Davis, basically to the tune of "Davy, Davy Crockett…" He also always sounded like he was drooling.

Cute or even funny once or five times, but by the time you’ve heard either 30 times, you’re done, right?

The only line I can recall never growing tired of hearing, was Kenny Mayne on ESPN, referring to some crappy looking swing by a MLB hitter striking out as "he was choppin’ broccoli." I just laughed when I typed that.

The best color guy I have heard over the last few years is Jerry Remy, who does Red Sox games on NESN. Remy is invariably funny, insightful, and self-deprecating. Please don’t go national, Rem-dog.

Mr. & Mrs. Awful

So, why is Suzyn Waldman so awful? For me, it started well before her famous and wild scat the day Roger Clemens was announced as returning to the Yankees, but for many baseball fans, it was merely a glimpse.  If you haven't heard it, trust me, it's worth listening too just to appreciate how bad it can get sometimes, following a sport I love. You can find it all here at:  http://thesportshernia.typepad.com/blog/2007/05/suzyn_waldman_h.html

The only thing that saves her at all is her partner on the broadcasts, John Sterling, who would be annoying all the time, instead of just 75% of the time, when he has to cut Suzyn off. Sterling’s annoying habits include a song to Yankee center fielder Curtis Granderson, sung to the tune of the old Sammy Davis, Jr. hit "The Candy Man," with the lyric changing to "the Grandy Man." We also have had "An Aaaaaaaa bomb, from Aaaaaaaa Rod," and his style in calling a game when he elongates a word and gives us "thaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa..pitch."

Among the many problems I have with Suzyn is her casual manner and cozy nicknames in describing Yankee players. It’s like she washes their socks and poo poo undies, packs them a healthy sack lunch, and hears their confessions before they go off to the park. Problem is, she really doesn’t know anything about baseball.

A couple of weeks ago, I was listening to a Yankee game in which (center fielder) Curtis Granderson lost a pop fly to shallow left-center in the sun, and (left fielder) Brett Gardner had to make the catch.

My God, you’d think Gardner had just won the pennant to hear Suzyn describe it:

Did you see it, John?

To Sterling: "Did you see that John, the way Brett catches the ball at an angle? Did you see it? I was watching him in practice the other day, and every ball he was catching at an angle – he practices that…did you see it?"

Seriously, this is what Suzyn ranted about, even after coming back out of a commercial break. "You see John, Brett catches everything at an angle…he practices that…"

He ran the bases backwards

I have no idea what she’s talking about, unless Gardner is running a zigzag or button-hook pattern to every fly ball, in which case he may be the second coming of Jimmy Piersall, with the Mets,  running out his 100th lifetime homer?

I wonder what Joe Morgan would have to say about this? I am thinking if the movie "Moneyball" is successful, we could have:

An awful movie.

Brett Gardner

starring in...

"Fear Strikes Out, at an Angle"

The incredible and hard to believe true story of a baseball player that was incapable of waiting for the fly ball or line drive to come directly to him each time, and the woman who dedicated her life to chewing the stains out of his underwear!

Joe will set everyone straight, over and over again.

Good night Irene.

A Padre baseball game, and a Rob Roy

This was originally an email to my lovely daughter-in-law, Shannon, after my son (and her husband) Matt had told her about the first major league baseball game that he’d ever been to. It was during one of many summer trips we took to San Diego – myself, Matt, and Ruth, my ex-wife, and Matt’s mom.

My sense is that Matt told you about taking the drive from our hotel on Mission Beach to the game, one that I had gotten tickets for way in advance and mailed to me in Tucson. My dream was to see the Mets play, but they weren’t in town during the time we were going to be in San Diego, so I got tickets to a Padre and Phillie game, I think? The Phils were pretty good at the time – this was probably about 1992 or 1993, as I can’t imagine that Matt was more than 8 or 9.

We would rent a car for these trips from Tucson (AZ) to San Diego because I wanted to make certain I had a car that would get us through the desert and over the mountains without crapping out. I probably rented a Mercury Sable, Ford Taurus, or a Chrysler Intrepid, something full-size, white, and (you know) really generic.

The Walrus

The car is critical to the story, after what happened, which was that we had barely gotten into our seats, and I had gone down to a food concession to grab some drinks and snacks. As I approached the snack bar I saw the PGA golfer Craig "The Walrus" Stadler walking away with this jumbo draft beer. I thought about asking The Walrus what time he had, in the hope he’d turn the wrist of his hand holding the brew and spill it all over himself in order to look at his watch, but I was trying to act my age, so I didn’t. Instead I just returned to find Matt was being really crabby and pouty about everything. He wasn’t sick, at least he wasn’t saying he was sick, he was just not happy for some reason, so he was being a little bit of a brat.

My feeling was ‘he’ll get over it,’ and I settled in to watch the game, but Ruth started saying that maybe we should go because Matt was sick? By this time though, Matt wasn’t saying that, nor did we have any tangible evidence that he was really sick. I resisted in no small part because I had spent a fair amount of money for the tickets, we’d driven (no short distance) out to Jack Murphy Stadium from Mission Beach, and I had just purchased food. I also hadn’t been to a Major League baseball game in a long, long time.

Well, but, "uh uh" and "no."

But Matt had stoked the mommy fire in Ruth more and more, and she back-fed the same fire by being completely sympathetic and basically creating a scenario in which I was beginning to look like some bad-ass child abuser to the patrons sitting nearby.

I was pissed, but knowing I could win the battle (staying for the game) but couldn’t do anything other than get hammered in the war I ceded and said "Screw it, let’s go!"

At this point Matt knew that I was very angry. He also knew that he was the first and primary cause of my anger, but not (yet) intuitive enough to know that it was really mommy that created the battle. Ruth had subverted the one big thing I wanted to do while we were in San Diego ‘cause little Matty felt a little icky.

I know it's white, and...somewhere...

So, I start storming out of the ballpark into the vast parking lot, and suddenly realized that I had no damn clue on where the hell the stinkin’ car was parked. You know how all huge parking lots always have those signs that have "N3" or "V9" or some such code that allows people with functioning brains to actually find their vehicles? Sure, as long as they remember to take note of which one their car is near after they park it. (This is well before the "Seinfeld" episode about trying to find a car in a mall parking lot, but I don’t think he stole the idea from me.)

Now, of course you’ll recall that we have the rental car – a very generic rental car. If we’d rented a Sable or Taurus or something like that (which I am certain we did), there were probably only 63 to 180 or so of those within a infield fly of where we were walking at any given time during our lengthy stroll around the Stadium lot.

Ah, but our car is white! Yeah, and so are 76% of all the cars in the lot in sunny So Cal.

I think we trooped around the lot for 30 minutes…seriously. This was well before the days of always having a remote car lock/unlock button on a key chain, so no help there, pressing the button, and getting that helpful "Beep!"

Now, I am really steamed, because my plan was to get us all in the car, and then pout a lot worse than Matt did that evening, and punish both Matt and Ruth for ruining my evening. However, as I am finding that the more I walk around getting really pissed off and frustrated because I can’t find the damn car, the more I am starting to feel like an idiot. I mean, if I can’t find my own damn car, what right do I have to be pissed at anyone other than myself?

It began to get a little funny, really, and I knew that it really wasn’t Matt’s fault that I didn’t get to see the game, it was all on Ruth. Nothing new there. Matt was just a little kid, and I was able to recall a number of times I’d played the whining brat when I had been his age.

The Charlie story of being a whiny little brat probably took place when I was almost 10-years old.

My mom, dad, sister and I, along with my aunt (my mom’s older sister - Helen) and her son Donny drove to Philadelphia in my dad’s brand new 1963 (white) Chevy Nova to spend a week or so with my mom’s younger sister Stell (Aunt Stella) and her husband, my Uncle George.

One evening, the plan was that we were all going out to eat dinner at some nice restaurant, but I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay at George and Stell’s with Donny, so we could play games and do stuff. Donny was 2 years older than I was, and we were like brothers, growing up.

Nope, we’re all going…and I erupted. Tears and whining, and even Donny wasn’t on my side, as he was looking forward to a steak and baked potato, and whatever.

So, I get dragged into our new Chevy Nova and we drive to the steak house, getting perhaps 53 of my snivels per mile? We get there and I am now a complete diva…I want this, don’t want that, I am "NOT HUNGRY" Wha, wha, whaaaaaa…

However, and this is the critical part of the tale, I didn’t know that prior to our leaving Stell and George’s the adults were imbibing in a highball or two!

Yes, and when George had asked my dad what he wanted, Charlie Senior said he’d like a Manhattan, which is made with bourbon and sweet vermouth, garnished with a Maraschino cherry!

George said he didn’t have any bourbon, but he did have scotch, and could make a Manhattan with scotch and sweet vermouth. My dad said that specific drink is actually called a "Rob Roy," but "Yes, that’d be good," so the whole gang tanked a bevy of Rob Roys before we piled into the cars to do some drunk driving. (Not really, my dad never got drunk, and my mom never drove, but the line is good, huh?)

So, now we’re at the restaurant and the waiter is filling drink orders. I get my Shirley Temple, my sister gets a Peach Blow Fizz or something, and Donny gets a Bat Masterson…or something?

And Uncle George orders a round of Manhattans for the 5 adults.

The drinks come and everyone is happy except me. I think at this point my dad is threatening to make me walk the 110 miles back to New York with two broken legs if I don’t straighten up and pull my act together.

Suddenly, George calls the waiter over and tells him "my drink is wrong, I ordered a Manhattan." The waiter kowtows and goes off to right the wrong, returning forthwith, Manhattan in hand. He waits while Uncle George sips…

"NO, you’ve got it wrong again!" George is more than a bit drunk and very tweaked by now, but it suddenly occurs to my dad that George thinks he should be drinking a Rob Roy…the drink he subbed for the Manhattan at the house, when he found he didn’t have any bourbon. (Trust me, the difference between scotch and bourbon is unmistakable.)

Beef and booze, perfect!

My dad explains that, but George is in too deep now. My Uncle George was one of the biggest bullshit artists I have ever known in my life, capable of telling more enormous lies than the world’s biggest con artist. He would brook no correction, this waiter was an imbecile, the bartender a clod, and when the manager came to the table, my Uncle was ready to rain devastation.

Meanwhile, I am whining, my mom and Aunt Stell are smashed, my sister is really embarrassed to be associated with any of us, and my Aunt Helen is threatening (her son) Donny with all kinds of things because now he is feeling really sick.

My dad is swearing constantly. It’s barely audible, but it’s there. One of his favorites was "Jesus Christ All Fucking Mighty," which is awful…really awful. He was probably saying that every 12 seconds or so, and we were all Catholics. I was positive that if we died before he confessed that stuff, we were all going down, big time. I started to eat more steak, thinking it may be my last supper?

Everyone is now ganging up on George telling him what (he had to have finally realized was) a dumb mistake he had made, but he had dug a huge trench, lined it with sandbags, and was machine-gunning anyone within range. He was not giving in, and it all became even worse than the awful time it had already been.

Get your kicks, on Route 66

I don’t exactly recall how everything ended other than I had a nice steak, baked potato, and multiple Shirley Temples, Uncle George further burnished his reputation as a complete dipshit. My mom and aunts got plowed, Donny got sick, and my dad steamed. My sister didn’t care, as at the time, she was falling in love with George Maharis and his TV show Route 66, along with an album of sexy ballads he’d recorded.

I also ended up with a life lesson I could apply 30 years later.

In ensuing years when the story was retold, my part in all of it grew dimmer and dimmer. Innocent Donny slid easily into second place as what became the coda for evening when all Uncle George wanted was a Rob Roy, but said he’d like a Manhattan, and got one…over and over and over again.

I hope he got Uncle George first

Oh yeah, the coda? Donny puked repeatedly out the car window on the drive back to Stell and George’s, flecks of prime rib and potato skin adhering to the white metallic-paint of our new (generic) 1963 Chevy Nova.

I can still here my dad mumbling "Jesus Christ All…"

“Taking my talents to Ankara,” and other short takes.

It’s been a while since I’ve done this. I can chalk up not writing to a number of things, with the primary culprit being very busy at my job -- and maybe too many Coronas afterwards?

All World Cups

SOCCER

The stories that interested me a month ago no longer do. The US Women managed to lose to Japan in the World Cup, and even though I watched the entire game, there really wasn’t any pain at the end, more like an "Oh well." Moms across the nation keep shuttling their kids to soccer practice in droves, but few bring them to MLS games. That’s all right, I will still watch the World Cup in Brazil, and isn’t Brazil going to get a lot of attention in the coming years by also hosting the Olympics?

GOLF

Beware 2011 PGA!

Darren Clarke won the British Open, which was a true feel good story for a short stretch, except for the Irish, who are still celebrating the glory these days, with 3 of the last 7 golf majors having been won by a Son of Eire. Tiger Woods finally played another tournament this weekend, and now that he’s back, and not the "old" Tiger, I find it interesting how he now just seems older and more arrogant.

NFL

The NFL finally figured out how to split up the billions of dollars that the league generates into more doable doses for all concerned. Wow, what geniuses.  That one made me think of a scenario like winning half of a mega-million dollar lottery, and having the other half won by my best friend. Yeah, it would really suck to have that happen.

The King's Ankara castle

NBA

It’s looking more and more like the NBA will lose a lot of games, if not the entire 2011-2012 season. I heard Kobe’s people were negotiating with a club team in Turkey, and wanted a guarantee of $1,000,000 per month for him to play. If that happens, Lebron has been heard to say "I’ll be taking my talents to Ankara."

MLB

Baseball has gone through the trading deadline with a few interesting player moves. The Phillies took advantage of Houston finally committing to a youth movement by picking up Hunter Pence, and their pursuers, Atlanta, getting Michael Bourn. Even with all the injuries the Braves have had, they still look like the Wild Card winner to me, and I’ll admit I had the Phillies wrong in predicting them to not make the playoffs. I did that more than anything else, to pick a long shot.

The Pittsburgh Pirates caught our attention, didn’t they? It was nice story for a while. I was watching a game on ESPN where some idiot said that the everyday players Pittsburgh had felt good knowing that one of the same 5 starting pitchers would be out there in rotation for each game. Yeah, the 1962 Mets basically trotted the same guys out there too. Their top five starters went 30-95 on the season. The Pirates need much better starting pitching in 2012, if they are to contend all season.

We look to have a few races. The AL Central may yet be a 3-team race? Cleveland mortgaged a bit of it’s future in trading for Ubaldo Jiminez, but with Shin-Soo Choo coming back in a week or so, and the kid second baseman Jason Kipnis, they may remain viable? Ozzie Guillen keeps plugging away, unfortunately the plugs he’s firing keep missing Adam Dunn and Alex Rios. It’s amazing to me the White Sox are still only 6.5 games behind Detroit, who look to have asserted themselves as the team to beat. Justin Verlander has been the best pitcher in MLB this year, and Jim Leyland plays all kinds of guys looking for an angle. Not sure how good the pitching is, but I like their chances in a short series with Max Scherzer as the number 2 guy.

In the NL West, we have the Giants and Diamondbacks, two extremely flawed teams, trying to not lose as many games as the other guy. Not sure that the same magic San Francisco had last season will be around this time? I mean superior starting pitching is nice, but you have to score at least one run to win a game, and the Phillies pitching is better anyway.

Hey Tony!  How about 8 more brews?

In the AL West, Texas looks like they are sleep-walking, and they struggle to score runs on the road, the same way Milwaukee can’t win on the road in the NL Central. I actually picked the Angels to win the AL West this year, so I am looking pretty smart right now. I do like Texas picking up two excellent relievers in Koji Uehara and Michael Adams at the trade deadline, and they really should win. I also picked the Brewers to win their division, but that was a consensus pick among the experts. Being that I despise Tony La Russa, I am really rooting for Milwaukee.

Leaves us with the Red Sox and Yankees, in a flat tie at 69-43, going into tonight’s game. 50 games left, but with the Wild Card almost assuredly going to one of them, how much drama do we have?

Well, having 4 tight divison races is pretty good, the PGA is coming up, and the corn in our garden is getting high.

Nice to see folks are still checking in.  You'll have to excuse me now while I grab another Corona.  

Tony, you buyin?

12 year old Brandi is still best

"12 year old" Brandi!

Congratulations to the US Women’s Soccer team in winning their match with France today, and advancing to the World Cup finals, but can we stop with the histrionics regarding the same ladies beating Brazil last Sunday?

I understand it was a last second goal, and it was amazing and all that, but can anyone truly tell me that a goal to tie in a quarter-final match is bigger than a goal to win the World Cup?

I think it’s very interesting that both events took place on July 10, exactly 12 years apart, and more than a bit sad that women’s soccer in this country has gone into the crapper since that victory.

Abby and Hope celebrate.

Maybe Abby Wambach and Hope Solo, et al can do what Mia Hamm and Brandi Chastain (and those great ladies) couldn’t do, which is to make (at least) women’s soccer in this country something we can get behind?

Probably not.

Smile Brandi!

That’s all right, because I’ll always have the memory of the absolute joy I felt and saw on the field that day 12 years ago, when we all had a large, wonderful gulp of Brandi.

Recent vintage is very nice too.

MLB All Stars

After today’s baseball games are played, American sports begins a 3-day stretch that to me has always been the most boring time of the year. Aside from the MLB Home Run Derby (yawn…) on Monday, and the All Star game itself (bigger, longer, and louder yawn…), there are no professional games of any kind going on.

Mantle & Banks play Home Run Derby in 1960

I do get some kick from watching Sports Center, just to see what kind of material they use to fill the hours. I guess I will watch a bit of the Home Run Derby, but of course I’ll need to mute the thing, because more than 30 seconds of Chris Berman makes me sick to my stomach. I am old enough to remember the original Home Run Derby TV show from over 50 years ago, and what an incredible treat that was for a little kid to watch in the winter of 1960.

The All Star game itself used to have more meaning than it does now, even with Bud Selig’s effort to attach importance to it by giving the winning league the extra home game in the season’s World Series. Many players from the 1950’s and 1960’s used to talk about the pride they had in their league, and how seriously they took the game. With the advent of free agency in the mid-1970’s, players began to change leagues more frequently and the huge money many free agents received turned many players into men less willing to sacrifice themselves for an exhibition game, and more towards millionaires looking for a 3-day golf holiday. While baseball’s All Star game is not quite as worthless as the other big 3 sports All Star games, it’s getting there. Once inter-league play began in 1997, the league versus league aspect began to disappear all together.

1st asterisk in 1957

The fans had the vote for All Stars back in the 1950’s, but it was taken away after the balloting got out of hand in 1957, when seven Cincinnati Reds were voted in as starters. It was determined that about 50% of the votes had come from Cincinnati, and Commissioner Ford Frick took the vote away from the fans. (The fans got the vote back in 1970, and from that point forward we have seen countless unworthy ball players voted in as All Stars)

Rather than bitch about another year of lousy selections for this year’s game, I decided to nominate my own All Star team, based on the season to date, but I selected only one team, from all of Major League Baseball. What I found to be extremely interesting, is that the choices at almost every position were very easy:

Catcher – Brian McCann (Atlanta)

First base – Adrian Gonzalez (Boston)

Second base – Robinson Cano (NY Yankees)

Third base – Kevin Youkilis (Boston)

Shortstop – Jose Reyes (NY Mets)

Left field – Ryan Braun (Milwaukee)

Center field – Matt Kemp (LA Dodgers)

Right field – Jose Bautista (Toronto)

Starting pitcher – Justin Verlander (Detroit)

Closer – Joel Hanrahan (Pittsburgh)

The first position that gave me some pause was third base, where the Cubs Aramis Ramirez has come on of late, and both Alex Rodriguez (NYY) and Adrian Beltre (TX) are viable candidates. I give the nod to Youkilis due to his substantially higher OPS than the others, excellent defense, and the fact that after a .218 April, he’s hit .305.

Right now, Verlander is the best

At starting pitcher, the only other guys I seriously considered were the Angels Jered Weaver, and the Phillies Roy Halladay. Halladay loses out because he’s a National Leaguer, and Verlander beats Weaver because in only 3 more innings pitched, he’s struck out 18 more batters, and because Detroit is in a tougher division. Right now, Verlander is the best pitcher in baseball.

Selecting the closer from the Pirates was actually very easy for me, but I will explain why I chose Hanrahan anyway.

Hanrahan has the best ERA and WHIP combination, a better than 4:1 strikeout to walk ratio, and aside from Detroit’s Jose Valverde (who has been extremely lucky in many games), is the only closer to have not yet blown a save.

So there you have it, 5 players from each league, and I gotta tell you, looking at this and figuring it all out was a lot more entertaining for me than the game will probably be – if I even watch it?

SAVE LENNY (that con) !!!

Got enuf chaw there, Lenny?

If you ever saw Leonard Kyle Dykstra, AKA Lenny, "Nails," or "Dude," play Major League Baseball, you know that you'll never be able to forget him.

There is a classic line that I first heard describe a couple of hockey players in the NHL, when a teammate called these two (smallish) teammates his "little balls of hate." That was Lenny Dykstra in MLB, perfectly – he was a double dose ball of hate to anyone he played against, but a guy loved by the fans of the team he played on.

Anyone following baseball in the mid-1980’s into the mid-1990’s grew familiar with Lenny, first being a huge part of a New York Mets World Series win in the 1986, and later with the Philadelphia Phillies on the losing side in 1993.

Lenny was about 5’9", and 160 pounds of fidgets, scratching, and ugly hunks of chew falling out his mouth, but he was a great lead off hitter, with speed and (surprising) power, and a very good centerfielder.

Lenny's old roomie

Not long after the Mets drafted him in round 13 of the 1981 amateur draft, he found himself teamed with, and rooming with an outfielder the Mets had drafted at #23 over all, in the 1980 draft. (This was the year the Mets took Darryl Strawberry with the #1 overall pick.) Lenny wasn’t supposed to make it, but his roommate, by all accounts, was destined for greatness. 1^st round draft picks are supposed to become stars.

Turns out they both made it, though Lenny’s roomie, Billy Beane, ended up becoming famous as the General Manager of the Oakland A’s, and the man the Michael Lewis’s book "Moneyball," was all about.

There is an excerpt from Moneyball in which Beane describes himself and Lenny sitting in the Mets dugout, and Lenny asks Beane "Who is that big dumb ass on the hill (warming up to pitch)?"

Turned out Lenny didn’t know who Steve Carlton was, and didn’t care one way or another when he found out.

"Lenny," Beane said, "Carlton has heat and maybe the nastiest slider…ever!"

Just freakin' nasty

"I’ll stick him," was Lenny’s response to Beane’s incredulous answer.

That was Lenny, he didn’t care who you were, as he would impose his will, and you better get the hell outta the way. He had all the confidence in himself he needed, and about 5 other guys besides.

Dykstra’s commonly used nickname was "Nails," which was a good one, because he was a tough little SOB, but "Dude" was actually a better one.

Lenny was a SoCal kid, kind of part surfing stoner Jeff Spicoli, part Pig Pen from Charlie Brown, and part Bernie Madoff. No offense to the ‘other’ Lebowski, but Lenny is a classic example of a California dude – a clueless scuzzball that wants to have a lot of fun, with your money.

Best estimate I have found is that Lenny Dykstra made more than $36,500,000 in his MLB career. It is all gone, lost in any number of schemes that I won’t bother to describe, and there is a mountain of evidence he’s gone through a lot of other folks money too. In an effort to keep the dollars coming in, Lenny embarked on a number of enterprises that caught the attention of law enforcement in the State of California, as well as the IRS.

Currently, Dykstra is in jail in California awaiting trial on enough charges to almost ensure a fairly lengthy prison sentence.

I am not making the following up.

Lenny gets doubled up

There is an actual web site at www.savelenny.com where folks can donate money towards Lenny’s current bail of $50,000. It should be "save lenny that con" but I don’t want to pre-judge the Dude.

I have to admire the man’s confidence though, and the fact that through it all he still has friends (or accomplices?) that were willing to set this up on his behalf.

I have no clue if Billy Beane has kicked in any dollars to help bail out his old roomie, but I am pretty certain Steve Carlton won’t be.

I think that somehow Lenny will get through all of this, but even more than that, I can’t help but think Lenny will just pocket any of the money that may come into the savelenny web site.

Hey dude, let's party.

Yeah, all $17.43 of it.

Good luck Nails, you’ll always be my little ball of hate.

Jimmer Fredette Goes West

I know it’s been about four days since the 2011 NBA draft, and I’m a little late with this post about what happened that night, but I have to admit I was extremely curious to know when, and which team would draft Brigham Young’s Jimmer Fredette?

King for a day, and maybe a lot longer than many think?

I was tired of hearing about how Fredette was this over rated kid who couldn’t play defense, and was destined to become some kind of after thought in what was (by consensus) perhaps the worst ‘crop’ of basketball talent in the history of the draft.

I don’t know how anyone could know whether or not Jimmer can play defense or not, as he was never really asked to do that at BYU. Somehow, being about 75% of Cougar offense every game was considered a big enough load to carry, ya think? Playing defense is a quick way to tire any player out, but somehow Jimmer led his team to a top 5 ranking before an inevitable loss in a crazy NCAA tournament.

My son Matt and I talked quite a bit about the draft and Jimmer, over this past weekend. Matt also thinks the pundits may be selling Fredette short. Matt has no love for Jimmer, having seen him drop huge numbers on his school (Arizona), but he put that aside and talked about the fact that some kids are just winners. Some kids have to work really hard every day to get to the point where they are talented enough to play hoops at a major college or university, so the pressure has always been on them. Some succeed, and many don’t, but nothing breeds success like being successful in any vocation. Working really hard to achieve it would seem to be something any organization would desire?

I've read about Jimmer being compared to the Denver Bronco’s Tim Tebow.

It's not Florida anymore.

Is this profiling?

And if it is profiling, will someone explain to me what these two young men have in common aside from being uncommonly earnest, hard working, and white?

I know that Tebow wears his Christianity proudly, and that’s fine for him and millions of fans. He is one of the most popular players in the NFL. Perhaps there are some who think because Jimmer is Mormon, every other word out his mouth will be about God?

I don’t get it. I mean, Tim Tebow appears to be a genuinely nice young man, but I don’t want him to be the quarterback on my NFL team. He’s got talent, and a can do attitude backed up by all the hard work in the world, I just don’t see him being successful as a NFL QB – any number of other things, "YES! Just not TIM TEBOW -- NFL QB.

On the other hand, Jimmer Fredette has enormous talent as a ball handler and shooter, and is a quick 6’2" guard who will be able to always create a shot for himself. In the NBA, that is really a pretty rare commodity. It’s also my guess that with the kind of quickness Fredette has, teaching someone who works as hard as he does how to play defense won’t be tough at all.

So on Thursday evening, I tuned into ESPN, at about pick #6. A short while later Sacramento Kings worked a deal with Milwaukee, and took Jimmer with the #10 overall pick. I immediately thought it was a good pick for them, as their style is to run and gun, and who better than Jimmer to feed the ball to Tyreke Evans – and vice-versa?

TJ...er, Ben...

I was also impressed with Jimmer’s brother TJ, who I am still convinced is really Ben Affleck. I have had suspicions that Jimmer is really Matt Damon with heavy make up, but I am letting that go.

Ben...er, TJ...

Anyway, TJ mentioned the written vow his younger brother made and signed a number of years ago, in which he promised he’d work really hard as often as he could to someday make the NBA. The fact that it was (seemingly) written in crayon, with lousy printing was a bit disconcerting, but Jimmer did write it out, signed it, and made it happen.

I was a bit disappointed in not seeing the Jimmer and TJ's sister, the lovely Lindsay, but sometimes we all just have to muddle through.

In my opinion, I think Danny Ainge is the best basketball player to have ever played at BYU, and then gone on to a very successful career in the NBA as a player. I think one can compare Ainge and Fredette easily, both were the nexus of over-achieving teams on which they controlled the offense. (If I recall correctly, few thought Ainge would be able to play defense either. Turned out they were correct, but it was more his shoddy play as a third baseman for the Toronto Blue Jays)

I think it’s fascinating to think of Jimmer going to the Kings, and teaming with Hassan, DeMarcus, Donte’, Darnell, Tyreke, and Pooh, among others, and not only being the only white guy on the team, but also the smallest, by far. He’ll be tested every day, in many ways, not the least of which will be culturally.

The coda on all of this is really simple. It’s been shown year after year in all professional drafts of amateur talent that a lot of this stuff is a complete crapshoot.

In an extremely lousy year for talent, Sacramento may have found a gem, or perhaps they have a bit of fool’s gold? We will see, and remember that the media will be on this young man all the time, and he’ll be besieged by autograph seekers at every turn.

So please, TJ, or Ben, or someone…give Jimmer a new, sharp crayon. I think the kid will be a success, and he’ll have a lot of autographs to sign.