Wordful Wednesday: The Baseball Codes
I'm a sucker for a good baseball book, and The Baseball Codes: Beanballs, Sign Stealing, and Bench-Clearing Brawls: The Unwritten Rules of America's Pastime, by Jason Turbow (with Michael Duca), is an excellent baseball book.
I sometimes find myself defending my position that baseball is just inherently and obviously superior to football and basketball, and there are any number of justifications I can give. I can point out that in baseball, in contradistinction to the other two, you have to finish the game. No clock. If you're up by ten runs in the first inning, you still have to hold your opponent down for eight more innings.
Or I could point out that a superstar offensive player still has to wait his turn to bat. He doesn't always come up in the bottom of the ninth. You can't just pass the ball to Kobe and hope he can make something happen. That's awesome.
But more than anything, baseball is cool because it's old. It has history behind it. And yes, there are a lot of rules, but they don't cover everything that goes on during a game. For that, it has unwritten rules, the Code by which the players police themselves, their teammates, and the other team. 
As the blog for this book points out, we had an excellent example of the Code in a recent series between the Yankees and Tigers. Yankees left-fielder Brett Gardner took out Tigers shortstop Carlos Guillen (former Mariner, woo!) with a hard slide while trying to break up a potential game-ending double play. (Double play turned, game over, Tigers won, BTW.)
Now, no shortstop or second baseman is going to take exception to an opponent trying to cleanly break up a DP. However, Gardner slid so late that he basically tackled Guillen. He was within reach of second base, so the official rulebook didn't say he'd done anything wrong. But the Code says you don't try to injure another player.
(To be clear, Gardner wasn't trying to hurt Guillen, but his slide was dirty, even if it was unintentional.)
Sure enough, when Gardner came to bat against Tigers pitcher Jeremy Bonderman in the next game, he took one in the leg. He took the hit and ran down to first base. The announcers even commented that he must have known that was coming. The Tigers wanted Gardner to know that a dirty slide wasn't appreciated.
(Note: Bonderman didn't throw at his head. He hit him in the ankle. Not a beanball. Apples to oranges.)
Asked about the plunking after the game, Bonderman responded in line with the Code: "No comment." In other words, it stays on the field.
Retaliation is only one part of the Unwritten Rules, of course, though it's a major one. A player can expect to get brushed back or knocked down, or even drilled, when he commits any number of Code violations. Some will say that it's just a game, let it go, but they miss the point somewhat. In any line of work, there's a code of ethics that doesn't rise to the level that needs to be dealt with by the company that pays the workers. It's kept in house and dealt with person-to-person.
Of course, some of the Unwritten Rules are just plain outdated, or have at least fallen by the wayside. Time was, you'd find yourself getting brushed back if you tried to dig in against a pitcher. Now you see every player doing it. (BTW, my favorite tidbit, and a line I'll have to use, is Nolan Ryan's characterization of bad behavior on a batter's part as "asking for a bow-tie.")
Other rules are just plait out-of-touch with the way the game works these days. The idea that a team shouldn't run up the score is fine and dandy for basketball or football or any other clock-based game. But in baseball, you have to finish the game.
Case in point (BTW, the book covered this, but I remember it vividly), Indians/Mariners in August 2001. I was working in the backyard and had my pickup pulled in back there (filling it with dirt from a patio I was digging), with Dave Niehaus blasting on the speakers, enjoying the M's dismantling the Tribe.
They were ahead 12-0 after three innings. After the Indians scored two runs, the Mariners answered and still led 14-2 after five innings. By the seventh inning, Ichiro!, John Olerud and Edgar Martinez had been replaced by the M's manager. Game out of reach, right? Well, no, because the Indian's promptly scored three runs in the bottom of the seventh. 14-5.
Then four in the bottom of the eighth. 14-9.
Then five in the bottom of the ninth. 14-14. Yeah, you see where this is going, don't you? Ultimately, the Indians scored a run in the bottom of the eleventh to win the game. My blood pressure still hasn't come back down. The way I was ranting back there, the neighbors probably thought I was burying a few bodies.
Now, twelve runs seems like a safe lead, doesn't it? Pulling Ichiro! and Edgar made sense, right? Why waste them in a laugher? But in baseball, once you're out of the game, you're out. It's not like basketball where you can sit your starters until it gets interesting.
I'm realizing that I'm not really mentioning the book much here. But I take that as a compliment to the authors, because their book made me think about baseball, which is awesome.
But getting back to the actual book, I found the section on clubhouse pranks to be absolutely hysterical. The fact that Bert Blyleven was so legendary for giving the hot-foot (lighting a teammate's shoe on fire) that the dugout fire extinguisher was marked "In case of Blyleven, pull" had me in stitches. And the "pig story" from the 1970s Milwaukee Brewers is just a classic. Ask me about it. If I can stop laughing long enough, I'll give you the lowdown. But the upshot is that revenge is a dish best served with a very dirty piglet.
I think the book could have benefitted from including some of the more recent additions to the Code, though I suppose the ones I'm thinking about are really more like Stupid Stuff Managers Do, like letting a close game slip away in the seventh inning while their best reliever watches from the bullpen. If you're paying him Closer money, get him in when the game is on the line, even if it's the late-middle innings. Oh, and don't pay money for a closer. You can get good ones for cheap.
Another thing that irks me is all the bunting that goes on early in games. In the National League, you'll bunt your pitchers whenever they come up, sure, but no other player should bunt before the fifth inning unless your team is really struggling to score runs (BTW, you might be struggling to score runs because you're giving away outs by bunting all the time).
Yeah, I've changed my mind. My idea stinks. The book was as close to perfect as it could be. Pick it up and read it.
(Besides, Rob Neyer covered the mangled roles of relievers in Rob Neyer's Big Book of Baseball Blunders.)
Next up is Gridlock: Why We're Stuck in Traffic and What to Do About It.
(Oh, and I caved and picked up The Last Olympian. But I want it known that I'm patiently waiting for my Hold Request for Mockingjay to come through.)
Argh!!!…the Baseball…it burns!!!!
Quite a weekend we had. And okay, it’s true that my face resembles Spock’s at the end of Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, after he repaired the reactor and was exposed to extreme radiation. But the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Besides, shouldn’t all real baseball fans (and coaches and assistants) look like Harvey Two-Face after a triple-header?
The problem was that we were playing baseball in the City League Tournament and June decided to show up, and it caught us unawares. Well, that and the team kept winning.
We started off Saturday morning against a tough team, with an ump who was calling a strike zone appropriate for your average five-year-old Hobbit. We outhit the other team, but they walked again and again. Bummer. But we soundly trounced the next team thanks to a homer from a certain boy who shall remain nameless but who shares a last name with me. (He homered twice and only struck out once in five games. In my unbiased opinion, he’s an easy choice for MVP. Though I do have to admit that while he might’ve been the offensive star, one of his buddies was the defensive wizard, pitching extremely effectively and making a couple of key catches of pop-ups.)
So we came to Sunday morning and were expecting to play a game. And play we did. Our boys were all of a sudden en fuego at the dish. Kids who hadn’t sniffed a hit all season were suddenly putting the ball in play. And if they didn’t reach base every time, they still brought in some runs. We even had three kids take one for the team in one game. And one of those kids got plunked twice. Tough way to get aboard, but it beats a strikeout…most of the time.
(I should also point out that Hobbit-zone-ump was not in play on Sunday.)
We also started two pitchers who hadn’t, you know, pitched at all the whole season, and they were just tremendous. I can’t recall now if it was the first or the second game we played, but all four of our pitchers absolutely slammed the door on that team, shutting them out 8-0 over five innings. You’ve gotta love it when your eight- to ten-year-old kids are getting through an inning on fewer than fifteen pitches. And this was against a team who had beaten us 11-2 or so in a game a few weeks back. Owned!
Ultimately, we ran into a very tough team in the Bronze Medal game and stood toe-to-toe with them before going down in five innings. But we softened them up for the championship game. But our boys earned that third place finish. Go Blue Sox!
Ninja Warrior and Competition
Quick comment on the Super Bowl here. Trivial Pursuit is better.
(We managed to miss the onside-kick that sparked the Saints’ getting back in the game. DVR good. And WTG, Saints.)
So it’s getting toward baseball season here, and I’m not just going to wax poetic about how much better baseball is than football, because there’s really little left to be said, and it’s so manifestly true.
No, instead I’d like to opine a bit about competition. I often hear from other parents that they want their boy (I’m being boy-centric here, because I am one, and I have one) to be in a non-competitive league. I. Just. Don’t. Understand. This.
Okay, so I do understand wanting to give kids a low-pressure way to experience sports. And maybe it’s a good entry point, or a toes-in-the-water point for kids who probably aren’t wired for sports competition.
But I think there’s something we miss when we remove competition, and when all the kids get trophies. As Dash put it in The Incredibles, after his mom (Elastigirl) commented that “everyone is special”:
“Which is the same as saying nobody’s special.”
Now, I’m all for rewarding effort and not just performance, and I can see the argument for a trophy being a good carrot to dangle, even if it’s not earned by performance so much as participation.
But shouldn’t our kids be learning to lose well? Learning that, hard as you try, you just might be on a pretty lousy team? That it’s okay to lose if you tried your best?
The thing is, in teaching our kids about losing well, we also get to teach them how to win well. And they learn how great it feels to win.
(Incidentally, this is why I generally don’t let the Boy win. I want him to feel good when he beats me. Though I do sometimes handicap myself to level the playing field. But within those strictures, I still try to win.)
As I’ve written before, we’re big fans of Sasuke, known in America as Ninja Warrior. It’s a lot like ABC’s Wipeout, only a hundred times cooler.
It’s basically the world’s toughest obstacle course, but it’s not just the obstacles that make it cool. It’s the fact that they might go SEVEN YEARS WITHOUT A WINNER!!!!!
On Wipeout, there’s always a winner of the $50k prize. Twenty-four start the competition, and one of them wins it.
On Ninja Warrior, one hundred people start the competition, and most of the time, one hundred are eliminated. Sometimes only two or three even make it past Stage One (of Four). Oh, and the prize is less than $20k.
And they keep making the course harder. If you look back at the first winner (there have been two winners out of more than twenty competitions), his course was much easier than the second winner’s.
But of course, sometimes somebody does win. For instance, The Pancake Eating Boy’s current hero, Makoto Nagano. Here’s a video of him completing all four stages back on Sasuke 17 (the video lacks G4’s English translation, or you’d get the impression that the announcer has just as big a Man Crush on Nagano as The Boy does):
The Boy gets seriously emotionally invested in watching his Main Dude on Sasuke. When Nagano fails, the Boy is very put out.
I think it says something about the Japanese that they’re willing to watch a competition that may not even have a winner and most of the time doesn’t. (Strictly speaking, I think you could call the course itself the winner most of the time.)
But there’s another good lesson on Ninja Warrior, and that’s respect for your opponent. It’s really cool to see the way all the contestants pull for each other. Granted, they’re not really competing against each other, but it’s still awesome to watch how disappointed the All-Stars are when one of their ilk fails early. Even cooler was when all the All-Stars were eliminated (Nagano fell on the first obstacle of Stage Two) and only American free-runner Levi Meeuwenberg was left standing. They did their best to coach him through Stage Three (this time with English subtitles):
Am I off base (Shocking, eh? Baseball term!) about competition? I love the fact that the Boy’s Fall Ball team didn’t win any games last year. It’ll make a winning experience all the more awesome. Plus, it pulls a layer back so the experiences of individual games are the best parts. Okay, so we didn’t win a game, but I made a great play at first base. Or I scored two goals in a losing hockey game.
I could see how a kid could get spoiled by always being on a winning team, but how often does that really happen? When I think back to my Little League days, I only remember being on one pretty good team (hmm…and I was the common element on all those lousy teams). But that one winning year stands out as a highlight for me.
Thoughts? I know this wasn’t a normal Monday post, but I haven’t written a lengthy non-theology post in some time.
MM: Aliens, Fall Ball, World Series
There are several Ultimate Guy Movies that I absolutely love. And James Cameron managed to direct two of them: The Terminator and Aliens.
Now, I recognize that most movie critics find Alien to be a superior film to its more booty-kicking sequel, but in terms of good old fashioned blowing-stuff-up, Aliens wins in a walk.
Besides, Ripley is one of the all-time great Guy Movie Heroes.
But there’s something that’s been bugging me for some time, and I’m hoping that someone familiar with the film will help me understand how this isn’t a plot hole.
Who was piloting that big gun-shaped ship the Marines and Ripley arrived on? Because it seems like they could’ve helped out the planetside folks. Or are we really to believe that big ship was just sitting up in orbit, on autopilot, waiting for the Marines to come back and fly it home? (Seems like it’d have been piloted by some Navy folks.)
Or were the folks on the ship the ones expected to rescue everybody after they’d been overdue for seventeen days?
I realize a good percentage of Internetters won’t have a clue what I’m referring to, but I’m hoping somebody can help.
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Well, Fall Ball is finally over. Which means we get a good six hours per week, at least, added back to our Time Available For Doing Other Stuff. With AWANA, Baseball, and Swim Team, our schedule has been packed lately.
The last game was muddy, and it was a defeat. But our guys got a lot better over the course of the season, and Ethan definitely enjoyed it and honed his defensive skills quite a bit. He pitched again in this game and struck out at least one batter. He also threw somebody out at first.
So now we’ve just got to practice, practice, practice and get ready for Spring Baseball. Wooo!
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So, the World Series will be the Phillies and the Yankees, just as Ethan predicted. I’m hoping for a long series, and though I’m pulling for the Phils at least a little bit, I don’t really care who wins. I can root for the players of any team, even if I don’t particularly like the team. How can you not like Mariano Rivera?
I could see these games having football scores, given the potency of both offenses. If there’s going to be a major pitchers’ duel, Game 1 is a good bet, with the two former Cleveland pitchers (Cliff Lee and C.C. Sabathia) as the starters. Other than that, I’m expecting an absolute slugfest.
MM: Flash Forward, Ethan’s Picks, Indian in the Cupboard
I’ve been watching ABC’s Flash Forward mostly because I read the book, Flashforward, back in April, which book I read because I heard about the series. So sometimes my book reading and movie/tv viewing becomes a recursive loop. Chicken and egg and all that.
The series made some substantial changes from the book, most of which actually make sense. For instance, in the book the Flash was more than twenty years in the future. So the rest of the book was people wrestling with what would happen a long time from now. Hard to accomplish in a series, that. So they went with six months. And it totally works, especially in the case of Dmitri Noh, who had no Flash, and therefore concludes that he’ll be dead in six months (which is complicated by his upcoming nuptials).
The other good move the series made was to shift focus from the scientists who caused the Flash in the book to the people trying to figure out what caused it in the series, and I figure the cause will be different in the series. In the book there’s really no mystery about who caused it, even if the cause isn’t fully understood. Keeping it a mystery makes sense in the series.
But enough about that. Watch it if you want. But this past week, I noticed what might be a subtle (well, actually blatant) reference to Dean Koontz’s sci-fi-time-travel-love-story Lightning. Agent Benford (portrayed by Joseph Fiennes) travels to Munich to meet a former Nazi who claims to have information about the blackouts.
When Benford arrives at the prison where the Nazi is being held, it’s quite stormy, with lightning featured rather heavily. And his liaison? One Stefan Krieger.
For those who haven’t read Lightning, first of all you should. Second, Stefan Krieger is one of the main characters in the book, and he happens to be a German SS Officer.
I seriously doubt it’s a coincidence.
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Last week, I asked Ethan who he thought would win the MLB Playoffs. Yes, a couple of the series are over, but I promise these are Ethan’s Picks:
Division Series Picks:
Yankees-Twins: Yankees (Bingo! Three-game sweep. Sorry, Tyler)
Angels-Red Sox: Red Sox (Could not have been more wrong here. Three-game sweep the other way. Still not sure how that happened.)
Phillies-Rockies: Phillies (Phils are up 2-1, so this is looking good)
Dodgers-Cardinals: Dodgers (Again, bingo on the three-gamer)
And his League Championship Picks:
Yankees-Red Sox: Yankees
Phillies-Dodgers: Phillies
Which leaves us with the World Series between the Yankees and the Phillies. Ethan has the Phillies winning it.
So sub in the Angels for the Red Sox and we’ll stick with Ethan’s picks and see how it comes out.
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Since Ethan so enjoyed The Indian in the Cupboard that we decided to check the 1995 movie adaptation out from the library. It was fairly well done, but in case you wanted to know, it had a lot more questionable content than the book. We don’t recommend it.
Language was definitely coarsened (nothing that you mightn’t hear on TV, but that’s hardly good news), and somehow a Motley Crue video was featured. Really? And the little bit of a Western the boys watch (following the disgusting Motley video) is a bit rougher than I’d pictured. Yes, it makes a good talking point, but it was a bit much.
So in case I’ve been less than clear, read the book. Forget the movie.
MM: Doubleheader, September?, Yelling, Amazing Race 15
Ethan’s Fall Ball team had a doubleheader on Sunday, with both games against the same team. The first game resulted in a tie (13-13), and the second game was a narrow 16-13 defeat. But the boys played well. We even recorded a 1-2-3 inning. No base runners allowed is quite a feat at this level.
Ethan got some time as a position player this time, and made two outs at first base (one on a routine grounder the pitcher fielded and threw to Ethan, the other a line drive to Ethan).
HE ALSO GOT HIS FIRST BASE HIT!!! In the course of the two games, he reached base at least three times (I’m trying not to be obsessive, so I haven’t been writing it down or anything). He doubled, had a base hit and advanced on an error, and walked at least once (I think).
He also flailed wildly at a couple of dirt-scraping pitches, because by then he felt like he could hit anything. Now hopefully he knows better.
(Of course, Ethan credits his shiny new bat. His old tee-ball bat was getting pretty dinged up from hitting baseballs.)
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By the way, speaking of baseball, is this really late September? Because my whole left side is burned to a crisp on account of coaching first base for two straight games.
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The sun was probably not a factor in my being somewhat hoarse. That would be from all the yelling and screaming at my base runners. My favorite comment from a player, who required an extraordinary amount of encouragement to take second base on a passed ball:
“I didn’t know you were talking to me.”
I guess the fact that he was on first base and I was the First Base Coach didn’t add up to “he’s talking to me.”
I shouldn’t actually be surprised, I suppose, as this is the same kid who, when I shouted that he should be covering second base (when he was playing second base), actually pointed at himself as if to say, “Me?”
I guess that baseball instincts have to be taught. Evidently the teaching involves quite a bit of yelling.
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And finally, a non-baseball topic: The Amazing Race 15 is now on the air. I remember watching the first season and hoping the ratings would be good enough that they’d do a second. Rinse and repeat for the next two seasons.
I guess the ratings are good enough now that it’ll stick around awhile.
Oh, and I’m not sure how I’d have done with the Wasabi Bomb. Ed would’ve done that Road Block, I think…
MM: Camping, Fall Ball, Football
Last week, we went camping with a bunch of other homeschoolers at Fort Stevens. It’s really quite lovely to go on vacation right when everybody else goes back to school, and we even got pretty good weather. (Much better than the rain the weekend campers evidently got.)
We got to use our new tent (used twice for backyard camping, but now officially broken in), new camp stove (Ramen, Grilled Cheese and Canned Soup – Lentil, and Pancakes were cooked thereon), and all that other New Stuff we got specifically for this trip.
And now it’s all inventoried and packed away in the garage for our next trip, which we feel will involve less equipment acquisition. We have the stuff, and it’s ready to get thrown in the back of the van.
Ethan had an absolute blast playing with his friends and sleeping in the tent (we even got upgraded to one of the Yurt sites for one night!).
Of course, camping at Fort Stevens isn’t exactly roughing it, as there’s plenty of drinkable (if less-than-tasty) water and bathrooms and showers. But it still counts as camping, and I didn’t shave or anything, so that makes it more realerer, right?
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After Ethan finished his Coach Pitch Baseball experience, we discovered the existence of Reedville Fall Baseball, also known as Fall Ball. The conversation with Ethan went something like this: 
Us: "Ethan, we might be able to get you into Fall Baseball. Would you rather do soccer again or…"
Ethan: “Baseball!”
Well, he had his first Fall Ball game on Sunday, and he was the starting pitcher. We figured he might be nervous, but he absolutely ate it up. The first inning wasn’t so great, as our team didn’t record an out before the bad guys scored their maximum per-inning total of five runs.
But Ethan put the ball over the plate quite a bit and even induced a ground ball that might’ve been turned into an out.
The second inning was another story, though. He allowed another ground ball to second. Alas, it didn’t turn into an out, and the runner eventually came around to score on a passed ball (pretty much all baserunners steal second, third, and home).
But Ethan’s line for the inning was this, in baseballese: 1 IP, 0H, R, 2K
Now allow me to translate: one inning pitched, no hits (the one groundball would go as an error rather than a hit), one run, two strikeouts. (I won’t reproduce the line for the first inning because it wasn’t as pretty.)
But the best part was how the inning ended. With two out and nobody on, the batter swung at the first pitch and hit a popup between home and first. And Ethan snagged it for the third out, then ran back to the dugout. Here’s the video of his performance:
The Reds (Ethan’s team) did end up on the losing side (either 8-4 or 8-5), but that one inning was awesome. And our team only allowed the five-run-max one time.
The hitting didn’t go exactly according to plan, Ethan ending up with a walk and a strikeout (but it was swinging, which is better than looking). But we’ll work on that.
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I’ve written before of my general dislike of football. Nonetheless, I’ve consented to participate in a Fantasy Football League with some family members. I have not consented to really get into it. In fact, I’m still not sure how the whole thing works, and I didn’t watch any substantive amount of football over the weekend.
I watched tennis and baseball instead. I feel no remorse over this.
But I must rant a bit about football and how greedy it is: It can’t even finish on time. And it’s a game with a CLOCK!!! At least baseball has that excuse. No clock, no real way to predict how long a game will take. Football games have ONE HOUR of clock time to run down, and they still manage to overrun their three hour television slot. With regularity.
This isn’t limited to professional football, of course, and my rant is actually somewhat more targeted at College Football (which is an even bigger mystery to me than the NFL), which impacted my baseball viewing. This is unacceptable.
The NFL did run over and impact my tennis viewing. This is a problem that needs fixin’. But at least I know football will be done by early next year. That’s something. So here it is, the first week of football, and I’m ready for it to be over.
Though I’ll admit I was still glad the Seahawks won.
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Wordful Wednesday: Catcher in the Wry
Sometimes I have to read a book just for the title. In this case, Catcher in the Wry, by Bob Uecker, gave me an opportunity I couldn't pass up: It gave me a title I could pass off as a classic (at least verbally) when I was really reading about baseball. Awesome.
Of course, it only bears homophonic similarity to Salinger's book, as far as I know (having not read the latter). And it's about a side of baseball you probably don't read much about: the scrubs. In fact, to hear (or read) Uecker tell it, it's probably better being a scrub, because it's not such a letdown when you have to stop playing. I actually think he's got something there.
Uecker certainly made good for himself when his playing career ended after six seasons, and he has no illusions that he was the star of any of the teams he played for. But that didn't stop him from having a good time. (By the way, he reportedly was a halfway decent defensive catcher in spite of what he says.)
The prankster part of him was what lived on when his playing days were over. He made the rounds as a television personality (making frequent appearances on Johnny Carson), a comedian, and a TV/movie star (-ish). Between all these, he settled in as the Milwaukee Brewers radio color man in 1971, a post he still holds today.
If you know him at all, it's probably from his appearance as the Indians' play-by-play man in Major League (his most famous line: "Juuust a bit outside!" - warning on the link here, there's some "colorful metaphors" written on the page. Now try not to look for them. Oh, and there may be a passing reference to a donkey in the clip.).
Or perhaps, like me, you remember Uecker from a string of Miller Lite commercials from a time when I thought beer was a foul-smelling-and-tasting concoction adult men drank after they forgot how good Pepsi tasted. (This is still the opinion I hold today. And just for the record, all cola beverages taste the same to me, or at least close enough that I think people who fuss about them need therapy.)
One of my personal favorites that I've been misquoting (well, quote-combining) for years is this one:
The book, you say? It's pretty much what you'd expect, being a baseball memoir. Uecker comes from a different time, before the big salaries and bigger egos, and that's a point in his favor. He's truly marvelous at self-deprecating humor, as evidenced especially by his captions on the obligatory scrapbook section of the book. One, showing him sliding home, quips, "Here I am trying to score from second on a three-base hit; out on a close play." Evidently he was less than gifted at swiftness.
I was hoping to find in the book, and my hopes were well-founded, Uecker's famous quote about catching the knuckleball:
"The easiest way to catch a knuckleball is to wait until it stops rolling and then pick it up."
All-in-all, it was an enjoyable read, and it's a book about baseball, so that counts for something.
I guess I should mention what possessed me to pick this one up (I had to order it through InterLibrary Loan). It's really quite simple: I saw him on TV during a recent Brewers game (I'm a Mariners fan, but I'll watch just about any baseball that's on). Googled him. And here we are.
As I mentioned, the title was one thing that attracted me, and it's very tempting right now to request his later book, Catch 222, for the same reason. But I shall refrain, for now, in the hopes of finishing my library backlog.
Happy Father’s Day
I don't normally do much blogging on weekends. I certainly jot down ideas or placeholders for Monday Morning Musings or Theology Thursdays, but normally I don't post anything. But it's Father's Day weekend. And so I blog.
I love being a dad. Since Ethan arrived, I've often wished we'd started having kids earlier, because I find being a dad such a cool experience. Oh, there are definitely trying moments, but overall being a dad ranks as awesome.
Not long ago, I was out throwing fly balls for Ethan, and he had a breakthrough. Suddenly, he was catching more than he was dropping. I started lowering the throws a bit and eventually they were more like throws to first base, and he was gloving nearly all of them. After we'd thrown nine or ten back and forth without one hitting the ground, I realized we were "having a catch."
A big, dumb, uncontrollable grin broke out on my face, and initially I thought it was just that I was really proud of my son. Since then, though, it's occurred to me that many of my best memories with my dad revolve around sports, and baseball most of all (on account of playing baseball more than other sports, with hockey a close second).
Anchorage isn't exactly rich in sporting events one can attend, but I remember going to see the Bucs and the Pilots (Cook Inlet League Baseball...I know, that game again) quite a number of times with the old man. And we caught our share of Seawolves games (UAA Hockey). But mostly the memories are of playing sports.
Of course, it's not like all my childhood memories with Dad involve sports.
I can remember the smell of Dad's lab (where he let me play with the colored chalk and found out I'm right-handed at a chalkboard but lefty elsewhere...I didn't find that out until college). And his yellow notepads. I doodled away on quite a few of those while hanging out in his office.
And I remember a lot of instances of pressing my cheek up against Dad's scruff so he'd do the jaw-clenching thing I thought was so awesome. Or trying to squeeze between his ankles while he was standing so he'd give me the calf-flex-ribcage-crusher.
Why do so many of my memories involve muscles flexing? Maybe it's that a son revels in his dad's strength. Funny how that gets flipped on its head later on. I remember Dad waking me up one morning (which I believe was about as much of a chore as I now have trying to wake my son), squeezing my arm and saying, "Feel the arms on that kid!" to no one in particular.
And I remember appreciating that Dad didn't put pressure on me about things. I remember bringing home a report card with something sub-par on it (could've been a C, might've been a D - that one quarter of U.S. Government), but Dad didn't come down on me. "You can do better," was all he said. He was right. And I did. And it made it all the more awesome when I was working at Longs Drugs after my best semester at George Fox and Dad came driving up to hand me my report card (which had just arrived). Straight A's. To me, it was no big deal, but it felt good because I knew Dad liked it. You should've seen his grin.
But back to sports. Maybe it's funny that most of my memories of Great Sports Exploits stem from my Little League days. But that's the way it worked for me. I was much more into sports in grade school than afterward.
There's something just so good and right about a dad being involved in his son's sports life, and I'm really glad I have so many of those memories. I can vividly remember looking for my dad after scoring a goal (or two) in hockey, or spotting him on the sidelines of an outdoor game, shaking (shivering doesn't begin to cover it, and you'd understand if you knew my dad). And how can I forget how Dad tried (mostly in vain) to learn to skate so he could share some rink time with me? I'd be surprised if the injuries he sustained in that pursuit don't still pain him.
My favorite memories, however, are of baseball. I know. Shocker.
I remember many a night, throwing with my dad until he'd start to complain about his arm being shredded. Of course, I now know what that feels like, after having my son insist that he'd like to catch twenty, then fifty, then one hundred fly balls as his skill has increased. But I do like to throw, so it's a good soreness.
(By the way, just in case there's any question about Ethan's future Favorite Sports Memories with Dad, he can name the Mariners' starting lineup and most of their reserves and probably everybody in the bullpen. And he can tell you their uniform numbers. And show you their batting stances. You could say I've succeeded in imprinting baseball on him.)
Dad was always quick to praise me when I'd make a good play on defense (two unassisted double-plays at third base in one game!), but here's what I remember most:
I was always a nervous batter. There's something about the way you can hear yourself breathe in a battered, oversize batting helmet. Makes you nervous. I never had the quickest bat, so I always had to make sure my timing was right. And I really wanted to get a hit. Because dad was right behind me.
No, he wasn't the ump. He'd always (or at least frequently) wander over behind the backstop to watch me hit. He wasn't overbearing, never once issuing me a "Come on, Seth! Lay off the high ones!" No, instead, here's what he'd say:
"Okay, Seth."
That's it. Right as I stepped into the batter's box, that's what I'd hear. And what a packed phrase it was. I knew what it meant. Dad's watching, and he knows what I can do. And he doesn't expect me to knock the sky down or anything. Just do my best. I loved that there was no pressure there.
Of course, I struck out my share of times. But I also got my share of solid hits. I was never the kid who hit the ball over the fence, but I could usually find a hole. And after I'd get to first, or second, or sometimes third, I'd see Dad wandering back over to the bleachers with this big, dumb, uncontrollable smile on his face.
Now I know what that smile was all about.
Love you, Dad. Happy Father's Day.
MMM: Home Court?, 10K, Hoods, Baseball wrap, Food Network Star
I recognize I didn't MMMuse last week. Family in town. Priorities and all that rot. Anyhoo...
I didn't really watch the NBA Finals, even though I used to be a huge basketball fan. (That was back before I discovered that baseball is the Only Sport Worth Watching.)
Maybe the fact that the Lakers took two games on Orlando's floor takes the wind out of what I'm about to write about, but since I actually wrote it before the Finals began, I'm keeping it.
And here it is (see if you can detect my very subtle yet virulent preference for baseball): Why, exactly, is Home Court Advantage important in any way in basketball?
In baseball, Home Field Advantage is easy enough to understand. Baseball fields aren't all carbon copies of each other. Some are domes, some aren't (and you can play the ball off the catwalks in the domes). Some have quirky outfield fences or obscene amounts of foul ground (Oakland). So knowing your own field could help.
There's also the issue of the Home Team having last-ups. Let's say a game goes extra innings. The home team knows that if they score a run, the game is over. The visitor has to get a lead and then hold it. That's a definable advantage for the home squad.
But with the NBA, how's it work, exactly? Okay, sure, the home team will be loud. But that'll happen in any arena. So the noise level can't really be a factor. The basket's at the same height, and the court's the same length, and the first possession is determined by the tip-off. So where's the advantage?
I'm forced to conclude that the Home Team will normally get more Home Court Calls by the officials. Which is really, really lame. Am I wrong here? Somebody enlighten me, because this seems to be just another reason baseball is superior.
Oh, and congrats to the Lakers. Since I don't really watch, I don't have any particular opinion about who should've won. I like Dwight Howard better than Kobe Bryant, but I don't have the pathological hatred of Kobe that some have. (Nor do I harbor particularly ill fillings toward a certain formerly-Twins-catcher-now-playing-in-Chicago. Like how I still brought this around to baseball?)
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I ran (if you can call it that) a 10K on Saturday. Colin dragged me for the last two miles, and it was my fault for starting us off a little fast. Maybe if I'd tempered my enthusiasm a bit, we'd have come in at a lower time. Still, we started running and didn't stop for 6.2 miles. That's something.
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If you don't know the Hoods are in at the Farmer's Market, you are hereby notified of your First Warning. Your Second Warning will occur if you do not consume some of them by next week. Don't make my kick you out of Oregon.
(And if you don't know what Hoods are, please don't tell me. I may have to issue you a bit of a fustigation.)
(They're strawberries, but you didn't hear it from me.)
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Well, it's time for the Baseball wrap. The season is done, and Ethan wishes we had another game tonight. It was a fun experience, and if I do it again next year, I've learned some valuable lessons, and if some of the kids (and dads) return, it could be a whole lot easier than this season.
Some highlights:
- My son never having to hit off the tee. Because he's awesome.
- Two flyballs caught by one of my guys in one inning (and then he doubled off the runner at first both times). Yes, that's four outs, but we weren't really counting them.
- Serving up a homer to another of my guys. Best hit I saw all season from anyone.
- Watching one of my guys almost have a popup land on his head. Yeah, he didn't really realize there was a game on.
- Getting my most difficult hitter (just getting him to recognize which direction the ball was coming from was a chore) to connect twice in the same game.
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The Next Food Network Star has started up again. Love that show, even if I generally can't be troubled to watch the actual winner's show most of the time. I've found you can pretty much guarantee several things that'll happen:
- Somebody will have a tagline or culinary philosophy that's confusing/banal/just plain stupid. This year's early candidate: "I'm comin' at you from the mind of a chef." Ummm...what?
- Somebody apologizing for their food.
- Somebody describing their dish as containing "good" or "great" or "wonderful" things, as opposed to using, you know, appetizing language including such things as flavors or aromas or textures.
Yes, it's ever-so-slightly train-wrecky. Love that.