FIRE JOE MORGAN

A special tip of the cap to Ted, who sends us this...thing, by Mike Seate of the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review. (It had already been FJM-icized [unbeknownst to us] before we published this, at Bucs Dugout.)

Anyway, it starts off kind of normal, and gets super weird, superquick. I just don't know what to say.

Bucs' 'fans' don't know meaning of the word

The smell of freshly greased leather and the crack of Louisville Sluggers drew me inside the David L. Lawrence Convention Center over the weekend.

It was the 18th annual PirateFest. It's a courageous act, celebrating baseball in Pittsburgh, considering the Pirates suffer from one of the lousiest fan bases in all professional sports.

Okay, so, maybe Pittsburgh fans aren't the most ardent in the nation. Dave Littlefield, Kevin McClatchy, and fifteen straight losing seasons will do that to people. But it's okay, I guess, to call them out, if you're a local journalist and you support the home team.

There, I said it. And, no, I'm not about to backpedal or apologize for characterizing most of the team's followers as whiny, loudmouthed louts who are too insecure to appreciate what being a fan is really about.

Yes. You're very brave. Get to the point.

To make my case, I'd like to compare the difference between the ways fans of stick-and-ball sports -- a category that includes baseball -- approach their favorite games, to the manner in which fans of my personal favorite sport, superbike racing, do.

...

Sorry, I'm going to ask you to repeat that. Because for a second, I thought you were about to compare baseball to a made-up thing called "superbike racing."

To make my case, I'd like to compare the difference between the ways fans of stick-and-ball sports -- a category that includes baseball -- approach their favorite games, to the manner in which fans of my personal favorite sport, superbike racing, do.

...

Huh. Okay. You did say you were going to compare baseball to "superbike racing."

Or, at least, compare fans of baseball to "fans" of "superbike racing."

Let's just pause here and try to figure out what the fuck superbike racing is.

Superbike racing is a category of motorcycle racing that employs modified production motorcycles. Superbike World Championship is the worldwide superbike championship. Many countries such as the United Kingdom, the United States, Japan, and Canada, operate national superbike championships. Superbike racing is very popular with manufacturers, since it helps promote and sell their product. “Win on Sunday, Sell on Monday” is very relevant in Superbike racing.

You guys have all heard that famous phrase, right? "Win on Sunday, Sell on Monday?" It's the "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" of superbike racing. Also, look at this again:

Superbike World Championship is the worldwide superbike championship.

That's Escherian. That's a brain teaser of a sentence, man. Who wrote this Wikipedia entry? Some like Japanese motorcycle designer who doesn't speak English very well? (Probable answer: yes.)

Now, many of you are probably saying, "But Ken, isn't superbike racing just the same as MotoGP racing? No, you ignorant assholes, it isn't.

Superbikes are based on standard production models, MotoGP bikes on the other hand are propotype machines that bear little resemblance to production machines. One might consider that a MotoGP bike is related to a Superbike in the same way that a Formula One car is related to a Touring car.

The analogy is imperfect, however; while a touring car could never compete with a Formula One machine, the performance gap between a Superbike and a MotoGP bike is much smaller. MotoGP bikes develop approximately 230 bhp, and reach top speeds of 340 km/h while superbikes develop 220 bhp and reach speeds of 320 km/h. Based on lap times from circuits where both MotoGP bikes and Superbikes race, superbikes are 2-3 seconds per lap slower than MotoGP bikes. This means that a number of superbikes would be able to easily qualify for a MotoGP race.

See?

The point, though, is: fans of superbike racing are superior to fans of Pittsburgh Pirates baseball. (That's the point. Can you believe that's the point?) Let's see how.

Whether viewing superbike races on TV or from the grandstands or paddock, you will never find one of us screaming "You suck!" at a racer.

Shocking though this may be to some of you, I have never attended a superbike race. I've always meant to, it's just that I would rather do anything else in the fucking world than attend a superbike race. I have come to this conclusion in the last 15 seconds, which is the total amount of time I have known that there are superbike races. But: and this is key: I would imagine that yelling "you suck" at a superbike racer would be a mostly futile enterprise, because (a) I am going to assume that superbikes make a lot of noise, and (b) the racers are really close to the noisy bikes and (c) wearing helmets.

We do not, by habit, turn our backs on racers at the start or finish lines because of a lack of winning results, as Pirates' "fans" did last summer, and we do not view ourselves as part of the team.

Sorry, I just need a minute here.

Hang on.

Okay. I am ready to continue.

Mike Seate, superbike racing's #1 fan in the greater Pittsburgh-metro area, is bragging about the fact that fans of superbike racing do not "turn their backs" on superbike racers at the "start or finish lines" because of a "lack of winning results."

That is one of the strangest brags I have ever seen. I don't...I can't even wrap my head around that brag. We do not, by habit, turn our backs on racers at the start or finish lines because of a lack of winning results.

Someone needs to cut a hip-hop single around this sentiment.

And as for baseball fans thinking they are part of "the team," well, yes, that's kind of silly, when people do that. But I certainly don't give you any points for not thinking you are part of the superbike racing team because what the fuck is a superbike racing team?

It is endlessly fascinating to hear football or baseball fans lamenting that "we lost" after their city's team is defeated, when the fan's contribution to the team effort involved chugging cans of Coors Light while munching on bags of Doritos.

Not specific to Pittsburgh. Not specific to baseball. Not germane to the discussion of baseball fans vs. superbike racing fans. (In case you started reading this halfway through, that's what we're doing, here, today -- discussing the merits of superbike racing fans as they relate to, and outnumber, the merits of baseball fans in the Pittsburgh area. I know. I can't believe it either.)

Because superbike racing is a dangerous sport to master, fans tend to be more realistic about the outcome. We don't call 2006 Moto GP champ Nicky Hayden a bum when he crashes, because many of us know what it feels like to be thrown off a motorcycle at triple-digit speeds.

My brain just spun around in my brainpan.

I am going to try to disassemble this paragraph so I can understand it. It's going to take some work. I might need to break down every letter to its constituent pixels before I get to like a sub-atomic level where I might be able to see something I recognize as English.

Because superbike racing is a dangerous sport to master, fans tend to be more realistic about the outcome.

No idea what this means. Not even close. Because it is dangerous...fans...tend to be more "realistic"...about the..."outcome?" Okay. I think what he means is, because of the dangers of superbike racing, whoever wins a race, the fans are kind of like, well, it's superbike racing -- and we all know what that means, because we're huge superbike racing guys. And what that means is, hey, anything can happen, and let's just be happy that everyone is alive, because their participation in this incredibly dangerous sport is kind of like its own reward, or something. Close?

We don't call 2006 Moto GP champ Nicky Hayden a bum when he crashes,

1. Why did you pick the 2006 champ?

2. Knowing nothing about superbike racing, I somehow instinctively know that "Nicky Hayden" is an absolutely perfect name for a motorcycle racer, and that

3. Nicky Hayden is a dick.

3a. That might be unfair. I just went to his website, and I can't tell whether he's a dick or not. Here's a picture of him riding on a camel:

Judge for yourselves.

4. Um, excuse me, there, Mike, but it's my Wikipedia-based understanding that MotoGP racing and superbike racing are two very different things. Check your facts!

because many of us know what it feels like to be thrown off a motorcycle at triple-digit speeds.

How many of you know that? Seriously. How many of you know that? A lot of you? If so: what are you doing riding motorcycles that fast?

By comparison, how many Steelers or Pirates fans who rail against the team's performance have even touched a football or baseball after age 12?

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay more than have fallen off a motorcycle at 100+ MPH, you dingbat.

When one of my favorite racers, Australian Troy Bayliss,

Well, sure, who doesn't love Troy Bayliss? "Oh, you know who my favorite baseball player is? Babe Ruth." What a hacky choice.

crashed at 170 miles per hour last year, grinding off one of his pinky fingers, I didn't scream at him for incompetence.

Did you wince and moan and turn away in fucking disgust that you live in a world where people are allowed to fly off motorcycles at 170 MPH and grind their pinky fingers down to dust for other people's entertainment? Because that's what I would have done.

There were no ESPN superbike racing talk shows to phone repeatedly about whether Bayliss would ever return to form and no Internet chat rooms to gather in.

That's not because superbike racing fans are superior to baseball fans in terms of their like maturity level or something. That's because -- and I need to you to hear me on this -- no one cares about superbike racing. (If you do care about superbike racing, please, I am begging you, do not write to me with statistics showing how much people care about superbike racing. I beg you.)

Instead, we race fans simply got on with our lives as if nothing happened.

You are truly brave. It is astonishing to me that after someone named Troy Bayliss fell off of his motorcycle in a race no one cares about or has ever heard of, while competing in a sport no one cares about or has ever heard of, that your whole worlds did not come tumbling down. How did you even function, after that made-up-world-rocking event?

When I turned on the TV a few weeks later to see Bayliss win a race -- with his injured digit wrapped in a bandage -- it was a fine show of self-determination and grit,

That is amazing, I have to say, that the dude got back on a bike and raced again so soon after that. Amazing, and fucking insane.

and not, as stick-and-ball sports fans would have it, an occasion to head for the nearest sports bar to pound beers and talk loudly about the incident until even the bartenders tire of our company.

Sorry -- so, the complaint here is that baseball fans talk about baseball too much? Maybe that's because baseball exists and is interesting. Unlike -- to give one example off the top of my head that I just like pulled out of nowhere as a thing that neither exists nor is interesting -- superbike racing.

I can think of two reasons superbike fans don't go to sports bars, drink beers, and talk loudly about superbike racing:

1. There are only two superbike racing fans in the entire world, and finding a bar exactly halfway between Pittsburgh and Manitoba is tough.

2. If you went to a sports bar and talked loudly about superbike racing, the other people in the bar, who are probably talking about actual, real sports that actually exist and about which people care, would tell you to shut the fuck up.

So, with the start of baseball season only a few weeks away, try to remember that part of being a fan means being respectful toward those who do what you cannot. And it means the team needs your support, win or lose.

I cannot believe that after eating mushrooms, making up the sport of "superbike racing," furiously typing a 750-word article on why superbike racing fans are better than baseball fans, and telling me that after some Aussie ground his pinky into a nub by falling off his bike at 170 MPH and how superbike racing fans kind of didn't care about it that much and somehow suggesting that this was a positive aspect of superbike racing fans, his conclusion is: "Being a fan means supporting your team."

I have never been more confused.

Labels: camel-bro, fuck the heck, mike seate, oh my god, superbike racing, that can't be right

But, okay, I'll be baited. Because the bait is a delicious juicy worm of an article about Boston vs. New York, pierced on the lure of an expert sportsman who looks like this:


I've missed you old buddy. Welcome back.

How does Boston compare to N.Y.? It doesn’t

Big Apple superior to Boston in nightlife, atmosphere, and especially sports

Let me begin by agreeing, agreeing, and saying: "Fuck the heck?" Among even the most ardent supporters of Boston, MA you will find few who think it is a "better" city than New York. New York is much larger, has many more people and things, and stays open very late. New York is awesome. Boston is also awesome, but in a smaller, more ornery way.

This is why I believe that this is one of those fun sports journalism articles designed to rile people up, get them screaming and yelling on the comment boards, make them send the link of the article to their buddy Weebs in Rehoboth with a note that says "Look at this fucking guy who thinks Boston sucks!" and drive traffic to the site. It's pretty transparently concocted to drive Boston fans nuts. Having said that, and knowing that I am 100% on to you, HatGuy, let me now spend two hours of my life reprinting and dissecting it. Then you'll see who's boss!

Beantown? That’s it? Beantown?

There may be a city with a worse nickname somewhere, although I’m not sure what it could possibly be. Is there a Phlegmville out there?

Well, thanks to the fine people at this site, I can offer you some options:

Annapolis, Maryland is "Crabtown." That's pretty bad. Beaver, OK -- already a terrible name for a place -- proudly self-identifies as "The Cow Chip Throwing Capital of the World." Well done. Birmingham, AL can't even really distinguish itself, when it announces that it's "The Pittsburgh of the South." Lyons, KS, about 30 miles due north of me here in Partridge, advertises itself as "The Unexpected Pleasure." Dubious, if you've ever been to Lyons. Santa Rosa, NM boasts that it's "The SCUBA-Diving Capital of New Mexico," which: isn't NM a land-locked desert? Noxubee County, Mississippi, waves on its flag: "Home of the Dancing Rabbit Festival and Magnolia Pilgrimage," next to which "Beantown" looks pretty effing good.

Boston also has: The Athens of America, The City of Kind Hearts, The Cradle of Liberty, The Hub of the Universe, and Puritan City, which are all pretty good.

On the one hand, you got Beantown. On the other, you got the Big Apple, Gotham, the City that Never Sleeps. Did Sinatra ever sing a song about Boston? Did anybody? Even the old rock group “Boston” never sang a song about Boston.

I don't love "The Big Apple," particularly, though it did lead to a truly excellent moment in rock music history when Mick Jagger exhorted: Go ahead / Bite the Big Apple / Don't mind the maggots. Gotham is okay, the City that Never Sleeps is wonderful. As for Sinatra, no, I don't believe he did ever sing about Boston. Though the band Boston certainly did. They even mention Hyannis, which is like Sinatra adding a line to "New York, New York" about how fun it is to hang out in Amagansett.

What were we talking about? Oh right -- nothing.

No wonder Boston has such an inferiority complex. Compared to New York, it really is inferior.

Again, in terms of cities qua cities, not a lot of dissent here. Not proving anything. Not getting anyone riled up. New York City, population: 8.2 million or so, the cultural, economic, and all-night society capital of the country/world, is "superior" to Boston, small/ancient/ provincial whaling town, population 600,000+. You really know how to take a controversial position.

This is like saying: "Benin? Fuck that. America is the superior country."

You want to put Boston in a good light, pick a comparable town. Like Cleveland. Or Sacramento. Maybe Minneapolis.

This is probably a good idea, actually. Comparable cities and climates (except Sacramento). I think Boston rates pretty favorably here, though the Cleveland Symphony Orchestra is among the finest in the world, and Minneapolis has an excellent music scene. Anyway, all fine cities, all better comps for Beantown than New York, which should only be compared to like London, Paris, Rome, Tokyo...places like that.

Now let's get to the really stupid part: sports.

OK, Boston’s won two World Series in the past four seasons and the Foxborough Patriots have won three of the past six Super Bowls. Even a New Yorker will admit that’s a nice little run. But can we have a little perspective here?

Most days of my life recently have included someone -- friend or new acquaintance -- saying some version of this to me: "Wow -- life is pretty good for you right now." And they are right, and they are not talking about my recent promotion to Associate District Director of Claims Oversight here at Fremulon Ins., Inc. What they are talking about is my love of New England-based sports franchises. And they are saying it because -- if you don't closely follow sports but somehow closely follow this blog -- the NE Patriots are about to play in their fourth Super Bowl in seven years, and feature a quarterback who is somehow handsomer at the end of each game than he was at the beginning; the Boston Red Sox have won two of the last four World Serieses; the Boston Celtics are 33-6; and also there is a hockey team.

That's a pretty amazing run, by any city's standards.

And since we are pretty clearly heading for a HatGuy history lesson, allow me to add for the record that the Yankees haven't won a World Series since 2000; the Giants are currently in the Super Bowl (the ostensible point of this article, I guess) but haven't generally been that good in the last several years; the Jets are the Jets; the Mets are the Mets (and were doubly the Mets last year); the Knicks, one suspects, are about to be disbanded after what will most likely be some kind of like RICO-style Federal intervention; and also there are two hockey teams.

In the first decade of this young century, there can be absolutely no question that Boston is the all-sports center of the universe. That's not fanboyism. That's just the situation. Soon, the ride will end, and maybe New York, or Dallas, or San Francisco, or Atlanta will emerge. But 2000-2008, so far, taking all sports into consideration, it's Boston, and anyone who says differently is stubborn or weird or looking for a scrap. Or HatGuy.

The Yankees won the World Series five straight years from 1949-53 and went to the World Series in 10 of 11 seasons. More recently, they won three straight and four out of five. The Red Sox have, what, six titles? Call me when you get to 26, which is what the Yankees have, and then I’ll start adding in all the titles won by the Giants, Dodgers and Mets and you can slink back up I-95 and comfort yourselves with a nice, warm pot of beans.

As far as baiting goes, this is pretty tepid stuff. My blood can boil, friends, and right now I'm maybe at like 98.7 or so. History doesn't concern me so much. England ruled the world for hundreds of years, but I'd invest in China right now over the UK if given the choice, no matter how many pro-Henry IV essays you might churn out. It also doesn't help your case so much when you point out that New York has had four professional baseball franchises, since it only highlights how absurd the comparison is between the two cities. (You think the Peruvian army is awesome? How about I send the US Marines, Navy, Army, Air Force, Coast Guard, and various state militias! Then we'll see how good Peru's army is!)

I’ll grant you that nobody has ever dominated any sport the way the old Celtics did back when the NBA wasn’t important enough to get its playoff games broadcast nationally. And the Bruins were a pretty good hockey team back when the Knicks, which used to be a basketball team, were also pretty good.

Thank you for acknowledging that the Celtics (still) have the most NBA titles. Bill Russell has more rings than fingers to put them on.

But what have you guys really done? Three football titles, which matches the three that the Giants and Jets have won — not counting pre-Super Bowl championships, of which the Giants have four.

What have you guys done? Three football titles, which is barely the same number as these two teams have when added together! Pathetic.

A couple of World Series wins after 86 years of nothing, zip, nada.

Yes, those were bad, dark days. Fortunately, they are over now, and the team has now won two of the last four. So things are looking up, I'd say.

A basketball team that could win a title again — 22 years after its last one. In the immortal words of former Net Derrick Coleman, whoop-de-damn-do.

It will be its seventeenth, if it happens. Why are you allowed to cite Yankee championships of the 1940's, Jet championships of the 60's, and Giant championships of the 80's, but all previous Celtics championships are disregarded with a pithy Derrick Coleman rebuff? As Mark Eaton once said, "What the fuck is your point?"

And when you get done feeling good about all of that, what’s left? New York has Broadway and Wall Street and Fashion Avenue and Harlem and Spanish Harlem and more museums than you can shake a palette knife at. Boston has, well, I’m not sure what it has. I was going to say Harvard and M.I.T., but those aren’t really in Boston; they’re across the river in Cambridge.

Burned! Boston, you got burned. Hard. That is a hard burn, man. Wow. That is some cold, cold shit right there. Damn! Burned to a crispy carbony ash. Bam. Shut down. Down for the count. TKO, HatGuy.

HatGuy is schizophrenically having the kind of argument two five year-olds might have about their dads.

"My dad has won a lot of sports championships recently."
"...Well...but...my dad has a Porsche."
"What does that have to do with sports championships?"
"...My house is bigger."

Anyway, even if we give Boston Harvard, when all of those movers and shakers take delivery of their sheepskins and go out into the great world, they don’t stay in Boston. They go to New York or Washington or somewhere else important.

Some of them stay in Boston. But yes, many of them do leave, so they can be in much bigger cities with more cultural, political, and economic advantages, like New York. You are so totally proving an awesome point!

Now, it may be that Boston has charms that I haven’t seen during my many visits to that town. And given the condition of the local streets, I never will see them.

Have you ever tried to get anywhere in Boston? There’s not a single 90-degree intersection in the entire city. And the next time someone stops for a red light will be the first.

New York -- and I say this having lived for several years in both places -- is a far more dangerous town for pedestrians. This might be due to the fact that it has 7.6 million more people, and people walk a lot more. I would put Boston navigation on the far end of the bell curve for difficulty, yes, but you really haven't seen difficult until you emerge drunkenly from a bar deep in the West Village at 4:18 AM and try to find Seventh Avenue.

OK, so there are subways, but they close down at night. What good is that?

It's not terrible. For a city of its size, Boston's T system is pretty clean, safe, and effective. And not surprising that New York's subways remain in operation for more hours, given, again, the 18.4 million person/tax base advantage they service.

Speaking of subways, have you ever wondered why in New York the subways are identified by letters and numbers, while in Boston they go by colors? Could it be that when they built their systems, people in New York could actually read and count? Just asking.

Am I most upset by (a) how bad a joke this is, (b) how lame a dig it is, (c) how clumsily it is presented, (d) how transparent an attempt to get Bostonites angry it is, or (e) that he ended it with "Just asking," as if that's like the final twist of the knife after this devastating indictment of Eastern Massachusetts's intelligence level? Oh -- or (f) the fact that Boston is famously like hyper-literate, rendering the whole dumb gambit nonsensical, to go along with lame and sad?

I'll say: (a).

I’ll grant that Boston was a great city as recently as 220 years ago. And while New York was coddling Tories because that’s where the money was, Boston was off firing the shot heard round the world and starting the Revolution. (Of course, once Boston started it and fought a battle or two, it shipped the whole thing off to New York, New Jersey and Philly and finally to the Carolinas and Virginia and took the rest of the war off.) Back then, the only city with as much cachet as Boston was Philadelphia.

Can anyone effing believe how long an article this is?

But when it came time to choose a capital for the newly formed United States, George Washington rode up to New York City. And when the Founding Fathers were looking for a place to put the National Treasure, they put that in New York, too — or was that just a movie?

I honestly wonder whether HatGuy knows that the U.S. Capital is currently not New York.

Anyway, it’s been a while since the days when if you said “Adams,” people didn’t automatically think of beer. Boston’s a fine little town, one that I have had many wonderful times in. But it ain’t New York, not in sports and not in anything else.

No, it is not New York in many many aspects. But it is far superior to New York in sports, 2000-present. And you are a poor flame-fanner.

I admit it’s not perfect in New York. We do have to put up with Donald Trump, and Rudy Giuliani refuses to shut up and go talk family values with his third wife.

Take...that?

But on the whole, it’s a heck of a town.

Yes it is, my friend. Yes, it is.

Now what the fuck is your point?

Labels: boston vs. new york, food metaphors, fremulon insurance, fuck the heck, HatGuy, mike celizic

Geez Louise.

What disturbs me about the Hall of Fame is that it appears to have morphed into a numbers honor. Benchmarks have been set for automatic entry: 3,000 hits, 500 homers, and 300 wins. Blogs allow more analysis from the world of sabermetrics. Pure statistical breakdowns are here to stay in baseball front offices. And they have earned their place. But the view here is their role in the Hall-of-Fame voting should be limited to clarifying one’s achievements, not defining the achievement.

I'm going to go ahead and agree with this. The Hall of Fame should not be just about numbers. But it should kind of be about numbers, right? Because, you know...they're numbers. They tell us things. In fact, it's numbers that should define a player's achievements, and anecdotal reporting that should clarify and elaborate on the numbers. So: you are exactly wrong, Ted Robinson.

Players must only be compared against their peers and within their eras. No number can be truly compared across generations for reasons so obvious they need not be offered here.

Except that there is ERA+. And OPS+, EqA+, and WARP3. And others. So, the reasons aren't so obvious to me.

If a deep study is needed to buttress a player’s case, it is most likely an unworthy argument.

First of all, nice use of "buttress," which is a fancy word that makes people sound smart. Second of all, saying that studying is lame is usually reserved for dumb jocks in John Hughes movies. So, good work aligning yourself with them.

Bottom line: the Hall of Fame is about quality, not quantity.

Why are these things mutually exclusive? Why not say: The Hall of Fame is about quality and quantity? What bad thing would happen if someone wrote that? Hell, I just wrote it and I seem to be -- my eyes!!! No!!! What is happening?!?!?!?1/?!?

Leonard Koppett, the late New York sportswriter who has been honored by the baseball and basketball Halls of Fame, told me repeatedly that his Hall-of-Fame voting standard was simple: if he had to think about the player’s candidacy, then the vote was no. To Leonard, a Hall of Famer was obvious.

Excellent. A new criterion for HOF induction: induce the right answer in a game of word association with Leonard Koppett.

I have immense respect for the passion displayed by those who analyze baseball in new ways. They often present fresh and compelling arguments on Hall of Fame candidates, Rob Neyer being the best of the group. But I hold firmly that my 22 years of traveling with MLB teams provided the best perspectives and judgments on players.

Quick diversion coming up.

Every beat writer/broadcaster has had the greatest education baseball can provide -- the daily intimacy through which we learn about the unique rhythms of the game, the people who play it, and what makes them succeed or fail. Dispassionate analysis can support but never replace or supersede that education. Is there emotion and subjectivity in such an approach? Most likely, but that’s a price well paid in determining an honor so important.

Some diversionary things:

This may neither be here nor there. But. It is, in my opinion, the utter lack of objectivity amongst the entire BBWAA that led to the biggest scandal in pro sports in decades -- widespread, in-plain-air doping amongst a significant portion of the players' union -- going unreported for more than a decade. Emotion and subjectivity are nice if you're you, Ted, and you get to hang out with baseball players who call you "Teddy" or "Slim" or "Thunder Boner" or something. But if you're me, and you rely on the BBWAA for news, information, and judgments about a sport you love, then emotion and subjectivity suck ass.

They are not charming or cool or things to be celebrated and valued. They are a shitty trump card that writers use to tell the world that you just don't understand. You had to be there. I know stuff you don't. You can look at all the numbers you want, but guess what, computer boy. I sat at Jack Morris's feet when he was soaking in the whirlpool before game 7 of the Series and held a plastic tobacco-juice cup to his mouth. And I asked him, "Jack, how do you feel?" And he leaned over and spat into the cup, and some of the juice got on my hand and shirt and stuff, and that juice smelled like...victory. And I stared into his eyes, and he had a look about him that said: I'm gonna throw a shutout. And that: that is the only piece of information I need to know that Jack Morris is a Hall of Famer.

So fuck you, guy who didn't do that.

(My guess is, he didn't hear the question, and the look in his eye was, "Why is this dude sitting so close to me when I'm naked?)

I like subjectivity and emotion. I am a Red Sox fan, and when I watch Red Sox games I get pretty effing subjective and emotional. Before 2004, I often accused Major League Baseball of planning and enacting a conspiracy to keep the Red Sox from winning a World Series -- a conspiracy that included the umpires' union, stadium construction firms, Fox TV, Curt Gowdy, whoever invented the Weather Machine that pushed Bucky Dent's ball over the Monster in 1978, and thousands of others, reaching into the upper tiers of our nation's government. Once, during a Sox-Yankees playoff game in 1999, I emotionally subjectified a glass duck through the window of my apartment. But when it comes to things like permanent enshrinement in the Hall of Fame, can't we tone down the emotional subjectivity? Can't the basis for enshrinement be career numbers, with emotional subjectivity serving as the final dash of icing on top of the delicious objective cake?

No? Okay. Keep going.

With that background, Tuesday can bring legitimacy to the electorate if Goose Gossage and Jack Morris are voted in to the Hall of Fame.

Uh oh.

Let me start by saying I have never met Gossage but he is being dealt a great wrong by not being in the Hall of Fame.

So: recap:

A. You can't really know whether someone is worthy of the Hall of Fame unless you cover baseball and travel with the teams...unless you hang out with the players during their careers...unless you lick the sweat off their foreheads after a game...unless you personally hand-wash their undershirts, deeply breathing in the pungent fumes left by their dirty, subjective bodies. That's the only way you can truly know a man well enough to determine whether he is a Hall of Famer.

B. I have never met Goose Gossage, but he is definitely a Hall of Famer.

Dennis Eckersley and Bruce Sutter belong, but so does Gossage -- the most feared reliever since the closer role developed.

Every time someone makes an argument about a player by saying that player was the "most feared," I barf a little on myself.

Here’s what I know. In 1980, I stood just outside the Oakland dugout as Gossage entered in the ninth inning with a one-run lead. Billy Martin, the A’s manager, turned to summon pinch-hitters but he couldn’t find any. The lefty hitters, most likely to be drafted, had scattered. No one wanted to face Gossage in his prime. Not one batter was anywhere near the bat rack. Martin’s coaches had to round up the available men. I have never seen a similar moment.

I'm calling bullshit here. When a team's closer comes in for the ninth, do you often find tons of guys lingering around the bat rack hoping to get a chance to jump into the game cold against a (usually) really good pitcher? That's a common sight in baseball? And what were the other circumstances? Had one of the A's pitchers hit a Yankee the day before? Was Gossage drunk?

Now, obviously, I wasn't there. Gossage was an awesome pitcher, and guys fear awesome pitchers with fu manchus. But: I just don't think the entire team was cowering under the bench and fainting like a bunch of Southern belles when Sherman's armies closed on Atlanta.

Here's where things get really good.

I spent many hours with Morris during the 1991 season and developed an intense admiration for his pitching as you’ll read below.

I was pleasantly stunned to read a glowing endorsement for Morris in the Sunday New York Times. All the sensible reasons that Morris should already be an inductee were presented. Simply, he was the best pitcher of his time (this seems to surprise some but wins and losses are the prime currency of baseball and Morris was the winningest pitcher of his full decade, the 1980s).

1. If he was the best pitcher of his time, why didn't the hallowed BBWAA -- the selfsame organization you seem to hold in such high esteem because they travel with the players -- ever vote him the best pitcher in his league? Ever? Once?

2. For that matter, why didn't they ever vote him second-best?

3. Morris started pitching in 1977. There were a lot of good pitchers hanging around at that time. Ron Guidry was pretty good in 1978. Bret Saberhagen debuted in 1984. Roger Clemens enters stage left in 1984 and kicks things into high gear in 1986. Maddux didn't show up until 1988, really, and Jim Palmer's last good year was 1982. So, Morris just happened to show up at the right time -- hitting his stride at the age of 25 in 1980 -- to have a very good 1980-1989.

He (-slash his team's batters and relief pitchers) won 162 games in the 1980s. Excellent job. Is your old buddy Jim Kaat a Hall of Famer, Ted? Because from 1966-1975 he won 162 games. That's a decade. From 1962 to 1971 he won 159. That's also a decade. Why aren't we hearing about how Jim Kaat won a ton of games from 1966-1975? Oh -- right. Because completely randomly, 1966-1975 isn't a stupidly arbitrary "clean decade."

Saying that Jack Morris should be in the Hall of Fame because he won the most games in the 1980s is like saying that lots of crazy shit is going to happen the second the clock strikes midnight on Dec. 31, 1999. Because it's the year 2000!! A round number!!! That is significant!!!!!

He was a good pitcher who won a lot of games = okay argument.

Those games are more meaningful as a group because they occurred during years that begin with 198 = irrelevant irrelevant irrelevant stupid stupid come on people we're better than this.

And his postseason exploits in a culture that reveres winners and humbles the runner-up (check on that with Fran Tarkenton, Bud Grant, Jim Kelly or Marv Levy) should be indisputable.

Postseason:

7-4 with a 3.80 ERA overall. 64 Ks and 32 BB in 92.1 innings. Not bad. 3-2 with a 4.87 ERA in LCS play. 0-1 with a 6.57 in the 1992 ALCS in 2 starts. (But he made up for it in the World Series, though, when he went 0-2 with an 8.44 ERA in two starts.)

Jack Morris pitched really really well in several postseason games, including one truly great 10-inning outing. But he also pitched crappily in several postseason games. His postseason exploits, therefore, are eminently disputable.

(Also, Fran Tarkenton, Bud Grant, Jim Kelly and Marv Levy were "humbled" to the tune of: all of them are in the Football Hall of Fame. Weird choices.)

Somehow the numbers folks have dissected Morris and point to his 3.90 career ERA (3.73 if you eliminate his final two over-the-hill years)

Do you get to do that now? It's like figure skating judging? You get rid of the two worst years? Then let's also get rid of his two best years. So, subtract 42 wins and like 450 Ks from his totals. Also, a minor drop in ERA from 3.90 to 3.73, when you get rid of his two highest year totals, highlights the fact that he was pretty consistently between the mid-upper 3's and 4's over his entire career.

or his 254 wins (the benchmark factor. [sic]

Not the benchmark factor if you are a thinking human being.

([sic] is for inexplicable lack of close parens.)

I often read pieces that degrade the presence of players already inducted to inflate another’s candidacy. That tact is distasteful. If you care, just compare Morris with his peers, including those already in the Hall of Fame. In every measure of quality, Morris is a no-brainer. In measures that are more significant to the analysts (ERA, WHIP, etc.), Morris can be tainted.

So:

If you look at "every measure of quality" (or: wins, I guess) he gets in.

If you look at "measures that are more significant to the analysts" (or, by elimination, things that are not "measures of quality") he does not.

Thus: he does not.

Problem with that thinking is that Morris was the top dog on three World Series title teams. Find me a peer who matches that claim.

So, here's your plan: first, challenge me to find a man who was lucky (and skilled) enough to be on three teams that made the World Series. Hard to do, right? And then use that like a club to beat me over the head when I say that Jack Morris might not belong in the HOF.

Also, call Morris the "top dog" of the 1992 Blue Jays Postseason despite the fact that he lost both of his WS starts, including giving up 7 ER in 4.2 IP with a chance to close out the Series in Game Five.

Indisputable!!!!!

Morris wasn’t a stat man’s lover, he just won. Let’s make sure everyone has that one more time. Morris was the number one guy on three World Series winners. And he pitched one of the two greatest postseason games in history.

Bert Blyleven's career postseason #'s: 5-1, 2.47 ERA, 38/8 K/BB ratio in 47 innings. Fuck him.

And if you're going to use that one awesome game 7 to bludgeon me with a pro-vote, I will use that one stinky Game 5 to bludgeon you with my anti-vote. He gave up 7 runs in 4 2/3 innings in a clinching game! He's one of the worst choke-artists in starting pitching history. He let his team down. He blew it. He's Jean Van de Velde. He's worse than Ralph Branca. He doesn't belong in the Hall of Anything. He sucks!!!!!

(Crazy, right? It's what you're doing, only from the opposition party. So cool it.)

But here’s what I remember: late September 1991 and Minnesota is trying to clinch the AL West. The Twins are in Toronto where the Jays are looking to finish off the East. Morris was in the throes of a divorce throughout the summer. Often his mind would wander and the pain that can only be known to those with like experiences would surface. That weekend in Toronto seemed to be a time when the cumulative weight of his personal life crashed down upon Morris. Yet, on a Saturday afternoon, he calmly went to the SkyDome mound and tossed a shutout at Toronto that clinched a division tie for the Twins.

Here's what I just looked up on a computer: Morris's 105 career ERA+ ties him for 460th all-time, with (among others) Zane Smith, Denny Naegle, and Paul Byrd.

After that, Game 7 of the World Series, one month later, was no surprise. And it’s why Morris passes the Leonard Koppett test --no thought needed. He is a Hall of Famer.

Even if I afford you the opportunity to apply the excellently-reasoned Leonard Koppet Test, Jack Morris demands a ton of thought. A fucking ton. He was a very good pitcher who did some great pitching things, but cold hard indisputable facts tell us that his career just does not measure up to "no-brainer" HOFers. Greg Maddux -- no thought. Tom Seaver, Walter Johnson, Steve Carlton, Pedro Martinez, Bob Gibson -- no thought.

Jack Morris? Are you kidding me? No thought?

And by the way, you started your argument with this:

If a deep study is needed to buttress a player’s case, it is most likely an unworthy argument.

Then you talked about Jack Morris's divorce, calculated his ERA if you drop his two worst seasons, referenced Fran Tarkenton, Bud Grant, Jim Kelly and Marv Levy, and cited a game Morris pitched on September 28, 1991. This isn't a deep study?

Congratulations to Goose Gossage, an excellent pitcher who probably deserves to be in the Hall of Fame. My condolences to Jim Rice, who probably does not belong in the Hall of Fame, and was not elected. My congratulations to the BBWAA for not stretching like crazy to elect Jack Morris into the Hall of Fame. And my "Fuck the Heck?" to the one dude who voted for Todd Stottlemyre.

Let's see that argument.

Labels: bert blyleven, food metaphors, fuck the heck, hall of fame, jack morris, ted robinson, todd stottlemyre

Joe Morgan is supposed to be fired. Not placed in the Baseball Hall of Fame. Again.

The late Bill King, who called Oakland Athletics games for 25 years, and Hall of Fame second baseman Joe Morgan of ESPN's Sunday Night Baseball coverage were the other two broadcasters placed on the ballot by online voters.

Fuck the heck?!

Online voters. You sons of bitches.

Joe Morgan, baseball player = one of the very very best second basemen of all time. Athletic, gifted, great eye, great hitter, great fielder, just absolutely all-around magnificent.

Joe Morgan, announcer = whatever the opposite of the "Hall of Fame" is.

Labels: fuck the heck, hall of fame, joe morgan

Crowded FJM house chez Anthony Baseball. We got Junior, Coach, Jimmy Ballgame, Anthony Baseball, Anthony Baseball Sr., Murbles and dak all watching Alabama - Georgia on ESPN. Just waiting for the grill to get warm.

So. Alabama kicks a field goal to go up 23-20 in Overtime. Mike Patrick, apropos of absolutely zero, has something to say. Todd Blackledge plays the part of the baffled color man.

MP: "I have an important question. What is Britney doing with her life?"
TB: "Who?"
MP: "Britney!"
TB: "...Britney who?"
MP: "Spears! What is she doing with her career?"
TB: "Why do we care at this point?...Is she here?"
MP: "I don't think so."
TB: "Is she a football fan?"
MP: "Oh I'm sure she is." [two seconds pass] "Georgia from the 25."

Georgia then wins the game on the next play.

Labels: britney spears, fuck the heck, mike patrick

Thanks to reader Greg, we are introduced to Jim Mooney of the Ottawa Sun:

Is A-Rod the best player in MLB this season?

No: Jim Mooney

A .313 average, 52 home runs, 141 RBIs and 134 runs with two weeks to play? He is the best "hitter" in the game this year, without dispute.

Why is "hitter" in quotes? Is "hitting" an unimportant part of the equation? Sure, he's the best "hitter" in the game. But can he cook? And what's his high score on "Snood?" This is the "Best Player in Baseball" contest, man! Factor this shizz in!

However, defensively he lags behind pretty much any third baseman not named Troy and he's despised by opponents and teammates alike.

Is ARod the best player in MLB this season? No. Because he is despised by people. In order to be good at baseball you have to be well-liked. Take Ty Cobb, for example. Or Ted Williams -- a true mensch. Bob Gibson handed out turkeys to homeless dudes every Thanksgiving. Reggie Jackson was basically a father figure/therapist for his teammates. And Roger Clemens was voted "Sweetest" and "Girls' Choice for Brother" in the 2004 MLB Yearbook.

Also, for what it's worth, ARod is fine defensively. Not the best ever, but fine.

MLB's best player? Magglio Ordonez, Ichiro Suzuki, Vladimir Guerrero, Derek Jeter and a handful of others in the AL alone will split that vote. Apparently exotic dancers really like him though.

Terrible, terrible antecedent problem here, with the last sentence. Also..fuck the heck?

WARP3/EqA

Magglio: 10.6/.351
Ichiro: 11.4/.311 (with a like .435 SLG).
Vlad: 8.5/.329
Jetes: 8.7/.294
ARod: 13.7/.361

Where, oh where, is the debate?

(EDIT: It has been brought to my attention that this Mooney fellow may just be a reader of the paper, not a writer. Not that it matters, in the long run.)

Labels: arod, fuck the heck, jim mooney

Close up shop. Blow the team sky-high. Take that 81-55 record and shove it up your pee holes, because it's meaningless.

As we all know, the World Series trophy is awarded every year to the team with the fieriest passions. Who will scream and yell and curse the most? Who will fill the dugout with tears of insanity? Who will give the most hugs? These are the questions that will be answered in October, when we once again crown The Most Emotional, And Therefore Best, Team In Baseball.

Unfortunately, Red Sox, Eric Wilbur has decided that that team will not be you this year.

They have the best record in baseball (barely), but they aren't baseball's best team.

Tell me about it. Just look at these run differentials!

Red Sox +184
Yankees +144
Angels +91
Indians +77

What a bunch of losers!

They have the best pitching in the majors, but with a lineup of increasingly frustrating incompetence.

And we all know the old saying: hitting wins in the playoffs.

They are going to win the American League East for the first time since 1995. They may even have home-field advantage throughout October.

But there is no way these Red Sox are winning the World Series.

There you have it. Eric Wilbur is offically putting the odds of the Red Sox, the team with the best record and best run differential in baseball, at 0%. 0 out of 30. 0 out of a million. Zero.

I'm going to go ahead and say that if the Red Sox make the playoffs, their odds of winning the Series are about 1 in 8. But let's read on. I'm sure Eric has some sound baseball reasons behind eliminating them altogether on August 30.

As far and as much as a fire for playing the game is concerned, the Yankees, Angels, and Indians all have to be considered superior American League squads.

Yep. Did it. Changed my mind. Forgot about fire. My bad. Can't win shit without fire. Gotta be fiery. Fire it up, Yankees, Angels, and Indians! You're all contenders for the World Series this year! Of course, as is the case every year, the World Series will be awarded to Ozzie Guillen and Ozzie Guillen alone.

First-place Los Angeles put on the clamps, and shut down the Mariners to take control of the West with a 5 1/2-game lead over Seattle. The Indians put any lingering thoughts the Twins might have had about getting back into the race by sweeping and putting Minnesota in a nine-game hole.

Very good use of the little-known MLB loophole (Rule 35.17 in the rulebook): "Performance in the last series of August shall be used to determine World Series championship eligibility, pursuant to Fieriness Clause in Rule 42.9." Red Sox got swept by the Yankees, as you recall, so they are ineligible for the World Series this year. Too bad, fans.

Additional note: the Yankees (run differential of +144) are a much, much better team than both the Mariners (+4) and the Twins (+23).

Your Boston Red Sox? They go to the Bronx and show all the passion of a weasel on Xanax in getting swept by the Yankees, who made them look foolish offensively and even suspect on the mound, where Boston has honed its greatest strength this season.

Is a weasel a particularly passionless creature? It seems like this joke would've worked better with an especially docile animal. My pitches:

sloth (a little obvious, but point gets made)
basset hound (droopy face, droopy eyes, droopy ears; slow-moving)
armadillo (these things don't seem that passionate -- prove me wrong)
Asian person (get a pulse, am I right, guys?)

Auxiliary pitch:

instead of Xanax, how about "(passionless animal or Asian person) on downers"?

It's a different brand of baseball come autumn, and it's now completely evident that the Red Sox don't have that (bleep) 'em attitude that defined their 2004 predecessors. The Yankees have it. The Angels have it. The Indians seem like they have it. The Red Sox? I give you J.D. Drew.

2007 Red Sox: Good pitching, not enough fuck 'em
2007 Yankees: Rag-taggest, underdoggest, scrappiest, fuck 'em-iest team ever!

Doesn't it seem like J.D. Drew is the quintessential fuck 'em player? The guy clearly doesn't give a shit, ever. The always helpful Urban Dictionary defines "fuck 'em" as "In a state in which a person could careless [sic] about a person, place, thing or a group." J.D. Drew cares so little about baseball it looks like he's on the verge of taking a nap in between pitches. If you look closely at his face, he actually mouths the words "fuck 'em" on every feeble missed swing he takes.

For all the warranted criticism hammered upon the underperforming outfielder, his emotionless approach to the game has seemingly become this team's calling card.

J.D. Drew = Emotion Cancer

For all the passion emitted from guys like Josh Beckett, Kevin Youkilis, Jonathan Papelbon, and David Ortiz, on the whole the Red Sox are a squad that comes to the office, does their business with zombie-like efficiency, says all the right things afterward, and then has fans scratching their heads wondering if there is anything special here at all. That's J.D. Drew, and that is the Red Sox.

There you go. It's not enough to have the best record in baseball. It's not enough to have the best pitching staff. They're not special enough. Not special like the turd of a team the St. Louis Cardinals were last year. Not fire-breathing passionate personality monsters like the dynastic San Antonio Spurs are in basketball. Not emotional, constantly weeping, frighteningly volatile like Bill Belichick and the Patriots.

I also love that he names four very passionate essential Red Sox players in an article decrying the lack of passion on the team. I mean, seriously, let's do an inventory real quick:

Passionate (Special, World Series-worthy, Fiery, Prone To Being On Fire, Combustible, Flammable, Inflammable)
Beckett
Youkilis
Papelbon
Ortiz
Schilling
Varitek
Pedroia
Lowell (borderline, but he's a Cagey Veteran who sublimates his fire into Lunchpailism)
Wakefield
Gagne (facial hair! curses in French!)
Crisp (diving catches! leaps into walls!)
Buchholz (hugged a lot of people last night!)
Tavarez (once murdered a drifter with a mini-screwdriver!)

Dispassionate (Not Special, Emotionally Cancerous, Membership On Team Automatically Disqualifies Team For World Series)

Drew
Manny
Lugo
Matsuzaka (Japanese robot)

Honestly: Red Sox, passionate or not? You make the call.

Curt Schilling came out of New York with the best outing of any starter, but was victimized greatly by a Manny Ramirez-less lineup that had the following 6-9 hitters: Drew, Jason Varitek, Eric Hinske, Alex Cora. Beckett pitched well when he needed to wriggle out of jams, but 13 hits?

Disregard this paragraph; we're talking about who's going to win the World Series, not about baseball stuff.

Daisuke Matsuzaka at this point is an enigma, and has not had a memorable, step-up, "wow" performance in his rookie season other than a recent 1-0 outing at Cleveland.

Would've rewritten to say "Daisuke Matsuzaka is at this point an inscrutable, crafty, math-genius enigma ... "

Also, re: "wow" games -- how about that complete game, one run affair against the vaunted Tiger offense? How about a span of four consecutive games where he allowed a total of two runs (and in the process struck out 8, 9, 8, and 9)? How about the month of June, when he had a 1.59 ERA? (I guess that doesn't count because there were some National League teams mixed in, and everyone knows you do not play National League teams in the process of winning the World Series.) Is anyone wowed by the fact that he's struck out 174 Major League batters in 176.1 innings?

The days of late-inning heroics are long gone; the celebrations of leaping men in uniform at home plate a thing of the past.

This is the same group of guys who scored six in the ninth to beat Baltimore, and there were plenty of leaping men in uniform last night, if I recall.

That was the identity of the Red Sox these past few years, more than often bailed out by Ortiz. What is this team's identity?

Best record in baseball. Good team. Good pitching. Solid starters, excellent bullpen.

We've sought so long and hard for one that by now it has become evident that it doesn't really have one. Theo Epstein wanted to rid himself of the "Idiot" culture, but he has replaced it with a collection so vanilla in attitude that one has to wonder what the consensus is when adversity is placed in front of the OPS objective.

Not to get all Michiko Kakutani here or anything, but how can an "objective" encounter "adversity"? Can an "objective" really reach a "consensus"? Can an "attitude" be "vanilla"? That's just weird. A lot of abstract nouns doing a lot of active things in there, Wilbur.

Where's the fire? Where's the passion?

Mark my words: Tim Duncan will never win a championship. Pete Sampras will never win a tournament. John Stockton sucked balls. Ivan Lendl was so bad at tennis whenever he touched a tennis ball it would explode and kill fourteen innocent bystanders. Unless you scream and curse and cry and pump your fist and chop your groin all at the same time, you will never be good at sports.

The Yankees welcomed the Red Sox into their home and were ready to pounce, even after falling one night earlier to Detroit, 16-0. Their zeal was evident from pitch one on Tuesday.

Their zeal was evident in that they won. They won the games. That's why this article was written. If the Sox had taken one or two of the games, regardless of how passionate they looked while doing it, this article doesn't exist. Winning. Winning is important. Winning makes guys leap into each others' arms. Winning makes David Ortiz crush people with bear hugs. Winning at sports.

Now, before we get out of hand, let's be fair and rewind the clock. It was Sept. 17-19 of '04 when the Red Sox invaded Yankee Stadium for three, starting with a thrilling 3-2 win on Friday night, and ending with embarrassing 12-5 and 11-4 losses the next two days. The next weekend, the Yanks made Pedro Martinez their adopted son.

One month later, none of it mattered.

Way to disprove your own article.

Maybe we're being a bit too revisionist, erroneously remembering the 2004 squad as a group that could change water into wine, slay the dragons that unwelcomingly inhabit the Charles, and accurately able to translates the mayor's jabberings. But still, that team had a certain undeniable ardor that this edition is severely lacking.

New sports word: ardor! Ardor: does your team have it? A short radio play:

Joe Buck: Well, Tim, you have to like the Red Sox' starting pitching and bullpen, but how do you feel about their ardor?

Tim McCarver: Ardor is a funny thing, Joe. It's like Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart said about pornography: "I know it when I see it." And with these Red Sox, I just don't see it.

JB: How do you know it when you see it, Tim?

TM: For me, it's when you see the dick going in.

(ten minutes of silence)

TM: Oh. I see. You were talking about ardor.

"You know what happens when you wake a sleeping giant," Papelbon said yesterday after the Chamberlain incident.

Yes. But whether the Red Sox are indeed a snoozing leviathan or indolent group of nondescript ballplayers remains the question.

Hey Eric Wilbur, indolent means "slothful, lazy, idle." You really think a large percentage of Red Sox players are slothful, lazy, and idle? Okay, dude. Have fun telling them that.

Plus, nondescript? Tell me: which team, other than the Yankees, has more descript players than the fucking Boston fucking Red Sox? We're talking descript as hell here. Ortiz, Schilling, Manny, Dice-K, Papelbon, Beckett. These guys are unique, superfamous uberstars. Even the role players are descript: Youkilis is Moneyball-famous, Pedroia is three feet tall, Coco Crisp has a funny name, Wakefield throws a knuckler, Varitek is supposedly a god of intangibles. I'll tell you who's nondescript: the Pittsburgh Pirates.

They're one of the best teams in the game, no doubt, and have an outside shot at a 100-win season. But be honest, can you really imagine this group as World Series champions?

Yes. Broken record: very good pitching, decent hitting, dependable bullpen. No one's a lock, of course, but they have a shot, sure.

On the flip side, nobody expected Detroit and St. Louis to be in the World Series last year after the way they played much of August.

Way to disprove your own article, part II.

But the fact that there is something so maddeningly lacking on the Red Sox in terms of fire and inspiration still has much of the baseball world looking elsewhere when trying to pinpoint a winner. They can do it.

No, you can't backtrack and say they can do it now. You can't. I'm not allowing it. The whole thesis of this article is that they can't do it because they're not emotional. They're not special. You're not buying it back here.

They just have shown us no reason why anyone should think they could.

81-55. AL-best 3.75 ERA. Fourth in MLB in runs scored. No reason.

Guys scream and pump their fists and point to the sky and give each other funny handshakes when they win. For the last time, it's not the other way around.

Labels: eric wilbur, fire, food metaphors, fuck 'em, fuck the heck, oh my god, passion, red sox, that can't be right

It's a cloudy, muggy Sunday afternoon here in Partridge, KS., getting up to 88 later, and it looks like it might pour any second. Normally, this would be fine with me, as I would just sit in my den and watch baseball for ten hours. Except: today, Fremulon Ins., Inc. has called me into the office.

Emergency restructuring of the pension plans, thanks to ripples sent through our investment portfolio due to the sub-prime mortgage crisis. Booooo-ring. After a couple hours of research, I think to myself I think, "What am I doing working so hard? It's Sunday, for land's sake!" So I open my FJM e-mail, and voila: the perfect distraction. I find a little piece of heaven linked from reader Matthew. It's by a delightfully spry old cooter named Jerry Green, from the Detroit News, who has a bone to pick. Jerry wants to know:

What ever happened to hitting homers for the team?

A quick search of the ol' memory banks, and the baseball rules contained therein, will remind us that the points, or "runs," that are granted to the team of a player who hits a home run out of selfishness, egotism, and Ayn Randian self-interest will exactly equal the points his team gets if he goes deep, like, altruistically. So, already a bit confused, let's read on to see what has Jerry's panties in a bunch.

The digital clock over the TV is pushing toward 11 in the p.m., ticking toward bedtime, and on the color screen there goes another shot. Deep, deep, going gone.

I am not usually one to make fun of older people. But in this, the very first paragraph of an article on baseball in the year 2007, Jerry sees fit to specifically mention that his clock is digital, and his television has a "color" screen. When was the last time anyone regularly watched non-color TV? The only reason one might go out of one's way to mention that one's screen is colorized is if, subconsciously, this fact is still kind of a big deal. (And what are you doing watching baseball highlights at 11:00 anyway, Jerry? The Steve Allen Show is on soon.)

"He went yard," shouts the announcer, using for the 15th time in the last 10 minutes ESPN's favorite network-contrived cliché for the old-fashioned home run.

I yawn. Again.

It is the fifth time I have seen this same home run, er, yard shot, in the last 23 minutes.

Too bad Michigan law mandates that you have to keep watching it.

Alas, I am too dazed to push that little silver escape button, the off gizmo, and retire to my current book.

Again. I have nothing against old people. Many of my best friends are old people. My college roommate was an old person. But when you overexplain, in print, what a "remote control" is, and refer to it as a "gizmo," you (a) are playing up how old and crotchety you are as a badge of honor, (b) are just too old to remember where the "delete" key is on your keyboard, or (c) are Andy Rooney.

I am part of the vast captive audience. There is no escape. There is no mercy.

...There is "changing the channel," isn't there?

My ankles are locked, my eyelids are drooping, but I can barely drag myself to the sack.

These things happen. Calcium chews and multivitamins will help.

I am victim of our pop sports culture.

ESPN believes that it invented the home run.

We have been fed this summer a steady dose of milestones.

Sammy Sosa's 600th home run.

Alex Rodriguez's 500th home run.

Barry Bond's 754th, 755th, 756th, 758th, and onward, home runs.

One might argue that we haven't been "fed" these things, so much as they have "happened." And are "of interest." To people who "like sports."

Over and over, while we remain prisoners.

The other night, honest, Karl Ravech, the moderator of ESPN's Baseball Tonight show, had a segment: "The best three things and the worst three things that happened since Bonds' 754th home run." This followed: "The Minnesota Twins are 6 and 2 since Bonds' 754th home run."

This a day after Bonds surpassed Henry Aaron's home-run record with No. 756.

I am no fan of ESPN these days. They do a lot of incredibly stupid segments that have nothing to do with sports coverage, like "Who's Now?" and "Getttin' Heavy" and "NASCAR Hip-Hop Thunder!" and "Which Sandwich?" But after months of research I have devised a way to avoid these irritants: don't watch them.

E -- Embarrassing!

S -- Silly!

P -- Puerile!

N -- Nonsensical!

Man. You really went for it here, didn't you, Jerry. I bet you wish you could take this back. I mean, you put each one of these things on a different line, and punctuated with exclamations. You have a lot of confidence in this humor trope.

And I remain in captivity, addicted to the pre-dreamtime baseball scores and TV images.

Reading is an option. The internet also provides sports information. Did you read Tim Page's first-person account of Asberger's Syndrome in the New Yorker