2020: MLB Unmasked

 

The true creed of this nation has always been: value the dollar over the individual. Major League Baseball followed that creed to the letter in 2020.

As we all remember, professional sports were forced to shut down in March due to the coronavirus pandemic. The virus raged on until mid-May, when the number of new cases began to drop. That’s when the haggling began.

MLB put together a plan for a shortened season, but its salary proposal to the players union was immediately rejected. The two sides argued back and forth for weeks until MLB finally agreed to the union’s demand that the players earn a prorated salary based on the length of the shortened season. Sixty regular season games were scheduled, so all players (except those lucky few who were owed a club option in their contract for 2020) would make roughly 37 percent of their 2020 salaries. However, the players actually made much less than 37 percent, because the $170 million advance they collectively received from MLB back in April could only be kept if the 2020 season was cancelled completely.

I know you’re probably thinking that anyone getting paid in the seven-to-eight-figure range has no right to complain, but keep in mind that a large chunk of players aren’t actually millionaires (i.e. - bench players, middle relievers and virtually everyone who’s been in the league less than three years). I admit that the squabbling between the league and players came off as petty, but there’s an overlying reality that leaves me emphatically siding against the league and owners.

I personally felt like MLB should have canceled the season outright back in March. Unlike the NBA and NHL, baseball did not have the luxury of placing all 30 teams in a single quarantined area to play a shortened season, and anyone who paid even the slightest attention to the CDC and NIAID Director Dr. Fauci knew that the reprieve from the pandemic was only temporary.

Predictably, by the time the season began on July 24, the second wave of the virus swept across the nation at double the intensity of the first. Within the first few weeks, the Miami Marlins and St. Louis Cardinals both suffered COVID-19 outbreaks that each infected more than a dozen players and staff. Each team was forced to take a week off and play out their 60-game schedules with a grueling stretch of doubleheaders. This was exactly why the season was postponed in the first place.

A few players decided on their own to sit out the entire season due to the pandemic, and I salute them. Given how virulent this virus is, if you’re not doing everything you can to prevent exposure, both for your and everyone around you, you’re making it worse. The one thing MLB got right was not allowing any fans in the stands during the regular season, but I personally feel that it was the league’s human obligation to stand up and say, “There will be no baseball in 2020. We refuse to put our fans or our players in harm’s way.” The only professional sport more profitable than baseball is football, so they could’ve withstood the financial blow of a season-long lockout. Hell, that already happened to the NBA and the NHL. But in the true American capitalist tradition, MLB let money dictate its decisions.

Due to my strong feelings on this issue, I barely watched any baseball until the World Series. I could not support the game I loved being played in such horrible circumstances. I can’t remember the last time I went a whole spring and summer without it, and that’s probably why I’m so baseball crazy now.

MLB’s gamble paid off in the end, so I’m sure baseball will return for a full season in 2021. With sanity and basic human decency returning to White House in a few weeks and vaccines being widely distributed, I’ll feel better about watching as well.

A big thank you to everyone who read my latest ramblings. Happy New Year, and let’s all hope for a safer and happier 2021!

The Roads Less Traveled

As I stated in my first post of this series, I’ve gone to five major league games that didn’t feature the Phillies or the Orioles. I’d like to talk about those games in more detail, as each one was unique. This post will cover the first three games.

 

Mariners @ Cardinals, July 4, 2004: Back in my college days, I was a member of a community service organization called Circle K (the college level of the more familiar Kiwanis). I attended its International Convention in St. Louis, and it marked the first time in my life that I ventured west of the Mississippi River. In the weeks leading up to the big event, members from the Kansas District of Circle K sent a message to all of the convention attendees, inviting anyone who was interested to join them at a Cardinals-Mariners game, taking place directly after hotel checkout on the convention’s final day. Of the hundreds of people who received that invitation, I was the only one to accept. It helped that me and several other members from my home district were staying in St. Louis an extra night.

I met five or six people from the Kansas District, all of them very funny and personable, and we took the short walk to the old Busch Stadium, which was in its final year before the new and current Busch Stadium replaced it. Our seats were in the second-to-last row of the upper deck, but given how hot it was outside, we felt fortunate to sit in the shade. As I was in their home ballpark, and I still heavily favored the National League over the American League at this point in my life, I rooted for the Cardinals, who beat the Mariners, 2-1. However, I also still harbored bitter feelings toward former Phillie, Scott Rolen, so while I cheered for every other Cardinal when they came up to bat, I booed Rolen. He clearly couldn’t hear me from that high in the stratosphere, as he collected two hits and drove in a run. This was the first of four times that I would see the legendary Ichiro Suzuki at a game, and though I didn’t know it at the time, he was in the middle of a historic season that would see him break George Sisler’s all-time record for hits in a season with 262. I saw one of those hits that day. By the way, St. Louis is a cool city, and if you haven’t been, I’d recommend it, especially during July 4th when you’ll see one of the best fireworks displays ever. They’re shot from a ferry on the Mississippi, and if you watch from the Illinois side, the Gateway Arch provides the perfect backdrop.

 

Marlins @ Mets, July 2, 2005: A friend and I had discussed going to a Mets game numerous times, and after four years, we finally pulled it off. Unfortunately, the day was not without its trials and tribulations. I overslept and I got lost trying to find my friend’s house in northern New Jersey. This was, of course, during the days before GPS became widely available. When I finally arrived, we got sidetracked by conversation, as we hadn’t seen each other in more than a year. And with the notorious New York traffic, it took us an hour to get to Queens. By the time we finally got to our seats inside Shea Stadium, the game was already in the bottom of the sixth inning. The Marlins would go on to win 7-3, but that barely seemed to matter. Personally, I was just thrilled to be in the same place The Beatles performed for the first time 40 years earlier. I kept looking just beyond second base, picturing the band on their makeshift stage. I have yet to return to New York to see the Mets, who now play at Citi Field, but I will someday, and I’ll make sure to get there on time.

 

Indians @ Twins, April 20, 2008: As many of you know, I lived in South Dakota for two years after I graduated from college. I can’t say I enjoyed my time out there that much, but the one thing it allowed me to do was attend a Minnesota Twins game, which I did with my fiancée at the time and a friend. Minnesota was one of the last teams in the majors at this point that still played in a cavernous, cookie cutter-style stadium with an Astroturf field, so as we entered the Metrodome, it felt like I’d stepped back in time to the 1980s. The stadium’s domed roof made it more eerie. I had never watched a baseball game indoors, and it almost didn’t feel like I was at a baseball game. Still, I had become familiar with the Twins over the previous year, and I even got to interview their manager, Ron Gardenhire, three months earlier when he and a few other members of the organization visited my town. I was happy to cheer on the home team, and first baseman Justin Morneau made it even more memorable. The game went into extra innings, tied 1-1, and in the bottom of the 10th, Morneau hit a walk-off single to win the game. It was an unlikely hit as well, as Morneau managed to hit a sharp ground ball past the defensive shift on the right side of the infield. After 18 years of going to major league games, that was the first walk-off hit I’d ever seen. Two years later, the Twins would join the 21st century, moving into their new stadium, Target Field.

Part 2 of this series will feature a baseball road trip of sorts to New York and Boston. Stay tuned!

July 29, 1993: Phillies vs. St. Louis Cardinals

Life’s priorities are not always clear.

My dad had the day off from work, and it at least appeared to me that this free day was taken for the sole purpose of going to a ballgame with me. This was a rare afternoon contest during the work week. It would have been easier to just go to night game, or a day game on the weekend, but this was a special season, and I suppose the Phillies had earned more of a commitment from us.

Perhaps it was a fortunate coincidence, but 1993 was also the year I began keeping a journal. The Phillies are mentioned several times in my sporadic entries, and the one dated July 29 unearthed an interesting and telling fact about this game: my dad said we were going, but we had to talk my sister, Lindsay, out of it first.

When we were children, my sister and I constantly competed for my father’s attention, particularly since he was the more involved and less strict parent. Unfortunately for Lindsay, I was the firstborn and the only son, which meant I won that battle more often. In this instance, my dad probably succeeded in letting my sister down easy because she wasn’t into baseball.

We made a full day of it. We took the Septa Local from the Wilmington train station and arrived a few hours before the game to do some sight seeing. It was always fun riding the train to the big city (I received a big jolt of childhood nostalgia when my dad and I used the same and long-forgotten method of transportation for the World Series parade in 2008), and Philadelphia was still the biggest I had ever seen to that point. I will never consider myself a Philadelphian, but I grew up close enough to know and love cheesesteaks, soft pretzels and Tastycake products. I don’t bother with racing up the steps of the Art Museum because my name begs the belting out of Rocky’s classic line from people I’m meeting for the first time.

The Philly magic once again worked like a charm, as the hosts took a 4-0 lead over the visiting St. Louis Cardinals late in the game. The scrappy Redbirds would not go quietly, however, as they scored two in the seventh and two more in the eighth off emerging ace Curt Schilling to put a victory very much in doubt.

After the game started, I was personally disappointed to see Todd Pratt’s name in the lineup instead of starting catcher Darren “Dutch” Daulton, who was my favorite player for good reason. Daulton wasn’t your typical catcher. He hit in the middle of the lineup, instead of the bottom, and he was one of the best run producers in the league for the second straight year. It was a thrill for me to see his name on the same lists as sluggers like Barry Bonds and David Justice. Surely, a win was guaranteed with him on the field.

I got my wish in the bottom of the eighth. Daulton came in to pinch hit with the bases loaded. He seemed born for these kinds of pressure situations, and while his bat remained silent, he still drove in the go-ahead run by working a walk.

Lenny “The Dude” Dykstra followed. He was in the midst of a career year that would see him finish second to Bonds in the MVP voting, and he padded Philly’s lead with an infield single.

These kinds of rallies were almost second nature to the team by late July. The Phillies hung on for the 6-4 win, completing their sweep of the Cardinals.

My dad and I had to leave at the end of the eighth due to some important family business. The Phillies were moving up in the world, and so were we.

For most of my childhood, my family lived in my grandmother’s house on the east side of Wilmington near the Christina River because we could not afford a place of our own. Locals know the east side as one of the most impoverished and dangerous sections of the city. By 1993, it was common to hear gunshots after going to bed, but my parents were finally making enough money to get us out of there.

My dad and I left the Phillies game to meet my mom and sister in Wilmington to look at an apartment. Though it wasn’t the right one for us, we soon found the right one in Little Italy and moved there in December. It was in that neighborhood that I found friends who loved baseball and the Phillies as much as I did.

A new chapter was beginning, but another, less obvious one was ending. 1993 was the big year for baseball in my family. The Phillies’ monster season coincided with the return of minor league baseball to Wilmington after 41 years. The Wilmington Blue Rocks, a Single A affiliate of the Kansas City Royals, offered a destination of family fun in my hometown. The four of us went to several games in that first season and continued to do so over through the remainder of the decade.

When it came to major league baseball, however, those games returned to their previous incarnation as a strictly father-son activity. It wasn’t a conscious decision, but baseball games, as with any other spectator event, are simply more enjoyable when you’re watching with other baseball fans.

As I will illustrate further down the road, the few times we included other people into our special ritual yielded unsatisfying results. A major league game is an impressive sight to anyone, but those non-fans who don’t have the diaper dash and dizzy bat race to keep them entertained between innings will quickly lose interest.

And they won't be willing to skip work for an afternoon game.

July 10, 1993: Phillies vs. San Francisco Giants

My father lit the spark of my interest in baseball, but the 1993 Phillies fueled the flames.

We all like to pretend that we are not fair weather fans. We support our team no matter what, but the truth remains that when “our guys” are winning, we cheer louder, we pay more attention and we are much more willing to spend some of our hard-earned money to attend their games.

What made the ’93 Phillies such a great team to watch was that no one saw them coming. The squad didn’t include a single superstar; just a bunch of scruffy, mullet-wearing goofballs. Hell, their highest paid player was their closer, Mitch Williams, who was the wildest and bushiest of them all.

My dad and I watched in awe from the very beginning, as the Phillies swept their opening series and jumped out to a 9-3 start. They carried that .750 winning percentage into mid-May, and I remember thinking that this team was really something special following a win on Mother’s Day when Mariano Duncan slugged a game-winning grand slam against the St. Louis Cardinals.

Speaking of my dear old mother, not even she nor my sister could avoid the Philly fever gripping the region, so they joined my dad and I for our first game of the year against the San Francisco Giants.

I paid close attention to this four-game series because to this point in the season, the Giants were the best team in baseball. They also had the best player, moody superstar Barry Bonds, who would go on to swipe his third Most Valuable Player award in four years. In our eyes, this was the Phillies’ biggest test of the season and gave us a look at how they might stack up against a postseason opponent.

We went to the third game of the series, and the ugliness of the first two games didn’t fill us with confidence. San Francisco dropped a few touchdowns on the Phils, outscoring them 28-10 (the only bright spot being rookie Kevin Stocker’s first major league home run the day after getting called up to the bigs).

If the boys in red pinstripes were going to right the ship, they would have to battle both the Giants and the elements. The two lopsided losses had mercifully taken place at night, but this Saturday game took place in the afternoon on the hottest day of the year.

I will never forget how my mom brought a cooler full of ice into Veterans Stadium. She insisted we rub our arms and face with ice cubes throughout the game to stay cool. Thinking back, I’m sure sunscreen would have provided better protection for our skin, but when you’re 10 years old, mother always knows best.

The beginning of the game featured an exciting back-and-forth. The Giants scored a run in the first and two in the second, but the Phillies matched them each time. Philly left fielder Milt Thompson provided the early fireworks with a rare two-run shot. The celebration in the crowd was brief, however, when it was discovered that the ball hit a young girl in the head. She had to leave the stadium with her parents, but from what I remember, she wasn’t seriously injured and had a story to tell for the rest of her life, I’m sure.

The Phillies brought back the smiles with a run in the bottom of the sixth, taking their first lead of the entire series. The lead would stick thanks to an incredible moment that also remains a humorous one between my parents and I.

Wes Chamberlain had taught me two years earlier that even the little guy could be a hero. They didn’t come much smaller than Mickey Morandini.

The lanky, second baseman would emerge as one of Philly’s better hitters in the mid-1990s, but to this point, his only claim to fame was an unassisted triple play in 1992 (amazingly, one of his three victims was Bonds, who was in his last year as a Pittsburgh Pirate).

The left-handed hitting Morandini stepped to the plate with the bases loaded in the bottom of the eighth. The way he always choked up on the bat, he needed the fattest of pitches to drive the ball, but he must have gotten one. All of a sudden, I saw the small, white dot fly over the right-field fence just inside the foul pole for a game-changing grand slam.

Everyone in Veterans Stadium lost their minds, except for my poor father. A few minutes before Morandini’s blast, he had succumbed to the call of nature. When he returned to us, befuddled by the sudden change in score, we gleefully told him what happened, adding salt to his wound with a, “We can’t believe you missed that!”

When my mom and I bring this up with knowing smiles on our faces, my dad always beats us to punch. “Yeah, I know. I was in the bathroom.”

There was every reason to believe we were good luck charms for the Phillies that day. It was the only game in the four-game set that they won, and the only one in which the Giants didn’t score in double digits.

Bonds particularly faltered in our presence. He went 0-for-3, got thrown out at home plate and dropped a foul ball. We had a great view of that miscue from our seats along the left-field line. The seats weren’t anywhere near the field, but my dad and I pretended Bonds could hear our taunts.

Looking back, the best thing about this win was that it came from the unlikeliest of sources. Between the two of them, Thompson and Morandini amassed a grand total of seven homers during the 1993 season. By comparison, Pete “Inky” Incaviglia (a fellow platoon outfielder with Thompson) deposited eight noggin nailers into the stands in the month of August alone.

Despite all the magic we witnessed that day, it came as no surprise to me. Though there was plenty of season left, I had bought into this team. However it happened, they were going to win.

Even if it meant forcing Dad out of the room whenever the Phils loaded the bases.

Ear-Lee Exit

For those hopelessly befuddled by the 2011 Phillies' failure to bring home a second world championship in four years, look no further than the man they brought in to do it.

And let's be honest, people. How often does the best team during the regular season actually win the World Series? The Phillies definitely weren't before they won it in 2008.

How can a team that wins 102 games lose in the first round of the playoffs? The 2001-02 A's know a little bit about that. It took the New York Yankees eight years to win it all again with the highest payroll, and the pitching juggernaut in Atlanta that won 14 straight division titles captured the ultimate trophy just once.

And be glad Ryan Howard's Achillies waited until the last out of the NLDS to give out on him. Sure he only had two hits in 19 at-bats, but he almost single-handedly won Game 1, and his 6 RBI in the Division Series were six more than he had in nine postseason games last year.

Sure, the offense could have been a little more consistent (just six total runs after the second inning of Game 2), but in my humble opinion, if you're going to point the finger at anyone, point it at Cliff Lee.

It's a fact that the Phillies would have won their fifth straight division title without Lee (they did it last year). Philadelphia brought the Anointed One back to shut down the opposition in the playoffs like he did for the team in 2009. Lee was the missing piece of the puzzle, ensuring the world title that everyone predicted would return to the City of Brotherly Love.

In Game 2, the Phillies did their part by handing Lee an early 4-0 lead. Such a lead should be plenty for the guy who went 4-0 in the postseason two years ago. A lot can happen in two years.

Lee didn't look anything like the guy he was in June and August. The streaky ace hit a dip at the absolute worst time, as the Cardinals pounded him for five runs on 12 hits in a come-from-behind win.

He pitches like the Phillies needed him to, and they're preparing to play the Brewers in the NLCS right now. That's the ugly nature of the five-game series. Lee himself said that loss was on him alone, and he was right.

In his last three postseason games - dating back to the 2010 Fall Classic - Lee is sporting an ERA of 7.13. He's an elite pitcher with a full arsenal of weapons to get guys out, but when he's not keeping the ball down or working the corners, those pitches are left in the middle of the plate for major league hitters to crush. Here's hoping his stuff is more effective next October.

I personally can't wait for it. The odds are always stacked against the best team in baseball, so I hope the Phillies beat them.

Holy Cow!

The final day of the 2011 regular season was shaping up to be an epic one, but I could not have scripted a better finish if I tried.

Here was the sequence of events:

The Orioles down to their last strike, Nolan Reimold clocks a Jonathan Papelbon heater into right center for a ground-rule RBI double to tie the game. Robert Andino follows with a line shot that falls just under the glove of a diving Carl Crawford, allowing Reimold to score the winning run.

After the celebration in Baltimore between first and second base, I switch over to the Yankees-Rays game in the bottom of the 12th inning. With the count even at 2-2, Evan Longoria shoots a laser that barely clears the left-field wall, punching Tampa Bay's ticket to the postseason.

Need we any greater examples of baseball's magnificence?

In both of the games mentioned above, the victor did not own a lead until the very last pitch, and each one was a strike away from defeat.

In the National League, the Phillies' 4-3, 13-inning win over the Braves knocked them out of the playoffs after the Cardinals' 8-0 win over the Astros earlier in the day.

Baseball is full of historic late-season collapses, but 2011 earned its distinction with a pair of breakdowns in the Wild Card race. Atlanta and Boston each entered the final month of the season with a lead of more than 8 games in the Wild Card standings, but by the 162nd game they fell into ties with St. Louis and Tampa Bay, respectively. Such an occurrence was crazy enough, and it seemed as if at least one of the two races would result in a 163rd contest.

The walk-off gods were having none of that.

In the end, the baseball universe righted itself. After all, a team that opens the season 2-10 isn't supposed to make the playoffs (only three teams ever have), and it's no surprise that Crawford, who was very un-Crawford-like during his first season in Beantown, failed to make the play that sealed the Red Sox' fate.

But hand it to the Cardinals and Rays for playing their butts off in September after wallowing in mediocrity for much of the year. These are the kind of late surges that lead to world championships.

Speaking of hot finishes, I need to give props to the O's, who I still consider my second favorite major league team. They closed out the season with 11 wins in their last 17 games, and turned Boston's mighty roar atop the AL East into a whimper in that final series. Say what you want about the 14 consecutive losing seasons, but there's no sweeter ending than a walk-off win over the Red Sox. Hero Andino put it best:

"End the season like this, [to] make Boston go home sad, crying, I'll take it all day."

Take it all winter, guys.