I've been sitting on Hanshin Tigers news, not because I want to keep it secret but because I'm lazy.
The Tigers won the Central League pennant ... on or around September 9. This was the fastest anyone ever clinched the CL pennant in NPB history and a bye in the first round of the playoffs. There was a celebration.
More recently they swept the Central League playoffs, also known as the Climax Series. You probably thought that was a collection of VHS tapes hidden in the back of TR's closet. Climaxing successfully earned the Tigers a berth in the Japan Series which starts October 25. I'm sure that exactly zero of us will watch a minute of these games given the time zone differences but all we really need are the highlights.
Rob mentioned it in a comment, but it's worth adding a little more flavor.
"fernandomania, finally at an end."
For those gheorghies too young to really remember the fireworks surrounding Fernando Valenzuela's rocket launch into cultural phenomenon-land in 1981, it was really something.
In an era where far more star pitchers looked like John Tudor than George Lopez, Fernando burst on the scene late in the 1980 season as a somewhat portly, unpolished 20-year-old reliever from Navojoa, Mexico. 17.1 innings of shutout ball later, he was someone to watch in '81. A Future Star, so Topps told us.
And he was! Opening Day shutout!
5 days later, another complete game, 1 ER, 10 K's! 4 days later, another shutout! 10 K's! And he had 2 hits! 4 days later, another shutout! 11 K's! 2 more hits! 0.25 ERA! 5 days later, another shutout! Only 7 K's, but 3 more hits! Hitting .438! ERA 0.20! 5 days later, 9 IP, 1 ER, win again. Hmmm... 5 days later, shutout! 11 K's! Phew! Back on track! 5 days later, Complete game win, 2 ER, 7 K's. WTF, Fernando? 4 days later, 7 IP, 4 ER, 6 K's, loss! Oh, no!!
I mean... gracious. Holy frijoles!
You can imagine the hullabaloo across baseball and sports media and the Angeleno crowd and Mexicans and Mexican-Americans everywhere. Holy wow.
Plus, he was just fun. He looked happy all the time. He didn't look like a baseball player. He didn't look like he knew how to pitch right. Nuke LaLoosh's heavenly gaze owes everything to Fernando:
"Now, I want you to breathe through your eyelids....Like the lava lizards of the Galpagos Islands. You see, there are some lizards have a parietal eye behind their heads so they can see backwards. Haven't you ever noticed how Fernando Valenzuela, he just doesn't even look when he pitches? He's a Mayan Indian. Or an Aztec. I forget which one. I get 'em confused." --Annie Savoy
Even I, who rooted fervently against the Dodgers, was in awe of this guy and couldn't help liking him.
And that was the story of baseball in 1981. Oh, wait. Wait.
Another thing you might either have missed or don't recall well. The 1981 baseball strike. Free agency had taken MLB by storm, and well, the owners hadn't packed their foul weather gear. They tried a number of measures to recoup some of the control and cash that the overdue dambusting had cost them, but there was no putting Humpty Corrumpty back together. Neither side would budge, so on June 12 they shut it down.
Reporters used Strat-O-Matic to simulate the delayed 1981 All-Star game inside Cleveland Stadium, with the scoreboard displaying the game's progress; the Strat-O-Matic set went to the Baseball Hall of Fame. Some newspapers used Strat-O-Matic to simulate other canceled games during the strike.
Anyway, 51 days later, play resumed, but the way in which it did so was a mess. They had "1st Half Standings" and "2nd Half Standings." The division winners played each other in the first-ever NLDS. One problem? Well, the St. Louis Cardinals and the Cincinnati Reds had the best overall records in their respective divisions, but neither had won the 1st or 2nd half. So they were excluded. Whoops.
The strike was a terrible time for baseball, obviously, and the fans were rightfully livid. I certainly was! I was just shy of 11 years old and couldn't fathom life without big league baseball.
So, who saved baseball in 1981? Fernando.
I mean, sure, MLB bats caught up to him -- a little. 8-0 became 13-7; his W-L record was, as they often are, a bit misleading. His preposterous ERA through mid-May escalated all the way to 2.48. He led the league with 180 strikeouts in 192.1 innings. He won the Rookie of the Year. He won the Cy Young. He finished 5th in MVP voting.
It was his year.
And he was 3-1 with a 2.21 in the postseason as his Los Angeles Dodgers defeated the New York Yankees 4 games to 2 in the World Series. Most impressive was Game 3 of that series, when -- with L.A. having lost the first 2 games of the series -- Fernando allowed 4 runs early to the Yanks but stayed in to throw a complete game as the Dodgers came back for a 5-4 win. His mates all say it was his gutty performance that turned the tide in that World Series.
Fernandomania was real. And a great time to be a fan. I mentioned George Lopez. There's a cool piece he wrote on Valenzuela 8 years ago that is worth reading, but here's a little bit of it:
But wait, Valenzuela: That's us. This guy looks like us. He could pitch, he could hit and when he ran, he looked like he was barely going to make it to first base -- just like us. Wait, there was somebody selling Fernando Valenzuela stuff at a factory in Van Nuys, California? That's how crazy Fernandomania was. I can't remember a time before or since that I wouldn't miss a game either on television, radio or in person.
Fernando Valenzuela was a 6-time All-Star, but he never again won the Cy Young. He did notch 173 wins and over 2000 strikeouts with a career ERA of 3.54. He was often very good to great, but he was never quite the sensation that swept the nation like in 1981.
He played 11 years in L.A. before hopping around for 6 or 7 years, trying to throw a few more pitches by people. In his last year in Los Angeles, Fernando left just one more indelible mark on Chavez Ravine and Dodger fans everywhere. The 30-year-old, bespectacled, lefty pulled off a final act of wizardry for the faithful.
Let's give Vin Scully the mic for the call:
“If you have a sombrero, throw it to the sky." That about says it all. RIP, Fernando -- but may Fernandomania live on forever.
Our favorite NPB team, the Hanshin Tigers, won the Japan Series this weekend. My friends in Osaka are overjoyed and they sent me some cool (to me at least) photos after the win. Postcount, too.
One guy sent me a photo of his TV screen shortly after the win.
You can see he has all his good luck charms spread out above the TV.
Another guy sent me a few photos of the train he takes to work along with translations.
This one says "Number 1 in Japan. Thank you for your support!"
This one is from the gate of the massive Hanshin-Umeda station and it says "Number 1 in Japan. The fans were full of support and encouraged the team. We are truly grateful for your support."
I've been invited back to Koshien to watch the defending champs. It's a long way to go for a ballgame but I'm down if anyone else wants to join me.
A handful of weeks ago, I commented to nogheorghie in particular that the divisional/wild card races in baseball were as worthy as the football dominating our viewing. I wasn't wrong then, and I'm not wrong when I say that while the early playoff action was interesting only for its surprising knock-offs (the top four teams in baseball were dispatched quickly and quietly), down the stretch they've become downright thrilling.
Both the unheralded Diamondbacks and the schizophrenic Rangers have, after being left for dead on a dark desert highway, charged back in eyebrow-raising fashion.
Arizona takes on your friends and mine, the Philadelphia Phillies, in Game 7 tonight. Check it.
The Texas Rangers, meanwhile, secured their berth aboard the World Series Express last night by drubbing the Houston Bangers & Trash for the second consecutive evening. Balls were flowing out just like the Grand Canyon, and if the cards get played right tonight, they'll have a Grand Canyon companion. (Bastardizing the Beasties ain't always so smooth.)
Surely you all recall the D-backs ending the Reign of George (never spelled our way) in 2001 on this fisting. Here's how they won their first and only World Series:
That's just a little nugget for my friends in pinstripes, since they had so much fun at our expense through the years preceding.
The Rangers, however, have never ever hoisted baseball's coveted trophy. The big one. That prestigious piece of silver and gold-plating nicknamed "Six Flags times five." The World Series crown.
Fast facts for those not in the know on the Texas Rangers:
They were a franchise relocation. The Washington Senators left DC in 1971, and it took until 2005 until the District got another team.
10 years before that, the then-Washington Senators had picked up and moved west to become the Minnesota Twins, don'-cha-know.
The Senators were hapless, leading to this chaos. A quip of long ago yesteryear that almost always brings a smile is "Washington: first in war, first in peace, and last in the American League."
The Rangers' first year in Texas, they were managed by none other than Ted Williams. The Splendid Splinter actually skippered them in Washington as well, but he lasted just that one inaugural year in the Lone Star State, as the club went 54-100. Turns out the move didn't solve all their problems... which shouldn't have been surprising, since they only went from DC to Arlington!! (Sorry.)
The first year the Rangers ever finished in first place? 1994. Strike-shortened season. Yipes.
Team seems a little snakebit, eh? Stay tuned.
They did, however, win their division 3 of the next 5 years with names like Pudge, Raffy, and Juan Gone leading the way. They, ahem, . . . well they lost each of those playoff series in straight sets. Oh, wait, in the 10 playoff games they played in the 1990's, they lost 9. All to the Yankees. (See, Yanks fans, a little something for ya!)
After that, following a decade of astonishing futility centered around $252 million of A-Rod misguidance, they made it into the Fall Classic in 2010 and 2011.
In 2010, the Giants, who'd finally lanced that pesky Barry Bonds Boil from their tuchus, cruised by Texas for their first title since Willie Mays played for them (and was 23 years old). San Fran would win 3 in 5 years, dredging Bill Simmons' Ewing Theory out of the shed and evoking a wince on Bonds and schadenfreude in weak souls like mine.
The next year for the Rangers, though, . . . well, that's why I've gathered you here today.
In 2011, the Texas Rangers came close to winning the World Series for the first time. Like damn close. Like daaaaaaamn close. Like 1986 Red Sox close.
And up until today, I didn't know yet another little factoid tying those two clubs together.
Their rotation was middle of the pack, excepting C.J. Wilson, and they had a pretty nice 'pen. Their fielding, as it turns out, was pretty good. The sabermetric stat that supposedly tells the story on D is Total Zone Total Fielding Runs. You could look it up. That year, Texas finished third in this stat with 39. You don't have to know what that all means to know that the Mets getting a collective -81 that season (worst in MLB by 15 points) is hysterical. Lord.
Anywho, good ballclub. Texas took 3 of 4 from the Rays and 4 of 6 from Detroit in successive series to get back to the Horsehide Funslide (not a real nickname) for the second year in a row. They faced an old Mets/Whitney nemesis, the St. Louis Cardinals (and Yadier Stinkin' Molina, though that's extraneous).
12 years ago tonight, the Rangers went up 3 games to 2 on the Cardinals in Arlington and headed back to the Gateway to the West. Also called Mound City. Whaaa?
And headed to the bottom of ninth inning of that Game Six ballgame, Texas led St. Louis by a score of seven to five. Two runs. Three outs. One glorious championship waiting for them.
Texas outfielder Endy Chavez had pinch-hit unsuccessfully in Top 9, and smart historical money would suggest that he would head to the field to replace a weaker-fielding OF.
I mean, Endy was the guy who had pulled this off against the Cardinals five years prior:
Oh, man, so bittersweet.
But that didn't happen. I mean, what I just learned today, if you believe the internet, and I always do, is this:
Endy Chavez was supposed to replace Nelson Cruz in the bottom of the 9th inning in Game 6 of the 2011 World Series. According to reports, [Texas manager Ron] Washington wanted Cruz in the outfield because he said he deserved to celebrate with the team on the field.
Sure. Sure. Makes sense. I mean, unless you remember that the Boston skipper in '86 John McNamara wanted Bill Buckner to be on the field for the celebration, so he went against his own historical pattern and opted not to have Dave Stapleton play first base in Game 6 of that series. And just in case you lived under a rock, and so rob gets a taste of the pain, this then happened...
Sorry, little buddy, though I know it doesn't irk you like it once did.
Given that high-profile lesson, how can any student of the game -- and Ron Washington is certainly one, a veteran steeped in playing and coaching the sport at the highest levels -- ever want to tempt that same cursed fate once again by putting someone in for the celebration? Because here's what happened.
Oh, my.
And while it's not the kind of nutmeg that haunted Buckner unduly for too long afterwards, Nelson Cruz's play is bad. (Replays make it look worse.) And gut-wrenching for Texans. And avoidable.
And the stuff of fun, amusing rehashing 12 years later.
And so the game went to extras (body blow!), and then the Rangers blew another 2-run lead in the 10th (uppercut!), and then the Cards won it on a David Freese (MVP, one shining moment) home run (knockout!). St. Louis wrapped it up the next night in a game that featured (like the Sox in '86) the Rangers going up early, only to blow the game in a slow malaise that felt like melting ice cream.
A crown of seven contests of nine or more frames of 9 versus 1 players on the field and many more penned and dug out, with pitching and hitting and fielding (I repeat... oh, my) and all that jazz . . . well, it's hard to justifiably place Win or Lose on a single untimely gaffe of one chap wearing a misused mitt and the boss fellow who should have upgraded when the hour was ripe. And yet . . . uggggh, dude.
Stay tuned to see if they can shake that monkey like the Sox did in '04. It takes some doing to get free of it, but they've had the kind of season that makes you think it's their time.
The Hanshin Tigers clinched the Central League title for the first time in 18 years by beating their arch rival the Yomiuri Giants! Hopefully no one jumped into the Dotonbori River. I assume all of you are making plans to stream the Climax Series.
If you did pop art, sports, comic books or any combination of those things, you'll geek out on Pop Fly Pop Shop. Words don't really do it justice, but the proprietors describe their wares as One Piece of Nostalgia at A Time for One Week at A Time. Pretty simple concept: they post one work at a time, and it stays online for week, never to return again.
Their stuff is generally baseball-themed, asking the visual question of what ballplayers might look like as comic book heroes. For example:
I'm kinda partial to this one:
And I wish I'd seen this one in time to get it for Whit and Marls:
The artists have posted about 70 works to date. Peruse them at your leisure while we wait for the end of Gheorghemas. Any day now.
I am now 1,800 miles from my former town, having landed safely in a suburb of Denver. My 11 y/o son is now 180 miles from his former town, starting his second and last week of sleepaway camp in Massachusetts. But we were hot and heavy into our summer travel season not that long ago. Allow me to update you.
When we last chatted, my team was 3-1 in its summer league. We had a let-down loss to our big rival (the team we whooped in our spring league final) early in the summer season. I decided not to put the foot on the gas that game. The kids were spent after many high-stress games. But besides (and after) that game, we were the Big Pun of our league, crushing a lot. A LOT. We finished our summer regular season 10-1. In our ten wins, we outscored our opponents by a combined score of 138-55. And we weren't being mercenaries. I flipped our lineup against weaker teams, every kid pitched at least once and we moved kids around in the field.
We won a share of our regular season title, which meant a t-shirt. But I wanted gold from a playoff title. And I wanted a front-loaded playoff schedule b/c my kid and I were leaving town. That meant a quick first-round playoff game. We tried to avoid using our strong pitchers. We were tied 3-3 after one inning. I put my kid in to pitch in the second. He throws strikes, but does not throw hard. It was his second time pitching that season. He managed to go five innings. He threw 4/4/8 pitches in the 4th/5th/6th innings. Great stuff and a 15-5 win for us.
That win sent us to the semis on Thurs 7/22. I knew the semis would be my kid's last game, b/c of sleepaway camp. He was devastated. He became close friends with many teammates, and realized he would likely never see most of them again. Tough.
My team came to play that day, despite only having nine kids available. We laid the smack down in a 14-2 win. I had visions of subbing out my kid with two outs in the last inning, allowing him to jog off while parents cheered. But with nine kids, that was not an option. The game ended, my kids started celebrating and I hugged my son in the infield (we were the away team, so we played D while the home team got their last licks). He looked at me and asked if that was his last game with his team. I sadly told him it was. And he started crying. And it got dusty for Dad as well. He helped take us to the finals, but would not be there to help us win it. An assistant snapped this shot, which shows off the Ripken patch that means so much to the kids.
So yeah, it's been tough. I helped schedule the summer league championship game I couldn't attend. The opponent was our rival, the team we whooped in the spring final, but lost to in the summer league. They pushed the game date back to make sure their ace was rested, which confirmed I couldn't coach, even without my kid there. On Wednesday night, while my wife and I were struggling through Indiana traffic on our way to a South Bend hotel, she loaded the game on an app, and we followed it pitch-by-pitch, real time. Technology is neat.
The assistant running the show that night followed my instructions with pitching and the lineup. My kids were tied 2-2 after four innings, but pulled it out at the end, winning 5-2. That means one more trophy for my kid, which I hope eases the pain of losing friends. At the end of the day, I just hope this experience builds his confidence and skills and allows him to make some new friends in a new state. It's a gut-punch to me to realize my baseball coaching might be over (after a 27-6 season across all competition), but it could not have ended better. And my son and I will have stories from an epic bonding experience we can share the rest of our lives.
Happy 4th, gents. What's more American than a baseball story?
When we last chatted, my B-level team was 2-0 in their district tournament. One win in either of the last two games guarantees us a spot in the playoffs. We could even lose both and get in, if tiebreakers fall our way.
So the long and short of it is that at this point, everything is gravy. My kids kicked ass early on. They won a tight one and won a laugher. They cheered and rooted and made the right plays. My decision to enter us into the tourney was validated.
Momentum was on our side early on. But momentum is a fickle thing, my friends. It moves in a pendulaic fashion, much like geriatric scrota. Our third game Saturday was at 2 PM in ~90 degree heat. Our ace was fully rested and we faced a team that was 0-2. But our ace was suffering from after-effects from his second vaccine shot the day before and was clearly out of sorts. He couldn't dig out a hole in front of the pitching rubber when he warmed up. Tears ensued. He hadn't even thrown the first pitch. He had no success throwing a strike to his first three batters. The tears and sweat told me he was mentally done before he ever got started. I pulled him with the bases loaded and no outs. It gutted our team. This was our big dog. And our other good pitcher slated to pitch was a last-minute scratch with an illness that passed around the school that week.
So yeah, we were toast. I had to use our subpar pitchers b/c I didn't want to waste a good arm. It ended up as an ugly 11-1 mercy loss. The other team was in desperation mode and threw their ace, who threw three pitches, at three speeds, for strikes.
We were 2-1 heading into our final game. Our opponent was also 2-1. The way the tiebreakers fell, we had to win to advance. We got out to a 6-1 lead in the 4th, using speed, power and defense to dominate. But it's a six inning game. Our starter ran out of gas and left a couple kids on. Our second pitcher struggled just enough to give them a 7-6 lead. And our opponent put in a crafty pitcher with a fantastic pickoff move. He picked off two of our better baserunners on 2nd base, once in the 5th and once in the 6th, both with two outs in a one run game and a quality hitter at the plate. The last one ended the game. Tough.
The kids teared up, understanding the run was over. It was their seventh game in nine days, and all but two were very close for most of the game. We went 5-2 in that stretch, winning our spring title game and our first summer league game (a throwaway against a terrible team).
In the days since, I've seen multiple kids wearing their Ripken t-shirts proudly. We had a party last Friday night to celebrate the spring season. An assistant set it up at his house b/c he finally wanted to be able to party with the peanut gallery in the outfield. And we surprised the kids with trophies. Hopefully they'll keep the trophies and remember a fun spring and a nice run against the big boy squads in our area. And hopefully they'll keep their focus on the summer season, where we are 3-1 and face a trio of tough opponents this week.
(TR makes another clumsy stab at channeling Rob Lasso's coaching anecdotes. TR is the handsome guy in the grey shirt in the poorly shot photo above.)
It is a bittersweet summer for TR in Chatham, NJ. The weather is perfect, my life is filled with youth baseball, and I have a crowded social calendar. These are good things! Yet at the same time, I am packing my life up, saying goodbye to friends and neighbors, and getting ready to move 1,800 miles away after spending 10+ years in my town.
I head-coach my younger boy's U11 travel baseball team. I coached him four of the last five years. This year has been special for a couple reasons. The first is that our club is strong. Really strong. We are a true B team, but it's a deep age group in our town. We went head to head with our strong A team in a scrimmage and held our own. We went 8-1 in our spring season and won our league title, earning some gold. We thumped our rival in the finals. We grinded out six runs against their ace over five innings before blowing things open in the top of the 6th, scoring 10 to win 16-2. In all competitions and scrimmages, we are 14-3 (through 6/13).
I could see the team improving, so I entered us into the district travel tournament, known as Ripken. This is where (mostly) strong A teams battle it out. Part of my rationale was hearing of the success of other strong B teams from my town, including one that the son of Juan Carlos played on. My goal was to get good competition so the boys could measure themselves. One win in the four pool play games would be a success, a 2-2 performance would be great, and making the playoffs would be a home run. My boys loved being a part of this, just like the "A team" kids (many of whom are worse than my top players). Getting the Ripken t-shirt and wearing a jersey with the Ripken patch on it was almost a prize in itself.
I felt good about my team's bats and our top pitchers, but I wondered how we would do. The tournament started last Wednesday. After falling behind 6-2 early and giving up a bomb of a HR to a kid my size, we clawed out a 9-8 win. Our athletic catcher retrieved a wild pitch and ran back to tag a runner trying to score to end the game. High drama. And we did it with our second and third best pitchers. Our ace was still resting after pitching five no-hit innings for the spring title.
We had our second Ripken game last Thursday night. Our kids did not play great D, but our starting pitcher (our fourth best) battled. And our bats were on fire, as they usually are. We cruised to a 16-6 mercy rule, 4-inning win. My kid had another nice lovable a-hole moment. He was playing 3B and ran to catch a foul pop. He was right in front of the opposition dugout. They screamed "DROP IT! over and over again. I never let my kids do that. He caught it, he told them to shut up from five feet away, and then he trotted in to our dugout (it was the 3rd out). I love that kid. He's gonna get punched in the face soon.
But I'd like to talk about the second reason this year is special. And that is because it is the Holy Grail of good vibes on the team. No negative energy kids. No parents reminding me ten times that their kids are great pitchers. Just kids and coaches having fun.
During games, my wife and the other parents get their load on. I mean, they REALLY get after it. I basically watch a fun party with 20-25 people that I can never attend. Two dads bring a grill each game and get hot dogs and sliders going for the kids once the game ends. One was a First Team PAC-10 safety in the late 80's from Arizona who is now a football coach. Great guy. He knows how to tailgate.
I will miss this bunch. And I will missing coaching my kids. I am ready to step aside after I move. But for now, I will focus on our Ripken success. We are 2-0. One win in either of our next two games gets us into the playoffs. And we still have a summer travel title win (we are 1-0 there after a 14-3 win). Stay tuned.
[I could've used "Out of Touch," "I Can't Go For That," or "You Make My Dreams Come True" in the title, but I went with the quote legendarily attached to the Shoeless Joe saga.]
I thought I would lend some thoughts to today's annual Baseball Hall of Fame announcement. It's an interesting year, and not in a wonderful way. Well, the professionals have already covered this ground better than I can, so I'll just link to them, lift a graphic and ask a question:
Though fans of the Washington professional football team might disagree, it's a pretty good time to support the region's major sporting franchises. The Mystics are up 1-0 in the WNBA Finals and are favored to take the title. The Caps are one year removed from an epically cathartic Stanley Cup title run. DC United have clinched a playoff berth for the second consecutive year, and are one Wayne Rooney postseason flex from being a serious contender. The Washington Spirit, while not very good, boast Mallory Pugh and Rose Lavelle, two of the youngest and most exciting members of the World Cup-winning US Women's National Team.
And the Washington Nationals shook off a very slow start and somewhat quietly put together a really good season. The Nats host the NL Wild Card game against the Milwaukee Brewers this evening at Nationals Park. Crazy-ass Max Scherzer (11-7, 2.92, 243Ks in 172 innings) takes on Brandon Woodruff (11-3, 3.62, 143Ks in 121 innings) in the winner-take-all tilt.
Nats fans will be watching this game through their fingers, as they cover their faces to avoid having to witness yet another postseason failure. Washington has never won a postseason series (though, cruelly to two fan bases, their MLB.com history page reflects the Expos' 1981 NLDS win over the Phillies). They're 0-3 in deciding NLDS Game 5 contests, though they led in all three of those. Eight of their last nine playoff losses have come by one painful run.
I have watched very little baseball this season. It might, in fact, be the least I've watched the game in my memory. Some of that is because the Red Sox were generally boring, and a lot of it has to do with the demands of real life, but the fact remains. But October is different, even if I'm a man without a team. Or a man with a whole bunch of teams, one of which needs to send the Yankees home to play golf without a World Series title.
Tigers fans are notoriously passionate, possibly the most rabid fans in Japan. The Tigers are also perennial losers. Taken together, they were called the Red Sox of Japan until 13 years ago, and fans still use that analogy to explain their vibe to foreigners. When I went to the game they were in first place but the guys who took me assured me that it wouldn't last for long. They are 4 games out of first place as I write this.
I was invited to the game before I even left the US and I jumped at the chance, name dropping Kosuke Fukudome in my reply email after checking the roster and recognizing the former Cub. That I knew who Fukudome was put me in good stead as he is one of my host's favorite players.
I work closely with the two guys who took me to the game but I've only met them in person a handful of times. Most of our interaction is by phone or email. But they like to drink beer and watch baseball and we get along well so I was sure we would have fun.
In order to foster more eating and drinking in Osaka restaurants and bars, the local government started this "Premium Friday" summer program where corporations are incentivized to let employees leave early so long as they go out and have fun. Sort of like summer hours crossed with beer bash. As luck would have it, my last night in Osaka was the first Premium Friday ever so I went out with a large contingent of colleagues.
People in Japan love to drink, and if you aren't drinking speedily or volumetrically enough booze, someone will say "Will you drink my sake?" I Apparently this is trash talk (I think it sounds more like smack in Japanese) so when someone explained what was going on I started telling everyone "Oh, I'll drink your sake!!!" Aggressively. But it went over well (Osakans love humor, even misguided American humor) and I drank a lot of sake and malt liquor and ate some beef and fish and headed over to the subway.
A ticket from Umeda Station (right by my hotel) to Koshien is 270 yen, or about $2.50. As with all trains and subways in Osaka it was immaculate and the AC was forceful. We got there in about 20 minutes. I got off the train and the weather was perfect.
Koshien is the oldest stadium in Japan but you'd never know it. It looks modern and spotless, although the stadium itself doesn't look like much from the outside.
On the way in my hosts got all excited when we passed a trinket stand. They bought a bunch of what appeared to be unrolled condoms with very large reservoir tips and insisted that I do so too. They were balloons. More on this later.
We also passed a bunch of food vendors. Suffice it to say that ballpark food in Japan is different than what they serve in the Bronx.
Later we passed some higher quality merch. I abstained.
Then we went inside. The first order of business was getting more beer, then we found our seats in right field, near Fukudome. I settled into my seat and I was not prepared for what I saw. An entire section in left field was blue jerseys--Baystar fans. And they had flags and drums and trumpets and chants. It was hardcore. And it was clear that I would never run out of beer--the vendors are 21 year old girls in pink Asahi outfits carrying small kegs in backpacks. They are ubiquitous.
The Tigers fans soon clapped back. Turns out they have their own band in center field, sort of like the Bleacher Creatures only more musical. They even have a conductor. The whole crowd got into it.
One of my friends disappeared, presumably to go to the bathroom, and returned with two yellow Tigers jerseys. He told me "This is my gift to you so now you are a Tigers fan! And now we will wear them." I'm the fat guy on the right.
They don't play Take Me Out to the Ballgame during the 7th inning stretch. Instead they do this.
That's what the balloons were for. Fun, right? But that wasn't my favorite moment of the game. Here's my favorite moment of the game.
Top of the fifth inning, Fujinami, their 6'5" 19-year-old fireball-throwing future phenom with control problems (think of an Asian Nuke LaLoosh) gets into a jam. Japanese managers let their pitchers try and work out of it longer than Americans do--it only gets worse and he gives up three runs (one unearned) and they pull him with two men on. Iwakazi comes in and gets out of the inning but gives up two more runs. My friends are pissing and moaning, in English, throughout. "Oh, bad control!" "He trying to kill me!" "I've been saying he too young!" "Ug. Tigers." It really was kinda Red Soxy.
Bottom of the fifth, runners on first and second, Fukudome comes up to bat. He's 40 but he's still a slugger in this league and you can feel a energy and hope ripple through the crowd as he enters the box. The bandleader calls up their rally song--every batter has their own song, but this time they play the Hanshin rally song (this was explained to me by one of the other guys). You know how sometimes you can just feel a big play coming? Here's what happened. The video is a little over 2 minutes long but I think the payoff is worth it.
That was great. But it wasn't what made me title this post "I Love The Hanshin Tigers." I've never experienced a sporting event like this. Plenty of people were drinking, many heavily, but no one even considered getting into a fight. We were all having fun. There were tons and tons of children at the game. They were all well behaved and all the adults behaved well in front of them. There was passion and heartbreak (the Tigers went on to lose 5-2) but everyone was happy and upbeat. Everyone cheered together and no one took the loss to heart. Everyone knew all the songs and all the cheers, everyone wanted the home team to win and yelled themselves hoarse, but no one was a meathead or a jerk. No one gave the chubby American guy a hard time. Instead, for a few hours on the west side of Osaka on a perfect May afternoon into night, I was passively taken in by a community of people, embraced and accepted and included, and despite the fact that I had no idea what they were singing or why they were singing it, I had a spiritual experience. Those who know me well know that I laugh when people wax overly poetic about sports, and my sister says I'm the coldest person she knows, but God help me I got misty-eyed at the affection on display between parents and children, groups of friends, complete strangers. It was like a cross between an SEC football game, or maybe a Premier League soccer match, and a Quaker meeting. Maybe it was the alcohol, who knows. But I can't wait to get back to another Tigers game.
A handful of Gheorghies have partaken in the decades-old board game Strat-o-Matic baseball through the years. We played the dice and cards board game as kids; we now play the online version against each other. It's a bit of a cult thing, and it can be addictive.
The premise is that most players from most seasons of pro baseball are represented in card form as parsed out by seasons. So everyone from Babe Ruth's 1927 season to Mookie Wilson's 1981 season are reflected not just in statistics, but in outcomes for dice rolls. They are facing real pitchers from history, so look out when Mookie steps in against Koufax's 1963 card. You pick a team from history or create a mish-mash team, make the lineups and rotations, and play it out.
It's a great game for kids. And adults with kids. Okay, and adults.
Yep. It's pretty nerdy. Any surprise that William and Mary alums like it?
I was introduced to Strat-o-Matic by my grandfather and uncles, and they routinely hammered my teams after I was given the game as a Christmas gift. I had the 1979 season. They could make the Orioles beat my Pirates every time and mocked me incessantly. They're bullies.
In the summer after our sophomore year, Rob and I lived in Williamsburg and took some classes. And worked as Pizza Hut delivery guys. And drank 40's. And played out individual seasons from the 1985 set, him with the Red Sox and me with the Mets. No idea how our teams ended up doing, but I can tell you how we ended up doing with the ladies that summer. And I just remember the catcalls from our fratres across the den as we occupied the dining room table with dice, cards, and homemade box scores all summer. It didn't hold up to cool-guy scrutiny 26 years ago and still doesn't, but we had fun.
We even broke it out at an Outer Banks Fishing Trip one year. '86 version, and a Buckner error cost the Sox the rematch. Uncanny. Jerry was a witness.
Now it's online. For a small fee you can get into a league against either your dorky buddies or strangers, draft a team with a salary cap (hey, a novel idea) and have a go. What can I say, it's amusing.
And now there's a documentary released this year about the game. It's interesting to see which big league players new and old are also Strat-o-Matic players. Anyway, it's a neat little game that has lasted for 50 years. Not bad.
This was to be a two-pronged preview of the upcoming Mets season. Well, somewhere in the last fortnight, other items leapfrogged "writing about the friggin' Mets" in Marls' and my day-to-day priorities. So while this has the feel of a "preview," since we wrote most of it prior to Opening Day, it's a "view" since we're 9 games into 2012. Kudos to Marls for humoring me.
The New York Mets in 2012Marls and I pitched a handful questions at each other, then each answered every question. Here goes:
1) How many games will the Mets win this year?
Marls: I hear a lot of bitter Met fans say this team will be lucky to win 60 games. I guess that could happen, given the level of competition in the division, but I actually like this team. They are not going to challenge for the wild cards unless Johan Santana returns to Cy Young form, Jon Niese takes a huge step forward, and Mike Pelfrey stops sucking. Doubtful, especially the third one. That being said, they should score some runs and could surprise some people. I think the absolute everything-falls-into-place high end is 85 wins. On the other side, if every other team in the division is as good as advertised, 65 wins.
Igor: Best case: 86 / Worst case: 69 . . . I've been trying in vain to predict the Mets' win total for nine years now, and I seem to aim high every time. Interestingly, Marls and I were of like minds on this one. I just can't fathom how an organization could ignore the correlative relationship between a solid rotation and team victories for 10 years. Starting pitching has been on the wish list for eons, but let's go get expensive closers and left fielders.
I think 78 wins is a sound guess.But what do I know? 2) Rooting for the Mets is a lot like . . .
Igor: . . . being H.M., the patient we learned about in Intro to Psychology freshman year. H.M., you see, was an epileptic sufferer in the 1950’s who underwent surgery to remove several parts of his brain in an effort to curb the affliction. As it turned out, nearly all of his capacity for turning short-term memory into long-term went with those pieces of brain. (Go watch Memento.) There were numerous examples of what he could no longer remember or do post-surgery, but the one that got Dave, Hightower, and me scolded in class was how, as Professor Nezlek put it, H.M.’s favorite uncle passed away, and “every day his family would explain to H.M. that his beloved uncle died, and every day H.M. would cry as if he were hearing it for the first time.” The sheer sadism of that family telling H.M. about his uncle on a daily basis, or even responding with the truth every time he asked, had us 18-year-olds in stitches to the point of being barked at in class. Seriously, ease up on the guy a day or two along the way and just lie to him . . . who are those bastards, the Manson Family?
H.M. died three years ago at age 82, in all likelihood still waking up thinking he was 27, and probably freshly grieving the loss of his favorite uncle. For me, though, the beginning of every new Mets season has begun to feel like H.M.’s morning nightmares. Hope springs eternal and all that crap, but the start of another 90-loss slog always begins with optimism. As it wears on, the disappointment that inevitably, inescapably arrives somehow seems to surprise me. I’m H.M., crying in my beer every day in May about Uncle Mr. Met. Somewhere around Memorial Day, I snap out of it and become Bitter Old Man, remembering everything that came before and kicking myself for believing. Right now, though, I’m euphoric.
Marls: . . . um, nothing else. The easy answer here is some trite response like “getting kicked in the balls” or “wizzing into the wind.” Instead, I tried to think of another team where fandom was similar to rooting for the Mets. Sure, you can find many teams with a history of futility. But very few of them have the Mets' unique attributes that make rooting for them such a nut punch. The only thing I could come up with is rooting for the Clippers. Big market team, history of futility, marquee team in the same market with obnoxious fans . . . yep, just like rooting for the Clippers. Then I remembered that that Clippers are actually good now . . .
3) What's the worst trade or signing of the last 10 years?
Marls: Thank God this question is limited to the last 10 years. The organization has a proud tradition of trading talent for mediocrity (the Ryan Express for the Fregosi Flop), and signing all-stars that quickly turn into has-beens. While watching Jason Bay’s talent disappear and Mo Vaughn’s bicep explode was depressing, this one was easy. Igor has already documented in this space the precipitous fall of Roberto Alomar, so I won’t rehash it; however, the speed at which a future Hall of Famer’s skills deteriorated the moment he touched Flushing soil is mind-boggling. Unlike most of their deals, everybody thought the Mets got a steal, which they did -- except that it was Mike Bacsik. [Ed. Note: Igor doesn't agree with that last part.]
Igor: Hands down. Oliver "Twist My Vas Deferens" Perez. 3 years, $36MM.
Year 1: 66 IP, 3-4, 6.82 ERA, 1.92 WHIP, 6.40 FIP, -0.8 WAR Year 2: 46.1 IP, 0-5, 6.80, 2.07 WHIP, 6.99 FIP, -1.1 WAR Year 3: Uh . . . the Mets released him, and he spent the season in the Nationals’ AA
Those numbers speak for themselves, if you count the sounds of retching and screaming as speaking. If you recall, Derek Lowe was the pitcher the Mets almost signed when they opted for Perez. Lowe wanted (and got) an extra year and a few more millions. And he was seven years older, purportedly. So the Mets got Ollie, his control problems, and his attitude. The hated Braves, meanwhile, got Derek Lowe, his control, and three years of this: Year 1: 194.2 IP, 15-10, 4.67 ERA, 4.06 FIP, 2.6 WAR Year 2: 193.2 IP, 16-12, 4.00 ERA, 3.89 FIP, 2.7 WAR Year 3: 187 IP, 9-17, 5.05 ERA, 3.70 FIP, 2.5 WAR
Ollie was way more interesting! Mets win! (The Braves, by the way, gave up on Lowe this winter and traded him to Cleveland – paying $10MM of the salary in doing so. Lowe is 2-0 with a 1.98 ERA. Oh, and Ollie is middle relief for the Tacoma Rainiers now. Yesterday he got four outs while allowing three hits, three walks, and two earned runs. His ERA is 5.68, which seems low.)
What a train wreck.
4) You're going to get drunk and watch a Mets game with 5 current or former Mets players or coaches. Name them, and why.
Igor: Mike Piazza – We’ll drink some Pabst and discuss 9/21/01, as well as how two studs like us each managed to be graced with a pair of daughters, plus the coolest Phoenixville Phantom we both knew. Casey Stengel – A must. I'd like his take on the teams of the last ten years, and if any of them are eerily familiar.
Mookie Wilson – Just because he's Mookie, plus after a dozen Rheingolds, I want him to tell me if he really thinks he would've beaten it out.
Wally Backman – The man's been shafted when it comes to managerial positions, but this was a no-brainer.
Keith Hernandez – I'll buy him whatever he was drinking in the clubhouse in Game 6, and we'll play Strat-o-matic with the '86 cards. I'll bat him 7th and hope he makes an error just to razz him, but he's a 1, so he won't.
Others in consideration: Kong; Frank Cashen; Le Grand Orange; Dee-Dub; Ed Kranepool; Nails, once he's out of the clink; Mr. Met; Gil Hodges; HoJo; Messy Jesse; hell, any of the drunks from '86 except Kevin Mitchell, who might kill us all. Maybe Doc and Straw for late-night fun. And Robby Alomar, just because it's always fun to have that one guy that everyone makes fun of the whole time.
5) Which member of ownership/management/coaching staff would you fire today if you could?
Igor: Too easy. Anyone named Wilpon. It has come to a strange point with Mets fans and their favorite team’s ownership: we thought we were disgusted after years of shady buffoonery, and then, like Keyser Söze, the Wilpon family showed us what men of shady buffoonery really are. The Madoff thing has taken me from merely annoyed and frustrated to wanting to wash my hands of these old, dirty bastards. Honestly, given the events of the last couple of years, they’re now lower on my totem pole than Daniel Snyder. Does anyone realize how difficult that was to achieve???
And they’ll probably still own the Mets when I die.
Marls: Who to pick? Freddie Wilpon? The Mets' crack training staff that turn groin pulls into season-ending injuries? Nope, not even close. I would fire Jay Horowitz. Horowho? Jay Horowitz, the Mets head of public relations who has been with the team for over 30 years. This guy has made a career out of second-rate promotions, bad press conferences and ill-timed announcements. Cute and homespun may work in Seattle, but in NY it comes off as hokey and bush league. To make matters worse, the team whose name shall not be spoken has the best well oiled PR machine in the biz. The Bronx nine has a fight in the clubhouse and it was because they were fighting over whose Bible to use for their morning prayer. Meanwhile, the Mets go to Walter Reed hospital to visit some veterans, and it is used as an example of their fractured clubhouse. Mike Piazza wants to call a press conference to let everybody know that he’s not gay… Jay will set it up. The only spin the Mets organization is able to develop is that of Joan Payson spinning in her grave.
6) Write a limerick about the Mets.
Rooting for this team is a curse Each year they manage to be worse It’s unlikely they’ll play ball Late into the fall Cause’ Bernie stole the Mets’ purse. There once was team called the Mets Whose finances were riddled with debts To get off this gurney They need to call Bernie But not Bernie Madoff . . . Bernie Goetz
There once was a man named Omar Whose teams rarely did go far He breached all our trust Signing bust after bust Until Selig came in and said no-mar.
There I was, there I was in the Congo Or maybe it was up in Toronto But my nightmare was vivid And man, was I livid We'd signed another pitcher named Armando
For this team there is no panacea Often they give me diarrhea This pain in my gastro-tract Is partly because of the fact They're still paying Bobby Bonilla
7) How many Mets games are you going to watch this season?
Igor: Live: 1-2, if I’m lucky. Marls and I are planning a weekend beer and baseball event at some point, one that has at least a 40% chance of us actually doing. TV: [Ed. Note: I had a paragraph in here about how I was going to forgo the Extra Innings package this year. I deleted it. 6-3 and just baseball, period. Too good to save $200 for something more prudent.] Radio: Listened to the end of a Mets game the other afternoon on my AtBat app on my phone. Technology, Igor is hot for you.
Marls: I will watch or listen to probably 100 games this year. I am a glutton for punishment. If they fall out of contention, I will not pay attention as much but the game will always be on.
8) What's your most depressing moment as a Met fan since 2001? Igor: Game 7 of the 2006 NLCS, as described here. What depresses me most about that game is that it's the unequivocal apex of a sharp parabola, the salad days sandwiched between slices of multi-grain suck.It bummed me out completely, and those were the best of times.
Marls: Easy. June 12, 2009. I was sitting in the stands watching ARod’s pop up settle into Luis Castillo’s glove for the final out of the first subway series game played at the house that Big Stein built. While the home team and eventual World Champs were the much better team, at least tonight I could savor a small victory. 10 seconds later, I was watching Castillo futilely chase after the ball as two runs scored and I was subjected to a loooooooong subway ride home on a train full of drunken fans who relished the opportunity to eruditely explain why they Mets were an inferior ballclub. Not good times. Like Igor, I was at Game 7 in 2006. I was also there the night Kenny Rogers walked in the winning run to eliminate the Mets in 1999 against the Braves. This was worse.
9) What former Met who's still in the league do you kind of root for?
Marls: I will root for Carlos Beltran wherever he goes. I thought he got a bad rap here in NY. Granted taking a called third strike in 2006 was not the best way to endear himself to the fans. However, the fans treated him worse than they treat Jason Bay. The guy carried them in 2006 and put up really good numbers for a good chunk of the 6+ years he spent in Flushing. He played an awesome centerfield and did not rock the boat. Sure, he was not an outspoken leader and he was part of the collapses of 2007 and 2008, but Met fans treated him like he shot their mom. If he had played at the same level in the Bronx for those same seasons, some douchenozzle would be trying to explain to me why he and Mattingly both deserve to be in the Hall of Fame.
Igor: (a) To some degree, Jeff Francoeur. Could not stand the dude when he was a Brave, but when he became a Met I began to like his style – even (especially) the free-swinging part. (b) But for as long as he remains in the league, my favorite non-Met will be Endy Chavez. As is said of Dave Henderson in Boston, if they go on win it all that year, he’s an all-time legend. As it went, too many people forget. Not anyone who was there, though -- Marls and I remember.
Which one do you root for terrible things to happen to? Marls: Does playing in the Mariners’ minor league system count? If so, I hope Ollie Perez gets run over by the team bus after getting VD from a Tacoma hooker.
Igor: (a) Jose Reyes, for obvious reasons. (b) Dan Wheeler, because I am an ass and his brief pants-wetting with the Mets should be shared by all!
10) What other MLB team do you hate the most and why?
Igor: The Braves. I mean, the Phillies and their fans can go to hell, and the Marlins have always pissed me off (never moreso than now), but the Braves are #1 on the list. I mean, the Cardinals have been irritating me since the White Rat’s teams of the 1980’s, but the Braves just get my goat. I mean, the Yankees and Red Sox can just merge into one macro-megatron-billion-dollar bandwagon of unlikable, bloated blather called the New Englork Yanksox; despite their hatred of each other, their fan bases are now the two hugely fat guys on motorcycles in the Guinness Book of World Records. Can you tell them apart?
But really, it’s the Braves. Maybe it will subside after Chipper retires, but I doubt it.F them.
Marls: I don’t like the team in the Bronx and I really dislike the Phillies, but in the end, that is really just because I find their fans obnoxious. I really don’t hate the players on either one of those teams. Strangely, I think the team that I hate the most is the Marlins.
Jeffrey Loria
Taking Reyes
Eliminating the Mets in 07-08
The cab accident
Multiple world championships for an apathetic fan base
That goofy statue in centerfield
F them.
11) Which current Met(s) give you hope?
Igor: Lots, but many of them are the same kind of hope we had for John Maine, Nick Evans, Brian Stokes, Anderson Hernandez, Fernando Nieve, etc. Not even the Lastings Milledge, Alex Escobar, Fernando Martinez types, just guys who you see and say, "Hey, this kid's better than we thought. He could be something." And then not.
Nausea?
Pelfrey to a degree, but Jason Bay, of course. Bay, it seems, has become one of those guys that the Mets had before and after their best years. Like Jeromy Burnitz, and, to a lesser degree, David Cone. We're Forrest Gump. We get Jenny when she's too young to marry and when she has a terminal disease, not when she's rocking out in the 1970's.
12) Make up stupid nicknames for 3 guys on the roster.
Jon “Oscar Thug” Rauch Mike “Darling” Nickeas Dillon "O.M." Gee (though I just saw others have come up with this one as well) Josh Thole "and Tonic" Lucas Duda . . . Dude . . . uh . . . Kirk "Freshmen Are" Nieuwenhuis "Cool"
13) Pick a television sitcom past or present that most resembles the 2012 Mets and explain why.
Marls: There were so many possible answers to this one. In the end, I went with "Too Close for Comfort." They both have a big name who is good and sometimes great, but in reality is unable to carry a team/show (Ted Knight, David Wright). Then here is a guy that sucks, everybody knows he sucks, and yet somehow gets star billing (Jason Bay/Jim J. Bullock). They have a cast of nice role players that do some good things but aren’t enough to get you really excited about them (Lucas Duda & Ike Davis/ The Rush Girls). In the end, after you have watched an episode/game often you just want that time of your life back.
Igor: I went with "Arrested Development." The incompetence and repeated undoings at their own hands are painfully similar to those of the Bluth family. Every problem flows down from the top, of course, with Fred and Jeff Wilpon occupying the George and Lucille characters. David Wright is our Michael, the good guy protagonist with a few flaws who looks absolutely great as surrounded by the people around him. In truth, the teams of the last few years would have been more appropriate, with Tobias Castillo and Gob Perez joining Buster Bay in the futility. There's hope for the future, with George-Michael Niese and Maeby Murphy, but in the end, someone in this group will inevitably be groaning, "I've made a huge mistake."
Bonus Question - Fill in the blank. The Mets' good start to the season ________.
Marls: . . . illustrates the reason it pays to have adults in the front office. While the 2012 Mets are still short-handed and will likely fall out of contention by late summer, the quick start reminds me that building a real baseball team is nothing like fantasy baseball. For too many years the Mets mortgaged the future by selling off the farm system and investing in over-the-hill free agents. My hope is that the Madoff issues which forced the Wilpons to reduce payroll and hire Sandy Alderson will be similar to Steinbrenner's early 90's suspension that let Gene Michael build the core for the Yankee dynasty to come.
Igor: . . . isn't fooling anyone. We know what comes next. Except maybe this time . . . maybe, just once . . . you never know . . . [repeat ad nauseum]
Well, there you have it. 50 years of the New York Mets. Most of them dreadful and embarrassing. Here comes another one!
We've got Vin Scully's dulcet tones juxtaposed with whatever the hell that thing Miami's installed behind the left-centerfield fence. We've got Tim Kurkjian's excited exclamations and George Will's patrician baseball poetry. We've got Strasburg, Verlander, and Cueto, Batista, Jackson, and Kemp. It's Baseball (and Ohio - go Reds!) Week at Gheorghe: The Blog, and today we celebrate the time-honored tradition of franchise sloganeering.
From the Brooklyn Dodgers' immortal "Wait 'til Next Year' to the 2004 Boston Red Sox' unforgettable 'Cowboy Up', the team slogan is a storied part of baseball's lore. While those two examples were unofficial, teams have long sought catchy phraseology to help them market their franchises and drive fans to the box office - witness 'Let's Go Mets', for instance. In 2012, 14 franchises dug deep into their creative reserves to try to generate interest. We'll review them so you don't have to.
Of immediate interest, and perhaps obvious note to we East Coast Elitists (represented by the Mets' '50th Anniversary - I mean, come on, Wilpons. You seem distracted), more than half of this year's MLB slogans come from Midwestern teams. Eight of the 14 2012 marketing plays are the brainchildren of Central Division franchises - 4 in each league. As you (as a cynical product of the coastal media) also might guess, nearly all of these 8 flyover country slogans are numbingly trite (say, for example theCubs' 'It's a Way of Life' or Cincinnati's 'This is Reds Country') , though Detroit's 'Who's Your Tiger'? has the advantage of being both bizarre and vaguely naughty.
We find ourselves nodding in strong approval of Kansas City's 'Our Time' slogan, accompanied as it is by a picture of Mr. Hand from Fast Times at Ridgemont High.
(What's that? You don't see Mr. Hand? Well fuck it, then, the Royals'
slogan is painfully Polyannaish and improbable. Perhaps they meant Our Town, a fitting homage to blandness.)
Pittsburgh's 'Pride. Passion' Pittsburgh Pirates' is at the same time puzzling and depressing, seeing as we're nearly 20 years removed from a time when pride or passion were relevant for the Buccos. Minnesota's bland 'Twins Territory' rivals only the White Sox' 'Appreciate the Game' for lack of inspirational value, though we're ready to change our verdict on the latter if the Southsiders bring Omar in to throw out a first pitch.
Our disdain for Peter Angelos' Orioles is long-standing and well-documented. Their 'This is Birdland' slogan isn't going to have much impact on that front. Oh, really, Birdland? Well, that changes everything.
I confess to not entirely hating Houston's 'Root. Root. Root.', given its obvious ties to the game's national anthem and the Astros' clear need to get their fans to do just that. Sad, really, what's happened to that franchise, and they have to move to the American League next year. Root. Root. Root Canal, might be better.
Longtime bitter rivals the Dodgers ('An LA Tradition') and Giants ('Together We're Giant') take slightly different, though fitting approaches. Los Angeles appeals to history in a town that famously doesn't have much, staking the Dodgers' claim as the region's sporting centerpiece in a direct challenge to the interlopers from a hour south. (And the Angels really don't fire back, offering 'Angels Baseball'. Guess all those Pujols dollars meant Arte Moreno had to fire a few marketing types.) San Francisco, meanwhile, goes a little bit left of center quirky with their slogan, entirely befitting their home market. We'd like it better if they went the full Gheorghe and adopted 'Together We're My Giant'.
It's not hard to stand out in this field of mostly dreck. That said, our favorite 2012 slogan, by far, is a departure from the norm, a breath of, well, something. It's thrilling in its oddness, refreshing in its conflagration of themes, quixotic in its tilting against big market dominance. It's so very Oakland A's, their 'Green Collar Baseball' slogan. Allegedly in its third season, the (allegedly award-winning) Green Collar Baseball campaign, "highlights the hard work that embodies the young A’s team and
illustrates how the organization welcomes an innovative and
unconventional approach in order to win." Translation: have you heard of Moneyball? That's us! We're the Moneyball guys! Green Collar, get it?!? We're scrappy and green, not rich and red and blue and pinstriped!
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