It would probably be indecent of me not to begin this dispatch by mentioning that Chicago starter Mark Buehrle, whose name is only partly spelled how it sounds, pitched the 18^th perfect game in major league history this afternoon. It was the first perfect game, period, since Randy Johnson (then of the D-backs) threw one against Atlanta on May 18, 2004. It was the first one in the American League since David Cone (then of the New York Americans), threw one versus Montreal on July 18, 1999.

Inning Two: First Things Second (Basic Questions Remix)

How cool is it that Mark Buehrle pitched a perfect game?

That’s a tough one to answer a little bit. Here’s what was nice about it: that it made everyone in the stadium really happy. It made Mark Buehrle happy, his teammates happy, the fans super happy, and his (i.e. Mark Buehrle’s) wife happy. Even the Official Baseballing Journalists were showing signs of life in the Chicago press box and on the very stair-y walk to the White Sox’ media room.

Ozzie Guillen said in the press conference after the game something to the effect of, “Mark Buehrle is the nicest, most decent person to ever live. He tries his hardest always. He’s a great clubhouse presence. He’s donated seven of his kidneys to complete strangers and has several more he’s willing to give away. People travel from all over merely to touch the hem of his garment.” If even some of that is true – and I’m sure it is – then it makes Buehrle’s achievement all the easier to enjoy. “Good things happening to good people”: if that’s not the motto of the Ecstatic Truth Baseball Report, I don’t know what is.

Here’s the thing, though: Buehrle’s start was not necessarily an uber-dominant one. Of the 27 batters he faced, he struck out only six of them. That means that 21 batters either grounded or flied out. And while a pitcher has some control over batted balls, research suggests that, of all balls in play, about 30% of those become hits. Buehrle, over his career, has allowed about a .290 average on balls in play. What does that suggest? It suggests that Tampa should’ve gotten about six hits this afternoon. Instead, they got zero. And they didn’t walk, either. Nor did Buehrle hit any batsmen. Nor did the White Sox commit any errors.

The overwhelming feeling then – for this spectator, at least – is not necessarily one of having witnessed a singularly dominant pitching performance, but rather of having been party to an incredibly rare and exciting outcome out of all the myriad outcomes ultimately possible when a baseball game begins.

Conclusion: contrary to what Einstein says, God does play dice; it’s just, he plays with infinity-sided die when he does it.

Inning Three: First Things Third

You should probably watch this. It’s the crazy thing Dewayne Wise did to save Buehrle’s perfecto bid.

Inning Four: Names and Places

Tampa’s lineup, annotated for the Reader’s convenience, was:

1. Upton, CF – A bad man. In the Muhammad Ali way, I mean.
2. Crawford, LF – Fast. And actually batting .313/.374/.444. Still, has always been overrated on account of his speed.
3. Longoria, 3B – Pretty awesome in terms of being able to hit and field and throw baseballs. Last year’s AL Rookie of the Year.
4. Pena, 1B – Uppercut swing is equal parts reckless and magisterial.
5. Zobrist, 2B – Serial jacker of dongpieces. Also, plays middle infield. Also, has a Z-surname. Therefore, is a favorite of the Report.
6. Burrell, DH – Would lose in a race against a statue of himself*.
7. Kapler, RF – No comment.
8. Michel Hernandez, C – No comment, except that he spells his first name wrong.
9. Bartlett, SS – See below.

And who all pitched was:

1. Scott Kazmir, L — After routinely posting rates of 10 K/9, is down to 7 K/9 this year.
2. Lance Cormier, R — Eh.
3. Dale Thayer, R — Sounds like the name of a stock car driver, really.

If I had my druthers:

I’d make Zobrist the shortstop of this team. His bat would be amazing at that position. Sure, Bartlett is batting .342/.392/.520, but he also has a totally unsustainable BABIP of .391. His PrOPS of .295/.348/.461 is closer to who he is as a batter, but even that is optimistic compared to his lifetime line of .285/.345/.385.

Zobrist, on the other hand, is a Menace II Society — if, by “society”, you understand “opposing pitchers”. He’s batting .304/.417/.589 on the season, which compares very favorably to his PrOPS of .302/.414/.574.

As for their respective defensive acumen – a not unimportant consideration in light of the position we’re talking about — that’s a murkier question. Jason Bartlett, as his 2008 Team MVP award suggests, is generally regarded as having been integral to the Rays’ improvement last year, mostly due to what was perceived as defensive wizardry. And it’s true, he was, at one point in his career, a defensive wizard, posting a UZR/150 (which, you can click here to find out what that even means) of 28.5 runs above average in limited playing time in 2005. Since then though his UZR/150 has looked like this: 16.1, 9.0, 2.9, and only 0.6 this year. Zobrist, meanwhile, seems to be going in the opposite direction, posting a pretty horrid -26.1 two years ago, but a perfectly reasonable -4.0 this year in limited playing time.

*Denotes Zen koan.

Inning Five: Name and Places, Vol II

Chicago’s lineup, annotated for the Reader’s convenience, was:

1. Podsednik, CF – See below.
2. Ramirez, SS – Is Slim from Jim Croce song “Bad, Bad Leroy Brown”.
3. Dye, RF – No comment.
4. Konerko, DH – Most excellent attribute, as far as typical Sox fan is concerned, is that his nickname, Paulie, sounds great when shouted drunkenly.
   
5. Quentin, LF –Looks alot like Jose Canseco to me. As for the other four senses, I couldn’t say.
6. Beckham, 3B – Nubile youth. Also, a rookie.
7. J Nix, 2B – Spells his name “Jayson”. Brother of sometime major leaguer Laynce Nix. Yes, Laynce with a “y”. No, I’m not joking.
8. Castro, C – Famous Cuban leader. Or not.
9. Fields, 1B – First baseman batting ninth = bad sign.

And who all pitched was:

1. Mark Buehrle, L – Ozzie Guillen doesn’t know how he does it. Which, that’s not all that surprising.

If I had my druthers:

I’d have a team without Scott Podsednik on it or, at the very least, a team without Podsednik leading the frig off. Here’s what you are tacitly stating when you insert a player into the leadoff spot: you’re saying, “This is the batter – among all the batters on our roster – this is the one to whom we’d like to give the most plate appearances.” The Slightly Annoying Reader might point out to yours truly that Podsednik is batting a not embarrassing .306/.367/.402. To that, I would say, “Well, PrOPS – a.k.a. a more accurate assessment of production — has him at .272/.335/.377, which is more representative of his actual ability.”

The problem, of course, is that the White Sox don’t really have anyone else to play center field, either. Dewayne Wise, Brian Anderson, Jerry Owens, Brent Lillibridge: all have been given something close to a shot and none has done much to secure the position. Podsednik has posted his hit-lucky line and will probably play there more than he should. He’ll certainly bat leadoff more than he should.

Inning Six: Watches

Kyle Blanks, San Diego

• He currently sports a PrOPS of .230/.348/.400 in 71 PA.
• In 4 PA today, he went 2 for 4 with a HR and 2 K.

Chris Withrow, High A Inland Empire (Los Angeles N)

• He currently sports park- and luck-adjusted rates of 10.71 K/9 and 5.04 BB/9 with a 39.7% GB%.
• In 5 IP on July 20, he recorded 6 K, 4 BB, and 0 HR-allowed.

Alexander Torres, High A Rancho Cucamonga (Los Angeles A)

• He currently sports park- and luck-adjusted rates of 9.10 K/9 and 5.25 BB/9 with a 57.5% GB%.
• In 6 2/3 IP today, he recorded 6 K, 2 BB, and 0 HR-allowed.

Inning Seven: Stretch

Todd Greene is listed on the Tampa Bay roster as “Quality Assurance Coach”. Say wha?

Inning Eight: On Names

The Tampa Bay Rays removed the “Devil” from their team name on account of they are a beacon that radiates throughout all of Florida.

Turkish capital Istanbul was once called — if 80s pop duo They Might Be Giants is any authority — was once called Constantinople.

Portland, Ore could have been Boston, Ore, if not for a coin toss.

Nineties rock sensation Bush, fronted by the very dreamy Gavin Rossdale, was (is?) so-called on account of they spent their earliest days in Shepherd’s Bush, a neighborhood of London. Interestingly, while Bush rocketed to the top of the charts in the U.S., they were not anywhere near as popular in their native England.

Somewhere between twenty-four and -seven American states, including Illinois, have Indian names.

Inning Nine: On Juan
Juan was the snack car attendant on my train ride earlier today from Grand Rapids, Michigan to Chicago. He’s a short, Latin fellow and very talkative. He’s what you might call “my kind of people”.

Here’s what happens when you ask Juan for a cup of coffee: he says, in the voice of W.C. Fields, “A cuppa joe, a cuppa joe.”

Here’s what Juan calls you, even if you’re 29: kiddo.

Here’s how Juan referred to himself in our very brief conversation: as the Dr. Spock of Amtrak.

Here are some of the things Juan says when, kinda amazed that there’s someone like him in the universe – let alone on a train from Grand Rapids to Chicago – you ask him, “Where you from originally?”: Chicago, originally. Indiana now, but Chicago originally. Bucktown neighborhood. It was a very desireable neighborhood, because we didn’t let the gangs in. No gangs, no graffiti – the cops didn’t even have to come in there. Now, it’s too expensive. A vacant lot that would have cost you two thousand dollars back then – that’d cost you three hundred thousand now. Now a parking space costs forty thousand. You know, you buy a condo for three or four hundred thou, you think that’s it. Oh, no: you gotta buy a parking space, too. Forty thousand dollars … forty thousand! What are you, on crack? Are you high on drugs?

Inning One: People, Places, Things
Traverse City — for the one or two Less Worldly Readers — is a small city in Northern Michigan. Among the many charms it has to offer, including proximity to some fine lakes and a number of vineyards, it is home to excellent cherries and is, in fact, nicknamed The Cherry Capital of the World.

Like some other hamlets around Our Great Nation — and almost every hamlet in the Middle West part of the country — Traverse City designates a week every year to celebrate its famous crop — in this case, by means of The National Cherry Festival. It’s a time for people to mill about, stuff cherry pies into their aptly named pieholes, and get stuck in traffic.

It’s also time to select a Cherry Queen — i.e. the hottest hotty these parts can produce. Which, that’s exactly what they just did up around these parts.

My question to you is: who would you have picked*?

*Click here for the results.

Inning Two: Independence Days
The Traverse City Beach Bums — and their opponents this evening, the Thunderbolts of Windy City (read: the Chicago suburb of Crestwood) — are members of the independent Frontier League — “independent”, as in having no affiliation to, or formal relationship with, any major league organization.

Pardon me if this represents a review of the material, but the Curious Reader might like to know that there are a number of these independent leagues scattered around the Contiguous Forty-Eight, most famously this selfsame Frontier League, which covers the upper Middle West portion of the U.S. of A.; the Northern League, which covers a very similar portion of the U.S. of A.; and the Atlantic League, which deals with New York and Pennsylvania and those other types of states.

The independent leagues feature many players who have played at some level of “affiliated” — that is, affiliated to a major league team — baseball. It features other players who, for whatever reason, have gone undrafted out of college but who, for whatever other reasons, feel like they have a shot if they stick around a while longer.

A number of current MLB players have played at some point in the indy leagues, including: Arizona’s Clay Zavada (who looks like a pirate a little bit), Seattle’s Chris Jakubauskas (who’s name is unpronounceable in 37 languages), St. Louis’s Josh Kinney (upon whom I’ve crushed before in these same electronic pages), and Baltimore’s George Sherrill (both a proponent of the flat brim and also very good relief pitcher).

The author's future brother-in-law introduces the Reader to the Frontier League.

Inning Three: Waxing Prosaic
I don’t know how the Average Baseballing Journalist goes about choosing a player to profile. If said Journalist writes for a daily, he’s probably keenly aware of the need to produce content, and equally skilled in “fashioning” a story from assorted anecdotes. Whether they appear in daily papers or not, many such profiles follow a pretty similar pattern. Almost always, they examine how this or that life event — how a certain run-in with adversity, how a certain loving parent — informed said athlete’s competitive drive, his determination, his (dare I say it?) want-to.

Undoubtedly, want-to is hella important to succeeding at the highest level of competitive sport. Had Yours Truly possessed more of it, maybe I’d've* been somebody — or at least somebody’s friend. Even so, I feel perfectly comfortable asserting, without qualification, that it (i.e. want-to) is entirely over-represented in our sporting journalism.

*That’s right, I used two apostrophes in one word. Whatchya gonna do about it?

Inning Four: Waxing Prosaic, Vol II
In part, the achievement of Moneyball was that, in it, Michael Lewis looks at the individual stories of athletes as a means not to understanding their “passion for the game” — or some other equally nebulous quality — but rather to understanding how the experiences or unique personality of a player might manifest itself in said player’s approach to the game.

A particularly good example of this technique is the chapter on Scott Hatteberg’s hitting approach. Hatteberg — in contrast to Pablo Sandoval and Bengie Molina, whom I discussed a couple Reports ago — rarely swung at pitches outside the strike zone. His reasoning, which is smart, ran something along the lines of, “If it’s outside the strike zone, it’s harder to hit well.” But this was never a revelation for him, Lewis tells us. This was his (i.e. Hatteberg’s) thought process from day one. It was, somehow, integral to who he was as a person.

Inning Five: Goodfella: Al Barbato
These are the things I noticed about Traverse City’s Al Barbato (pronounced bar-BAY-do) when I first was researching the team, in order: first, that his OBP was .520 versus an AVG of .295 (as of July 18); second, that his name is most likely Italian; and third, that he attended both the University of Buffalo and SUNY-Albany.

What I found out about Al Barabato when I sat down and talked with him is that he’s smart and polite. Also, that yes, his name is Italian. Also, he makes you want to cheer for him.

The basic info on Barbato: He was born in Whitesboro, NY (a village of Utica). He was recruited to play baseball and soccer by the University of Buffalo. He played decently his first year there (.233/.322/.340 while playing second and shortstop). His second year, he ceded playing time to a younger guy. Needing the sort of exposure that only regular playing time can give, he transferred to SUNY-Albany. He played well there, in particular during his senior year, when he put up slash stats of .253/.416/.422. He went undrafted after graduating in 2007, played summer ball in a wood-bat league in Kansas, and got picked up by the Gateway Grizzlies of the Frontier League toward the end the year. He put up a line of .219/.444/.313 in 32 at-bats with Gateway in 2008. He was the last guy cut by Traverse City coming into the 2009 season, but got picked up shortly thereafter when a roster space opened up due to injury.

Other things: he works for his father’s linen business in New Haven, Connecticut in the off-season. He’s in a master’s program in Public Administration at SUNY-Albany.

Inning Six: Goodfella: Al Barbato, Vol II
According to Lewis’s Moneyball, when former Oakland GM Sandy Alderson attempted to enforce an organization-wide emphasis on plate discipline, the results weren’t great. Or rather, there weren’t any results to speak of. The conclusion, apparently, was that, at some level, plate discipline is hard-wired, preternatural — or, at the very least, established at a very young age, far younger than any major league team would be in a position to do anything about.

That discovery struck me at the time. It’s pleasant to think of an athlete possessing a quality that allows him to excel in the particular sport he’s decided to play. It’s nice to think of a player succeeding not merely because of blanket “athleticism” but because of a skill specific to his discipline.

But talking with Al Barbato has forced me to rethink the absolute nature of Alderson’s and Lewis’s point that plate discipline is hard-wired. Regard:

PORTLAND SPORTSMAN: Al, your senior year at Albany, you batted .253, but you had a .416 on-base percentage. You walked 39 times in only 166 at-bats. This year, in limited playing time, you’ve walked 11 times in only 34 at-bats. You walk a lot.

AL BARBATO: Once I got through my first two years of college, I knew what my role was: to get on base, put some pressure on the defense, and try to get on in any way. I was usually in the one or two hole, sometimes the nine hole. Those spots — typically that’s what you’re looking for out of those hitters.

PS: Some players, though, might be afraid to get deeper into a count, afraid to strike out if they do.

AB: I love it, man. I love getting on base. I try to be a disciplined hitter and really only swing at strikes, and that puts a lot of pressure on the pitcher. That’s the way I’ve molded myself.

PS: Has that been a conscious decision, then? Or is that the type of hitter you’ve always been?

AB: No. I mean, in high school was just a free swinger.

PS: So it was really a choice you made.

AB: Yeah, it was kind of something I decided. That’s the only way you’re going to succeed once you get to pro ball, is by doing your job. And the role I’ve always been is it to get on base, play good defense, and the hits will come.

Inning Seven: Stretch

The author's future brother-in-law makes friends.

Inning Eight: Elements of Style
As I mentioned in a recent dispatch of the Report, yours truly has an outside shot at getting a piece on Dodger prospect Chris Withrow published in a future issue of Baseball America — i.e. an actual magazine published by people who are strangers to me. It’s pretty thrilling, to say the least, and I’m sure the Sympathetic Reader is, right at this moment, pumping his fist excitedly in a bout of fraternal joy.

In writing said piece, one thing I noticed about actual baseball writing — was forced to learn about, painfully — is the extraordinary nuance it requires so far as the ol’ Standard American English is concerned.

Regard: it was necessary, at some point in the article, to include some key information about Withrow: that he’s 20 years old, that he’s right-handed, that he throws such-and-such pitches, that he was drafted in the first round, etc. Saying these things out loud is of no difficulty to the present author. In fact, typing this right now, I’m saying them to myself in a uniformly correct way. No, the trouble comes around when an author like yours truly is required to render such ideas/facts into print.

Some of my findings include:

• Pitch types are almost always written as one word (e.g. fastball, curveball, changeup, screwball). I didn’t know that.
• Wikipedia entries to the contrary, the handedness of pitchers is always written as one word (e.g. lefthander Clayton Kershaw, righthanded starter Chris Withrow).
• The age of a player, when used adjectivally, requires a hyphen (e.g. The 20-year-old Withrow). This is what’s known as a hyphenated compound adjective (HCA).
• The HCA is also used when using the draft place of a player adjectivally (e.g. The first-round pick).
• The HCA is used when discussing the different types of fastballs (e.g. Two-seam fastball, four-seamer).
• A hyphen is required for all names of numbers between 21 and 99 (e.g. nineteen vs. twenty-one and seventy-six).

Inning Nine: Elements of Style, Vol II
Another thing that probably everyone is dying to know about standard usage is that, when using the adverb in an compound adjective, the hyphen is unnecessary.

For example, one would not write:
The rarely-used infielder…

But rather:
The rarely used infielder…

Crazy, right?

These were the present author’s sentiments upon entering the press box at San Francisco’s AT&T Park.

Inning Two: The Life
I’m partly joking when I say that one thing I bet the Reader most desperately wants to hear about is how awesome it is to be an Official Baseballing Journalist on an Ecstatic Truth Baseball Road Trip — especially when said Road Trip includes getting a sweet press credential for San Francisco’s officially recognized Jewel of a Stadium.

“Partly joking” I say, because I bet one thing most readers of most texts would like to know is that that author is having something like a good time. Sometimes I’ll read a book or an article or anything at all written by a doctoral candidate and all I can think is, “This must have required so much effort.” For you and me and everyone we know, effort is not a thing to embrace. I believe Ralph Waldo Emerson said it best when he said, “Effort is stupid and makes me tired”*.

Well, let me tell you about the good time that is AT&T Park. Remember that episode of The Twilight Zone where there’s that hot lady in a land of pig-looking people and how, when the pig doctor takes of the hot lady’s bandages everyone’s like, “Eww, she’s ugly!” and how it’s supposed to make us think about how beauty is subjective? Well, even those pig people would be like, “Aw snap, that’s a sweet ass-looking ballpark.”

The pictures below do little justice to it, on account of they were taken on the present author’s cell phone (which cell phone was manufactured, if I’m remembering correctly, in 1947), but the stadium abuts San Francisco Bay and provides views that’ll make you wanna take your pants off. And mind you: I WENT THERE FOR FREE.

*Not exactly in those words.

Inning Three: Barry Zito’s Curveball
Initially, I had it in mind to reserve this inning so’s to eulogize San Francisco starter Barry Zito’s curveball. It’s a famous pitch and wonderful to behold, carving out an impossible and seductive parabola that, along with Beyonce’s Best Feature, achieves some sort of Golden Ratio-esque resonance deep in the soul of its beholder.

Unfortunately for me, in doing the littlest bit of research about Zito’s curvepiece on the interweb — and, specifically, Fan Graphs — I had the displeasure of coming across Something Interesting. Something Interesting is a horrible thing for an Ecstatic Truth Baseball Reporter to come across, on account of it merits something else called Further Research.

Mitch Hedberg had a joke that touches on a similar dilemma. Maybe you remember it better than me. He says something like, “I’m a comedian, right. So when I think of something funny, I’ve got to write it down. But sometimes the pen and paper are across the room. So I’ve either got to go across the room and get it or convince myself that the joke is not funny.”

It’s funnier when he says it, obviously, but the sentiment remains: sometimes discovery, curiosity, whatever is a little annoying.

Inning Four: Barry Zito’s Curveball, Vol II
So the thing about Barry Zito that you can find out about by clicking here is that — and, mind you, this is un petit dorky — is that his curvepiece and slidepiece are worth about 2 runs above league average per 100 times thrown, placing him around the top-10 in both categories, while his changeup is worth about minus-2 runs below average per 100 times thrown (Pitch Type Linear Weights Methodology).

When I first came across those numbers on this Pitch Type Leaderboard thingy, I proceeded to write — in this very electronic space — a diatribe about how dumb it was of Giants’ coaches to allow Zito to throw his lame-duck changeup over 15% of the time when he had two excellent, league-leading-type pitches that he was throwing only 33% of the time, combined. Mind you, I was only looking at the 2009 leaderboard.

When I decided to pry deeper (a huge mistake) I found Another Interesting Thing (egads!) — namely that, until this year, it was actually his changeup that was Zito’s most effective pitch, worth over 1.5 runs above average per 100 thrown from 2002 to 2007. 2008 was a less stellar year, granted, but that’s easy enough to write off as a fluke given the 6 years of excellence before it.

That curveball that I’d been so eager to celebrate? Only once ever since 2002 had it gotten so high as even 1 run above average per 100, actually coming in below league average during 4 of those years.

Conclusion: sometimes form and function are not entirely allied.

Other conclusion: Beyone’s Best Feature still leads the league every year.

Inning Five: OPC: Other People’s Curveballs
An interesting article about the best curveballs in the majors. The names at the top — Halladay, Wainwright, Vazquez — aren’t entirely surprising.

Off the top of my head, I’ll sat that Vazquez’s is the most fun to watch, as he’ll throw a pretty loopy, sub-70 mph jobber on occasion.

He’s no R.J. Swindle, though.

Inning Six: Splash Hits
A “splash hit”, in the parlance of the San Francisco Giants, is any home run hit by a Giants player that lands in McCovey Cove on the fly without hitting the Arcade or Portwalk. There have been 48 of them, ever, in the history of AT&T Park (since 2000).

Two bullets:

• 35 Splash Hits are by Barry Bonds alone. Subtract those and the Giants have hit fewer than their opponents’ 18.
• Who in the H is Felipe Crespo?

Inning Seven: Challenge
Say “Splash hit” five times fast.

Oh snap, you just swore!

Inning Eight: Babies Got Back
An observation: the Giants have a triumvirate of players in today’s lineup who, for lack of a better term, are funny-figured. Pablo Sandoval (5’11″/242), Bengia Molina (5’11″/225), and Juan Uribe (6’0″/225) played third base, catcher, and second base, respectively, and each, in his own way, bears much in the way of physical resemblance to an apple.

Baseball fans are not unaware of this. Pablo Sandoval, who’s actually in the midst of an outstanding season (batting 331/382/572), has garnered the nickname Kung-Fu Panda, and Pandoval jerseys are ubiquitous around AT&T. Molina has long been recognized (along with his brothers-from-the-same-exact-mother Yadier and ) as one of the slowest men in baseball. And Uribe … well, no one really talks about him much, on account of he’s not that good. And even if he’s slightly more atheltic-looking than his two compadres, he’s also a middle infielder and ought to be at least a little more lithe than them.

Another observation: said portly triumvirate also possesses what can most politely be called shocking plate discipline. Taking a gander at this here table, anyone can see that Molina and Sandoval are, in fact, numbers one and two among qualified batters in O-Swing% — that is, the percentage of pitches outside of the strike zone at which a batter swings. Uribe, were he to have enough plate appearances to qualify, would come in at a considerably more discerning ninth*.

More numbers: the three amigos have a combined BB:K ratio of 25:117, or 0.21. That would be fifth worst in the league for a single player, let alone for three players all on the same team.

Incredibly scientific conclusion: all chubby baseball players have poor plate disciple.

Don’t believe me? Ask Kirby Puckett.

*Caution: sarcasticy.

Inning Nine: Kyle Blanks Watch!
Kyle Blanks is how the camel got his hump.

His MLB line entering today’s game was: 150/244/225 (AVG/OBP/SLG) with 0 HR, 3 BB, and 14 K in 45 PA.

In 5 PA this afternoon, he went 1 for 4 with a BB and K.

I actually got up the courage to speak with Monsieur Blanks in the Padres’ clubhouse after today’s game. Most of what he said was unrepeatable.

Game One: Inland Empire (A) 3, Lake Elsinore (H) 0

Inning One: To Clarify
Before I start, I’d like first to make clear that a California Doubleheader, contrary to what the Less Modest Reader might think, is not actually a variety of carnal relations in the tradition of the Deep Sweden or Turkish Sweater (both of which I’m sure we’re all familiar with), but rather an entirely innocent description of what awaits said Reader in this installment of the Report. For today is not only Episode One of the Ecstatic Truth Baseball Road Trip, hosted by yours truly, but it also marks the first time that I’ll have packaged two games into one.

The way I’ll do it is in much the same way that minor league teams play out their real, live doubleheaders: in two “games” of seven innings each. This helps to preserve the budding players’ (read: Journalist’s) endurance and reduces risk of injury, which is always of paramount concern to the present author.

Inning Two: Salutations
With that out of the way, allow me also to say, “Hello, bonjour, what’s up.” It’s been a couple weeks now since I bid farewell to everyone back in the Florid and Rainy Northwest and began the first leg of my Eastward Journey — which actually begins here, in California.

Of course I’m aware of the fact that not everyone back in PDX has the time and/or cash money to go around just traversing this Nation of ours, so as a service to the Reader Back Home, I plan not only on covering baseball in these electronic pages, but also in attempting to give the same Reader a sense of place, as it were.

So, first things first, here are some things — not entirely baseball related — that the Curious Reader might care to know about Southern California, where I’m almost positive Lake Elsinore and Rancho Cucamonga are located:

• Carson, CA, about which I was always excited as a child on account of my name is its name, too, is a dumphole.
• Every coffee shop in Los Angeles County requires table service. In other words, if you want even just a muffin, chances are it’ll be brought to you by someone of the Latin Persuasion.
• Boobs! I’m not lying, they’re everywhere. Sometimes not even attached to the female of the species*.
• The temperature is like 83 degrees every second of the day.
• People here refer to clouds as the “marine layer”.
• People here refer to themselves … constantly.

*Lie.

Inning Three: Nice Guys Actually Finish First
Sometimes in the world of baseball you’ll hear an announcer say — about a player or manager — you’ll hear him say that, “So-and-so is as nice a guy as you’d ever want to meet.”

I’ll be honest and say that, while I’m sure that So-and-so is probably a pretty decent chap and all, I think it’s always best — and in no place is this more true than in baseball — it’s always best to harbor a natural suspicion for the superlative construction.

But I’ll be honest a second time and also say that, when you’re talking about nice-a-guys-as-you’d-ever-want-to-meet, please don’t forget to leave North County Times writer John Maffei out of the discussion. Monsieur Maffei — who also contributes to Baseball America (which, more on that publication momentarily) — shared the air-conditioned press box at Lake Elsinore with yours truly and gained huge points, first, by not spitting on me (as has been the MO of many other Baseball Men), and second, by condescending to answer all of the annoying questions I had about the region and team. So, big ups to John Maffei.

Inning Four: Nice Guys Actually Finish First, Vol II
Sean McCall is the radio voice of the Lake Elsinore Storm and has been for 14 years. He’s also an inductee into the entirely real, so-not-fictional Ecstatic Truth Hall of Fame, on account of he called every last plate appearance of Lake Elsinore’s 33-18 defeat of High Desert on June 28 of this year.

That was the pretense upon which I introduced myself to him — wanting to know more about calling that game, I mean — and in addition to a good-natured response (“It sure filled up the scorebook, I know that much”), Sean McCall also showered me and my ladyfriend in kindness and gifts.

Regard: an incomplete list of things I got for free from Sean McCall:

• A Lake Elsinore Storm baseball cap
• A business card
• A beer
• Life coaching
• Insider info
• Good vibes
• A toothbrush (seriously)

Thanks, Sean!

Inning Five: Scene Report
It would be pretty accurate to say that the town of Lake Elsinore, California is in the middle of the frigging desert, and that, by the Transitional Property of Baseball Stadia*, the Lake Elsinore Storm’s home field, known succinctly as The Diamond, is very much also in the middle of the frigging desert. Let me tell me tell you something, Reader, in case you didn’t know it: the desert is hawt as bawls.

Today was Super Splash Day at The Diamond, which what that means is, is a ton of short, loud people (read: children) come to the ballpark and soak each other with water guns and water balloons and probably spit. That part wasn’t so fun. What was fun was watching fans throw water balloons at players — and then having the players throw them back fanward. A number of direct hits were scored and basically every last person was filled to the brim with raucous fun.

With raucous fun and beer, that is.

*Totally a real thing.

Inning Six: Prospecting: Aaron Breit
Aaron Breit was a 12th round pick in 2005.

His line on the season is: 50 IP, 59 K, and 17 BB. Accoring to Minor League Splits, he’s sporting a 54.6% groundball percentage.

In 6 IP this afternoon he had 10 K and 0 BB with 0 HR allowed.

Breit is interesting. His stuff isn’t overwhelming, nor does Baseball America rate him among the top 30 prospects in the San Diego organization. Still, it should be noted that he’s not ancient (23) for the level and that he seems to have improved markedly after posting a line of 51 2/3 IP, 46 K, and 24 BB (good, not great) last year at Low-A Fort Wayne. Maybe something clicked, I don’t know. I would’ve asked either a) him or b) one of his coaches or c) anyone else if I weren’t an idiot.

Inning Seven: Holy Frig
While I understand that the fowl of the air neither sow, nor reap, nor gather into barns — and also that the lilies of the field toil not, nor do they spin — while I understand all that, I still have — as I’m sure some of the Readership does — I still have designs on something in the way of individual success in this base world.

Were my sorta-vain aspirations to become realized, I’d probably find myself doing something very similar to this except, uh, getting paid to do it. Which, that’s not to say the life of an Ecstatic Truth Baseball Reporter is all bad. Free cheese-covered foods, best seat in the house, fuel-efficient cars, fuel-efficient women*: a guy could do worse (especially one that looks and acts like I do). But if we take for granted that I’m reserving this inning for vain desires, then to improve my status as Official Baseballing Journalist is the one on the top of the list.

And, for what it’s worth to the Gentle Reader, there’s a chance that I might be getting mine in the near-ish future in the form of having a piece published over at Baseball America. It’s not a guarantee, and even then it’s not a big deal, but while I was loafing in SoCal here, I wrote to them, mentioned that I’d be doing some games in the California League here and they were all, “Well, if you’re not busy, maybe interview Dodger prospect, Inland Empire pitcher Chris Withrow, and his pitching coach Charlie Hough.” So that’s what I did.

Withrow’s interesting because he throwsballhard and because he hurt himself with a snorkel, which, until I heard about it, I thought that was impossible. Charlie Hough is interesting because he pitched in the majors until he was 78. And he’s only 61 now. Strange, indeed.

Both guys, it should be noted, were totally patient and generous despite my very obvious mental and physical disabilities.

*I think you know what I mean.

Game Two: Rancho Cucamonga Quakes (H) 6, Lancaster JetHawks (A) 3

Inning One: Serious Research
On account of I’m the sort of Official Baseballing Journalist who does his homework, I made a point, before showing up to Rancho Cucamonga — a.k.a. The Place Name that Rolls off Your Tongue — I made a point of running the search term “Rancho Cucamonga Quakes” through the old Google Machine.

Well, the first result one comes upon when performing such due diligence is not, in fact, the homepage for the Los Angeles Angels’ Class-A affiliate Quakes of the City of Rancho Cucamonga. No, that’s the second result. In fact, the first result is for a Latest Earthquakes Map at the United States Geological Survey.

Turns out, “Quakes” isn’t just a clever nickname. Or, at least not as clever a nickname as Cracker Cats, which is clever in the crazy way.

Inning Two: Serious Research, Vol II
Never one to let the interweb tell me what’s what, I decided to augment my initial findings with a little bit of the old field research. And while said research might’ve looked — to the untrained eye, I mean — might’ve looked an awful like me and my ladyfriend just getting a beer and eating a pizza at nearby/an area Yardhouse location, what it actually was was serious, CIA-level fact-finding.

Regard: After some serious interrogation, Yardhouse hostess Anessa* revealed that, in fact, Rancho Cucamonga is home to “two or three little earthquakes a week and bigger one about once a month.”

Don’t tell our waiter Terrence that, though. Terrence directly contradicted Anessa’s assessment, claiming with great confidence that, actually, “There’s only an earthquake here every other month or so. And even then, there’s so small that you sleep through them.”

Conclusion: Nothing is what is seems in Rancho Cucamonga.

Alternate conclusion: The employees of Yardhouse, while sweet as candy, couldn’t tell a strike-slip from a thrust fault if their lives depended on it.

*Yes, that’s Anessa. Don’t call her Vanessa, either. That lady means business.

Inning Three: The Obvious Question
Question: What does this have to do with baseball?

Answer: Everything, duh.

Inning Four: Prospecting: Alexander Torres
Rancho Cucamonga starter Alexander Torres is probably one of my favorite minor leaguers now. Part of it is because he strikes people out (about one per inning pitched); another part is how he induces groundballs at a high rate (59.8% GB%, versus a league average of about 45%). A third part is on account of he’s only 21 years old.

His line after tonight’s game was: 95 2/3 IP with 101 K, 53 BB, and the aformentioned excellent GB%.

In 7 IP in tonight’s game, he registered 8 K, 3 BB, and 2 HR.

The homeruns are actually a little flukey, as a) they both occurred in the Top of the 7th inning, right around when Torres hit the hundred pitch mark, and b) he only allowed 3 flyball outs on the evening. 2 HR allowed on 5 total flyballs or so is an unlikely rate to continue.

Inning Five: Swear Words
Tonight’s plate umpire, Chris Hickman, had mostly umped in the college ranks before tonight’s game. After tonight’s game, he’ll probably want to go straight back.

After calling out Lancaster third baseman Gabriel Suarez on a called strike three to end the top of the third. Suarez, taking exception to the call, threw his bat and made some comments to the effect of “Be fruitful and multiply” — only not in those words.

Lancaster starter Casey Hudspeth walked the Quakes’ Efren Navarro to start the next half inning — which event seemed to trigger the murderous savage in Lancaster manager Wes Clements, who proceeded to leap from the dugout, brandish a wakizashi (Japanese short sword), and perform hari kari all over Hickman. Either that, or he swore alot and got ejected. Regardless, the Lancaster players were all over Hickman from that point on, as journalist Michelle Gardner (whom I met) was keenly aware.

Inning Six: Ancient Swear Words
If I were ever to complain to an umpire, I’d say something like this, Catullus’s famous (and very dirty) Poem 16:

Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo,
Aureli pathice et cinaede Furi,
qui me ex versiculis meis putastis,
quod sunt molliculi, parum pudicum.
Nam castum esse decet pium poetam
ipsum, versiculos nihil necesse est;
qui tum denique habent salem ac leporem,
si sunt molliculi ac parum pudici,
et quod pruriat incitare possunt,
non dico pueris, sed his pilosis,
qui duros nequeunt movere lumbos.
Vos, quod milia multa basiorum
legistis, male me marem putatis?
Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo.

Inning Seven: California Dreaming
Driving back to the city proper* from Rancho Cucamonga, I had the thought that, for people who are not California — or, specifically, LA — natives, but who have had ample exposure to American pop culture, Los Angeles presents a sort of bizarre nostalgia fest. While listening to the end of the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim game in the car, I heard an ad for a Chino-area car dealership. Perhaps this isn’t the case for every last reader, but for yours truly, the City of Chino is recognizable not as a center of dairy farming, nor as the host for a number of the shooting events during the 1984 Summer Olympics — although it is/was both — but rather as the hometown of Ryan Atwood, the troubled teen who falls in with the wealthy Cohen family on TV’s The O.C.

After I began this stream of thought, it took more than just a finger in a dyke to stop the deluge of examples from my mind grapes.

Other examples include:

• San Dimas = Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure***
• Encino = Encino Man
• Pasadena = The Rose Bowl
• Beverly Hills = The Beverly Hillbillies
• Beverly Hills = Beverly Hills Cop
• Beverly Hills = Beverly Hills Cop II
• Beverly Hills = Beverly Hills Cop III
• Beverly Hills = Beverly Hills Cop IV****
• Bel-Air = The Fresh Prince of Bel Air
• Inglewood = Where Paul Pierce is from, and also that song where the guys goes, “Ingle-, Ingle-, Inglewood”*****
• Inland Empire = That one crazy David Lynch film
• Mulholland Drive = That one crazy David Lynch film

Another thought, courtesy of my friend Mike Weiss, who’s writing for a TV show starring Sherri Shepherd (below) goes something like this: every place in LA sorta looks like somewhere else. Near Runyan Canyon, for example, where I climbed a hill that almost made me blow chunks, there’s a block of brick and stone mansion-y-type houses that could easily be from any of the more affluent villages of Newton, Massachusetts. During an episode of the aforementioned The O.C. — the one where Seth and Summer visit Brown University — the campus used by the show is actually UCLA’s. In Terminator 2, when Sarah Connor has the dream about a hydrogen bomb leveling planet Earth, that post-apocalyptic landscape is actually Torrance.******

Conclusion: one doesn’t have to have been to LA at all to have, in some sense, been to LA. All this crap is familiar.

*If you could call anything about Los Angeles “proper.”**
**Awesome: two meanings.
***And yes, it does appear as though San Dimas High School Football does, indeed, rule, although not quite as much as Rancho Verde High School Football.
****The interweb says this is a real thing, coming out in 2010!
*****Is that an actual song?
******JK, Torrance. Luv ya!

So, um, you’re welcome, Wolverine State.

The fact is that, with the wedding and travels and honeymoons and family visits — with all that factored in, I probably won’t be returning to the Great Northwest until some time early in September. That’s just how it is, Reader. In the meantime, I’ve been assured the Portland Sportsman will continue to deliver the same hard-hitting news coverage that has been its calling card since … uh, since a couple months ago.

Inning Two: The Ecstatic Truth Baseball Road Trip
Before you start crying me the giantest river ever, allow me to inform you of the silver lining to this only slightly ominous cloud. Which is to say, if some things go according to plan, I will very likely submitting Reports, not terribly unlike this one, from baseball stadia the country over*. Call it an Ecstatic Truth Baseball Road Trip, how bout. Well, at least that’s what I’m calling it.

I don’t have any firm plans yet as to what games I’ll have a chance to cover, but proper nouns such as Inland Empire and Rancho Cucamonga might soon appear in these electronic pages. Quite frankly, I have no idea where those places are, but as far as proper nouns go, they’re some of the sweetest I’ve seen around.

All of which is to say: stay tuned. Stay very tuned.

*By which I mean Southern California, Michigan, and certain, select New England states. You know, “the country over.”

Inning Three: 80s Night
Tonight was 80s Night at PGE Park. In observation of said Night, spectators were treated to a-ha’s* “Take on Me” on the board in right field, a run-down of the most memorable catch phrases from that decade (e.g. I’ve fallen and I can’t get up, I pity the fool), some 80s-era dance moves: the basic stuff. What I won’t call a tragedy (because that would be a misuse of hyperbole) or even get real huffy about (because indignation is unattractive) is that one 80s phenomenon was decidely, unfortunately neglected in tonight’s celebration of that peculiar little decade. Of course, the Astute Reader will know immediately what I’m talking about — namely, international funnyman Mr. Yakov Smirnoff.

With a view to repairing this oversight, I’d like to offer the Reader some jokes I think Mr. Smirnoff, bless his heart, would have made tonight, had he made the trip to PGE Park.

Upon entering the men’s bathroom
No lines for bathroom!?! What a country! In Russia, we must wait three hours for single square of toilet paper!

Upon seeing all the concession stands
Look at all these foods! What a country! In Russia, we must wait three hours for single square of toilet paper!

Upon first seeing PGE’s Field Turf surface
Fake grass!?! What a country! In Russia, we must wait three hours for single square of toilet paper!

*Which, did you know, a-ha literally just released a new album?

Inning Four: 80s Night, Vol II
I’m not sure I’m entirely sold on the idea that a picture is worth a thousand words. That said, this is definitely worth at least several hundred.

Inning Five: Basic Questions

Tonight’s starter for Reno, Yusmeiro Petit: who is he?
Petit actually became parent club Arizona’s fifth starter after talented sinkerballer Brandon Webb was forced to the DL with arm trouble early in the season. And that’s right about where the good times stopped rolling for Petit, who proceeded, across five starts and a single relief appearance, to give up 8 HR in 24 and 2/3 innings pitched. Opposing batters put up a line of 311/371/613 (AVG/OBP/SLG) against him, while posting a not-entirely-ridiculous BABIP of .316. Translation: league average batters magically transformed into Willie Stargell* when they faced Petit. Other translation: that’s not so good.

So why even bring him up if he bites?
Petit is interesting for two reasons. The first is that he’s still only twenty-four, and really any pitcher who can bring the pain at twenty-four is worth a look-see. Second, is that Yusmeiro has put up some CRAZY numbers at lower levels. His 2004 season, in particular, is notable, as that’s when a 19-year-old Petit registered 200 K versus only 39 BB over 139 1/3 innings across three levels. That’s 12.9 K/9. Translation: Petit was kinda like a human can of whoop ass.

If Petit was so dominant at the minor league level, what gives now?
This isn’t the sort of question I can answer with any authority; however, I’m more than happy to parrot back the two criticisms that are mostly commonly leveled against Petit. The first is that he has dominated not so much with actual stuff but more with deception. Having only ever topped out at the varsity level of high school — and even then, having been quite the fraidy hitter — I’m afraid I see entirely no difference between deception and stuff. All of it ended up in the catcher’s mitt when I was batting. For some other guys, the exact opposite is true. But for most major leaguers, stuff is a problem, while deception … not so much. Petit survives off excellent control, a deceptive delivery, and about an 87 MPH fastpiece, which is not the fastest of the fastpieces (at all). You fill in the blanks.

Petit’s other shortcoming is a extremely low flyball rate — checking in at about 33% (compared to a league average of approximately 45%). Common sense (and research) shows that flyballs are likely, sometimes, to end up as dongers, and Petit — whatever his other merits — has not been able to escape what medical doctors everywhere refer to as “gopheritis”. Through 164 and 1/3 major league innings, Petit has conceded 39 HR — or just over 2 HR/9. Translation: Egads!

*Or maybe I mean Willie McCovey. Whatever. Someone named Willie, definitely. Except, not Willy Loman. His major league numbers were terrible.

Inning Six: Kyle Blanks Watch!
Kyle Blanks is the Masters of the Universe’s master.

Rejoice! Kyle Blanks has risen … to the major leagues. For what that means to you, Mr. Good Times, follow this hyperlink.

His MLB line entering today’s game was: 111/273/111 (AVG/OBP/SLG) with 0 HR, 2 BB, and 3 K in 11 PA.

In 4 PA Thursday afternoon, he went 1 for 3 with a BB and 2B.

Inning Seven: Matt Antonelli Watch!
Matt Antonelli is the Pride of Peabody.

With Kyle Blanks’s departure to our sunnier, more joyous friends to the South, Portland’s baseballing enthusiasts now have about a 6′ 6″, 300 pound hole in each of their respective hearts. Usually, that would kill a person — especially when you consider the fact that a human heart tops out at around 2 lbs, and even then, that’s only for a badly diseased heart.

While he’s his own man, Matt Antonelli is fully capable of providing Blanksian-level enthusiasm. First off, he’s from Massachusetts, a well-known distributor of Big Fun. Second off, he’s of Italian descent, which also spells 24/7 entertainment.

His line entering today’s game was: 191/310/327 with 2 HR, 17 BB, and 10 K in 130 PA.

In 5 PA Thursday night, he went 1 for 4 with a HR, BB, and 2 K.

Antonelli is currently suffering from a horrid and, frankly, almost impossibly low .192 BABIP*. While BABIP fluctuates more for batters than it does for pitchers — being subject to factors such as the batter’s foot speed and line drive rate — it is rare for it to stray very far from .300. If you adjust Antonelli’s line for bad luck, it quickly becomes much more encouraging: 288/394/491 — that is, not entirely different from what Blanks was batting before he got called up.

My fearless projection is — and this is rare for yours truly, who has everything to fear, including fear itself — is that Antonelli will start hitting the snot out of the ball. You watch, a month from now, there’ll be snot just covering PGE Park. And why? Because of Matt Antonelli, on account of he’ll have been hitting so much snot out baseballs, which are well-known to be full of snot.

*Numbers here from Minor League Splits.

Inning Eight: The Wiff
Area wiffleballers The Eastside Expos are, by some accounts, the best wiffle team in this whole great nation of ours.

I watched them defeat the Portland Gothams, also of the Columbia Cowlitz Wiffleball Association, pretty handily earlier this week, 14-0 and then 7-4.

Eastsider Sean Fouts pitched the first game (a no-hitter) and, afterwards, threw some warm-up tosses to yours truly.

Given his strikeout rate, how many balls do you think I hit into the fair part of the baseball field?*

*Hint: rhetorical question.

Inning Nine: Final Thought
Just use this time to sit and think about what you’ve done.

More photos from Josh Berezin.

Inning One: Hooked on a Feeling, Vol I
Earlier today, I attempted — less in my role as Official Baseballing Journalist and more just as a Kinda Awkward Dude — I attempted to rub elbows with both ESPN blogicator and ubermensch Rob Neyer and Tacoma’s very able radio play-by-play man Mike Curto. What they said to me when I did that was something to the effect of, “Ew, gross. Why are you trying to rub our elbows? That is, at best, totally creepy and, at worst, some type of crime against humanity. Please stop that immediately.”

Which is to say, I stopped that immediately.

Inning Two: Hooked on a Feeling, Vol II
What I began doing right after that is to ask the two Learned Men a series of three questions I’ve been thinking about real hard-like lately. Said questions are as follows:

1. Are there players for whom you have an irrational affection? Players who aren’t necessarily that good, but that you just like for whatever reason.
2. What, do you think, is the cause of said irrational affection — specifically, in your case, or generally, for all fans? Both/either. And:
3. Is there a succinct name you can think of — besides “man crush,” I mean — some term that would adequately and unembarrassingly describe this phenomenon?

The Astute Reader might remember that I touched on a similar subject — poorly, very poorly — in the most recent iteration of the Report as part of a discussion that involved both a) a Bill James blurb insisting that the game exists only to be enjoyed and b) James’s entry for Oddible McDowell in The Baseball Book 1991. In said entry, James writes about McDowell, “… there was always something about him that I liked.” To which I replied in my head, “Je ne sais quoi, much?” And about which I might have asked in print, “Why is it that we sometimes develop these attachments to certain players?” Or maybe I stated it more like: “It is right and good to develop such attachments to players!”

The term “irrational affection” is not exactly the thing I mean, though. “Alliegiance” might be closer. “Player with whom you identify” is another, somewhat wordy possibility, as well.

Inning Three: Hooked on a Feeling: The Saga Continues
The Learned Men, sensing, quite rightly, that I’m an idjiot, did little actual “answering” of my question; however, I did find out three things which may interest the Reader, as follows:

1. One player M. Neyer always liked was Kansas City-er Rusty Meacham, mostly owing to the fact that Meacham, a pitcher, “always used to toss the ball up and down to himself on the mound.” While M. Curto attributed such behavior merely to boredom, Neyer seemed — if the far-off look of wonder in his eye was any indication — he seemed considerably more moved by Meacham’s gesture.
2. According to M. Neyer, one time, when he was working on one of The Scouting Notebooks that Stats, Inc used to put out, apparently Bill James asked whomever was writing the report for the Kansas City Royals if he could write the entry for Brent Mayne. James then proceeded to list about a thousand things that were great about Mayne. The same Brent Mayne, that is, who posted a career batting line of 263/332/348.
3. Charlie Brown’s favorite baseball player was Joe Shlabotnik, a player as lovably defeated as Charlie Brown himself. You can read more about Shlabotnik on your Wikipedia machine. In the meantime, this is also enjoyable:

Inning Four: Hooked on a Feeling: Reinforcements
As luck would have it, my smarter, more successful friend, Ross McSweeney, was at tonight’s game, as well. Like any Ecstatic Truth Journalist worth his salt, I posed to him the same three questions. Here are Ross’s answers, largely undigested and frequently misremembered.

On a possible name or description for this feeling
It’s an unfounded attachment. Like, consider that I wasn’t even alive when he played, and yet I have an unfounded attachment for Stan Musial. I don’t know what it is exactly, but I like the idea of Stan Musial, of being “a Stan Musial guy.” I’m the sort of guy who like Stan Musial.

On possible grounds for developing such an unfounded attachment
There’s a sense of ownership but also one of discovery. It demonstrates an acuity of fandom to say that I, Ross McSweeney, have an understanding of such and such a player’s hidden strengths — strengths that no other fan, not even his own team, can quite understand.

On certain players for who he felt this unfounded attachment
Probably anyone from the 1999 incarnation of the Boston Red Sox. Trot Nixon. John Valentin. That whole team was full of nobodies. Troy O’Leary. I remember, one time, Valentin hit for the cycle, and I was so proud. I felt a swelling of pride.

Trot Nixon I liked because of the power surge he had as an older player.

I felt that way, too, about former Duke sharpshooter Trajan Langdon. He was a J.J. Redick sort of player with similar success (or lack thereof) in the NBA. He played for the Cavs, and in like 1999 or 2000, he had a triple-double out of nowhere. It was the apotheosis of all of his being. I remember seeing it on the ESPN sportsticker and staying up to watch NBA Primetime or whatever it’s called — something I wouldn’t usually watch — just to see the highlights of Langdon. I felt that same sort of pride.

Inning Five: Hooked on a Feeling: The Welcome Conclusion
The players for whom we form these unfounded attachments or allegiances are usually players with some obvious strength and, usually, some equally obvious flaw that makes him (i.e. the player in question) something less than perfect and, hence, human. Like, can anyone feel a sense of ownership over Albert Pujols? What else does he represent besides perfection? Michael Jordan, same thing. One might aspire to be great like Jordan, but it’s impossible to identify with him. And certainly there’s no sense of discovering him. He’s universally acknowledged to be great.

Ross invoked Gary Gaetti as an example of a player with such qualities as can be, and have been, championed (by the Gary Gaetti Cult, most notably). His mullet, his flapless helmet, his ample wrist hair, his frequent invocations of beer-drinking: Gaetti is an archetype of masculine virtue gone wild.

As archetypes is one way to think of these players — or, at least, the qualities we choose to see or emphasize in these players. I’m also reminded of Edith Hamilton’s description of the Roman gods, from her very able Mythology. The relevant quote goes like:

It was a simple matter to adopt the Greek gods because the Romans did not have definitely personified gods of their own. They were a people of deep religious feelings, but they had little imagination. They could never have created the Olympians, each a distinct, vivid personality. Their gods, before they took over from the Greeks, were vague, hardly more than a “those that are above.” They were THE NUMINA, which means the Powers or the Wills — the Will-Powers, perhaps.

Until Greek literature and art entered Italy the Romans felt no need for beautiful, poetic gods. They were a practical people and they did not care about “Violet-tressed Muses who inspire song” or “Lyric Apollo making sweet melodies upon his golden lyre,” or anything of that sort. They wanted useful gods. An important Power, for example, was One who Guards the Cradle. Another was One Who Presides over Children’s Food. No stories were ever told about the Numina. For the most part they were not even distinguished as male or female. The simple acts of everyday life, however, were closely connected with them and gained dignity from them as was not the case with any of the Greek gods except Demeter and Dionysus.

The most prominent and revered of them all were the LARES and PENATES. Every Roman family had a Lar, who was the spirit of an ancestor, and several Penates, gods of the hearth and guardians of the storehouse. They were the family’s own gods, belonging only to it, really the most important part of it, the protectors and defenders of the entire household. They were never worshipped in temples, but only in the home, where some of the food at each meal was offered to them. There were also public Lares and Penates, who did for the city what the others did for the family.

There were also many Numina connected with the life of the household, such as TERMINUS, Guardian of Boundaries; PRIAPUS, Cause of Fertility; PALES, Strengthener of Cattle; SYLVANUS, Helper of Plowmen and Woodcutters. A long list could be made. Everything important to the farm was under the care of a beneficent power, never conceived of as having a definite shape.

Besides Hamilton’s entirely uncalled-for aside about the lack of imagination among the Roman people, what we learn here is that the Roman gods were, if less sophisticated, then also more useful than their Greek cousins. Concerns about the baby’s food? Voila! Here’s the Guardian of said food. Need your crops to grow? Boo-yah! God of the Crops is here to help.

Player-as-Roman-god is a nice thought, too. Mark Bellhorn? He’s the God of Maximizing Your One and Only Talent. Kyle Blanks? He’s the God of Being a Gigantic Huge Person.

Inning Six: Basic Questions, Vol 1
Brian Lawrence pitched for the Beavers tonight. Wasn’t he on that show Blossom?
No. You’re thinking of Joey Lawrence.*

Who’s Brian Lawrence then?
Brian Lawrence is a kinda underwhelming Crafty Righty. Unfortunately “Crafty Righty” isn’t really a thing, which is why Lawrence hasn’t done a whole lot of pitching in the major leagues as of late. He posted an ERA+** of 102 in 31 starts for San Diego in 2002, and then saw his strikeout rate fall to more or less unsustainably low levels.

He was signed by that same San Diego team yesterday and moved up here to Beautiful Portland, Oregon to drink our coffee, smell our roses, and, if he has time, throw some baseball pitches to guys about 10 years his junior.

In between his stints with San Diego — that is, from the end of 2005 till now — his life sorta resembles Johnny Cash’s “I’ve Been Everywhere”.

How’d he look tonight?
Almost exactly like you’d think he would: 6 IP, 1 BB, 3 K, 1 HR. He got a little hit-lucky, allowing only 5 of them (i.e. hits), but yeah, kinda vintage Brian Lawrence … if you can call that “vintage.”

Are you sure he isn’t the guy from Blossom?
Oh, I’m sorry, you’re right: he’s totally the guy from Blossom. My B.

*Née Joseph Mignogna, Jr.
**That is, his ERA relative to the rest of the league, adjusted for ballpark. Over 100 = better than league average.

Inning Seven: Stretch
Tacoma Rainier Maria Rilke: there’s a joke here somewhere. But where?

Inning Eight: Basic Questions, Vol 2
Do you know any more about Tacoma’s Cavalcade of Prospects after tonight’s game than you did after the last game you wrote about?
I know that Prentice Redman, while not a prospect per se, is probably deserving of a shot at the major league level with somebody. Dude hit 310/388/571 (AVG/OBP/SLG) last year in 365 PA with Tacoma. Dude is hitting 312/378/558 in 242 PA this year. Dude isn’t even 30 yet and has only 27 major league PA — and those were in 2003. Dude has the middle name Montezz.

Wait, Montezz? Are you serious?
I’d like to think, Fake Inquisitor, that you and I have developed enough of a relationship that you wouldn’t second guess my forthrightness.

Sorry, dogg. I was just feeling a little incredulous.
Don’t sweat it. I was incredulous when I first heard it, too.

Inning Nine: Kyle Blanks Watch!

Kyle Blanks is The Beast in the Jungle, regardless of what Henry James says.

His line entering today’s game was: 276/386/469 (AVG/OBP/SLG) with 11 HR, 37 BB, and 62 K in 272 PA.

In 4 PA Wednesday afternoon, he went 2 for 2 with a BB and a sacrifice fly.

One would guess — and quite rightly, I’d imagine — that flies aren’t the only things Kyle Blanks sacrifices.

The Astute Reader might remember how, in a recent iteration of the Report, yours truly went head over you-know-whats for Gregory F. Augustine Pierce’s new-ish book How Bill James Changed Our View of Baseball. Pierce, president and co-publisher of ACTA Publishing and ACTA Sports, not so coincidentally is also editor of another collection from the press, this one called Diamond Presence: Twelve Stories of Finding God at the Old Ball Park.

Perhaps even less coincidentally, James himself provides one of the blurbs for that book, which goes something like:

There are two things that one can never say often enough: one, that the game exists only to be enjoyed; and two, that there is no limit to the number of ways that it can be enjoyed. Diamond Presence shines a light upon these two truths.

While the Gentle Reader would obviously take great pains to avoid such baleful company, there are those out there — especially among the computer- and fun-hating ranks of Puritan sportswriters — there are those who might be shocked and/or awed that Bill James — a.k.a. Baby Daddy of the Sabermetric Revolution — would be able to spare even one minute from whatever goes on in his mother’s basement to emerge into daylight and (gasp!) enjoy baseball. And yet, here you have it, James seems not only to enjoy baseball, but insists that “the game exists only to be enjoyed.” Only, he says. Note it duly!

Inning Two: On That Note

Hey, remember how, in each of the last two Reports, I’ve quoted liberally from Bill James’s The Baseball Book 1991? Well, I’m gonna do that again. Like, right now.

In this episode of WDJD (What Did James Do?), we visit James’s Basic Questions entry on Oddibe McDowell, then of the Atlanta Braves:

How does he fit into the Braves’ outfield?

I’ve been stubborn about Oddibe, continuing to believe that he was better than he is. His numbers have never been great, but there was always something about him that I liked.

The thing to note here — what I get from it, anyway — is James’s sorta sly admission about some maybe-kinda-a-little-bit irrational feelings for Oddibe, which he suggests in the line “… there was always something about him that I liked.”

First, we should note that this is not necessarily the sort of behavior one expects from a raging stat geek. On the contrary, it’s representative of the sort of arbitrary allegiances we baseball (sports?) fans develop sometimes to certain players — allegiances, that is, based frequently on little more than “a feeling.”

Second, more generally, I would like to invite readers of all colors, creeds, and inseems both to develop and examine their own, totally irrational allegiances.

*I just call him Oddibe. We’s on a first-name basis.

Inning Three: Apologia of Sorts

Roman Gentleman of Letters, Pliny the Younger, writes in a letter to Tuscus — you know, Tuscus — he writes apropos the latter’s reading list:

Remember to be careful in your choice of authors of every kind: for, as it has been well observed, ‘though we should read much, we should not read many books.’

The reason why I bring this up is to nip in the bud any comments an Outspoken Reader might have in re my constant invocations of Bill James, ACTA Sports, and/or the very succinctly-named Gregory F. Augustine Pierce. What a guy like me does — what smart people in general do, I’m guessing — is read deeply those works that they (i.e. the smart people I just mentioned) find particularly useful. Other texts oughtn’t be read merely for “variety” or “diversity’s sake” if they possess less in the way of Truth.

In other words: if the Ecstatic Truth Baseball Report’s greatest achievement is the occasionally able exegesis of certain, better works by certain, better writers, then so be it.

Inning Four: Apropos Blurbs

Among the “stories and pieces” in his 2001 collection Superbad, terrible infant Ben Greenman includes “Blurbs”, a send-up of the blurb form, in general, and, more specifically, the often preposterous flights of hyperbole that one finds in said form. Greenman goes one step further, too: the blurbs in the piece are about the piece itself — creating a recipe which, were I 53-year-old woman, I would refer to as “delish.”

Included in Greenman’s “Blurbs” are the following, uh, blurbs:

In just four-hundred words, this piece dismantles the history of modern literature and pieces it back together again.

–The Los Angeles Times

The central conceit — a humor piece composed entirely of blurbs about that humor piece — reads like a Mobius strip tied around Jorge Luis Borges’s finger.

–The Boston Globe

Imagine a cross between the blurbs from Bridges of Madison County and the blurbs from Infinite Jest.

–The Cleveland Plain Dealer

A splendid piece, beautifully conceived and crafted … No other collection of blurbs this year comes close.

–The San Jose Mercury News

If John Barth met Samuel Beckett in a bar, and the two of them got into a cab, and the cab picked up Andy Kaufman, and then the cab driver turned around, and it was Dorothy Parker, that would be awfully strange. It would also be the rough equivalent of this marvelous short work.

–The Baltimore Sun

Inning Five: Three Blurbs

Were someone to write a series of blurbs somehow involving tonight’s game, it might look like this:

“Douglas Fister‘s Preposterous Strikeout-to-Walk Ratio is a stunning novel, a breathtaking tour de force. . . . Submit to the addiction and receive Preposterous Strikeout-to-Walk Ratio‘s pleasures unadulterated, unabridged, and magnificent.”

–Book Page

“Tacoma’s Cavalcade of Prospects* offers huge entertainment. . . . Only Gaddis and Pynchon have this range. So brilliant you need sunglasses to read it, but it has a heart as well as a brain. Cavalcade of Prospects is both a vast, comic epic and a profound study of the postmodern condition . . . a Naked Lunch for the aughts.”

–Review of Contemporary Fiction

“Ambitious and frequently brilliant . . . Tacoma’s Twenty-Hit Barrage [is] a raucous Falstaffian, deadly serious vision of a cartwheeling culture in the self-pleasuring throes of self-destruction. . . . Almost certainly the biggest and boldest novel we’ll see this year . . . and probably one of the best.”

–Kirkus Reviews

*I mean, seriously: Mike Carp, Michael Saunders, Jeff Clement, and Adam Moore. Plus Mike Morse and Prentice Redman aren’t so bad.

Inning Six: Kyle Blanks Watch!

Kyle Blanks puts the pain in Au Bon Pain.

His line entering today’s game was: 276/386/471 (AVG/OBP/SLG) with 11 HR, 36 BB, and 62 K in 264 PA.

In 4 PA Wednesday afternoon, he went 2 for 4 with a 2B.

Ya heard!?!

Inning Seven: Stretch

Q. What’s the newest name of crack Portland Beavers Media Relations Intern Rob “Rocket” Morse’s fantasy team?

A. The Pence is Mightier

Inning Eight: Nary a Jerry

Jason Vondersmith, in case you didn’t know, is both a) a sportswriter for the Portland Tribune and b) someone in whose presence — owing to my privileged status as Official Baseballing Journalist, that is – someone in whose presence I’m allowed to sit without being dragged away by the crack squad of security personnel here at PGE Park.

Jerry Owens, in case you didn’t know, is both a) the leadoff hitter and center fielder for the Rainiers of Tacoma and b) named Jerry.

It was this latter fact which the aforementioned M. Vondersmith pointed out with some surprise as M. Owens strode to the batter’s box this evening, adding something to the effect of (M. Vondersmith did, I mean), “You don’t find a lot of Jerrys in the baseball these days.”

Nor did he err in this observation. In fact, as of right now, in The Bigs, there is only one Jerry: Cincinnati Reds Everyman Jerry Hairston, Jr.

“What about Jerry Blevins?” maybe the Informed Reader is shouting somewhere in front of his computer. “Well, what about Jerry Blevins?” I ask back, as if to make a point. “Everyone who’s anyone knows that Blevins hasn’t pitched in the majors since May 12^th, after which he was sent down to Oakland’s Triple-A affiliate, Sacramento.

“Oh, yeah!? Well what about –” Stop, friend. You’ll only embarrass yourself. Just stop.

Inning Nine: A Moustache by Any Other Name

Despite the present dearth of Jerrys in The Show, our old friend Yesteryear has had its share of them. About a gabillion, if I’m counting correctly. Jerry Reuss, Jerry Remy, Jerry Mumphrey, and the Original Jerry Hairston all come to mind. Of course, there’s nothing too peculiar about this. Jerry is a pretty common name. In fact, if I’m remembering correctly, there’s a good chance that exactly 100% of the dads connected to Concord Northeast Little League from about 1990 – 1993 were named Jerry. I could be misremembering that, but I’m pretty sure.

What is peculiar is the proportion of Jerrys who have opted to decorate the face part of their bodies with (frequently amazing and sometimes pervy) moustaches. Reuss, Remy, Mumphrey, Hairston: all ‘stached it up big time. I don’t have the hard data at hand, but my guess is, were one interested in making a Venn diagram in which one set consisted of former major leaguers with the praenomen Jerry and another set consisted of major leaguers named Jerry who had moustaches, it would probably end up looking a lot like:

We’ve got a saying where I come from. It goes: “Once a Cistulli, always a Cistulli.”

We’ve got a couple other sayings, too, like: “You can tell a Cistulli, but you can’t tell him much.” And also: “One if by land, two if by Cistulli.”

I’m not sure I understand what any of those mean; like a lot of accepted wisdom, the above sentiments are not necessarily concerned with “making sense.” I do know one thing, however: I am so ready to get this Ecstatic Truth party started.

Mount up, regulators.

Inning Two: A Man Named Tracy

Tracy Morgan, in case you didn’t know, is the funniest. “Funniest what?” maybe you’re asking. “Doesn’t matter,” I say back, real hard-like. Animal, plant, mineral: name a genus or phylum, and Tracy Morgan is the funniest of it.

In terms of QED-ing this claim, allow me to direct your attention to this appearance by Morgan on the Letterman show, during which he (i.e. Morgan) says – in re his “ex-girlfriend” Oprah Winfrey – he says, “I got her open, she open to me like a research monkey.”

Apropos that comment, I think we can all agree that it’s both a) highlarious and b) suggestive as a mother. I mean, were I feeling industrious and decided to count them, I bet I could find like seven entendres in there. Still, it’s not disgusting in any obvious way – like, in a way that would get Morgan or Letterman fined by the FCC.

Inning Three: And Why I Bring That Up Is…

A couple weeks ago, while neglecting my duties as a productive member of society, I sat in the left field bleachers of PGE Park with my friends Ross and Dan (with whom I co-author The New Enthusiast), watched Portland play Memphis, and vigorously neglected to write word one about any of it.

Among the many inappropriate we said and/or thought during our three sun-drenched hours, one of them was how sporting broadcast announcers sometimes have disgusting ways of describing totally innocuous acts. Among them are:

• Any number of times when a baseball play-by-play guy talks about a ball being “fisted” into right field, by which he means that it’s been hit off the handle of the bat, or

• NCAA basketabll announcer Jim Nantz, when he says that one player performs a “reach around” on another when, in fact, he (i.e. Nantz) means that the one player is attempting to steal the ball from the other player, or

• NBA colorman Hubie Brown’s penchant for describing a player’s time on the bench as getting a blow, as in “Shaq is gonna go get a blow here,” or

• Brown, again, describing the need for a team to involve their star player by saying, for example, “Philadelphia has to get Allen Iverson off here.”

I’m not good with opposites, so I won’t say this phenomenon – that is, describing the innocuous in a dirty way – is necessarily the opposite of what Tracy Morgan is doing with the Oprah/research monkey comment, but it’s definitely different and also funny in a different way.

Inning Four: HURRY UP PLEASE IT’S TIME

Baseball is difficult. Hitting a baseball is difficult. Throwing it in such a way as to prevent others from hitting it is difficult. Fielding it after it’s been hit is difficult. Actual major leaguers, men who’ve presumably trained to play the sport for the bulk of their lives, find it difficult – sometimes borderline impossible.

All of which is why I find today’s starting time of 11 am noteworthy. Consider: last night’s game, against these same Aces of Reno ended at 10:05 pm last night. So what that means is, after spending three hours of playing baseball – plus however many hours of warmup or BP or whatever go with that – in addition to that, the Reno and Portland teams came out today, did warmup and BP or whatever, and played again at 11 am, thirteen hours after having finished the night previous.

First off, I find it odd that any human is asked to work at his highest level at 10 pm. Sure, there are certain industries where one is expected to, uh, perform at all hours, but, from what very little I know of the sleep sciences, my sense is that 10 pm is not necessarily go-time so far as the body and/or brain are concerned.

Nextly, to be required to perform at that same high level before noon the next day – especially when so many games are in the evening – seems more like a hilarious prank than anything else. Of course, I understand that there are scheduling and travel constraints and all that; I’m just wondering if these players, the ones in today’s game, were playing at maximum capacity.*

Just for fun, I thought I might consider some of the things that I, Carson Cistulli, am unable to do at 10 pm one night and then 11 am the next morning. The list includes:

• Be awake

Actually, that’s kinda a trump card.

*Which is not to be confused with the 1996 Jean-Claude Van Damme vehicle Maximum Risk or 2002 Velerio Mastandrea vehicle Velocità Massima.

Inning Five: Kyle Blanks Watch!

Kyle Blanks is ridikulas.

His line entering today’s game was: 266/383/473 (AVG/OBP/SLG) with 11 HR, 35 BB, and 61 K in 248 PA.*

He (gasp!) didn’t play today

There were a lot of rumors as to why Blanks wasn’t in the lineup today for the Beavers, all of them (that is, the rumors) started by me, and all of them involving hand-to-hand combat.

*For whatever reason, Fangraphs seems to be a day behind these days. Baseball Reference isn’t, so.

Inning Six: Basic Questions

I experimented with this last Report, and the crowd went wild.

Vincent Sinisi (Portland): Portland right fielder or Cosa Nostra higher-up?

Defintely the former. As for the latter, I couldn’t say. By which I mean I’m not allowed to say.

Besides having that sweet name, is there anything else to think about him?

Well, for starters, he’s a different person than Val Pascucci, which is who I’ve been mistaking him for ever since he (i.e. Sinisi) was reinstated from the DL about a month ago. I mean, literally up till the fifth inning of today’s game, when I started looking this stuff up, I thought Sinisi was Pascucci.

Who the flip is Val Pascucci?

He’s Valentino Pascucci, a thirty-year-old currently playing for the Dodgers’ Triple-A affiliate, the Isotopes of Albuquerque. He used to be, as I remember him, a power-hitting, twenty-five-year-old prospect.

What’s so special about him?

How about, number one, he’s awesome. His last four years in Triple-A look a lot like this:

YEAR	PA	AVG	OBP	SLG
2008	481	280	403	508
2007	529	284	389	577
2004	471	298	414	575
2003	572	281	419	447

You’ll notice in the above chart-y looking thing that 2005 and 2006 are omitted. This is due either to the fact that a) Pascucci played in Japan for both those years or b) those two years have been omitted from our collective memories like in Total Recall or something.

What’s Sinisi, chopped liver?

Eh. He’s not bad. He’s just very minor league-y in that he does enough good stuff – makes occasional contact, picks up after himself – to keep him around, but not so much that you (and by “you,” I mean you, the San Diego Padres) want to make him your right fielder.

Is it racist that you mixed up Sinisi and Pascucci, just because they’re both Italian?

Hey, vaffanculo, you judgemental judger.

Inning Seven: Stretch

Among the many things I’ve neglected to do – like washing the dishes and also myself – one of them is make space in the Report for Rob “Rocket” Morse, the Portland Beavers’ crack Media Relations Intern. Rocket, as you will remember, is the author of some of the the most ecstatic fantasy team names you’ll ever want to see. A couple recent interations for team names include:

• Ehre’s Jhonny (after Cleveland shortstop Jhonny Peralta), and

• Crap, I forget the second one he told me.

Well, at least that first one’s real funny.

Inning Eight: Basic Questions, The Remix

Hey, where was your new BFF Ruben Gotay today?

He pinch-hit for Reno pitcher Jose Marte in the fifth inning today.

Did that bum you out a little?

What are you, a psychologist?

Inning Nine: Bill James’s Greatest Hits

A lot like a local radio station, the Ecstatic Truth Baseball Report promises to play the best from the 70s, 80s, 90s, and today. By which I mean to say that, much as I did last Report, I have no problem typing up and publishing here selections from Bill James’s The Baseball Book 1991.

One of the ones I want to show you is this one, about Carl Nichols, then (in 1991) of the Houston Astros

Who is he?

Third-string catcher, came up with Baltimore seveal years ago. Couldn’t hit a baby in the butt with a fly-swatter.

I don’t know what sort of people go around trying to hit babies on the butts with fly swatters, but it appears as though – in James’s opinion, anyway – this Carl Nichols fellow wouldn’t have been particularly successful at it.

]]> http://portlandsportsman.com/?feed=rss2&p=618 0 http://portlandsportsman.com/?p=576 http://portlandsportsman.com/?p=576#comments Tue, 09 Jun 2009 00:05:18 +0000 Carson Cistulli http://portlandsportsman.com/?p=576 Inning One: Socrates Johnson

Greek philosopher Socrates – aka Father of the Western Intellectual Tradition – is famous for many reasons, such as appearing in a number of Plato’s Dialogues, his more-than-neighborly interest in Greek youth, and also for his prominent role in 1989′s genre-smashing hit Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure.*

He’s also famous for developing the Socratic Method, which is different from the Crystal Method in that the Crystal Method is a Grammy-award-winning duo in the genre called electronica, while the Socratic Method is a form of inquiry in which (usually) opposing viewpoints are taken by one speaker each, with a view to reaching insight by means of dialectic.

*I also vaguely remember him as member of the celebrity chorus in “We Are the World”, but I’m unable to substantiate this.

Inning Two: The Rhetorical Device of Compare and Contrast

Jerry Seinfeld is sorta like a modern day Socrates.

But also not so much.

Inning Three: Not That William James

Kansan philosopher Bill James – aka Baby Daddy of the Sabermetric Revolution – is famous for mostly one reason: as the man who introduced all manner of statistical analysis to baseball, thus spawning an entire new pastime for young men everywhere living in their mothers’ basements.

Of course, that’s why he’s famous, which is different than what he ought to be famous for. It’s the latter of those that a new-ish book How Bill James Changed Our View of Baseball, edited by Gregory F. Augustine Pierce, attempts to examine. How Bill James is a collection of twelve essays by people either professionally or personally linked to James, featuring such luminaries as ESPN blogicator Rob Neyer; Houston Rockets GM Daryl Morey; author of the excellent Fantasyland, Sam Walker; and Bill James’s own ladyfriend, Susan McCarthy.

As Pierce writes in his introduction:

I must admit that I was surprised and even a little skeptical when Time magazine named Bill James one of the “100 Most Influential People in the World” in April of 2006. James was included on a list with world political, religious, business, educational, art, and entertainment leaders. Give me a break, I thought. He’s an interesting person, but one of the hundred most influential people in the WORLD? Up there with people looking for a cure for cancer or ways to bring about world peace?

So I started asking people why Bill James would ever be included on a list like that, and I began to get some interesting answers. It turns out that what he was doing with baseball has all kinds of applications in other walks of life. It is not just that he had changed how people think about baseball; he has changed how a whole generation of people think about a lot of things.

Inning Four: And That’s Relevant How, Exactly?

Recently, yours truly, entirely smitten with the aforementioned book, turned immediately to my humble bookcase and pulled from it James’s The Baseball Book 1991. The Baseball Books represented, to James, a departure from the work he’d done in the Abstracts, aimed less at inventing new metrics for understanding baseball and more at sorting through the many that now existed (many created by James himself) for meaning.

What’s particularly cool about the 1991 edition is the first section, entitled Basic Questions. About this section, James writes in the Introduction:

What I’ve tried to do in the first section of this book this year is talk about, write about, as many of the things which are on the minds of the average baseball fan … I tried to find the basic questions about each major league player. The basic questions about Daryl Strawberry: How’s he going to do in Los Angeles? How will he hit in Dodger Stadium? How much will his loss hurt the Mets? How much will he help in LA? What are his career totals going to be? Is he going to hist 500 home runs in his career? 600? How many?

He then proceeds, for 180 giant, three-columned pages, to do just that. The method, if not exactly Socratic in execution, is certainly Socratic in spirit, using inquiry as a means to gain greater insight – into the players, specifically, and the truth, more generally.

The product is excellent, vintage James, whether he’s warning us to appreciate Eric Davis, almost pinky-swearing us that Lance Dickson will be a star (he pitched 14 innings in the majors), or referring to Luis Encarnacion of Kansas City as “the Rodney Dangerfield of the Royals’ organization.”

There are also kinda mean entries, such as this, in re Jerry Kutzler of the White Sox:

Who is he?

Right-handed starting pitcher, pitched well for Tampa in 1988. I don’t expect him to be a major league starting pitcher, ever.

Never was there a more biting “ever,” I’d say.

And then there’s this in re Baltimore’s Jose Mesa, which is just awesome:

Can he pitch in the major leagues?

Can a bear perform heart surgery? I guess you never know unless you give him a scalpel and stand back.

Anywho, I bring all this up by way of creating the giantest anti-climax in Ecstatic Truth Journalism history. Partially in homage to James, partially to keep you and I awake, I will be writing the remainder of the present Report in the style of Basic Questions section from The Baseball Book 1991.

One note before I begin: where James writes that he is attempting to address questions that the “average baseball fan” might have, I have attempted, in what follows, to anticipate and answer questions that an average Portland Sportsman reader might have. On account of I have zero idea who reads the Sportsman, besides all of our mothers, then this gives me great freedom, I think.

Okay. Ready? Here goes:

BASIC QUESTIONS:

YOUR PORTLAND BEAVERS v RENO ACES

JUNE 07, 2009

Mike Baxter, the guy who batted second and played right for Portland today: who is he?

Baxter was recently (as in, yesterday) promoted from Double-A San Antonio, where he was Texas League Player of the Month in May. He put up a 376/441/559 line (AVG/OBP/SLG) with 23 doubles in 202 AB. That’s pretty good, except for two caveats, one giant and one slightly less giant:

1. He sported a .471 average on balls in play at San Antonio, and, less giant:

2. He only hit 4 HR.

If you adjust Baxter’s BA to reflect something like a .300 BABIP (around major league average), it drops to something around .230 – much different than the .376 he actually posted.

Baseball Prospectus offers a slightly more encouraging major league translation: 274/317/438, with a .338 BABIP. That’s not so bad for a 24-year-old.

As for the lack of dongers – well, Baxter has hit those 23 doubles, and I know I’ve heard people talk about how, as a player gets older and stronger, those doubles “turn into home runs.” I’ve heard elsewhere that doubles are just as much about speed as power, so … so where does that leave us?

The answer is, I don’t know exactly. One thing to note is this: in the bottom of the seventh of today’s game, Baxter hit a ball to right field that was, by no means, a sure-thing double, but he legged it out. So that’s an example of a double that will not be “turning into a home run” anytime soon.

The third baseman for Reno, Ruben Gotay – is there a reason I recognize his name?

Well, if you watched Kansas City games in 2004-05 or New York Mets’ games in 2007 or Atlanta games last year, then yes, there is a reason, because he played for those teams.

That’s impossible. That Ruben Gotay was a kinda anonymous slap hitter. This one is hitting .288 with a .416 OBP. He has 40 BB versus only 20 K in 177 AB.

I don’t know what you want me to say. There are three (or maybe more) explanations:

1. Gotay’s improvement is not an improvement at all, but merely a statistical fluke, or

2. This is a skill that Gotay has developed because he’s playing at Triple-A for the fourth time, but not something that he would necessarily bring with him to the majors, or

3. Over the winter, Gotay underwent experimental surgery during which his eyes were removed and replaced with the eyes of the Tawny Owl, which can see for miles in the dark.

The most likely of these is the second – that Gotay is 26 and playing in Triple-A for the fourth time.

Also, if I could add: for an average reader of the Sportsman, you sure have a lot of information about, and interest in, minor league baseball. Ever think about writing for us?

Do Gotay’s slash stats kinda make you have a crush on him?

N’doy. And the same is true basically for any player who throws up a BA below .300 and an OBP above .400.

Reno’s entire team has kinda crazy numbers. What’s the deal?

They do have crazy numbers. Behold them, in something that I bet will look nothing like a chart:

Player	AB	AVG	OBP	SLG
Carlin, Luke	118	305	393	424
Gotay, Ruben	177	282	416	418
Murillo, Augustin	101	317	388	475
Nunez, Abraham	65	308	408	415
Romero, Alex	219	361	425	484

Small sample size warnings abound here, but that’s pretty impressive. It’s the first year of baseball in Aces Ballpark, but my guess is that it’s a hitter’s park, both because of the sorts of numbers that the Reno hitters are putting up and also for the fact that Las Vegas (which is also in Nevada) is a crazy hitter’s park (with a park factor of 1091). Consider also that, while Las Vegas has an elevation of ca. 2000 feet, Reno’s is over twice that – ca. 4500 feet.

That said, Reno might not be a hitter’s park at all. I looked on the internets a little and no one seems to’ve published the information yet.

Also, another thing to note: none of those guys are really slugging all that much – none of them are over .500, even. Nor are the batting averages all that crazy (although Luke Carlin won’t be a .305 hitter at the major league level). What’s interesting is the OBPs relative to the averages. Carlin has an almost 90 point difference, Gotay’s is huge, Nunez’s is 100 points even. Some ballparks can create more walks – because of lighting, maybe, or the threat of a home run – but not to this degree, I’m thinking.

What was the deal with the weather today? Weather.com said it’d be, like, 73 and sunny at game time, when it was actually more like 65 and cloudy as all frig?

Unfortunately, I’m not a meteorologist.

And I mean “unfortunately” on so many levels.

Actually, no I don’t.

Hector Ambriz (Reno): five strikeouts in the first two innings. What gives?

It’s hard to say exactly what gives. Ambriz has had good, not great strikeout numbers for his age and level. Last year, as a 24-year-old at Double-A Mobile, he put up rates of 6.96 K and 2.77 BB per 9 IP, which is eh-worthy material. This year, however, repeating at Mobile, he put up rates of 9.93 K/9 and 1.86 BB/9 in 29 IP. He’s youngish, still, although he was also repeating, so it’s hard to say if that improvement in numbers equals improvement in skill.

So far, in 41 and 2/3 Triple-A innings, he’s put up a 7.78 K/9 and 3.67 BB/9.

More on this absolutely never.

Are you ready for a “taste explosion”?

There are two ways to answer this. First is, were I ready for a “taste explosion,” I would most definitely try Frosty Bites, available at PGE Park. Second is, in case no one noticed, the phrase “taste explosion” is disgusting.

Eulogio de la Cruz: how bout that guy, hm?

“Frankie” threw the ball so hard and so straight tonight. The first thing is good to do, the second one not so much.

]]> http://portlandsportsman.com/?feed=rss2&p=576 1 http://portlandsportsman.com/?p=559 http://portlandsportsman.com/?p=559#comments Thu, 28 May 2009 19:34:21 +0000 Carson Cistulli http://portlandsportsman.com/?p=559 Inning One: Meditations on a Homestand

I hope I’m not speaking out of turn when I say that, to the lay fan, the concept of the homestand is not an entirely important one. Lay fans — of which I have always been one, up until my recent stint as Official Baseballing Journalist — will typically consume their baseball in one of two ways: either by a) the medias (TV, radio, internet), and/or b) attending the occasional game. For that reason, the whereabouts of the team on any given day is (are?) not relevant at all to the fan’s enjoyment of his fave team, except maybe the effect an away game in a different time zone will have on starting time.

The situation is dramatically different, though, for your average, run-of-the-mill Ecstatic Truth Journalist. A discovery I’ve made — not groundbreaking, I understand, but real enough — is that the season really is made up of a series of homestands. Today’s game was the second-to-last game of their third homestand of the season, the first two (homestands, that is) occurring April 17 – April 24 and May 4 – 11. So, basically two months into the season, the Beavers have only been home for three different stretches.

Perhaps the effect is even more pronounced at the minor league level, as only the players, coaches, two or three radio people, and a few select others travel with the team. That leaves a greater portion of others left behind — including, but certainly not limited to, your average, run-of-the-mill Ecstatic Truth Journalists.

This is just to say.

Inning Two: To Clarify

A homestand is a series of games played at a team’s home park.

A handstand is something that children and drunk people do.

A home truth is a fact or truth, usually about oneself, that is unpleasant to acknowledge. Like, involving body odor or questionable lending practices.

Home Truths is a novel by British, er, novelist David Lodge. Except, if you’re gonna read one of his books, don’t read that one first. Start off with either Nice Work or Therapy.*

Homey don’t play dat!

A bon homme is a good guy. A good, French guy.**

Prudhomme was the winner of the inaugural Nobel Prize in Literature. Duh.

A prude is a girl who won’t make out with me.

Every girl won’t make out with me.

Therefore, every girl is a prude.

Q.E.D.

*And yes, you should take my word for it.
**Oxymoron? You decide!

Inning Three: Another Thing to Clarify

Memphis Redbirds left fielder Jon Jay is not Founding Father and Federalist Papers co-author John Jay.

Here are some things that are expressly not named after the Cardinals prospect:

• Towns in these respective states: Maine, New York, Vermont
• A county in Indiana
• A street in Brooklyn
• The City University of New York’s College of Criminal Justice
• High schools in these respective towns: Cross River, NY; Hopewell Junction, NY; San Antonio, TX
• The colonially-themed hotels of the Best Western Hotel chain
• Exceptional scholars at Columbia University
• An undergraduate dorm at Columbia University
• A dining hall, inside the eponymous dorm, at Columbia University

Here’s one thing that John Jay didn’t do today:

• Jack a donger

Inning Four: The Pain Quotidien

The reason why the 16-year-old baseballing Carson Cistulli was a decent hitter is because the 16-year-old Carson Cistulli had decent hand-eye coordination, had played baseball most of his life, and because the competition at the JV level wasn’t so intimidating in New England’s very prestigious Independent School League, of which my alma mater Milton Academy was a part.

The reason why the 18-year-old baseballing Carson Cistulli was a crap hitter is on account of, despite having decent hand-eye coordination and having played baseball most of his life, the 18-year-old Carson Cistulli played at the varsity level, which, whatever its other distinctions, featured opposing pitchers who could throw at such velocity as might rearrange one’s face if and/or when a pitched ball made contact with it (i.e. one’s face). A baseball, for those not holding one in their hands currently, is hard and, when traveling at certain velocities, dangerous.

Never was this made more clear than during today’s game, when in each of the first three innings, respectively, home plate umpire Jason Kiser, Memphis shortstop Tyler Greene (as a runner on third base), and Memphis catcher Bryan Anderson were all struck with by batted balls (foul tipped, foul lined, and foul tipped, in that order). Each, despite being bigger, stronger, and generally better than yours truly, were shaken up by their respective experiences.

None of which is even to mention how, during Tuesday night’s game, Memphis center fielder Shane Robinson, while tracking a long fly ball hit by Portland’s Eliezer Alfonzo was hit in the face by the ball after it struck the scoreboard (thus rendering it a home run) and ricocheted back onto the playing surface. According to Media Intern and All-Around Go-Getter Rob “Rocket” Morse, “That dude was down for awhile.”

Inning Five: Kyle Blanks Watch!
If Kyle Blanks were going to Saint Ives and then met a man with seven wives, those wives would probably all divorce that first guy so that they could hang out with Kyle Blanks.

His line entering today’s game was: 258/358/454 (AVG/OBP/SLG) with 9 HR, 22 BB, and 49 K in 190 PA.

In 5 PA Wednesday afternoon, he went 1 for 3 with a 2B and 2 BB.

There must be at least one reader out there in the electronic ether who can do this with Kyle Blanks’s face.

Inning Six: Will Inman Watch!
Will Inman is a kid with a golden arm. Not the kid with the golden arm, but still pretty good.

His line entering today’s game was (Double- and Triple-A combined): 50 IP, 45 K, 10 BB, and 5 HR-allowed in 9 games started.

In 6 IP Wednesday afternoon, he had 4 K, 1 BB, and 2 HR-allowed.

This was Inman’s second start at Triple-A and also the second start in which he’s allowed 2 HR in a start at Triple-A. Baseball orthodoxy suggests that repeatedly giving up big flies is probably a thing a pitcher might like to avoid, and this is one case where baseball orthodoxy is spot on. As I mentioned last report in a space very similar to this one, Inman’s low-ish grounball rate suggest that he might be gopher-prone at the major league (and it looks like, minor league) level. San Diego’ Petco Park should protect him from that to some degree. The real question — the one that remains unanswered — is whether his game, which is based more on deception than true stuff, is able to deceive the ginormous men of the Show.

That said, his curveball is at least good enough to get him kicked out of Harvard.

Inning Seven: Stretch

Note to self: write something either hysterical or marvelous or both here.

Inning Eight: Game Summary

10′ Barca’s first attack of any note results in a goal! Astonishing. Iniesta charges past Carrick and finds Eto’o who cuts inside Vidic and hits a right foot shot underneath Van der Sar. Game on! GOAL! Eto’o!

70′ United made a mess of possession, Puyol nips in and gets it down the right for Xavi and he swings in a delightful cross for Messi to plant a perfect header back across Van der Sar. GOAL! Messi!

94′ It’s all over! Barcelona are the European Champions!

Or something like that.

Inning Nine: Incredibly Timely Ecstatic Truth Memorial Day Weekend Sporting Report

It was my intention, initially, to file an entirely separate report with a name not entirely unlike the title of this particular inning; however, owing to an adundance of sloth, I didn’t do it. Had I written said Report, it would’ve begun something like:

Man, whoever said it’s a hard-knock life must’ve been some kind of spunky red-headed orphan or thuggish MC-cum-media-tycoon from Bed-Stuy’s Marcy Houses or something. It most likely was not a resident of, or visitor to, the Greater Portland area this past weekend, and it definitely was not yours truly, who spent Friday through Monday in a joy coma.

I haven’t been inside a womb for an awful long time, but, if my pop psychology is up to snuff, I’m led to believe that each of us human-types desires, at some level, to return to one (i.e. a womb) on account of how damn comfortable it is. Having said that, if my pop medical science is up to snuff, I’m led to believe that, for an adult woman to allow a full-grown person into the aforementioned privatest of parts (i.e. her womb), it would hurt like the Charles Dickens. So a tension exists here: a whole bunch of people wanting in, but with no way to get there. This is the sort of tension that we, in the literary sciences, refer to as a cucking fonundrum.

Or, that’s what we call it most of the time, at least. This past weekend, however, owing to weather that our friends in the meteorological sciences might refer to as “frigging awesome,” the residents of the Rose City were granted womb-like atmospheric conditions* for which to better commemorate a) those who died in military service, and b) the human spirit’s capacity for leisure.

*Without the messy spills.

And had I finished said Report, I would’ve gone on to inform the Reader both that, in Sunday Bar League Softball action, Team Disjecta beat Team Red Flag 16-6 at Westmoreland Park and that, on Memorial Day itself, Your Portland Beavers defeated the Redbirds of Memphis 2-1.

I would’ve said so many other things, too, if I’d been at all interested in doing justice to either of those games. So how about this: how about we just pretend I wrote those things, you pretend you read those things, we slap each other on the butt, say “Good game,” and go our separate ways.

Or otherwise, just watch this and get teary-eyed against your better judgment.