Your Portland Beavers 5, Tacoma 3
Pretend that what follows was written, and that you are reading it on, the night of June 17th — a.k.a. the night on which this game actually occurred. It’ll be better for everyone that way.
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:
- 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.
- What, do you think, is the cause of said irrational affection — specifically, in your case, or generally, for all fans? Both/either. And:
- 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:
- 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.
- 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.
- 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.
