Spoartspoartspoarts!!!

Has Moneyball Ruined Baseball?

A lot of noise has been made in the past decade or so about the Oakland A’s, Moneyball, and the statistical revolution in baseball. Everything can be meticulously tracked, from player value to pitch types, you name it, some nerd somewhere can break it down into it’s most basic parts: numbers. Technology and math have come together in the name of “progress.” But what has happened to the beauty and poetry of the game? The majesty and magic of the unknown? The hot dogs, the green grass, the purity of youth and just throwing the old baseball around with dad? You can’t throw a baseball to a calculator.

Let’s talk about numbers. I’ve watched a lot of baseball in my life. Every year since this Moneyball ballyhoo happened, the stands look emptier and emptier. You can quote whatever attendance numbers you want — my eyes and your eyes see empty seats. Television ratings for the World Series are lower than the 1980s. Logically, there’s literally no external influences or changes to the world we live in to blame other than the ones who have ruined the Pure game of Baseball.

The numbers crunchers.

The pencil pushers.

The nerds.

Getting revenge for years of school yard abuse, these people read Moneyball and all of a sudden they’re self-important experts. They think they know better than people who have watched and played the game itself. And they blog about it – oh how they blog! The teams have bought their scam hook line and sinker — these college educated Math and Business majors think they can suddenly run a team as well as their hedge funds.

Baseball Operations has become as exciting as a local Dungeons and Dragons meet up.

They give hilarious names to their stats. I mean look into the mirror and try to say “BABIP” without laughing at yourself. Why? Because you look like a fool for ever saying these statistics out loud. Do you feel that shame running through your veins right now? 

These Basement Boy Wonders and WARriors think that they know best. But what have statistical understanding really done? I mean you would think that if there was such a great influence on baseball you’d be able to turn into Mike Francesa and listen to him quote BUH%.

You don’t. These mythical numbers are only available to those who think they understand them. If you can’t digest them, you’re not good enough and clueless. That’s just not true.

These numbers supposedly track every aspect of the game. That just seems like overkill to me, honestly. They can track every possible outcome on the baseball diamond. Could you imagine if people could track every aspect of their own lives on the internet? It would be crazy.

Moneyball can’t win. I love what the Diamondbacks have done, filling their roster with gritty gamers. You can’t put a value on what you can’t touch. These guys clearly love going to war with each other, something that the precious WAR can’t value. Kirk Gibson and future Mets manager Wally Backman have both instilled cultures of grinding in their organizations. It’s a 162 game season. You may win games hitting a couple of dingers here or there but getting your jersey dirty? The only place you lose is the laundromat.

You want to praise the A’s? How many World Series titles have they won since they fully embraced numbers? How about Zero. And the Giants? Brian Sabean doesn’t believe in numbers. Two. The Phillies? Ruben Amaro has mocked the idea of using advanced stats. One. The Cardinals? They have the best fans in baseball. How many of them do you think know about advanced stats? And they’re the best fans in the game. And they’ve won two World Series titles.

The numbers say one thing, but the Good Guys keep on winning. You can’t explain that.

Perhaps most important of all, maybe baseball isn’t meant to be fully understood. Isn’t that the fun of being a fan? The ignorance and bliss of just being able to sit back and watch a ball game, have a couple of brewskis, and not worry about the vertical movement on Aaron Laffey’s cutter? There are just some things we shouldn’t have access to and certainly not know, like the nitty gritty of baseball and the existence of God.

So, all you normal people, I want you to get up now. I want you to get up out of your chairs. I want you to get up right now and go to the window and throw all those numbers out the window. 

PEDs and You Part Two: Electric Boogaloo

Since it’s been a couple of months since I wrote my original article about taking PEDs for six months, I figured it was time for an explanation of what I was trying to accomplish with it and give some sort of update on my overall health since coming off of the supplement. The response to it was overwhelming and despite the fact that immediately after the article was published DMAA products sold out all over the internet (I’ll take credit for that, thank you). And to the guy on NBC Hardball Talk who commented that he thought I was a corporate shill or this was some sort of viral advertising, allow me to say that I am certainly swimming in non-existent dollars.

Anyway, I’m not dead. Yet. My kidneys haven’t failed. My heart still pumps blood at a normal rate. I do not have roid rage. I am the same, charming human being I’ve always been. Just not fat as heck.

One of the biggest critiques of my article was that I didn’t take a “real” PED. Or that I was “bragging” and that there’s nothing really too impressive or surprising about a fat guy exercising more and eating less. Or even accusing me of encouraging dangerous and reckless PED use.

I admit, DMAA and the other banned substances in the supplement I was taking weren’t a ‘serious’ PED. I wasn’t taking steroids or HGH or anything that a real professional athlete who was looking for an advantage would take. But that was exactly the point. As I stated in the original article, I didn’t want to break any laws. I was attempting to find any sort of edge I could – a similar mindset to an athlete trying to improve their on the field or workout performance – by using a substance banned by professional sports. The point of using something easy to acquire and technically legal but still banned was that honestly it’s very easy to cheat.

In terms of the second critique – sure, a fat guy losing weight isn’t really anything special in the grand scheme of things. And I certainly was not attempting to brag or show off. Everyone should be healthy and happy. I am not an athlete. I’m an average dude. I wanted to show that with the addition of PEDs or supplements or whatever blanket term you want to use, things that otherwise wouldn’t be possible (or at the very least, not as easy) suddenly are attainable. DMAA is a stimulant, so not only did it have the psychological advantage of motivation but it also made me want to eat less. That’s still a fairly serious side effect for fat loss, to be honest.

In terms of the third issue, if you thought that I was advocating PED use, I’m not sure you read the right article. There are sizable benefits to taking PEDs. I passed no judgment, right or wrong, on taking them. All I did was show what taking it did to my body. Presented what happened to me and allowed you to make your own opinions about the value of PEDs. The health effects, both positive and negative, are out there and well known. I did say that I did it under doctor’s supervision and understood the risks of taking it. And while I experienced very few negative side effects other than people weren’t physically repulsed by me anymore and I actually had to be social, that didn’t mean that everyone would have the same experience as me. If I didn’t make that clear enough, I apologize.

So now that’s out of the way, let’s talk about what’s happened in the months since. In response to my original article, Dayn Perry of CBS Eye on Baseball posited an interesting question. He asked,: “More to the point: Does the guy marinating himself in sanctioned concoctions like creatine, whey, BCAA supplements and Red Bull arrive at his outputs more cleanly and honestly (whatever those words mean in this context) than the guy on say, HGH?” Sure, I wasn’t taking HGH, but I knew how it felt to exercise on banned substances. So I cleaned up. I researched legal and sanctioned supplements. I started taking a caffeine based pre-workout with no DMAA. I added creatine and BCAA and other not banned vitamins and minerals and assorted food magicks.

So I was curious – what kind of benefit am I going to find taking legal supplements compared to the banned ones? Am I going to put all the weight back on? Is there any real tangible benefit to legal substances or are they just a waste of time? The answer, perhaps unsurprising and somewhat frustrating, is yes and no. Like the ethical grey area of taking banned substances, the legal substances provide some benefits – but the bottom line is that it’s just not the same.  I was worried at first that I was going to fall victim of the placebo effect, but I feel confident that I am unbiased in that assessment. But on the other hand, it’s sort of like comparing apples and oranges.

 As I mentioned in the previous article, I spoke about the psychological benefits of taking the PEDs. Increased energy and decreased hunger is the perfect combo for fat loss. On the legal supplements, I did feel the same motivation to go – but that was probably related more to the success of the routine I was in more than anything else. Was there a benefit? Sure. But it’s a different benefit than what the PEDs brought. The PEDs gave me the confidence in the early stages of what I was trying to accomplish to actually do it rather than mentally masturbate about it. To get the ass off of the couch and get going.

But on the legal stuff, the recovery times were just a little bit longer. My body ached just a little bit more after workouts. There was some water weight gained and lost due to the creatine. I crashed constantly from the caffeine and would have to stop every once in a while to get rid of whatever tolerance I was building. Don’t get me wrong, I still did it, though, despite the issues, and I’m still seeing the benefits of doing it legally and ethically clean every day. However, it was harder. Not enough for it to cause me issues overall but it took a little bit more of that mental motivation than I needed on the PEDs. I’m not a world class athlete. I’m in the best shape of my life right now and I exercise maybe five or six times a week still.

But I don’t play on the field. I don’t deal with the grind. The early mornings. The long flights. The extreme conditioning exercises. I don’t have million dollar contracts waiting for me. But I can certainly empathize with an athlete trying to find that edge. Maybe to hit a ball just a little bit farther. Throw the ball a little bit faster. If the opportunity is there, why not take it?

While I do believe that these drugs shouldn’t be used in professional sports, I have a hard time dealing with the unquantifiable nature of Performance Enhancers. It takes a little bit more work to do it clean, but we are still limited by what our bodies can accomplish. We’re still in the early stages of understanding the psychological aspects of sports. We scoff at “good clubhouse guys” and other catch-all pseudo-psychological buzz words that get thrown around to describe whether or not a player has “It.”

I’m not here to pass judgment on PED users. From my personal experience, I really do believe that they do provide a difference in workouts. I don’t think, however, that we can necessarily say how much of a benefit it brings on the field. It seems counter intuitive right? Better workouts should lead to better performance, right? These drugs didn’t suddenly make me into a world class athlete. I tried to hit a 75 MPH fastball the other day and I still can’t catch up to it even though I’m in pretty good shape. My pitching mechanics are still a complete disaster. There are simply other factors to being a professional athlete.

Perhaps the answer is as simple as trying to understand the reasoning behind PED use before we waste too much time being sanctimonious about it.

Dadboner: The Movie casting

After discussing with twitter users @buttbbutt, @tsmoney69, @jh_moore, and myself, we have compiled the ultimate cast for Dadboner: The Movie. This is not debatable.

Karl Welzein: John Goodman
Dave: Steve Buschemi
Ann: Patricia Heaton
Vernon: Idris Elba
Al Welzein: Bill Murray
Nosey Lady: Linda Hunt (the Principal from Kindergarden Cop)
Ken: Simon Baker
Ken’s Wife: Christina Hendricks
Homeless Peanut: Eddie Griffin
Crazy Cooter: Kurt Russell
Cooter’s Mom: Cloris Leachman
Head Honcho: Anthony Bourdain (cameo)
Guy Fieri: Himself

Tell me that’s a movie that shouldn’t be made

PEDs and You: The Benefits of Cheating

Clearly the biggest controversy in the history of baseball, and professional sports in general, has been that of the dreaded Performance Enhancing Drug. Stars have dimmed, records and championships overturned, and fans disillusioned due to simple pharmaceutical chemicals. The magic of modern science has been a blessing and a cure to athletes as while formerly catastrophic and career ending injuries are no longer as big of a deal as they once were but the magical drugs and steroids available have done serious public relations damage to entire leagues and has cast doubt on the legitimacy of professional and amateur sporting events.

There are two sides to the debate about PEDs. Hundreds, if not thousands, of sanctimonious articles have been penned, waxing poetic about how clean and pure things used to be and simply whining about the damage that has been done by these drugs. No one is safe from these accusations and some believe, correctly or incorrectly, that an entire generation of athletes are tarnished due to a few rotten apples who cheated. 

On the other side of the debate is the “who cares?” crowd. Sports have always had cheaters and nothing we can do about it can stop it. In the high pressure culture of professional sports who can blame these athletes for using any advantage possible to be the best that you can be? If we can’t effectively stop the use of PEDs, catch the people you can and hopefully others don’t want to lose money or have their reputations ruined.

Earlier this season, Melky Cabrera, the San Francisco Giants outfielder who at the time was winning the batting title, was popped for using PEDs and suspended for 50 games. Many people called for him to lose the title (which he did, he told MLB to make him ineligible) and as he was a free agent at the conclusion of the season, probably cost himself untold millions of dollars. Once again, the firestorm of accusations, blame, and vitriol filled the internet as the PED debate started all over again.

When this happened, I was curious — considering the number of people who say that steroids and other PEDs aren’t really that big of a deal and might not effect performance all that much — how much of an effect can drugs have on peak athletic performance? These drugs are pretty widely available so I wondered what would happen if an average person, let alone a professional athlete, started taking a substance banned by the MLB and the US Anti-Doping Agency. I obviously wasn’t going to take steroids or anything illegal, so I had to find something that was banned but still legal to take. So I didn’t break any laws or whatever.

I used to wrestle and play football in high school but the mental aspect of exercise just didn’t sit well with me. I wasn’t tough enough to survive the pain and injuries and just wasn’t motivated enough which is why I stopped. Obviously one of the biggest parts of exercise is the mental aspect of it — it is an absolute grind to train. I was in the process of losing weight and exercising nearly every day to some success and I decided to be a guinea pig of sorts and track how much progress can be made previous to and after adding a supplement banned by professional sports.

I looked around on the internet and after doing some research, I found a supplement called JP8x Hardcore. It was banned by all the major sports leagues and the olympics and illegal everywhere but the United States.

It claimed: 

“Pumps…sick! Endurance….Sick!  Strength Gains….Sick! Mental Focus, Energy, Drive……Sick! There is JP8x Hardcore and then there are the other products.  Period!  No need to sugar coat it.”

It has “Dangerous!” in Spanish on the bottle! It apparently tastes like shit! It has to be good, right? The banned substance in this supplement is 1,3-dimethylamylamine, or DMAA for short. It’s a stimulant that, when used in conjunction with caffeine, apparently just turns you into an exercise machine that can run through walls or something. It is apparently similar to ephedra (which is now illegal and it’s well documented that it killed a bunch of people, including former Orioles pitcher Steve Bechler). A bunch of Rays prospects were suspended for taking it. DMAA is banned by the US Military because two soliders died after taking it during basic training. It’s apparently serious stuff. It also has pregnenolone, a steroid hormone banned by the olympics so I figured that would give me some sort of insight into what taking an illegal steroid would be like. 

So I bought a bottle. And I went to my doctor and talked with him about any potential side effects or problems and while he expressed concern he gave me the okay as long as I was careful and got regular checkups so my heart doesn’t explode. I’ve been taking it for the past four months and I believe I’ve come to a good enough conclusion to accurately state that Performance Enhancing Drugs have an absolute and almost immediate benefit.

Before I started taking this supplement, I lost about 70 or so pounds just doing cardio. I lifted weights once in a while but I was pretty weak and constantly in pain after doing it so I avoided it. I could do 30-45 minutes of cardio but it wiped me out and recovery was constantly an issue. I ached but worked through it. This is me being fat at about 330 pounds, and then slightly less fat at around 270:

I never really wanted to go to the gym. As I said before, the major component of exercising is the mental aspect. You aren’t competing against anyone, you’re competing against your mind telling you to stop. But you obviously have to push through that to make any gains and I just couldn’t do that. I was okay with what I was doing and while I never dreaded going to the gym, it wasn’t something I really ever wanted to do.

I still remember the first day I took the supplement for the first time. My body tingled due to the beta alanine and all of a sudden my mind was completely changed. I had to go to the gym. It wasn’t a question. It had to happen. So I went on the elliptical and had the hardest and best work out of my life, a full hour! Holy fuck I though to myself. How the fuck am I doing this? I’ve been an out of shape mess for the majority of my adult life, and now all of a sudden not only am I having a compulsion to go to the gym but I’m suddenly going harder and longer than I ever have before? This doesn’t make sense. It’s fucking food magic, not real. This stuff can’t work, there’s no way. It has to be a placebo.

I kept on taking it and over months the gains I was making were astronomical. Suddenly I was running 5ks. It took like 38 minutes. Still wanted more. The compulsion got stronger. I had to push myself. The time started shrinking. 35 minutes. 33 minutes. 30 minutes. 28 minutes?! This is wrong. I can’t really be doing this. Weights time. Started doing curls and squats and presses. Things I could never do before. 80 pounds. 90 pounds. 100 pounds. What the hell had gotten into me? I couldn’t believe it. And this was only at the start. Then I started looking at the amount of time I was there for. Thirty minutes became an hour. An hour became an hour and a half. An hour and a half became two. It was unbelievable. The weight started flying off. Instead of being 270, suddenly I was 235 and healthy. I went from a 44 pant to a 36. The doctor took my blood pressure, 110/80 from 130/90. In three months. I was floored.

This was me today, a pretty big difference.

To see those results for me, an average person, I couldn’t even imagine the benefits that something like this could give to a professional athlete. There is a reason why athletes take these drugs — there are benefits. And for people who believe that they don’t improve performance in the gym, they absolutely do.

There is one distinction that I have to be make, however. These drugs would not suddenly make me into a baseball player. I am not going to become Barry Bonds because I started taking a banned substance. I can’t recognize pitches. In the batting cages, I can’t hit anything faster than 50 miles per hour. On the mound, I still can’t find the plate and I can’t throw all that fast either. There is still a lot of work that goes into honing your body and becoming an athlete. It’s not easy work. The athlete still has to put in the time and effort in the gym to become great.

However, the conclusion that I came to is that it definitely helps. I’ve seen first hand what happens when you cheat. PEDs certainly make athletes better at what they do. And when you take a once in a lifetime talent like say Barry Bonds or Lance Armstrong and add in something that makes their talent and potential even more real it can turn men into immortals. If an average person can take this and over time and with work become stronger, fitter, and healthier, I still can’t even imagine the benefits that these PEDs can bestow upon someone with real athletic ability. An athlete is made in the gym, they are constantly working on getting stronger and improving. Being able to work out harder with few issues and have unprecedented strength gains will allow an athlete to run faster and hit the ball harder. They absolutely benefit greatly from taking these drugs. 

While Babe Ruth did it with beer and hot dogs, today’s athlete can do it even better with synthetic chemicals. And that truly is worrysome.

The March of Jersey

One of the more shameful facets of my existence (and there are many, to be perfectly fair) is that I haven’t really seen many concerts. I’ve been to a handful — Raffi when I was a wee lad, the obligatory and in-retrospect somewhat embarrassing Warped Tour appearance during my teenage years, Ani DiFranco in a hilarious failed attempt to impress a girl with my euridite taste — but never anyone that I’ve really liked. I’ve had opportunities, sure, but for whatever reason while my curiosity was piqued, I always figured “Oh, well, I guess I’ll see them some other time.”

As I am a true born, bred, and raised New Jerseyian, I am of course indoctrinated into the House of Springsteen. The Boss is almost certainly the most important culturally significant export of the Garden State and it is readily apparent that in this state when you are handed your drivers licence you are also handed a copy of Born to Run. Many of my summers, like millions of others from this great state, have been spent driving down to the Shore, blasting Springsteen — sun roof down, letting the wind blow back my hair. 

Last summer, the great Clarence Clemons passed away. It threw me into a crisis as the spectre of death usually does — I realized that “some other time” will inevitably become “never at all” given enough time. I promised myself that if Springsteen was touring in the near future I would certainly have to attend. After all, I’ve spent the entirety of my 25 years on this Earth turning to the E Street Band for guidance in my darkest moments. 

I bought the tickets way too early and for too much over face but I didn’t really care all that much. It was actually going to happen and for that it was worth any price. I was just excited that after all this time it was finally happening. No more next times, no more excuses. It was really going to happen. However, I felt like I needed to prepare to see Bruce. To get the whole experience, you know? I knew that there had been plenty that I’ve missed over the years (including more contemporary acts, embarrassingly enough — years of erroneous and dangerous thinking that no good music was produced past say 1995 ruined me) and in order to understand what Bruce meant I had to travel to Asbury Park.

Titus Andronicus kicked off their Screaming on Planet Titus tour at the Stone Pony in Asbury Park, the undisputed mecca of the New Jersey music scene I suppose. My friend Tim introduced me to Titus Andronicus earlier and I was instantly hooked. The Fuck-this-town, screw-the-‘burbs, Jersey-Till-I-Die attitude spoke to me, as it should to all angst-y children of New Jersey. Lead singer Patrick Stickles has stated that Springsteen has been an inspiration of his and Titus has previously covered Springsteen tunes live.

It was a freezing cold night in early March when I finally stepped foot inside the Stone Pony. T-shirts and bizarrely enough thongs adorned the walls with the Pony logo and were for sale for way more than they were actually worth. Sometimes, yes, it is better to sell out than fade away but in all honesty when there’s that much history you might as well capitalize on raw, unadulterated capitalism. After a handful of Yuenglings comfortably sloshing inside my stomach, the music began — Diarrhea Planet kicked off the show with unbelievable energy and comedy, Screaming Females lived up to their moniker, and Titus took the stage and absolutely rocked the fuck out of the venue. Even with a 20 minute break due to a broken string (in which P-Stix railed against bands who would have someone else do it for him) the tremendous energy just blew me away.

A few short weeks later, I was back in Asbury Park at the Wonderbar to see Frank Turner. The Englishman was wrapping up his American tour before his big show at Wembley and sort of like Titus, he was unknown to me yet but a few weeks earlier. I didn’t know how it could get much better than the first show I was at but somehow it was — Frank put on an unbelievable effort including the “dreaded second encore” as he put it, offering to do whatever songs the audience wanted as long as people bought him whiskey. The whiskey flowed like water and the audience got louder and louder. After a heartfelt, humbling, and genuinely thankful speech about how Asbury Park and the New Jersey scene was where he was finally given his chance in the States, he finished it all with the most unbelievable and beautiful cover of Thunder Road I had ever heard.

I was clearly spoiled with these two unbelievable shows. It takes a special person to make it in Jersey for whatever reason — for its awful reputation and frequently maligned inhabitants there is certainly something special. It takes an even more special person to understand and appreciate that and that is why someone like Frank Turner can survive here. Most importantly, these two shows amped me the fuck up for finally seeing Bruce. I had a feeling that the show would be something magical — I mean after the luck of these first two shows and the appreciation for what Springsteen means to the music scene in New Jersey. Everyone here is inspired by him one way or another, for better or for worse because his presence is everywhere. It is almost as equally important of an experience to be from Jersey as to be a fan of Springsteen’s. It’s ubiquitous and almost inescapable. 

I sat down at my seat at the Wachovia Arena and it hit me that it was finally happening. Sure, it was in the very last row in the entire house and sure I was behind the stage but to be honest I didn’t give a fuck. It was finally happening. It was real. All the talk of how amazing his shows were, how great of a time it is, the energy, the excitement, that for an old man he’s just as good as the day he started — it was my chance to finally see it. The lights go out and there’s a voice — an introduction — exclaiming that the man about to take the stage had one hit on the top of the Billboard charts for one consecutive week. It was time. 

For the next two hours and fifty minutes, I was in awe. Not only was everything I heard true but it was better than I could have ever imagined. There were tremendous magic moments. Of course Bruce told legendary stories, experiences that no mortal man will ever experience again. He did the crotch slide. Crowd surfed. Jumped into the stands and stole someone’s beer. Grabbed a girl out of the pit and danced with her, her life never to be the same again after that moment. An unreal standing ovation for the late Clarence Clemons during Tenth Avenue Freeze Out. Too many moments to list.

And the music — oh the music! Wrecking Ball (obviously) plus the hits, a wonderful combination of the old and new (my friend Tim was pining for Secret Garden but alas, no luck for him) just brought the goddamned house down. Even though I was so far in the nose bleeds I probably needed to be cauterized it didn’t matter. I didn’t realize that I would never really ever be truly prepared for this and that the only way to appreciate it was to actually see it. I could listen to his performance at the Hammersmith Odeon from 1975 over and over again but until I actually watched it with my own eyes and heard it with my own ears I could never really understand.

It’s a good thing that I wasn’t prepared. If I was, it wouldn’t have meant half of what it meant. And for that, I am eternally thankful.

Sports radio is one of my guiltiest pleasures. I know that deep down the absolutely moronic callers and equally dim witted hosts serve no real purpose other than raise my blood pressure but god damn if it’s not at the very least entertaining. Driving around the mean streets of suburban New Jersey, blasting the dulcet tones of Mike Francesa has been a tried and true tradition for as long as I’ve been alive. Sure, Tank may not be the most accurate analyst but he gives me a good insight into the mind of things like “Bleacher Report” and guys who quote RBI as a predictive statistic.

I’m noticing recently that Mike and others have been extremely critical about Sandy Alderson’s GM philosophy, in that he’s signed a bunch of mediocre-to-good free agent relievers for relatively cheap. At the most basic level, sure, these are not great signings. Actually, “not great” is the wrong term — they’re not meaningful signings. The guys signed aren’t honestly going to have a tremendous impact on whether or not the Mets sniff .500 or not. They’re not flashy, impact signings — maybe a couple of WAR here, a couple of WAR there — but in the end, they’re not going to replicate the kind of production that say, Jose Reyes will have this year.

And sure, to the average Mets fan, that’s disheartening, to not only lose a home grown star player but be unable to get someone to replicate that kind of production. They’re taking out their misguided frustration on Alderson, when they should be focusing on the embarrassing financial and public relations disaster the Wilpons have been. Alderson is clearly hamstrung by ownership and has to try new, outside the box thinking to try to fix this disaster.

The relievers weren’t signed to replace production, they were signed to be traded at the deadline for lottery tickets. Good relievers can be a fairly hot commodity at the trading deadline and I would certainly hope that Alderson is well aware of that. Last year, guys like Mike Adams and Koji Uehara were traded for a couple decent prospects — that’s where Alderson is headed with this. A guy like Frank Francisco or Jon Rauch, depending of course on how effective they end up being, can net a not bad return. That seems to be the crux of Alderson’s rebuilding strategy.

It’s smart too — the Mets are clearly in a rebuilding phase (or as the media spun it, developing young players and THEN spending the big bucks, what a revelation!) and considering that the Wilpons have been very cheap in the draft and the new draft rules save them even more money it might be wiser for him to take advantage e of certain teams need for relief pitching. Remember also that there’s two extra Wildcard spots across both leagues, which adds to the number of teams in the hunt and who would be interested in relievers.

Dare I ruin any credibility I had left by saying that it really is one of those “trust the process” situations. We all know that the Mets front office has some pretty smart people operating in there. We also know that we shouldn’t be listening to sports radio talking points while formulating an opinion about a General Manager. 

The Mets are going to build around Harvey, Wheeler, and Familia, there’s no question about that. But they still need to pick up ancillary pieces to go with them, something they can pick up by cheaply signing relievers and then flipping them at the deadline. If the average Mets fan looks at it that way, the signings are not only more palatable, they are preferable to the alternative of making a panic trade or signing which would only cripple this stupid team even more.

I cannot escape Linsanity. Everywhere I turn, everywhere I look, everything I read is about Jeremy Lin. It’s a cool story, young kid from Harvard who was previously best known for embarrassing John Wall in a summer league game becoming a NBA superstar. The World Wide Leader has certainly embraced it, filling the gaps between Tebowmania and the start of baseball season. The connections between Lin and Tebow are a little bit of a stretch, no matter how hard the media tries. Both have overcome deficiencies to JUST WIN GAMES sure, but Tebow is a rare physical specimen who isn’t really a quarterback.

Both believe in God I guess. Good for them.

It made me start to think though, has there ever been a baseball player with this kind of media focus and attention based upon overcoming the “haters” and becoming the kind of modern folk hero that Lin and Tebow have? Sure we have David Eckstein, the constant butt of sabermetrically inclined jokes, deriding his talent because he’s a five foot nothing no-tools shortstop who ran out every grounder like it was his last and who became the target of sportswriters projecting their desires to be on the field onto someone who resembled them physically.

Last year, you kind of had Sam Fuld of the Rays. After Manny got suspended and abruptly retired, Fuld became a hero for them, playing his little heart out. He’s an intelligent dude (his recent Grantland article was pretty cool) who interned at STATS, Inc., and he started out hot enough and made a handful of neat and memorable defensive plays. But eventually his deficiencies started showing — despite the highlight reel catches he is not a very good defender at all. His lack of patience and power killed him and it was clear that the only thing Fuld had in common with superstars is that they both play on a baseball field.

You have short term playoff heroes too I guess, the aforementioned Eckstein, David Freese last year, Cody Ross, Bucky Fuckin’ Dent — but nothing the likes of Linsanity or Tebowmania. Why is that?

The baseball season is as long as it is hard (that’s what she said) and the small sample wonders are weeded out as quickly as they come in. There are some players who come out of nowhere like Mike Piazza who was drafted as a favor to Tommy Lasorda, but you never really heard of that mentioned when Piazza was around. The heart and scrap and grit guys really don’t have the kind of impact that Tebow and Lin can have because in baseball they simply aren’t good players. Lin fits into the D’Antoni system with the Knicks. The Broncos can run a college style option offense and Tebow can thrive. In baseball, you can’t really do that. 

Baseball is an inherently Libertarian sport, from the sink or swim economic system to the self-reliance of the players on the field. It’s the only sport that boils down literally at its core to a one on one battle between the pitcher and the hitter. There is no system that makes Sam Fuld a 3+ WAR player or David Freese anything other than a small sample wonder. It’s entirely up to them. 

I’m sure the media will try to find a baseball equivalent to these football and basketball sensations. Good luck.

It’s Time for Dodgers Baseball

I couldn’t think of anything to write today and New Years plans will kill any sober writing ability so for the next day or so I’m going to repost a couple things I wrote this year that I liked. I have a special article planned for next month so stay tuned

So, I get paid to watch baseball all day. It’s a pretty sweet gig, sure (and it’s probably better than whatever menial job you suffer through), but admittedly there can be a lot of down time and little to get excited about. Once you’ve analyzed one Marlins/Athletics game, you’ve probably seen them all and sometimes over the course of the long, long season there can be very few games that come along that can be described as glamorous. 

We’re located out in rural Pennsylvania — a couple miles outside of Allentown — and on warm, muggy, summer nights I cannot wait to score Dodgers games and deeply love listening to Vin Scully. I’ve been a fan of Vin’s for my entire life.

Despite my sabermetric leanings, I love storyteller baseball announcers. Their flowery language, their calm demeanor, their ability to transform baseball games from everyday occurrences to rare, beautiful, and special occasions all make watching these games worthwhile.

I fell asleep on summer nights exactly like this one listening to Bob Murphy when I was a child. My trips to the Jersey Shore were filled with wonder and awe listening to Harry Kalas. These baseball story crafters are the reason why I loved and wanted to be a part of the game.

But, sadly, these men are a dying breed. Vin will eventually die, sooner rather than later. And that thought depresses the ever-living fuck out of me. 

Quality in the baseball media is lacking. The irreplaceable Vin is outnumbered by the Hawk Harrelsons, the Joe Bucks, the Buck Martinez-es, and other, even worse white noise game callers that drown out the rare voice. And to my constituents, Vin is “boring,” and “puts me to sleep.”  

Are you fucking kidding me?

Today’s sports announcer is a bombastic buffoon. Back, back, back. It is high, it is far. It is a joke. It is embarrassing. It is a microcosm of everything that is wrongly embraced by the 140 character or less world.

Trust me, the irony of posting this on tumblr isn’t lost on me.

Vin Scully would have never made it as an announcer in today’s world. He’s a gimmick — a looking glass into the rose colored revisionist glory days of American haute culture. But goddamn it, Vin is a fucking treasure and it is a shame — no, travesty — that one day in the coming years, months, or even — god forbid — days we’re going to have to come to terms with the fact that there is no one in the world who can replicate his unique voice.

All we’ll have left is John Sterling. 

What a cruel fate.

Albert Pujols is an American Hero

Albert Pujols is pretty clearly the second best player of the last decade (number one is of course our lord and savior Sir Barrold of Bonds) and his legacy is well cemented in St. Louis. With two World Series titles with the Cardinals, multiple awards and All-Star game appearances, it’s clear that the next decade in Busch Stadium will be a successful one for him.

Oh wait, he signed with the Angels that’s right.Despite Cardinals fans insisting that there was no way that Albert would leave, he did. And it was absolutely hilarious.

I’m not going to make believe that I’m not overjoyed at the thought of St. Louis’ star player ripping the heart and soul from the collective Cardinals fans. The Mets NLCS loss to them in 2006 lead directly to my crippling alcoholism and watching them win it all that year was a joke. Since then, they have beaten the baseball world down by self proclamation that St. Louis has the “best fans in baseball.” Their manager, Tony La Russa, was praised and given constant credit for his team’s play when their success came in spite of his awful bullpen and overall game management. The man literally ran players out of town because he didn’t like them, including admitted malcontent but still young and cheap talent Colby Rasmus. Somehow the team continued to out perform everyone’s expectations and their success reached an apex with yet another surprising World Series title in 2011.

Of course, Cardinals nation never saw Pujols walking coming. They were too busy analyzing the fact that Albert built a statue of himself in front of his restaurant. Because nothing says I love St. Louis and want to stay here more than overpriced steaks and crappy casual dining.

“Aw shucks Albert, you couldn’t abandon the best fans in baseball, could ya buddy?” the writing was on the wall — Albert never gave any indication that he would take some sort of perverted home town discount to stay with the Cards. He’s not from St. Louis and despite some ties to the community like a charity or the aforementioned restaurant it was pretty clear that he wanted to test the market. Rumors circulated that the Cards offered him a bunch of hilarious lowball offers, so hilarious in fact that Albert literally refused to talk extensions after getting them. 

Then the Cards win a second World Series and everyone said that there was no way he could leave. Why? He’s done all that he really can do in St. Louis. He was never going to take a paycut to stay and why should he? He might love the area but he’s leaving the organization on a high note.

It comes down to money. Albert received 254 million good reasons to leave the Midwest to go to SoCal. All the statues in front of all the restaurants in all the world aren’t going to change the fact that the Cardinals didn’t step up to the plate and offer Albert an acceptable contract. If I’m a Cardinals fan, I’m angry with the organization for not holding on to a generational talent (of course ignoring the fact that in five years Albert will probably be in the decline of his career) instead of being mad at Pujols. 

I sure hope Albert opens up a second chain in Anaheim and builds an even bigger statue to himself. Then he’d never leave the Angels.

The Deep End of the Pool

Toward the end of 2010, I interned with Major League Soccer and picked up an interest in the beautiful game. For whatever reason, I chose to support Newcastle United because I was told by a colleague that they were the most Metsian of all the Premier League teams. I was saddened to see that a few weeks ago former NUFC player Gary Speed committed suicide. Speed wasn’t the first sports suicide in recent months — former Orioles pitcher and broadcaster Mike Flanagan killed himself in August 2011, hockey enforcer Rick  Rypien ended his life in August as well, ex-international sensation Hideki Irabu in July, and others have all lost their battles with depression.

These rash of sports suicides highlight the mental health issues that professional sports figures deal with. There are others too, those who have suffered in silence, guys like Khalil Greene, whose self-injury and social anxiety completely ended his promising career. Or Zack Greinke who won the AL Cy Young a few years after almost completely quitting the game after suffering through severe anxiety and depression. Miguel Cabrera, when arrested for drunk driving, begged his arresting officer to just kill him.

In recent years in sports, depression has no longer become the taboo it once was. It’s freely talked about and players are actually able to be placed on the Disabled List for mental health reasons. Considering the constant and unending pressure and scrutiny that players go through, it’s amazing more players don’t have mental breakdowns. The way players are able to cope with their issues has changed as well, with teams having sports psychologists on call to help with coping and hopefully increasing on-field performance.

To the average observer, it seems strange that millionaires too can have personal issues they can’t deal with. I mean these guys are friggin paid to play a goddamn sport! How can one be depressed when you play a game for a living! Comedian and twitter celebrity Rob Delaney wrote about his struggles with depression — how the heck can someone who is so funny have such deep personal issues! IT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE!

Depression is an absolutely nasty disease that I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy. 

I would know as I’ve suffered from depression throughout much of my adult life. There have been some pretty dark times (and if you’ve ever read my twitter feed you’d get a healthy dose of my self-loathing) and there have been multiple occasions where I’ve considered ending my own life. Waking up in the morning becomes a chore and the negativity leads to more personal problems. My ex-girlfriend of almost three years left me because of my mental health struggles and there were times where I didn’t want to leave my house because I felt that my life was worthless and meaningless.

I’m not special and my case is no different than the millions of others who suffer from depression and anxiety. I have been able to get the help I need and although sometimes things do suck it does eventually get better. Sports and depression go really well, especially as a fan of awful, no good very bad teams. Things may be bad now and you might be in the middle of a rebuilding phase but you can always trade your bad situation for a bunch of young prospects and hope one or more of them pan out.

Okay that was an awful metaphor but you get my point.

As I attempt to swim back from the deep end of the pool, I remind myself that I’m just a video scout, I’m not a professional athlete! Imagine dealing with sadness and depression while 35k people are all yelling at you how much you suck. I’m not under constant scrutiny and under the microscope at all times; I can’t even imagine what someone like John Lackey felt when he said “everything in my life sucks right now.”

It becomes very easy to lose all ability to cope. Sports becomes an outlet for our own personal frustrations, blindly supporting our favorite teams to escape from our banal existence. Having a team to root for, even the New York Mets, helps numb the pain a little bit every day — although sometimes I think that I’m even more mentally ill for supporting that cruel mistress.

The human element of sports is often mocked and derided but there most certainly is a huge psychological aspect to performance. It can’t be quantified and is usually incorrectly applied but it is most certainly there. And it’s a good thing that the sports world has embraced mental health awareness instead of just sweeping it under the rug and the sad recent rash of sports suicides just nails home the fact that despite our best attempts to bring awareness to mental health issues there is still much that needs to be done. 

Perhaps worst of all is knowing that for all the high profile cases of depression in sports and life in general there are many others who suffer in silence.