Mixing it up

Diamond Stats
A local jeweler is running an ad campaign about people buying diamonds online based solely on the stats provided. One cannot truly appreciate a diamond's beauty without seeing it. I've maintained that for years about baseball. You can throw all the stats you want at me, but until I've seen a man play, in person, I cannot appreciate just how fine he is. I know Pedro Martinez is outstanding, not just because of the flashy numbers he's posted, but because I've seen him pitch, striking out 10. I've seen Vlad Guerrero and been wowed by him in a way that mere numbers could never do. Let Billy Beane and Theo Epstein live in a paper world. As the jeweler's ad says, you're not buying her a piece of paper, you're buying her a diamond.

Catcher at First
Mike Jacobs continues to amuse me, chattering from first to the pitchers as if he were their receiver. Mike thinks he's still in charge of the game, which might not be such a bad thing. He's looking like the team leader at this point, hope he keeps it up.

Sucks to be Zac
Joe Hietpas is the Mets catcher of the future, a role Mike Jacobs once held until injury repositioned him at first. Zac Clements was brought to Binghamton to be Joe's backup, knew he wouldn't be getting many starts. So when Joe Hietpas is playing first, getting a break from catching, and Mike Jacobs, first baseman-in-training, is behind the plate, it's got to be disappointing for Zac to be benched, let alone when his grandmother is visiting.

How Many Ways Can the B-Mets Let the Opponent Score?
Matt Lindstrom was wild in his Sunday start, throwing way too many pitches through the first three innings, giving up 5 runs. His teammates almost got the game back, 5-3, but then came the fourth inning. Lindstrom walked a couple, was pulled for Jose Rodriguez who proceeded to walk the next three batters, walking in two runs. He also hit a batter. When an Erie batter finally connected, the ball rolled up and over the second baseman, letting in two runs. Almost felt sorry for the Sea Wolf who lost his chance for a grand slam. Nine batters got on board before an out, a strikeout, was recorded. After a certain point, you know longer get disgusted, but rather amused and intrigued: how else can the B-Mets give up a run?

Clemente!
My friend Liviana, Mellow and Grace's mom, grew up in a family of Pittsburgh Pirate fans. She had mentioned going to Three Rivers Stadium with her father a couple times, and had mentioned at different times that she had seen Roberto Clemente play, had seen him play his final game. When I showed her a children's book I had picked up (I get them for friends' children and for my collection), it was as if a spigot had been opened full-blast.




She talked about going to the ballpark with her father and her uncles, about being at the park singing along with "We Are Family" telling me I couldn't understand just how powerful that had felt (I've been at Fenway for "Dirty Water" and "Sweet Caroline" so I have an inkling), about knowing even then that seeing Clemente play was seeing ssomething truly special, even historic. She hugged the book, petted the illustrations as she talked, her eyes bright, a smile plastered across her face, and tried to convey to another Clemente fan, one too young to have seen him play live, what a thrill it had been for her, getting close to tears. This is what baseball is all about, connections across time, with the past, ours and the game's, and being able to tap into the well of rememberance and emotion interwoven with our experiences of the game.