Chase Watch

Chase Lambin is leading his team in slugging (.661), batting average (.339), homers (8), doubles (11), 2nd in OBP (.392) and total bases (72).

The guy with more bases has 82 more plate appearance than Chase. Playing with numbers, that means Chase gets .605 bases per plate appearance, the other guy get .462.


Guess which one is considered a utility player and which one is the potion player.

Red Sox in Cooperstown

The Red Sox and Tigers played at Doubleday Field in Cooperstown. Tigers won, but nobody really cared. Didn't matter. All that mattered was the Red Sox were in Cooperstown.

The day was cool, but the sun came out a couple times making my turtleneck sweater not only unnecessary but down right uncomfortable.

My dad and I got into town by 10. I've been to Cooperstown on other HOF game days and for induction day, but I have never seen the parking stretching out so far from the center of town so early. I've also never seen so many Red Sox fans in one place outside of Fenway Park. Nearly everyone was wearing something branded Red Sox. It was a big crowd, a big day for local merchants. Every store had anything and everything Red Sox prominently displayed in windows or on tables on the sidewalk. I grabbed a Fisk felt banner for $5; it was $25 the year he was inducted (was here for that).

The parade was short and lovely as usual, but there was a long delay as the guest marching band performed a bunch of numbers at the reviewing stand, which was maddening because we could see the trolleys bearing the teams sitting before the HOF, not moving. The car carrying Johnny Pesky and Dom DiMaggio was rushed by fans while the parade was at a standstill, certainly exciting some of the security people. When things finally got rolling again, the crowd went wild, Main Street sounding like Fenway during a rally. Johnny Damon pushed the crowd by leaning out the trolley window, waving and hollering to the fans.

People filled the park early; frequently the pre-game home run derby is attended by a significantly smaller number than the game itself, but most seats were filled, and stayed that way through most of the game even though with one exception all of the starters were long gone before the 7th inning. Nobody cared. The Red Sox were playing in Cooperstown.

Johnny Damon lead off, per usual, and made fans happy through most of the rest of the day, bantering with the center field bleacher crowd, tossing a ball back and forth with them to warm up for the second inning because the high schoolers who work the game were warming the other two outfielders. Later he coached third base making a total mockery of giving the signs, which earned him plenty of laughs. My dad said he had sort of like Damon before, but he is a real fan of Johnny's now, having seen him and how he interacts with the fans in person. He used to refer to Damon as "that guy with the hair," now he's "Johnny Damon, that fun guy."

We were both a bit disappointed that Trot Nixon didn't make an appearance. We both love Trot, he's our kind of player. Kevin Millar wasn't dressed and on the field, and Captain, My Captain Jason Varitek never got an at bat though he presented the World Series ring pre-game to the HOF, but otherwise it was a perfect day watching the Red Sox play in Cooperstown.

Dale Sveum added to the fun by getting a single when the rest of the Sox were cold at the plate. A pinch runner was put in for him, but he played first for a couple of innings as well. Atlanta bullpen coach Bobby Dews starting last year's game behind the plate, going a full inning, is a tough act to follow, but Sveum added to the fun of the day.

I don't follow the Tigers, but I was happy to see Pudge II Rodriguez at least get one at bat as the DH. A few other names were familiar, Inge, Pena.

Most of the Red Sox regulars left the game by the third or fourth inning, after each got an at bat, but the starting pitcher, Anibel Sanchez who is with Wilmington this season, had a good start, a long start, pitched most of the game facing all levels of batters, major leaguers to other A-level players. A couple other prospects we got to see included Hanley Ramirez, Shawn Wooten, Michael Lockwood, Jim Buckley, Bryan Pritz, and Christian Lara. The Sox player who made the biggest impact was Willy Mota. He took over centerfield for Damon and within an inning he had the fans out there cheering for him, the rest of the fans an inning or two later with some great catches and throws, and a timely 2-run homer. The whole place was chanting "Mota! Mota! Mota!" when he came to the plate. It was wild, and I hope Willy remembers this day.

My dad, who has a hard time sitting that long, lasted through four innings. When he accompanies me to my home park (for just one game a season), he won't stay in his seat for more than an inning at a time, gets up to stretch and investigate all the time. I've told him that's fine, just make sure you're back to the box where I sit for the ninth. At one point during today's game, he leaned over to tell me, "If you get tickets for next year, I'll come with you."

I'm going! I'm going!

Late last week I got an email saying tickets for the Hall of Fame game in Cooperstown were available to members of Red Sox Nation. An order didn't guarantee you'd get them, but I took a shot.

When I got home from work tonight, there was a box on my kitchen table. I wondered what it was because I didn't think I had any outstanding book orders. I got closer and saw the return address said "Boston", then saw "4 Yawkey Way".

Yee-haw! tickets to see the Red Sox in Cooperstown! And a couple Red Sox Nation Road Trip teeshirts.

I'm going to see the Red Sox. In Cooperstown!

Old School

Is it possible or do my eyes deceive me? Is that a bit of white showing between the top of the lead-off batter's shoe and stirrup?

Yup, it is. Next batter too, third batter as well.

And as the Toledo Mud Hens take the field in the bottom of the first, I see that the entire team has at least a slice of white sani showing beneath their dark stirrups.

Last season I told David Wright that some of us fans really liked the "high socks" look, with the pant leg ending just below the knee instead of pulled over the shoe tops like pajamas. Next homestand, all of the team was wearing "high socks." Old School.

And now the Mud Hens are taking it a step further. I love it.

A Good Evening at the Park

Ebeth and Jennie are two of my favorite people to be at a ballgame with, so when Ebeth called and said they were going to Wednesday's game, I said count me in.

It was a beautiful evening to be at the park, golden sunshine through most of the game as the sun slowly set over the left field stands, warm so a jacket wasn't necessary until the last few innings.

We sat right behind home plate, location courtesy of Ebeth's new buddy, one of the umps. It's a strange place to sit, the sound of the PA is totally distorted and you can't hear the chatter on the field the way you do sitting along the base paths.

I had to laugh when a wild pitch was let loose, as the pitchers charting the pitches right in front of us all flinched as much as anyone else. Yo, guys, there's a screen there! And you should be used to seeing a hardball flying right at you. Especially the way some of you pitch.

Ebeth and Jennie always complain about how subdued the Binghamton fans are, but when their dads started cheering and hollering, they could have died of embarassment. I guess it's okay if other people's parents act up, just not yours.

Ebeth and Jennie didn't bring their usual signs with them, so that seemed a little strange. When I first met them, they were toting banners to "motivate" an opposing player. They expanded that to include other players on their player's team. Finally they started making ones for the home team. Too bad they didn't have the banners, because where we were sitting would have been great to display them while the guys were on defense.

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.

Mike Jacobs

I was all set to dislike Mike Jacobs when I saw his name on the B-Mets roster once again.

He was here before, pushing out the catcher I was rooting for that season, so I didn't cotton to him. And I overheard him make some arrogant remarks that struck me the wrong way.

Now he's back, starting again, as a first baseman, which means I'm in close proximity to him, and I wasn't going to be happy about it.

In the first place, I don't have much respect for first basemen. Everyone knows this is where poor fielders are hidden, at first or in right field, and many of them look like doorstops, barely moving when a ball comes near them, hit or thrown.

But....

Mike Jacobs used to be a catcher, and I have more respect for catchers than I do for any other postion, maybe more than for all other positions rolled together. And Mike Jacobs is still, in some ways, a catcher.

When a hitter tries to check his bat, Mike Jacobs is calling for the first base umpire to confirm the swing, yelling "Check!" as loud as, and more quickly, than the man squatting behind the plate.

He has movement around first that most doorstops, er, first basmen don't. Or at least that they don't display. A quality defensive first baseman is a delight to watch, a luxury one rarely gets to indulge in.

He also takes time to meet and greet the fans at the fence railing before the game with a friendliness not apparent the last time he was here.

Then there was the afternoon he helped that day's young fan in the pre-game "Mascot Race". The 4-year-old seemed shy, tucked in to himself, head down, slowly walking toward first base while the mascot ran toward third in reverse direction (ideally they cross paths at second). Chatting with fans near the dugout, Mike Jacobs watched the youngster's difficulty for just a moment before moving away from the fans, toward the first base line, calling the boy's name, waving him toward first base. The little boy trudged along, peeking from under his cap's bill. Mike moved closer, crouched down behind first base as if it were the plate and continued to encourage the boy. When he finally got close enough, Mike reached out to touch his arm, then put his arms about him, picked him up, chatting away, a smile on Mike's face all the while. Winning some sort of answer from the boy, Mike carried him into the home team dugout where they sat for several minutes.

Mike Jacobs understands what baseball is really about.

Break Up the Sea Dogs!

The Portland Sea Dogs (Boston's AA team) got off to a fantastic start, going 10-0.

While I am a Red Sox fan, and while I was rooting for the Sea Dogs to extend their string, I am happy to report that it was the B-Mets who finally stopped them in a 3-1 game.

One of those 3 was another Chase Lambin homer. That's three in three games for him.

The Boys are Back in Town

This year's B-Mets roster has several familiar faces.

Brian Bannister, Ken Chenard, and Tim Lavigne all pitched for the B-Mets last year with varying success. Ken's little boy likes to warm up with the team, and some of the guys look like they're having a great time with him, especially Chase Lambin.

Joe Hietpas and Zac Clements both caught for the B-Mets last year. Joe is respected as a receiver, but he looks lost at the plate. Surprisingly, in one game over the weekend, he singled, then stole second. We think the opposition was totally stunned that he would even attempt it.

Mike Jacobs, David Bacani, Aarom Baldiris, and Chase Lambin are back in the infield. At one time, Jacobs was the heir apparent to Mike Piazza, but he is back in Binghamton to learn to play first base following a season lost to injury. Bacani is a crowd favorite, a sparkplug, but we are surprised he is not at AAA. Chase is listed on the roster as the utility player. He played a flawless third base his first game, but the next game he was back in his usual spot, at second, and uncharacteristically committed an error, tossing an routine doubleplay ball over Bacani's head into left field (Bacani is listed as 5'8", a generous stat, so he is a low target). The next doubleplay ball Chase displayed a little uncertainty by running to tag second himself before throwing to first.

Jeff Duncan, Wayne Lydon, Bobby Malek, and Prentice Redman are the returnees in the outfield. Jeff and Prentice have played with the NY Mets; we were all surprised to see them back at this level. Theirs is one of those cases in which you love the chance to watch him play, but you wish he, for his sake, was playing elsewhere. Wayne, if he sticks for the season, might make another go at the stolen base record; a late-season groin injury stopped him 2 bases shy of it. Malek came up to Binghamton late last season, right when they were dismantling the excellent team anchored by David Wright and Angel Pagan.

We were somewhat spoiled in 2004 by the team that played in Binghamton, until the majority were called up either to Norfolk or New York, but what this year's team has already shown us foretells an entertaining season.

Opening Day, Take 3

The budget is smaller, the town in smaller, but Binghamton (AA) treats Opening Day as the Special Occasion it is.

There was bunting around the park, and a beautiful, respectful rendition of the National Anthem. The ceremonial first pitch was thrown out by the club's director of stadium operations who had just returned from more than a year's tour of duty in Iraq as an MP. (He threw out the pitch in his desert camo uniform, but later in the game he was inside the giant plastic mouse ball, rolling across right field in a computer-related promo activity.)

The former GM, now special advisor to the president (in other words, the man in charge of fun), started things off, wishing the crowd "Happy Opening Day," and inviting us to turn to the person next to us and wish that person the same, "Like we're passing the peace in church" the person beside me noted.

Some of last year's players are back, as are most of the front office people, the ushers, and the vendors, not to mention the usuals in the stands. Some of the old promotions are back, like the musical toilets game and the pasta pitch, familiar sound effects, but new theme music for older players, and the railyard and skyline beyond the outfield fence are the same.

It's good to be home.

Props for Mr. French Again

Anton French was named K-Man of the day Sunday (Syracuse @ Rochester) and he responded in style bu hitting a home run in his first at bat. He came through for the crowd later, though, by striking out and earning all game-ticket holders a free taco at Taco Bell.

With the Skychiefs ahead 4-1, John-Ford Griffin turned playing leftfield into an adventure. He was well short of making three catches, letting three Red Wings runs in, tying the score. John-Ford redeemed himself a couple innings later with a grand slam.

Opening Day, Take 2

This is how Opening Day should be.

Sunshine (okay, the Simones have no control over the weather, but still...), a sellout crowd (5th largest in stadium history), bunting wrapping the park, a brass band, a choral group to sing the national anthem, fireworks and a balloon launch during the anthem, a recently wounded war vet throwing out the first pitch (not a bunch of politicians), marines in their dress uniforms looking like walking bunting scattered throughout the crowd.

Rochester does Opening Day the right way. And the fans respond to it.

I made the mistake of not purchasing my ticket beforehand and got SRO which mean sitting on one of the berms (too tough with my arthritic knees) or in the bleachers (see knees). I did find a seat way up top in the right field grandstand and quickly discovered why those seats were empty during a sellout. Under the roof, in the shade, it was cold and windy.

Not just the front office did Rochester proud. The team came through, too, winning 2 to 1.

Game Log CatcherKen Huckaby is a human Mack truck; we all remember him dislocating Derek Jeter's shoulder last Opening Day with his aggressive defense of third base. During the first game in Rochester, going after an infield pop-up he literally bowled over third baseman Jason Alfaro. Ken came running from behind the plate, Jason from third, Ken held his mitt up, ran over Jason who tumbled like an acrobat.

Game Log: Props to Anton French

In his first at bat of the 2005 season, Anton French OF scorched a triple down the right field line in a game the Sky(gak)Chiefs ultimately lost 9-7 after a ninth-inning 40-minute rain delay.

In the home team's first at bat of Game 2 of the season, Anton beat out a bunt for a single and came in with the game's first run in the first inning. The Red Wings took the lead in the fifth 3-2, tacked on an insurance run when Garrett Jones responded to derisive chants of "Gaaarrr-ettte, Gaaarrr-ettte!" from the Syracuse fans by hitting a solo shot over the right field fence. It looked like things were settled, the Sky(gak)Chiefs would lose the first two games of the season, disappointing their fans (sadly, not an uncommon event), but the bottom of the order and the top put together a couple hits and tied it up.

It stayed tied despite both teams getting men on base in nearly every inning that followed. The ballpark had been at best at 10% capacity and fans dribbled out as the dinner hour approached and the innings piled up. As the 12th came to an unresolved end, my uncle and I agreed we would stay for just one more before he needed to return home (he was on call that evening in the senior housing where he lives). The Sky(gak)Chiefs again got men on in the bottom of the 13th and it looked like they were likely to be lame ducks just like all those preceding them. But with two out and two on, and a strike, maybe two on him, Anton French powered a shot over the right field fence, same place Gaarrr-ettte had parked his. The shamefully small number of fans still on hand were mighty pleased not only to have their team split the opening series, but do it in such exciting fashion.
Reasons to Love Minor League Baseball: In the minors, the parks are small, the seats are close, you can hear not only the umps clearly, but the players as well, and all those marvelous sounds of the game, wood and leather and pounding feet. You also, when the "crowds" are small can hear the fans. Red Wings catcher Rob Bowen was at the plate and from behind their dugout a Red Wings fan in from Rochester (whose voice I recognize even though we're both out-of-towners because he's vocal when he follows his team here) encouraged him, "Come on, Rob, get a hit," and from the opposite side of the park, as Syracuse fan called out, "Rob, never mind. Don't do that." Red Wings fan, "Just a little hit, Rob, just a little hit now," and Sky(gak)Chiefs fan, "No, Rob, strike out."

Notes: Aaron Hill seemed to be having some trouble with the artificial turf, bobbling a couple balls, making a couple errors, but from what I've seen of him, the learning curve probably won't be steep. My uncle is concerned that Aaron is too good and will not last the season, or even the major part of it, in Syracuse. Russ Adams, who was called up from Syracuse late last season, is playing shortstop in Toronto, so I think Aaron will be given as much time as he needs.

Jason Tyner no longer resembles a toothpick. His uniform has always looked like it is dangling on a wire hanger out in centerfield. The man finally has some meat on his bones, and he finally looks like a man, no longer a boy, (he will be 28 in a couple weeks) evident not just in the filled-out frame, but in the changed angles of his face. My uncle thinks Jason Tyner has one of the strangest stances at the plate he's ever seen. Funny thing is, he takes the same stance at the ready in center; he looks like a croquet wicket.

Opening Day, Take 1

"Programs! Get your programs here! You're Next!"

Hearing Durkin, perched at the top of the entry stairs, smack dab in the middle of the concourse, calling out the greeting is THE sign that Spring and the Season have truly arrived. I've heard Durkin singing out that phrase for nearly 30 years, and it's always a welcome sound.

Living in the middle of Central New York, I have the possibility of attending as many as 6 different Opening Days as day trips, 7 if you want to stretch it to Buffalo. Schedule permitting, (the teams' not mine) usually I make it to two, Syracuse and Binghamton. Last year they were the same day with one ending as the other was getting underway so I made it only to the B-Mets (they are, after all My Guys), but this year the home openers are a week apart.

It rained. Starting in the third inning, pouring during the eighth, and when they pulled the tarps at the top of the ninth, the score Rochester 9-Syracuse 6, I decided I was soaked enough and headed home.

Despite the weather, it was a great Opening Day. Not only did I get to see this year's Player to Watch (a potential My Guy), shortstop Aaron Hill, I discovered my first favorite B-Met is playing for Rochester! Being a bit ditzy, I forgot the dugouts are reversed in Syracuse, home team on the left, and was watching for Number 5, Aaron Hill to come out, noting that Number 11 had looked familiar though I didn't recognize the name on the roster. When Number 5 emerged from the first base dugout the player definitely wasn't Hill. The person I was talking with pointed out they were wearing away uniforms. Number 11 for Rochester is centerfielder Jason Tyner. Made my whole day right then.

Syracuse got off to a great start, putting down the Red Wings 1-2-3 in the top of the first and the leadoff Sky(gak)chief Anton French hitting a triple. They sailed along beautifully for three innings. Then the Red Wings decided to play.

I have a love-hate relationship with the Sky(gak)chiefs and root with a strong sense of schadenfreude. Most games I attend to watch a player on the visiting team and cheer him and his teammates, usually to vistory. The final score was 9-7 so they got that ninth inning in, and I was lucky enough to catch the tape-delay on cable. I got to see Jason Tyner get his second hit of the day (2 for 5 in the leadoff spot) and see him catch a routine fly ball to center for the final out.

Heading back for Game 2 today.

My Kind of Food Show

Saturday I went to my monthly writers' meeting and got together with friends for coffee and conversation, stopping at my aunt and uncle's which my father knows is my routine so he called me there to tell me not to bother to try driving home as roads were flooded in my home county. Which is how I came to be flipping through the channels on a Saturday night, passing shows I normally never see. I make instanteous decisions, analysizing the image on the screen in a split second before moving on, but an image of Cooperstown stopped me short.

Cooperstown, on the Food Network no less, $40 a Day. I had missed part of the show as the host, Rachael Ray, was tallying her breakfast bill (where? where?) at $9.09. There were familiar shots of Main Street, all of the shops recognizable to me, frequent visitor, and I realized the show was at least a year old as The Shortstop Restaurant was shown in its former Main Street location; it can now be found in the cellar level of Pioneer Street, directly across from the Tunnicliff Inn, beneath Mickey''s Place. She made the requiste whirlwind tour of the Hall of Fame, making a point of visiting Pudge's plaque, earning me as a fan by lingering on Fisk's engraved contentance. She went to Ommegang Brewery (I have tried their wares only to discover I don't care for Belgain ale), grabbed the makings for a ploughman's lunch at Danny's Main Street Deli which serves huge, fresh sandwiches, and ate on the shore of Lake Otesaga (Glimmerglass in Cooper's world). Afterward she left town via I-88 to Brooks Barbeque, just a short distance away in her words, though getting to I-88 is a 20-25 minute ride from Cooperstown. She rounded off the visit by riding out a rain delay at the Cooperstown Dream Park, a wonderful facility where kids from across the country come every summer to play week-long tournaments; I've visited when a friend was umpiring there and it's a great chance to watch amateur baseball.

As if a feast through, and around, Cooperstown wasn't enough, the teaser showed the next episode --to follow immediately-- involved more baseball.

The Triangle: Raleigh, Durham, and Chapel Hil, NC. As if I hadn't already enough of a yen to visit the place, she showed some great eating (I have to ask my friend JJ about her recommendations), some interesting shopping, including a local bookstore, and she took in a game at the Durham Bulls Athletic Park, the New DAP to some of us. She had breakfast at Elmo's Diner which looked like a great place though Southwest Cheese grits isn't likely to be on my plate, lunch at Mama Dip's (Catfish Gumbo), Cracker Jack at the New DAP, and supper at The Barbeque Joint where she learned the difference between Eastern North Carolina barbaque and all those other things claiming to be barbeque. She topped it off with an iced cappuccino at Cafe Driade. Though I'd probably make somewhat different food choices, she had what would basically be a perfect day as far as I'm concerned.

The crowning part of this show was her visit to the New DAP. Not only did I get to see what the place looks like, inside and out (sadly, too much like other stadia of its vintage), the visiting team was the Syracuse Skychiefs. That the Bulls' opposition was one of my local teams was a happy coincidence for me, but what made me even happier was that I recognized, in a fleeting glimpse, the Skychiefs' pitcher, Mike Smith.

Coffee-Flavored Misses Looks like My Barista was partly right. He predicted the winning team would score 9 runs, and that Boomer would be lifted inthe 5th, and that the number 2 was connected to the final score.

Blood of the Savior

No shortage of allusions and comparisons of baseball and religion exists, from Annie Savoy's soliloquy ("The only church that truly feeds the soul day in and day out is the Church of Baseball") to calling ballparks Green Cathedrals to scholarly volumes (The Faith of 50 Million: Baseball, Religion, and American Culture). Love of the game literally saved my life so I am disinclined to easily dismiss such comparisions.

The National Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown is acknowledged as a shrine and the Hall proper resembles nothing so much as a classic church, from the materials from which it was built, marble, granite and oak, to the shape and layout with the soaring dome of the santuctuary at one end and the plaques serving as stations of the cross throughout the nave.

So it is no surprise that on my latest visit (apparently I cannot pass through Cooperstown without stopping in at the HOF) that I should find on display the Blood of the Savior. On the top floor where the current reigning World Series winning team is celebrated, one can see Curt Schilling's bloody sock, along side Manny's bat and Papi's jersey. Seeing the sock there, the iron rust colored blot fairly small, evoked a sense of delight, as memories of the Series and the incredible season that preceded it unfurled, and a sense of the absurd, that this soiled garment serves as the modern version of a reliquary.

In the grand scheme of things, it seems only fitting that I viewed this religious artifact on Good Friday.

Coffee-flavored wishes My Barista this morning made his Opening Day prediction: Boomer will give up a couple runs, be lifted in the fifth, and the Scuzziest Looking Man in Baseball will get lit up, final score 9 - 7 Red Sox.

Draft Day!

Yesterday was draft day for my fantasy league, our sixth season. Most of the original participants are still at it, the same guy usually wins (or comes in a very close second and that winner drops out), the same two or three battle for last place. What are you looking at me for? Some day I am going to beat Big Dog.

Unfortunately, too many people were unable to be online at draft time, though those of us who were there had a good time. Spike owes me a six of Moose Drool and I'm going to hold him to it.

Having so many people on auto-select probably worked to my advantage because I got what I consider some great picks. The team runs toward Red Sox (no suprise there) and young, guys I've watched play in the minors*.

Huskytown Dukes, 2005
Moises Alou
Bronson Arroyo* (once you've seen his weird leg kick live, you never forget it)
Josh Beckett
Matt Clement
Brendon Donnelly *
Adam Eaton*
Lew Ford *
Nomar Garciaparra
Eric Hinske *
Torii Hunter
Wade Miller (if he doesn't come through, My Barista's gonna owe me a cuppa or two)
Eric Milton
Doug Mirabelli
Bill Mueller
David Ortiz
AJ Pierzynski *
Manny Ramirez*
David Riske*
Grady Sizemore *
BJ Upton*
Jason Varitek
Tim Wakefield
Ty Wigginton *
Dontrelle Willis
David Wright ****

Trade talk is already in the air, so my Opening Day roster may look a bit different but I think this team has what it takes to come in 10th.

That would be a couple steps up; we're 13 teams strong this year.

Caffeinated Prognostications

My Barista says Schilling will throw everyone under the bus.

At the drive-through coffee place where I get my morning fix, I also get the latest baseball news and predictions from My Barista R. This handsome young man (whose looks are vaguely suggestive of Theo Epstein), is, like me, an avid Red Sox fan in the swamp of Yankee Territory, and he is up extremely early each day checking out the latest on the Sox, the Yankees, and occasionally other ballplayers. When he serves up my joe (okay it's mocha) he also serves up the newest tidbits, like who threw how many pitches, whose arm is sore, who's rumored to be on the trading block. Most days I don't bother to log in to ESPN.com until late afternoon because My Barista gave me the highlights in the early AM.

The glaring difference between his fanhood and mine is his fluctuating belief in our team. His confidence in their ability to get the job done changes more frequently, and quickly, than the tide. In 2004, he had written off the Red Sox when Pay-Rod went to the Yankees instead of the Sox. Not entirely true, as his confidence in how they would play and how they would finish the season rose and fell repeatedly before Opening Day, and continued to do so throughout the season. Several times in 2004, he wrote them off, only days later, based on some turn of events, he predicted them to win the division. Throughout the season, every time he got down on the team I would tell him to be patient, they weren't done yet. That was my message to him through early April, mid-August, and into October, right up to the start of Game 1 of the Series.

So when the Scuzziest Looking Man in Baseball signed with the Yankees in the off-season, My Barista started writing off the 2005 season for the Sox. Here we go again.

This morning his comments were about Curt Schilling and Congress. Although we haven't discussed the steriods issue at any length (the line of cars can cut our talks to only a phrase or two), we both are looking forward to his testimony. My Barista predicts Schilling will be very forthcoming, because "that's the way he is." Schilling does seem to be a man of virtue, in an age that claims to prize virtue yet actually mocks and disparages it. It will be more interesting to hear what he has to say than anything Canseco has written so far.

I hope My Barista is right on this one.

Passing It On

Baseball is a generational game.

It's known for being passed down from father to son, parent to child, grandparent to child. It is part of what makes baseball what it is, stories passed along, so that it becomes one long continual communion. We know about Babe Ruth, about Merkle's Boner, about Wally Pipp, about Country Slaughter's Mad Dash. Those of us in Red Sox Nation may be just a bit more aware of historical context than other parts of the baseball world, though Yankee Territory is just as steeped in the interconnection of generations.

Passing it on is one of the joys of baseball for me. Sparky and Statman's young daughters receive baseball story books and tiny team socks as early totems. Grace and her sister Mellow come to the ballpark with me, experiencing the Game as a real thing, not an artifical television event, learning to love the beauty of the game, its intricacies and its simplicities. (Grace could confidently explain the Infield Fly Rule at age 15.) They have been doing this long enough that they talk about the guys they used to watch and wonder where they are playing now. (We've made a deal to watch last year's group of Guys this season when they visit nearby at the AAA level .)

This past week I gave a condensed version of my classroom presentation on Women in Baseball for a noontime program at the community college where I work. Being able to pass the Game along in the classroom is good; I team-teach a social science course on Baseball in American Culture. But this presentation was particularly special for me. In the classroom, sometimes it feels like we're just spouting info and students are silently aborbing it, or perhaps it is bouncing off, unheeded. In this setting, it was a small group who displayed avid interest in the subject, including a history instructor and her student who wants to do a paper on women in baseball. There were questions and comments aplenty throughout my talk, and a long discussion at the end, touching on many of the cultural aspects addressed, or at least alluded to, in the presentation. The history instructor afterward told me she hadn't realized how far back in time women had been actively involved in baseball, to what extent, and where they stood today, at all levels of the game on and off the field, and that she was taking away knowledge she would be using in her classroom. The student went away feeling confident about doing her paper, that it was a subject worthy of serious study. The talk allowed the opportunity to pass along Baseball, in a way most people may not even consider, and to pass along cultural history of women, things that as younger women they may not even have been aware of previously.

At my aunt's funeral over the weekend, the priest spoke about sharing stories of her with the generations present and those yet to come. One of the things I enjoy most about gathering with other baseball junkies is the sharing of stories. Almost everyone can tell one about a baseball memory that stands out from their childhood , stories that are not so much the stories of the players, but of themselves connecting to the game. I collect these stories, make them part of the treasure trove of baseball.

The desire, the need to connect the past to the future is part of what makes us who we are, and makes Baseball what it is.

A Community of Baseball

Baseball does not exist in a vacuum, it exists in a community. Or rather, in communities.

Not the towns and cities, but a community of people. The Syracuse AAA franchise is the “Community Owned Baseball Club of CNY, Inc.” but the community is not limited to the physical location of that city, or even the physical space of that ballpark though a community exists within those walls, in those stands.

Over the years I have belonged to several different baseball communities. The larger, over-reaching community of “Fan,” but other smaller, more specialized groups, groups that rarely overlap though I know virtually any member of one of those communities would feel a connection to another member of any of the other communities, if not instantly at least more quickly than you can say “Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon.”

Each of these communities is special to me. There is, of course, the community of my ballpark. Make that ballparks. Even on the road, it is easy to slip into the local ballpark community. There is the community of those I share a box section with, the vendors, the ushers and the office personnel, even to some extent the players themselves. And there is the community I declared after my first gathering with them “my tribe,” one devoted to the study of baseball, a community which rarely addresses the game, but considers The Game as a topic of serious study and contemplation, a community that also entertains itself by joyfully playing an archaic version of the game in a cow pasture: Mind the woodchuck holes!

None of these communities is any more precious to me than my online community, a living, breathing community of relatively long standing in terms of the Internet. Because we know each other only through words on a screen, we know each other in ways that we don’t know the people we sit next to game after game, night after night. Issues that rarely get addressed in face to face situations are examined and parsed, and over time we have come to anticipate each others’ reactions. A verbal shorthand has grown up among us, inside jokes live on for years., memories of shared occurrences, the arguments and agreements, laughter and even tears. Although we haven’t, with a few exceptions, ever met face to face, do not share the same time zone or even the same continent, we are nonetheless a tight-knit community. We have shared not only baseball, from the high flights of intellectual fancy to the “did you see that hit?” ephemeral moments, we have shared what a community shares: courtship, marriage, divorce, illness, births, deaths, job losses, relocations. I spent several years caring for my mother at home as Alzheimer’s ravaged her and this baseball community provided support that got me through the most difficult seven years of my life, a saving grace that helped me survive. Sometimes the support we give is through our public discussion arena, but often it is done on the side, off-line in email. Others within the community have provided similar to support to each other, whether they know it or not. It may be explicit, it may be unspoken. Either way, it is a community I am proud to be a part of it, a community I love.