NOTES #140

NOTES FROM THE SHADOWS OF COOPERSTOWN

Observations from Outside the Lines

By Two Finger Carney (carneya6@borg.com)

#140 July 16, 1996

ONE OLD CAT

One old cat is a game that is older than baseball, and is usually considered an ancestor. Rules vary, but it’s a ball and stick game, with running and bases, hits and outs, and three strikes. And it was simple enough for kids to play.

One old cat has been on my mind a lot lately. Actually, he’s not that old — we’ve had Frisky, and his considerably larger brother Pippi, for a little more than seven years. They have become family members more than pets, and I see more of them than my teenage kids lately.

They are house cats, and on the rare times when they’ve gotten out of the house, they’ve never strayed far. But Frisky turned up missing, on the day #139 was put into the mail, and is still missing as this one is being put together.

If Frisky had been taken ill or hit by a car and died, I could handle that fine. But his sudden, mysterious disappearance has left a terrible void. I am surprised at how deep the sense of loss goes.

For the first time in years, I found myself going to baseball games to take my mind off something. Or to take a break from the search, which, if he is never found, will go on forever. My imagination has become a curse.

It doesn’t really work. Driving to and from the games, I crawl slowly through adjacent neighborhoods. I cannot drive anywhere, to the grocery, to work, directly. Once there, part of me still wants to be searching.

As I study all the cats (and dogs) in South Utica, I am struck by how beautiful Frisky is. I can write about him all day. As I write this, I look out my attic window, ever scanning. The same window Frisky once fell out, while napping on the sill, feet in the air. As the screen budged, Frisky vanished, without a cry. I rushed downstairs in a panic, to find him strolling casually away, as if nothing happened.

Frisky has absolutely nothing to do with baseball, I know that, but I feel like I must write about him here, if only to bid him farewell. His absence has delayed this issue, has put my life on a weird kind of hold. Something that the absence of baseball, in the wake of the Strike, never did, I realize. Life goes on. Frisky’s absence has made everything and everyone more precious.

THE WIZARD AND BILL

Alan Robinson penned an interesting column recently. He noted that Ozzie Smith, taking his final bows around the league this summer (and given the gold watch of an All Star team appearance), has been labeled “can’t-miss Hall of Famer” for some time now. No problem with that, but Mr Robinson points out that while Ozzie will stroll into Cooperstown with writers fighting to hold the door open for him, he will be walking past another Wiz with very similar HOF credentials: Bill Mazeroski.

And it’s something to keep in mind as we cheer Ozzie, one last time. Smith is at .261 now; Maz finished at .260. Maz had 138 HR (despite Forbes Field) and 853 RBIs, to Ozzie’s 26, 775 (and counting), but Ozzie’s speed answers Maz’ power. We can go on to compare fielding stats, too, but is that necessary? It is easier to just agree that Ozzie and Bill were simply the best fielders at their position, within the memory of most fans alive today.

Ironically, Maz’ moment in the national sun came not on a defensive play, but on a hit that may have sealed his doom — unless we think the New York writers don’t have much influence, and are really a very forgiving bunch. I have met more than a few Yankee fans over the years who still hate Bill Mazeroski — his name drives them nuts. Thirty-six years later!

I have argued that Ozzie is a shoe-in for the Hall partly because that great nickname stuck. Who can say how Bill might have been regarded, had a few vowels been rearranged, letting Mozeraski emerge as “The Wizard of Moz”?

I think Maz got just two votes from the Veterans Committee last winter, despite a stepped-up campaign (which probably ran on little gas, while the best efforts went to keep the Pirates in town.) So who can be optimistic about his chances?

George Will, in Men at Work , wrote: “There are two reasons –each of them sufficient — why Bill Mazeroski should be in the Hall of Fame. One reason is that as he was leaving the church on his wedding day, with his bride on his arm, he put a plug of tobacco in his cheek. The other sufficient reason is his defensive play.”

“Mazeroski’s defensive statistics are probably the best of any player in baseball history, at any position. Intuitively, that seems like a Hall of Famer,” wrote Bill James in The Politics of Glory — a book that does not feed optimism about Maz’ chances. Realistically, Maz was not flashy. Unless you count turning the DP faster than the naked eye can see. When Maz took infield practice at his first All Star games, other players stopped and watched. I suspect that anyone who suggested to Maz that he do a backflip when he took his position, would get a stream of tobacco juice directed at their shoes. No, Bill wouldn’t do that, either. Once again: the Hall needs Maz.

The Road to Williamsport

WHO’LL STOP THE RAIN?

South Utica’s Andy Wengert had retired the first two Mohawk Batters, when the LL playoff game was halted abruptly, due to a shower — of baseballs! It may be a first, in the long history of the game — I’m not sure where I can look that up.

The rain was coming from the adjacent diamond, where, as part of the pre-game festivities before the All Star Game for the Northeastern Collegiate Baseball League, a Home Run Derby had started. Young sluggers were wafting shot after pinged shot over the fence, and onto the LL field. One fell near the mound, then at the second baseman’s spot, then the outfield was bombarded. The teams huddled safely in their dugouts, not amused by the distraction, while a few kids shag the fallen missiles.

About 25 minutes later, the stubborn NCBL officials give in, and call of the attack, so the kids can play. Little Falls’ diamonds are both beautiful, but this is the first time that I noticed — they are simply too close to each other. Foul pops from the LL game dropped on the bigger field all evening.

When play resumed, Andy retired the Last of the Mohicans Mohawks, then contributed a single — the first of three hard hits for Andy this night — as his team jumped up, 2-0. The Mohawk ace was an imposing figure — Mickey Lolich might have started this way , I muse. But his best stuff was hittable, and a few innings later, it was 4-0.

I watched much of the game sitting on gravel in a shady spot behind home, not twenty feet from the plate. From that vantage point, Andy looked like Randy Johnson, all angles, his long legs and arms making him seem too close . His pitches were there , before the overmatched batters could react.

Mohawk took their best shot in the fourth. With two outs and runners on second and third, a long hit to left center was speared by a running, stumbling Mark Taylor. His team’s ace pitcher/SS in the regular season, Mark was squeezed into the outfield duty by the stronger arms. Pretty nice catch, for the bullpen . Mark’s mom celebrated with a great “That’s my boy!”

Mark made a second highlight-film snag in the final frame, racing in and stabbing a liner into right center, rolling over but hanging on, holding his glove up for the ump and all to see. Another fly out later, and the 4-0 win was history.

It’s a double-elimination tournament. Whoever emerges from the loser’s bracket will have to beat South Utica twice. And that underdog of a team will have less rest. Last year’s district champs, from Little Falls, are eliminated, their best players all “aged out” of LL — South Utica’s fate next year, I do believe.

ALL STAR QUESTIONS

I stopped getting excited long ago about obvious All Star selections being overlooked by the fans, or by the favorite-playing managers we saw square off last October. ( But really, why not Denny Neagle? And Carlos Garcia seems starrier than Ozzie. )

But a few questions came up this time around that deserve discussion, the kind we can do in newsletters. See if you agree.

One is raised by Ozzie Smith. It’s not a brand-new idea, but why not a couple of honorary stars each summer, players who may no longer be at their peak, but who are headed to Cooperstown unless they are caught with betting slips in their gloves. Let them be the captains, participate just as if they were voted in. But don’t take up a roster spot just to honor them. “Lifetime achievement award” is the phrase I hear for this innovation. I like the idea — how about you editors?

Another question that seems to be asked LOUDER this summer than I’ve heard it before, is “Why not select the best players, instead of picking at least one from each team?” My first response is that fans will never vote in the best players, there will always be a few people’s choices which are popular, but bad. (Isn’t taking the vote for pitchers away from the fans, like letting the electoral college — in this case, those biased managers — save the electorate from itself? I have seen little or no protest of this practice, have you?) Anyway, I think it is terribly important for every team to be represented, and I’ve written too much on this point in the past already.

A third question, also growing in volume: “Why not expand the roster by at least five slots, to take the expanding number of teams into account?” There seems to me to be no good reason not to do this, but one reason why it is unlikely: more stars mean more bonuses paid by the owners. And they make the rules.

I caught some of this year’s ‘Star Game, and enjoyed what I saw. But the next day, I’m reading about how the ratings are down, and the question is asked: is this a sign that baseball is dying? Please. My question is this: don’t they know that fans don’t care about ratings? If I watched the game and enjoyed it, don’t try to make me feel guilty about that! Take up the space with more about the game, and next year the ratings will be up.

If the rating are a barometer of anything, it is probably how baseball has been bashed in the media all year. Nuf ced about Albert and Marge. The blizzard of HRs has fans talking about juiced balls, but also about the dilution of talent at the top (with more expansion coming.)

A final question, just whispered at the ‘Star Break, is one we all hoped not to hear: will there be yet another Strike? The All Star Game was an informal deadline for a new agreement, and it has passed. A new pessimism is leaking out. Good grief.

THE HANGMAN COMETH — NOT

I ended The Margian Chronicles , in Notes #136, with this sentence: “I make a mental note to look up the poem The Hangman .” Since parts of the Chronicles have already appeared elsewhere, and may show up in more places later, I should clarify.

There are indeed several poems with the title Hangman . But I was recalling one that I thought furnished the script for a 12-minute animated film, made in 1963 and narrated by Hershel Bernardi. However, as I tried to track it down, I discovered that the film was not based on a poem, but a play by Maurice Ogden. It may be found in children’s literature. But that’s all I’ve found out so far.

The film is so familiar to me because it was a regular in my lineup, when I taught high school. I can’t quote from it, but the plot is simple. The narrator watches a hangman come for neighbor after neighbor — they are of different races, religions, and nationalities. Finally, the hangman comes for the narrator, and there is no one left to protest or to help.

IF THEY DID IT TO MARGE…

I defended Marge Schott so strongly because of that principle. Someone who speaks their mind is not dangerous. If some of Marge’s ideas are dangerous, it is best to have them out in the open, where they can be answered, discussed, de-fused.

Driving dangerous ideas underground only makes them more dangerous, it seems to me. There, they can breed and grow and perhaps emerge as terrorist bombings or secret militia.

Marge Schott is probably not a neo-Nazi. But if she is, I want her to be able to march down Main Street, wearing her swastika armband. She is safer there, than in her basement, plotting to destroy the Lincoln Memorial. We are safer.

RATING THE FANS

Did you all see that feature in Baseball Weekly , July 3-10? A couple hundred players responded to a survey, and the results were tallied, and the fans ranked, 1 to 28. I suppose this says something, but I’m not sure what. Winning teams excite and ignite fans, and that can happen in any city. New parks also can do it. Bill Veeck could do it. There is no mystery about this.

And every team has a loyal core. If Ted Turner bought the Utica Blue Sox, and dropped the Braves, he could turn the U-Sox into America’s Team, with that superstation and good marketing. Fans come in a million varieties, but some are made-by-TV. As for players rating “fans,” my guess is that they vote based on locker room facilities, restaurants, proximity to the airport, and lots of factors. Personally, I don’t believe we are rate-able.

REQUIEM FOR A BALLPARK

Too often these days we hear ballparks described as revenue streams, with luxury boxes mandatory, along with rising ticket and concession prices. In the burgs where fans are staying away, there is pressure to build a new stadium, one that looks like an old one, but draws fans all by itself. It is not hard to imagine leagues full of Camden Yards and Jacobs Fields, in another decade. Green Cathedrals, indeed.

So it was refreshing to read a post on the SABR-L Digest, from Paul Debono, bidding one fan’s farewell to Bush Stadium, Indianapolis. Paul attended the final game there, on July 3rd, and the reflections below are his.Just a note marking the passing of a ball park. Last Wednesday I attended the very last baseball game to be played in Indianapolis’ Bush Stadium, formerly known as Victory Field (1942-66) and Perry Stadium (1931-42.)

My personal sentiments for the park are only skin deep compared with the many elders of this city who remember attending ball games at Victory Field as youths. I do, however, have some cherished memories of the park. Many of us had taken the old park for granted, and were caught by surprise a couple of years ago when we found out it was all over.

There was a very minor public outcry and attempt to save the park and block the new stadium …. Suspicions among the masses is that a corporate sponsor will eventually be the “Victors” here when they put their name on the park … a la the “RCA Dome.”

Paul also recalled the park’s brick, ivied walls, and cozy (12,110) capacity. Eight Men Outand other films have given Bush a bit of immortality.

But I think ballparks live on in the memories, of players and of fans. Bush was home to the Indianapolis Clowns, the Negro League ABCs and the Coles Chicago American Giants, and to the AAA Indianapolis Indians since 1931. Memories of Bush are linked with Rocky Colavito and Minnie Minoso, Roger Maris and Oscar Charlton, Herb Score and Satchel Paige. “Josh Gibson did some christening with a long shot over the right field wall … hit out of sight,” Paul writes.

Ballparks are stages, and we recall better the actors and the drama, the comedy and tragedy, than the props.

But we miss ballparks. Their passing reminds us of all the games we saw there, and who we were with, and who we were. We can return only via memory lane. We cannot go home again.

SPEAKING OF BALLPARKS

Since I inquired in the monthly SABR bulletin about ballparks that had trees in fair territory, I’ve learned a lot about the magnolia tree at Atlanta’s Ponce de Leon Park — Eddie Mathews was apparently the only player to reach it with a hit — but nothing more about Scheutzen Park. I’d love to see at least one tree in at least one of the new parks being born. How about Pittsburgh? Something to really distinguish it, but also to better connect it to fans.

The Road to Williamsport

KEELERING

With three straight wins under their belts, the kids from South Utica took on the gang from Ilion. After losing to Skenandoa (I still can’t find it on the map, and I’ve been asking around, and nobody knows where Skenandoa is), Ilion has won four straight in the losers’ bracket. I know where Ilion is — just over the hill, in the Mohawk Valley, and closer to Little Falls than Utica.

No HR Derby this time around, it’s the only game at the Memorial Field complex, which is comprised of five diamonds, two with lights, and all nicely maintained. Water is spraying at a couple of them, while the Little Leaguers warm up.

Ilion is a one-horse town, spread out around Remington Arms, a gun manufacturer which has slimmed some with the military downsizing, the absence of ground warfare, and the growing bans on automatic weaponry. Its kids came out gunning this evening, however, racking up a 7-1 lead after 4? innings. Their top arm, Dominic, held South Utica to one unearned run on one hit, and he was changing speeds like a pro. He also seemed to have a sneaky little curve, which can be lethal at this level.

But twelve-year-olds arms are funny, and Dominic’s turned from slingshot to jello in the bottom of the fifth. Suddenly, a barrage of hits and walks turned the laugher into a 7-6 game, with the tying run in scoring position, when Dominic found his groove again for a closing K.

Ryan Meola, so convincing last week, was done in, in his four innings, by a rash of hits that could only be called keelerisms — landing precisely where his defense ain’t — but some were tagged. His successor, Chris Hansel, has been playing an extremely steady, Charlie-Hayeslike third base. With his team down 7-0, Chris still managed a great smile when he took the field, in response to some cheer — and he continued to smile after maneuvering through a scoreless fifth — which seemed to give his teammates the encouragement they needed to rally — and a 1-2-3 sixth. The stage was set for the kill.

But, to repeat myself, twelve-year-old arms are funny things. I was mildly surprised that Dominic survived the fifth, while the lead melted down, and flabbergasted that he started the sixth. Either they have no pen, or the coach knows Dominic far better than we do. Probably both. Dominic fanned the first two, and got the final out on a grounder, for the W.

South Utica had showed some of its character, coming back but falling short, keelering well themselves, but in just one of their six innings. Wee Willie “Hit ’em where they ain’t” Keeler was not much taller than these kids. He’d have loved L. League!

GONE FISHING

I’ve come back to that theme a few times since launching it, Opening Day. I was thinking of doing an issue with a fishy motif, you know, features on the Marlins, Mudcat Grant, and so on.

Instead, I dug up the lyrics to a song by Bob Dylan (with Jaques Levy), Catfish .

That is also a chapter title in Marvin Miller’s A Whole Different Ball Game. I must charge Miller with an error: he writes, “[Catfish] was also a terrific hitter — in 1971, he batted .350, making him the first AL pitcher to win 20 games and hit .300 or better the same season.” Walter Johnson was a pretty fair swinger, too, and in 1925, Walter was 20-7 — and he hit .433 (42 hits, 2 HR.)

Dylan had it right about Mr Finley — he lost Hunter precisely because he “wouldn’t pay” — which violated their contract, making Catfish a free agent.

According to Miller, Mr Finley offered Catfish $200,000 to re-sign with his A’s. Of course, when he was landed by Steinbrenner, lured into the Yankee net by a $3.75 million worm, the baseball world was turned upside down. (Hunter had been making $100,000 — the $3.75 million, five-year deal was a quantum leap into the future.) It has not been the same since. Once the players learned that the owners had that kind of cash to bait their hooks, there was no settling for peanuts anymore. Sure made George popular with the Lords!

UNDER THE BELLE JAR

Before NFSCcould get to him, Albert Belle gave a ‘Star Break interview to USA Today. But it came out pretty close to the way I’d have done it myself!

First, Albert said that a “smear campaign” is preventing him from changing his bad-boy image. Not news to Notes readers, or to any fans paying close attention to the way Albert has been “put in front of a bus” (in Marge Schott’s lovely phrase.) Ironically, the story carry this complaint goes on to list his offenses, Storm to S.I. to Vina (this phrase, if repeated enough, begins to have a magical, Tinker-to-Evers-to-Chance ring) — including several non-events!

“My body is beat up,” said Albert. “Maybe I’ll just sit out [1997] and relax.” But it’s his image that’s taken the beating, and now the media reports every time Albert is booed , as if that is news, too. It doesn’t take an All Star reporter to know that being booed in Philadelphia is not an event. Ask Mike Schmidt.

“I was prepared [to be under a microscope this season], and I’ve tried to keep these sort of things from happening. But it’s not being prevented.” That sounds to me like Albert understands that he has a problem, which he can’t quite keep under control. But we all know this, certainly the media should. So, instead of giving Albert the space he’s requested, helping him get and keep control, he is instead taunted: the endless replays of Storm and Vina, and the almost daily listing of his troubles.

“I feel more like a politician than a baseball player,” Belle observes, as if he’s read Notes 138. Welcome to America, Albert. You are a contestant on The Ratings Game. Because big names get big laughs on Leno and Letterman, they sell papers, and bad news about big names sells more than good news. Who can really “prepare” for the sharks, when they are hungry, and you are already bleeding?

It is easy to understand anyone’s impulse to flee the waters, before they get really red. But if I were Albert, I’d try something else first. I’d change my name. It almost worked for him once before, Albert has left behind the sins of Joey Belle. He might be able to do it again.

Cassius Clay, Lew Alcindor — there are precedents for big names doing the drop-and-add. Why not Albert? It could work, especially if he comes up with a pleasant-sounding, popular name. How about Rocky (the underdog image) Vanslammingham? That surname almost guarantees fewer headlines.

The sad news of Kirby Puckett’s forced early retirement has us all looking for new good guys. Rocky V. could be one, but he must practice his smile, then turn it loose as he pursues #61, and another fling at October’s Game. Yo, Hannah!

BLUE SEASON

Last winter, after hooking up with the Florida Marlins, the Utica entry in the NY-Penn League tried to change its name, from Blue Sox, to Blue Marlins. They failed, although Blue Marlins got into the Baseball Americadirectory, and probably other outlets. Looking back from July, they should have gone with plain Blues .

It’s been that kind of season. They entered a twin bill against Oneonta with a team winning percentage around the Mendoza line (4-15). The local paper has noted that, like those inventive 1962 Mets, the Sox seem to find new ways to lose every night. Balk the winning run in here, give up a late-inning slam there. Yet, this team does not seem really bad — it is short on pitching, and still observes pitch counts (which means that effective starters leave “early”), and you get the idea.

When I arrived late for the first game of that double-dip, it looked like a typical Sox start: they were down 5-1. An Oneonta three-run HR seemed to make it 8-1, but wait, the scoreboard credits the three runs to the Sox, making it 5-4. It takes a while to figure it out. The scoreboard is not trying to fool the fans into thinking it’s a close game — it really is . This first game is a replay of one rained out in Oneonta, and the O-Yanks are the home team. Utica is up 5-4.

But not for long. The Sox hurlers get ahead in the count, only to finally give up walks. A bases-clearing double off an 0-2 pitch falls just inside the RF line, inches away from where a Sox hit earlier fell just foul. Game of inches. The Sox win in the nightcap breaks a seven-game losing streak. (Remember when nightcap was a common baseball term. Twin bill? )

THIRTY-TWO AND COUNTING DOWN

Fans of the Syracuse Chiefs who thought they had taken their “Last Crack at Big Mac” — MacArthur Stadium — last summer, found they had a crack left after all. The new stadium can be seen, rising girder by girder behind the LF fences. Fans can only hope that the new park has better access. It took me about 45 minutes to navigate the last six blocks, to my box seat.

I thought that everyone would be at the Lollapalooza thing, at the State Fairgrounds nearby — like my daughter. Wrong . At least 10,000 jammed into Big Mac this Saturday night. I was informed it was “Wegman’s Night — you have to get here an hour earlier.” Lots of freebies at the supermarket, and the annual chance to win a new car. Bill Veeck would be proud.

The Chiefs have but 32 games left now, and are no doubt glad to have #33 in the books — a 14-0 whomping by the Phillies’ farm club, the Scranton Wilkes-Barre Barons. About the 8th inning, that “Ten Run Rule” from Little League (the surrender option) looked good.

I usually get general admission at Big Mac, they are fine seats, but this night they were filled. My box, right behind the Chiefs’ dugout (not a lot of happy faces seen), cost $7. No one I asked seemed sure about how the new park’s prices would compare. I note that the boxes at Big Mac put me about as close as my $1.25 Blue Sox tickets. Ah, but this was a Triple-A loss.

STILL ON THE ROAD TO WILLIAMSPORT

DUEL IN THE SUN

Rain postponed the showdown between Ilion and South Utica, to a muggy, 90’s Sunday afternoon contest. The Little Falls field is virtually shadeless (that one spot I crouched in last week was on the enemy side this time.) We baked.

The #2 Ilion pitcher — coincidentally wearing number two — faced off with Andy Wengert, and they exchanged zeroes for the first three innings. Twice South Utica loaded the bases, and failed to score. You only get six chances, six innings, in LL, and those missed opportunities are thus magnified.

Ilion scratched out a run in the 4th, and two more in the 5th, for a 3-0 lead that felt larger. In the S.U. 5th, Andy Wengert fanned, and dragged himself back to the dugout grimacing, as if there was a dagger in his back. But his teammates caught fire, and pushed across two runs, and once more loaded the bases. Ilion’s #2 departed, exchanging places with the SS, who looked strong in his warmups. With two outs, he faced last game’s losing pitcher, Ryan Meola. Ryan smoked one through short — #2 grimacing this time — and two runs came in, putting S.U. up 4-3.

Andy was now three outs shy of victory. The leadoff hitter lined a hit softly to left, just off the racing, leaping SS’s glove, but when he tried to stretch it into a double, he was gunned out. This proved to be most costly, when the next batter smacked it over the RF’s head, for a double. With Ilion down to their final out, and that runner on third, the reliever who had yielded the crucial hit, moments earlier, came to the plate. Curt Gehrhart — I’m guessing at the spelling — avoided that awful aftertaste of making that last out, by smacking a single to left, tying the game at 4-4.

Pugnacious Billy Ryan led off the bottom of the 6th. He had been plunked his last time up, starting the rally, and his father was cheering for him to take another one for the team.