December 31, 1972

The illusion that lures us into the error of confounding Clemente's goodness as a man with his greatness as a ballplayer is that when a man is playing baseball well, as when a man is writing well, he seems to himself, in that moment, to be a better person than he really is. He puts it all together, he has all the tools, in a way that is impossible outside the lines of the ball field or the margins of the page. He shines, and we catch the reflected glint, and extend the shining one a credit for overall luminosity that almost nobody could merit. Clemente, I think, did; he shone with the grace and integrity of his play even when he was not on the field.

- Michael Chabon

Somewhere a Ghostrunner is Smiling

Holy goddamn, but Rocco Baldelli turned on that Madsen offering. This has been, maybe, the strangest World Series ever -- barring maybe that earthquake thing in '89 -- and a dinger by a previously hitless right fielder who's just come back from a ton of time off while he battled a mitochondrial disorder is pretty much fitting.

Truthfully, I've gone back and forth on who to root for in this one because there's no natural object of my hatred. The Rays are just a feel-good story in search of a storybook ending, and as much as folks might try to manufacture a Jays-Phils rivalry (based on one World Series, I suppose), they really don't raise my ire. Besides, they've got Stairs.

But I think I've settled on the Rays though, because I'm drawn to stories of misery and self-loathing. Imagine the sheer intensity of the navel-gazing the city of Philadelphia would do if they came so close, only to have Mother Nature intervene and turn the tide of the Series. Holy shit, that'd be wondrously painful for a whole lot of people.

Also, the Rays kind of have a '69 Mets vibe happening, which is appealing, no?

Of course, as Pat the Bat leads off the bottom of the seventh with a double, this one just might be done regardless of who I'm maybe kind of sorta pulling for in a halfhearted manner.

UPDATE: And Then That Happened

As per usual, life isn't waiting for me to make up my mind. Phils win, Phils win. Just me, or was that a particularly boring victory celebration? I guess we've seen it all by now, but that sequence where we saw the reaction of every single Phillies position player when the last out was recorded -- that was a bit painful, was it not? I don't know how to spice it up, but it all seems a bit rote these days.

Anyway, regarding Rocco and the Rays, it's like my dad told me once. On the topic of happiness, he said, "You only get moments. Rare, rare moments."

And regarding baseball season: holy shit, it's over.

God Bless Matt Stairs

The impending Phillies-Rays World Series is probably a ratings nightmare in the making, but for us ball fans, it promises thrills. I mean, holy shit. The Rays? They look flat out unbeatable, and they're the most recent poster children for doing it right with a low payroll. And as for the Phillies, atta'boy Matt Stairs. We were all sorry to see him go, but at least he's going to get to play in a World Series.

Whatev.

So, yeah, Paul Beeston is the Jays new interim CEO, the latest name exhumed from the glory years to make folks believe it's '93 all over again (it might be, for the Phils). I'm like: psssht, whatevs. Maybe there's more to this, maybe not. Don't care. Give me this sort of news in baseball-starved January and I'll eat it up; right now I just want to see somebody do something in Philadelphia or Tampa Bay that'll be worth remembering 20 years from now, just like I'm sitting here remembering something that happened 20 years ago tonight.

Mariners to Draft Long-dead Jazz Guitarist?

Probably it's the unrepentant jazz geek in me, but I'm very happy to hear that the Mariners, who have the second pick in next year's draft, might consider taking USC shortstop Grant Green.

He's a genuine prospect, and will probably make an impact at the Major League level, provided he can keep off the H. As long as he's clean, he'll deliver clean running lines, bluesy solos and boppish runs. If he strays onto the horse's back, though, he'll go silent for a few years, then come back with some weak-ass pop-funk shit.

I hope the Mariners know what they're doing.

Pffffffttt...

Old news now, but holy crap. Aramis, what gives? Mr. Lee? Et tu, Fukudome? If I'm a Los Angeles Angel of Anaheim, I'm disappointed right now. If I'm a Cub, I'm embarrassed.

One hundred and one years, maybe?

Sign Manny

Maybe he's just a bit eccentric, and maybe he doesn't always hustle, but what Manny Ramirez did in the sixth inning tonight was RIDICULOUS. There are very few human beings capable of going down and getting to a pitch like that, and fewer who can put it over the wall. And to my knowledge, there are no others who will be free agents after the 2008 World Series. I do not care who JP has to ask for permission to do this; going out and nabbing Manny this off-season should be job 1. Don't tell me he wouldn't love to come back to the AL East to stick it to the Red Sox with regularity.

Ah, the Postseason

TBS sucks. Dick Stockton is too old for this. And I'm too lazy to look this up, but where in the hell is Tony Gwynn from? Who talks like that? He sounds like an animated childrens' character, not a Hall of Fame hitter. And he does not sound like an -- oh, well, you know. We all think it, everytime he opens his mouth. Don't you lie to me. If I went ahead and said it, this would be a different blog.

The exception to TBS' suckery is, of course, Tom Verducci on the sidelines. (Sidelines? That doesn't sound right for baseball. "Foul territory reporter" is more accurate, but unwieldy, so we'll stick with "sideline reporter.")

But afternoon playoff baseball is just supremely fantastic. Am I right? Phils-Brewers before dinner, are you kidding me? That's flat-out righteous. Too bad it's just the early rounds; I wish MLB would wake the fuck up and schedule some afternoon World Series games. I know, I know, ratings are more important that attracting a new generation of fans, but damn it, I'm tired of waking up tired.

It Doesn't Look Good for the Cubs

It's quieter than a library at Wrigley right now, as Russell Martin just mashed one out in the ninth, making it 7-2 Dodgers. Christamighty, I didn't expect a score like that. Get'em in game 2, Big Zed.

Damn, Dick Stockton just told me that the team that has won game one of a Division Series has won 24 of 28 of said series. Well, I guess if you're trying to break a century-long championship drought, you're already looking at beating some long odds, right? Cubs in 5.

The Bottom of the Order's 2008 Regular Season Wrap-Up

Part-Time Lover

You have to admire my commitment to a motif, don't you? All season long, I've been late with the news and reactions, if I've been there at all. And now I'm late with my season wrap-up, originally intended for posting on Sunday night. I understand now why most of the blogs in the Jays universe who manage to post daily or near-daily content marry the work of more than one contributor. A little like the Jays, I more or less limped to the finish of the '08 season, and now it's time to regroup, assess damages, and determine priorities for next season. Whatever form this blog takes in going into '09 isn't yet clear, but I do intend to be back. In the meantime, I'll be around for the postseason and for what comes after -- deals, near-deals, recriminations, winter meetings and those inescapable longings for baseball that strike in the dead of January.

Take These Broken Wings

It's all over but the crying. Look, there's plenty of blame to go around. We all had high hopes, reasons for optimism. The pieces were there, and they might not be next year.

It seems to me that, at different times, everything was in place, but never at the same time. The pitching was the only constant, give or take a few games, and beyond that you had flashes of brilliance amid disappointing stretches for the guys the Jays were counting on. Once Hill went down, there was a hell of a lot of shifting going on around the infield, and that had its ripple effects. Scutaro proved a nifty pick-up as a result, going where he was told and acquitting himself capably.

The injuries didn't help, and neither did the time it took to sort out the mess in left field. Below-expected offensive performance is the big culprit, of course, a huge letdown from what we thought we'd see going into the year. But I'll side with Lloyd the Barber and say that it was still a pretty damn good season to watch the Jays. Maybe that's just my quick-setting historical revisionism at work, but what the hell. Cito's aim of finishing ten games over .500 was, in fact, a bang on prediction, and that'd give them the NL West, so that's something. I mean, you know, if they switched leagues and if the Big One would just hurry up and swallow up everything west of the Ontario-Manitoba border, or whatever. And, and, we all got swept up there, for a few brief, shining moments in September -- September, mind -- and it was exciting and awesome and we dared to think that a Wild Card might be ours. How amazing was that?

Requiem for a Dream Forestalled

There's an ineffable sadness linked to the final Sunday of the season, it seems to me, at least when your team is missing the playoffs for the umpteenth consecutive season. They play nine, like they've done 161 times previous, only once the 27th out is recorded, everybody's going home, just like that. It happens so quickly. Just ask Mets fans.

But there's always next year, so they say, and it's not to early to crow about our chances in 2009. There are buckets of positives. We have the best pitcher in baseball, for one. We'll have a full season to see what Lind can do. Maybe we'll have that elusive big hitter to anchor the middle of the order -- there are a few candidates available this winter. And who knows, we might even have AJ back.

You Lift Me Up

Just one last awkward, slobbery kiss for those non-official outlets of Jays news, conjecture and hilarity that brightened my world on a daily basis. The Tao, the Drunkards, the Lefties, and the rest -- they're all up there on the links list. But I want to reserve a special word for the Ghostrunners' Wednesdays with JP schtick: that shit was funny. Also, Hum & Chuck's Ballad of Doc and AJ was as touching as anything on Oprah's list, and more true.

Thanks, y'all. Though I wouldn't have thought it possible, you make baseball even more enjoyable.