Case Race

Between 1957 and 1975, the Soviet Union and the greatest nation that has ever existed or will ever exist were locked in a Space Race.  Shortly after World War II, a missile-based arms competition grew steadily into a battle for space exploration supremacy.  We humans ultimately lost the quest to become the first species in space.  Dogs and monkeys and mice beat us into orbit, but America climbed to the top of the world's totem pole when Neil Armstrong took his small steps from Apollo to the surface of the Moon.  Although some fools and Ruskies still refute the Moon Landing (ask Mark about it sometime), it is known as the crowning achievement of American ingenuity and inspires the country still today.  If you don't believe me, check Wikipedia.

Similarly to the Space Race, Mark and I are entrenched in a Case Race.  It's an epic battle between two world powers for ultimate superiority over one another.  One party is a left-leaning commie who lives in a big city, is rooted in ivory tower academia, and is unemployed and relying on the rest of America's workforce for support.  The other individual is a hard-working military man with the meat-and-potatoes common sense that built this country.  Take a wild guess who's who.  And guess who wins?

Allow me to provide some background concerning the history and tenets of the Case Race.  

It all began in the happiest of valleys several years ago as two young scholars smack talked one another's professed baseball teams.  Mark was hating on the Orioles, and Dave was spitting fire on the Pirates.  Amidst the venomous consternation, the young men decided to wager a case of brew on the final Win/Loss total of the season.  If the Pirates ended with the better record, Mark was to be awarded a case of his choosing.  If the Orioles prevailed, Dave triumphed in suds.  The exchange of beer was most sensible, considering the economic environment in which they found themselves.  A case of Natty was considered legal tender on the campus of the Princeton Review's Top American Party School of 2009-2010.  Students typically carted a box of 'Stones around in order to purchase necessities like SparkNotes, I mean textbooks.  The gentlemen were in a magical land where the beer flowed like wine, and the construct of their agreement linked with the culture of the campus.

Mark didn't know it at the time, but he had just made a sizable financial commitment, as the Orioles have defeated the Pirates every year since 2003.  I wish I had saved the demeaning texts I received back in June of this year, when the Orioles had hit absolute rock bottom and their dismal play had plunged them to 13 games below the Pirates.  Mark's antagonistic persecution brought me near the breaking point, yet I persevered.  Now the Fightin' Showalters have claimed another Case Race, as they are seven games up on the Pirates with six games remaining on the season.  A few weeks from now, while I'm taking a long pull of sweet nectar from a Yuengling bottle and enjoying a crisp fall evening, I'll look up at the cratered face of the moon and remember the other great Americans who paved my way to victory.

Re:Disappointments and Disappointments

Let's face it, when you have to reference a team from Altoona when searching for an accomplishment for the Pirates organization, that silver lining on the horizon is little more than a thread from a spider web.  You know what Altoona is better known for than the Curve?  That giant Sheetz.  Yes, a gas station is the biggest thing that Altoona has going for it (Yo yo, MTO!).  I can admire Mark's desire to be an optimist, but he's flirting with lunacy on this one.  When I first read his poor hopeful column, two scenarios played out in my head.

First, picture a scene in late spring of 1986 in Ukraine.  You see a man picking through the rubble that was his home.  He's wearing one of those furry Russian hats with the flaps over his ears.  Chernobyl, the power plant a few miles away, blew up a few days prior, yet the man has a smile on his face.  He just found his fishing net, and he is heading for the nearby stream.  His son always wanted a pet goldfish that glowed in the dark and had three eyes.  What luck!  Perhaps all this radiation was a blessing in disguise!

Second, imagine a portly madam in an evening gown.  She has been sailing for several days on a lavish yacht bound for New York City in 1912.  She hears a screeching rending of metal followed by chaotic screams and people dashing in the hallway.  In the terror, her primal instinct guides her feet to the dining room, while the others scramble for lifeboats.  She reasons that with everyone evacuating the buffet line, she will have free reign of that pile of French toast sticks she had been eyeing.  Fortune had smiled upon her!  She has all the French toast she could ever want!

Ok, let me try to tie these nightmares of a meth addict to our baseball situation.  Mark's chartreuse cancer fish is the Altoona Curve.  The Curve is his platter of brown rectangular cubes of cholesterol.  Of course, we would all enjoy a pet that doubles as a night light or some sugary French toast.  But not in the wake of a NUCLEAR MELTDOWN!  Not during the sinking of the TITANIC!  Yes, the AA Altoona Curve had a successful season.  Bravo.  But you can't place their season on a scale of good versus bad and expect it to equalize the crushing weight of a 100+ loss season.  It's like finding the perfect pet in the destruction of Chernobyl or a steaming hot smorgasbord as the icy north Atlantic envelops you.  Is it optimism, or irrelevant to the point of insanity?  Sorry Mark, but in light of the above proceedings, I have to suggest a change in the column's title to Disappointments and Disappointments.  I pity the poor hopeful bastard, really I do.

Accomplishments and Disappointments

Accomplishment
Altoona Curve won the AA Eastern League Championship! For those of you who do not know, the Curve are the Pirates AA minor league affiliate. So, I am excited and I have something to be proud of this year. (Sadly, I even listened to part of the Championship game. Embarrassing I know.) This team had the same core group of players that won the High A Championship last year. High A champs in 2009 and AA champs in 2010. So according to my calculations the Pirates will be WS champions in 2012. It’s science.

Disappointment
On Friday, the Pirates lost their 100^th game of the season. Ouch. It was the first time the Pirates have lost 100 games in a season since 2001. A more thorough summary of the season will be written after the commencement of the regular season, but this is a preview: we couldn’t pitch and we couldn’t hit. (The Pirates now have had eight 100 loss seasons in their history, the Orioles have had nine. So let’s keep that in mind...)

Accomplishment/Disappoinment
Jose Bautista hit his 50^th home run of the season on Wednesday. (Last night he hit #’s 51 & 52 against the Orioles) As I mentioned before this guy used be the Pirates starting 3^rd basemen. For three years we gave Bautista a chance to make it, but he averaged .242/14hr/50rbi. Not the numbers you expect from a corner infielder, so we traded him for Robinzon Díaz. Who? Exactly. Diaz was with the Pirates for less than a year and then we released him. With only 9 games to play, Bautista numbers are .262/52hr/118rbi. (A “Pujols caliber player” by definition) Looks like the joke is on the Buccos…

Re: The O’s Apology to Millwood

The article should have been titled:

“The O’s Apology to the Fans for Giving Kevin Millwood a Job”

They should apologize that they actually thought bringing in Kevin “Millie” Millwood would help turn the Orioles around. Not just bringing him in to help out the rotation, but handing him a $12 million contract. A one year contract that is worth more than the rest of the starting rotation combined. Since turning 31, Millwood has had an ERA of 4.61. (2006-2009) Keep in mind he was considered the “ace” of the Texas Rangers. During that same time, the Pirates’ pseudo-aces Zach Duke and Paul Maholm had ERAs of 4.72 and 4.48 respectively, while getting paid $10 million less than Millie.

They should apologize for thinking that a player’s prime is mid to late 30s instead of the mid to late 20s. (a la giving 36 year old Sammy Sosa a $17 million salary in 2005) They should apologize for paying Millwood $3 million more than Cliff Lee is making this year.

They should let the young guns play and add quality veteran pieces when necessary.

The O's Apologize to Millwood

Last Friday, on September 17th, Kevin Millwood had a bad day.  How does a guy who has fifteen losses and three wins have a worse than normal day?  Oddly enough, he pitched well.  He was in a jam early, but lasted seven innings for us, and gave up one run.  His counterpart, A.J. Burnett, gave up three runs over that same span, and Millwood was poised for win number four.  Everything was going too smoothly up until Alex Roidriguez' game winning three-run blast against Koji "Mutton Chop" Uehara.  This was a familiar dose of what has become reality for us here at TPHB.  Blown save, lost game, fireworks launched for visiting team...wait, what?  Yeah, it's true.  A-Roid hit a second inning softball into our bullpen, and some chuckle bucket working the fireworks stand bumped the big red button, shooting off a triumphant splash of pyrotechnics in center field of Yankee Stadium South.  Millwood was, pardon my French, pissed.  He mentioned the incident twice in the post game press conference, and Mr. Showalter joked about it before the game on Saturday.  Kevin Millwood wasn't laughing.

My source within the Orioles organization stumbled upon a letter of apology from the Orioles to Mr. Millwood:

                                                                                                              20 September 2010

Mr. Kevin A. Millwood,

                The Baltimore Orioles apologize for not only the regrettable events which occurred last Friday, 17 September 2010, but for the rest of this abhorrent season as well.  We understand that as a pitcher who has thrown a no-hitter, has led the AL in ERA (2.86), has been an All-Star, and has more career wins than the rest of our rotation combined, this season has been something of a disappointment.  We, as an organization, feel partially at fault and we wish to offer a formal apology and announce our desire to pursue a more supportive relationship, given that there are thirteen whole games left this season.

                We asked Koji Uehara if he had any words of apology for you, concerning the blown save.  His response was in Japanese or Chinese or Korean or whatever, so we did not understand it.  His face was full of remorse, so let that offer a measure of comfort to you.

                On top of the continual blown saves, lack of run support, and sending you to start against the likes of CC Sabathia, David Price, and Clay Buchholz (honestly man, we don't have a whole lot of say in that, I mean, who else is gonna pitch?  Chris Tillman?  Jake Arrieta?  Brian Matusz?  Come on, dude, these kids just started shaving during Spring Training), then we go and shoot fireworks off when a Yankee crushes one of those flatliner "fast"balls you serve up on a platter.  Yeah, we realize that celebrating a visiting team's home run is not cool, especially when it's the Yankees, but seriously, what's up with all the beachballs sailing lazily out of your hand?  A-Rod had enough time to chase Jeter into the clubhouse for a tickle fight while he was waiting for your souvenir-to-be.  Your ERA is 5.14!

                You think we're not tired of hiring washed-up has-beens?  Sammy "Slamma-Lamma Ding Dong" Sosa whiffed on enough pitches that the wind from them picked up in the harbor and spawned a Tropical Storm.  Albert Belle was so old and tired by the time we got him; he didn't even bother to jog all the way to first base on groundouts.  It took Miguel Tejada two tries to get out of here.  And Raffy too.

                To be honest, dude, you brought this on yourself.  We haven't had a winning season since Monica Lewinsky was in the news, so you knew what you were getting into.  So, yeah, screw you Kevin Millwood!  You think you're better than us?!  You get mad and surprised that we can't control explosives when you get rocked?  Seriously?  You think we know how to handle chemical reactions and deadly ignition devices?  It took us thirteen tries to beat the Blue Jays, the fourth place team in our division, and baseball is what we do!  You honestly can't expect us to know how to handle fireworks when a "successful" season is not losing 100 games!  We didn't want to do this, but we are issuing this as a formal letter of reprimand, Kevin Millwood.  The guy who has fifteen losses doesn't get the chance to criticize us.  Honestly, you're not going to be around next year, so start packing your bags now, man, because you're through!

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  Cordially,

                                                                                                                             

Re: Pujols

In case you weren't exactly sure what Mark meant, let me clarify:  if you have the best player in baseball on your team, your team is better as a result.  Too complicated?  Let it marinade, feel free to meditate on it.  Mark's going to be a doctor someday, and he's already starting to talk over our heads.  I'll conduct a simple exercise to further reveal his findings:

Pirates + Albert Pujols = Better Team

Mark's Corolla + Engine from Formula 1 = Faster Car

France + Freedom = America

Nice Personality + Better Looks = Great Catch

Luke + The Force = Successful Rebellion

Enola Gay + Little Boy = End of World War II

8 (small number) + 1,384 (much bigger number) = 1,392 (an even bigger number)

Essentially, a little goodness plus a lot of goodness equals a big ole batch of goodness.

So enough of this talk of Garret Anderson, Paul Konerko, and Mike Lowell being as good as Albert Pujols.  Let's get to the pertinent issues, like Jose Bautista being a modern day Brady Anderson.  Oh wait, that's like saying Barack Obama is a modern day Bill Clinton.  Brady's final season was in 2002, he is not a historical player.  And with the whole "steroid" thing , this picture is evidence enough that he didn't juice:

After all, think of all the baseball players who look just like this... right off the top of my head I have Carlos Zambrano, David Ortiz, and Prince Fielder.  The list goes on, people!  Anyways, I hope Mark's post about offense winning championships is cleared up now.

If the Pirates only had Pujols…

After watching another 5-2 Pirates loss on our collegiate “hand-me-down” big screen, I turned to Mike Anderson (friend of the podcast) and said, “If the Pirates only had Pujols, we would be really good.” Sneers and laughter ensued. For good reason, the statement was quite elementary. If you add the best player in the league to any team, of course they will be better.

My point was more of the effect that a Pujols caliber player has on the lineup and how opponents approach a team. The Pirates at the time had some solid role players: Nate McClouth(he could actually hit in Pittsburgh); Freddy Sanchez (’06 batting champ); Jason Bay; Xavier Nady; Ryan Doumit; Jack Wilson; Jose Bausita (before the Canadian steroids transformed him into a modern day Brady Anderson). Insert Pujols behind Jason Bay in the lineup and the Buccos suddenly have a scary good lineup. Bay would have received a countless amount of “o crap, Pujols is on deck, I better make Bay beat me” fastballs. Bay would hit at least 40 homers. And before you refute that, his career high was 36, so yeah it’s possible! The Pirates jump from the bottom 1/3 to the top 1/3 in offense production in the National League. A playoff run would have ensued, but with Zach Duke as the ace of the staff, pennant dreams would fizzle. Irregardless, a “Pujols caliber player” is an essential piece of a championship team.

So what qualifies someone as a “Pujols caliber player?”
They need at least 40 HRs and/or 120 RBIs during the regular season. (During King Albert ‘s 10 year career, he has averaged .331/41 HRs/122 RBIs with a career slugging percentage of .624) True, the number of players that put up these kinds of numbers is rare, but World Series championships are quite common for teams that have them. 8 of the last 9 WS champs have had a player that qualifies as a “Pujols caliber player.”

Let’s check out the list:

2001 – Arizona: Luis Gonzalez – 57 HRs, 142 RBIs
2002 – Anaheim: Garret Anderson – 123 RBIs
2003 – Florida: Won on great young pitching (Beckett, Penny, Pavano, Willis)
2004 – Boston: David Ortiz – 41 HRs, 139 RBIs and Manny Ramirez – 43 HRs, 130 RBIs
2005 – Chicago: Paul Konerko – 40 HRs
2006 – St. Louis: Albert Pujols – 49 HRs, 137 RBIs
2007 – Boston: Mike Lowell – 120 RBIs
2008 – Philadelphia: Ryan Howard – 48 HRs, 146 RBIs
2009 – New York: Mark Teixeira – 39 HRs, 122 RBIs

Bottom line: To win it all, you need a player that can and will carry (aka hit) the team towards a championship. The Pirates do not have that player. Garret “G.I.”Jones currently has 20 HRs and 77 RBIs for the Buccos. (Yikes, not even close!) Jones is leader on a below average team full of prospects and solid MLB talent that have potential. If we only had Pujols to add to our lineup…

What's in a Name?

Don't cringe because the title of the first blog entry of the last blog you'll ever need to read came from the pen of William Shakespeare.  I figured it would be best to start off shaky and end strong, like the reverse construction of the Leaning Tower of Pisa or that other crazy building in Dubai.  I realize this is, first and foremost, a baseball blog, so overdone or repetitive references to heady classical authors such as Chaucer, Dickens, or Stephenie Meyers will be suppressed.  Irregardless*, I will examine Sir Shakespeare's quote in an effort to shed light on the name and purpose of this blog.

Names and titles can come from anywhere, so I'll start by talking about a possible origin for this blog which shall be entitled Those Poor Hopeful Bastards.

                One warm, sunny day last summer, I biked to work in a particularly cheerful and pleasant mood.  As I neared my place of employment, the foot traffic along the cleanly swept sidewalks of that mid-Atlantic harbor town multiplied, forcing me to dismount and weave around tourists.  Light shone gaily on everyone's face, giving an air of amiable anticipation.  Even the bums who leaned against the buildings along the path covered themselves in today's funnies rather than the obituaries.  Seagulls cackled and ships hailed one another with strong, sociable horn blasts, composing a rhythmic refrain which amplified the genial surroundings. 

                The crowds were massing to Camden Yards, a Kaaba for baseballites.  A club from the north was challenging our warriors that evening on the hallowed meadow of Kentucky Bluegrass.  Children danced around the throngs of visitors, chasing one another in games of Pickle.  I plodded merrily on, taking in the festivities of the evening.  When I approached the entrance where I was to deposit my bicycle, I took a few final moments to revel in the buzz of excited travelers entering the sacred iron gates of our Coliseum.  I noticed two young girls, eyes wide with wonderment, passing through the turnstile for the first time.  Their faces were painted orange and black, and two cursive "O's" creased in the dimples of their smiling cheeks.  My heart beamed gladly and I turned to head for the usher's locker room and prepare for my night of shepherding a section of jovial fans in the upper deck.  During the act of turning, my peripherals caught sight of a figure and dragged my eyes to center on the person.

                A squat, gourd-shaped man was leaning against the Warehouse wall with his arms crossed.  He paid homage to the recently relevant rival team from the north evidenced by the crimson insignia on his cap.  He wore a polo shirt and khaki shorts, with tall socks draining into tired boat shoes.  By the look of him, one could tell that he had money, but he could not figure out how to dress like it.  His squinty, wide-set eyes darted from the merry sight of the two children entering the Eutaw gates to me.  I was caught with my mouth agape, my mind identifying that man as an irritating smudge on a priceless painting.  His eyes leveled to mine and his pursed mouth smirked smugly.  Nodding at the orange-clad girls, he sneered "Those poor hopeful bastards, they don't know that Baltimore ain't got a chance."  Minutes later, a storm rolled in, everyone got poured on, and the game was canceled. 

Now that's quite a powerful story from which our blog's name was sourced, but unfortunately, that story is rubbish.  Never happened.  Instead, Mark and I were chatting online one day and one of us just thought it up, along with our other possibilities.  We preferred it to:

                Those Poor Bastards – similar, but more pathetic

                Birds and Buccos:  Renewed Glory – what?

                McNugget's Nuggets, Steiny's Hiney – for obvious reasons         

                Revenge of the Birds...and Pirates – lame

                Two Guys One Mitt – just disgusting

It seems that Those Poor Hopeful Bastards is here to stay...unless we think of a better name tomorrow.  Maybe I should thumb through my copy of Hamlet to see if my friend Bill S. has any more zingers for us.  Ok, seriously, a moratorium on Shakespeare references from here on out.  Looking to the future, our posts will be more insightful, and, er, baseball-related.  Mark has personally guaranteed it.  Anyways, welcome to our blog about O's Stroh's and Natty Bohs, and Raising the Jolly Roger!

*I can't stand it when people say "irregardless", and I wanted to draw attention to that fact.