May 2007

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Is There A Magic Bullet?

Filed under: Twins

I probably don't have to tell you that the Twins are looking good. After today's weird come-from-behind 7-6 victory over the woeful White Sox (Torii Hunter took four straight balls to walk in the winning run in the ninth, for Christ's sake--one of eight free passes the Sox gave up), we've won four straight series in a row, and handed the Sox their first sweep of the season (which is itself difficult to fathom). The cynic in me says, well, we ran a gauntlet of mediocre teams and one division-leader facing growing pains; the optimist sez that we beat four clubs who are still pretty damn strong (the Blue Jays and White Sox aren't necessarily slouches). So, despite injuries, are we starting to fire on all cylinders?

After all, the Twins went on this tear while dealing with injuries to Mauer and their bullpen. Rondell White's bound to return soon. The pitching staff is holding its own and the piranhas are beginning to hit. A little bit. We still need a big bat, a run-producer who's more effective than the top and bottom of the order.

The tandem of John Gordon and Dan Gladden are beginning to understand that it increases one's enjoyment of the game of bat and ball on the wireless when discussions focus on the game of bat and ball... as opposed to barbecued beef at Dan's favorite Harley-Davidson dealer. Today, Dan mentioned the Twins inability to glean adequate production from the DH, the third baseman, and the left fielder. Especially, Gladden noticed, the DH. Which begs the question: if we pull the trigger--a trade I mean--then who's the magic bullet?

An intriguing choice: Sammy Sosa. This isn't my idea, mind you, it was either Gordon's or Gladden's. But it's not bad. The Twins have an abundance of young arms in the minors and the Rangers are quickly watching their season fall into agonizing futility. Gordon observed that the Twins didn't make any overtures toward glomming some of the bargain-basement power that was out there (this year it's Sosa; last year it was Frank Thomas). Granted, this has not been our strength in the past, either in pitching or power--Rondell White and Shannon Stewart were not giving us tremendous power year-round. But we could make some noise in the next few weeks toward making this a team who'll give the division a run for its money.

There's a number of teams out there who might want what the Twins have to offer, trade-wise. I think the most obvious of these might be the New York Yankees. If they're in the dumps come late July, well, they might be in a dealing mood. Jerry Bell grumbles that good hitters cost money, which is true, and whomever we're thinking from the Yanks--personally, I'm thinking of Jorge Posada, who would help for just this season, as he's a free agent at the close of the year--is going to require the Twins to cough up the clams. Granted, that's a risky attempt to win something this year, as opposed to over the long haul. But it costs money to pay Ponson, Silva, and Ortiz over the youth in Rochester.

The Central Division is the toughest in baseball. Are we going to wait until it's weak again to make our play? Or are we waiting until 2010, and the stadium comes to open the pocketbook? But I would venture to guess that by then the Twins will have to come with new and creative excuses not to spend the money they make. Pohlad's a good pal of Allan "Bud" Selig, who rammed through a stadium and then claimed poverty well after the damn thing was built. Which would be a God-damned shame.

Posted by Peter Schilling Jr. at May 30, 2007 2:48 PM | Comments (0)

 

Bring on the Noise

Filed under: Twins

Once upon a time, in the era of old steel-and-concrete stadiums, there was a triumphant heckler who used to prowl the stands in Philadelphia's Shibe Park. His name was Pete Adelis, the "Iron Lung of Shibe Park", and he would yell, howl, cajole, bang on pans and a helmet he wore, administering fierce tongue-lashings to whomever his beloved Phillies happened to meet.

During yesterday's Memorial Day matinee at the Metrodome, the spirit of Adelis must have inhabited some fellow in the good seats, a bellowing man who may or may not have been the tipping point in the Twins 10-4 victory.

You see, Jose Contreras had been unstoppable here in the Metrodome, going 2-0 with a gaudy 0.53 ERA before today. Against the heart of the order, the Cuban has held Cuddyer to .176, Morneau to .143, and Torii to .091--and the rest aren't much better. (You might say the same for the Sox when they see Santana, except they also have a number of homers against him as well, including Thome's three bombs against his .174 average.)

The first two innings seemed to tit-for-tat between the two hurlers: Santana gave up a pair of hits and no runs in the first and the same thing happened to Contreras. Even their pitch counts were similar: Jose had 11 strikes on 13 pitches, Johann 11 strikes on 15. Our ace put down the Sox one-two-three in the second. Contreras seemed to coast as well, putting down the next two Twins and then sitting on a 2-2 count against Jason Bartlett.

But out of section 119 came a terrifying wail. "Contreras!" echoed across the Dome, the name stretched out and bent, as if the last cry of a dying man as he's being pitched into hell. "Contreras!" he repeated, and added, "I own you!"

Jose Contreras appeared to flinch. Then he smacked Jason Bartlett with the next pitch. And suddenly, he came apart.

Bartlett stole a base, Tyner knocked him in with a well-placed hit and Contreras, obviously rattled, threw a pick-off well below the glove of Paul Konerko, sending the speedy Tyner to third. A walk and a pair of hits later and it was 3-0.

Our heckler owned him, it was true, but he shut up after helping the Twins pull three runs out of their hats. With Johan on the mound, what's the point of wearing out your lungs?

Plenty, as it turned out, as Santana gave up a solo homer in the next inning, another in the fourth, and then allowed the White Sox to go ahead on a walk and two solid hits to drive the Twins into a 4-3 deficit.

The loudmouth reasserted himself again in the sixth, doing nothing more than repeating, with sonic urgency and a painful volume, Jose Contreras' name, which, frankly, was as annoying as it was eerie. The hoodoo worked perfectly. Contreras blew apart, as the top and bottom of the order bunched some hits, walked, and strung together five more runs to go up 8-4. That was pretty much the game, right there, although the Twins would go on get two more.

In one afternoon, the unbeatable (to us) Jose Contreras faced a torrent of noise, unraveled, and found his Dome ERA ballooning to 3.23. The Twins are now back at .500

Did the heckler change this game? All I know is that I love hecklers. They're weird and entertaining and bring the crowds into the game, and sometimes--not often, but sometimes, make the players go crazy. Timid Minnesotans need to get their lungs out more.

(Epilogue: this same guy, who turned out to be an elderly gent in yellow shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, waited after the game until the stands were almost empty to depart. He then yelled, in a despairing voice that echoed across the dome, "Mauer! Where are you Joe Mauer?")

Posted by Peter Schilling Jr. at May 28, 2007 1:51 PM | Comments (0)

 

Thoughts On Bonds

Filed under: MLB

"Why do I have to be a model for your kid? You be a model for your kid." --Bob Gibson

Though you wouldn't catch me on one of those idiotic rafts in 'McCovey Cove', if I were living in the San Francisco Bay Area and cared about baseball as I do, I would be there to watch Mr. Barry Bonds plow his way toward Hank Aaron's home run record.

Today, I was really, really hoping to be able to write that the Minnesota Twins are the best fourth place team in baseball, and they would were it not for the San Francisco Giants. The Giants, you understand, who play Barry Fucking Bonds, as the Commissioner and many others would like to call him.

Between the homers and the controversy, is there a better story anywhere? Would you stay home?

The Bonds issue baffles me. I don't quite get what it is that makes Barry the poster child of the steroid era. Is it the home run race? His ever-scowling mug? That he obviously did something to bulk up?

Someday I think we'll look back on these episodes and wonder about the mass hysteria, try to analyze what the hell was going on. For instance, why no one questions the vast bulk that Roger Clemens has gained since he was a youth, or how steroids are the perfect tonic for pitchers, what with the drugs' ability to accelerate healing. We hear about Bonds' age and his accomplishments in this time, but has any pitcher of Clemens' age managed such feats? I don't think so. But then again, Clemens isn't about to break a record that so many hold in such high esteem.

Every damned sports magazine and pundit in the country is weighing in on Mr. Barry Bonds, even fools like me. And there's pundits who are even trying to discredit his 73 homer season, like Bill Jenkinson. This genius, back by supposedly 28 years of research, discovered that Babe Ruth, if we applied today's rules and the homer-friendly stadiums, would have hit 104 home runs in 1921.

I didn't read his book (The Year Babe Ruth Hit 104 Home Runs), but I'm certain Mr. Jenkinson points out, in the afterward or in a footnote, that Ruth certainly wouldn't have hit half as many bombs if he had faced the pitchers of today. Which includes many foreign-born hurlers whose skin-color would have excluded them in 1921.

In a recent issue of ESPN Magazine, one of the most simpleminded publications ever to grace the shelves, has some lovely suggestions for Bonds, which everyone knows he won't take. Because he's chasing home runs, he's is the center of attention. They suggest that Bonds just needs to smile, get people to love him, do this, do that. He won't of course, and not only because that would alter his personality as much as drugs have allegedly altered his muscle mass. Bonds has precedent--from Roger Maris to Dick Allen to the aforequoted Bob Gibson to Albert Belle. These guys did what they were paid for and basically told the world to go fuck itself.

Like Hank Aaron before him, and Roger Maris before that, Bonds is tilting at a revered personality. He's threatened with asterisks, the commissioner is being counseled to stay away by a former commissioner, threatened with exclusion from the hall. Bonds is vilified.

Yet we still watch. Which is just as it should be. If you want your baseball heroes clean cut and milk-fed, drug-free and free from any controversy whatsoever, rent Pride of the Yankees. You deserve it.

Posted by Peter Schilling Jr. at May 27, 2007 8:50 AM | Comments (1)

 

Thunder, Lightning twinbill at the NSC in Blaine

Filed under: Soccer

Last weekend looked like it was going to be a complete debacle for the road-weary Minnesota Thunder. On Friday night ancient Brazilian Zinho headed home a goal in the 51st minute to give Miami FC a 1-0 victory in front of a pitiful crowd of 722 at the Orange Bowl. The loss left the Thunder with an 0-3-2 record to start the season, scoring a paltry three goals in the process.

Then the squad traveled to San Juan to take on the Puerto Rico Islanders and went down a goal almost immediately when former Thunder standout Melvin Tarley broke through alone and buried the ball in the back of the net. The Thunder rallied to tie it up in the 35th minute. Rodrigo Hidalgo drove a free kick in from the left flank that was deftly headed into the goal by Brian Farber.

But then Minnesota's prospects on the road took another hit. Just before halftime, Keisuke Ota, the team's rambunctious 6'4" Japanese striker, got tossed from the game for kicking an Islander defender. "Losing Keisuke on kind of a crappy red card sucked," says Thunder coach Amos Magee. "But at halftime we made a couple of adjustments and I challenged our team to not only get out of there with a draw, but to figure out a way to get three points, because I thought it was in us."

Indeed despite playing a man down, the Thunder proved the better team in the second half. Their hard work paid dividends in the 73rd minute when Farber charged down the right side of the box and slotted a ball across the goal. Thunder forward Leo Gibson knocked home the gamewinner.

Magee praises the play of Godfrey Tenoff, a veteran midfielder who lined up at right back for the first time last weekend. "I thought over the course of both games he was our best player," Magee says. "He was good going forward. I thought he was outstanding defensively. I think he can be an absolute force in that position for us."

The Thunder will attempt to replicate the performance against Puerto Rico on Saturday as the Islanders visit the National Sports Center in Blaine. It's a doubled header with the Minnesota Lightning. The women's squad will kick off their season opener at 5:05 p.m. against the Chicago Gaels, followed by the men's game at 7:35.

Posted by Paul Demko at May 24, 2007 5:40 PM | Comments (0)

 

Random Digressions from the Road Trip

Filed under: Twins

Here's something to think about: the Twins, as anyone who heard yesterday's radio broadcast knows, went 4-6 over their last two series, which gave them a 4-9 record over their romp through the heart of America, with stops in Cleveland, Milwaukee, and finally, "Fun Central", Arlington, Texas. (For whatever reason, I can't stop thinking about its proximity to Dallas, which recalls Errol Morris' The Thin Blue Line... and that gives me a minor freak out. Especially when I add the memory of who used to own the Rangers.) Now, it was great to see the Twins take two of three from Milwaukee and the same from the woeful Rangers. And they looked pretty damned good in the process.

I've been pretty cynical as of late, and I'm not changing my outlook on the season as a whole, but what makes the sport of bat and ball so much fun in my mind is watching the progress of good ballplayers. Here in baseball-land, statistics are our friends. And they say:

Torii Hunter is figuratively on fire, hitting three home runs and ten RBI, with a 1.050 OPS over the last week, and making the great catches that make him so fun to watch. "There's your Gold Glover!" Danny Gladden shouted during Tuesday's game.

(Another tangent: Dan Gladden--please stop calling him Dazzle--is quickly becoming a great radio man. His insights are enlightening, he's stopped yakking endlessly about Harley Davidsons, he gets irritable, which I personally dig, and, even better, sounds professional and spontaneous. I grew up listening to the inimitable Ernie Harwell, who could make every game as crystal clear as if you were a 1940s Life photographer standing two feet from home plate. John Gordon, on the other hand, sounds prepackaged, trying too hard to sound as smooth as Harwell or the dear-departed Herb Carneal. Gordon's "Touch 'Em All" is probably trademarked, and if I never hear it again, it's too soon. But Gladden... the guy sounds genuinely amazed at certain plays, excitable, fun to listen to.)

So anyway, back to the numbers: Justin Morneau is climbing back into the fray, with his fourteen home runs, three of which were smacked this past week, and his overall OPS (that's on-base percentage plus slugging percentage, simply added) is .934, and he's acting like the reigning MVP.

Now, I could tuck in a graf about Johan Santana, but I won't. The reason why is because I'm guessing you've already read about how great he was the other day (Tuesday), and that everyone's in awe. Rightfully so. But ever since I was a kid, watching the hopeless Detroit Tigers, I've been one of these guys who likes the innings-eating, unheralded and often potbellied hurlers, like Mickey Lolich (who once patrolled the burning streets of Detroit as a Guardsman during the riots, having a hard time with his rifle because he was also hauling four bags of free hamburgers given to him by local eateries). Of course I'm leading to Boof Bonser, our own plump, future-journeyman, reliable second-third-fourth-or-fifth starter. Boof could stand to be a bit more of a cut-up in my mind (Lolich used to freak out the Tigers maintenance staff by unscrewing light bulbs in the centerfield scoreboards), but that's just me. Boof's won his last three starts, and didn't, according to rookie catcher Chris Heintz, even have his best stuff. A bit precocious Mr. Heintz? But he's right, and yet Boof's a fighter, a scrapper, and one of my faves. The kind of pitcher who'll get bombed on some days, struggle mightily with a good outing, and have a gem like his May 18, 11 K victory o'er the Brewers. For May, Boof is sitting on a 3-0 record, 2.70 ERA, and 32 K's. (Santana's May record: 2-2, 2.16 ERA, 56 K's.) Boof's career will consist of good days, hard days, great days--kind of like the rest of us.

One note of concern: Yes, the Twins pulled out a pair of series victories after dropping three in a row to Cleveland, and yet they gained precious little ground. On May 17, we were seven games back; today we sit at six and a half games back. In fact, the Kansas City Royals gained a half-game on us, being but three and a half away from taking our fourth place spot.

Now, I don't believe for a minute that the Royals are going to leapfrog into fourth, or third, or whatever. End of the season, the Royals will be where they are now, in last place. My point is simply that even with a good run, we are going to be spinning our wheels simply because every team, except perhaps the White Sox, improved considerably, and that includes the Royals. Every streak the Twins have will be matched, by either the Indians, Tigers, or White Sox, and the Royals might just have the cellar-dweller's joy of being a spoiler, all season and not just in September.

I don't have to tell you that the next twelve games are vitally important. The Twins play a pair of increasingly lousy teams in the guise of the Toronto Blue Jays and the Washington, District of Columbia Nationals. Good teams, teams that go on to win divisions, pennants, and eventually World Series, beat the lousy teams. In between, we're facing the White Sox and Angels. The Angels are hot, the White Sox struggling to find themselves, and we certainly don't need them to do that in our territory. Especially since every loss to the Chisox is doubly painful if we have any hopes of making it to the postseason (and you already know I'm nearly done hoping for that).

Posted by Peter Schilling Jr. at May 24, 2007 8:05 AM | Comments (2)

 

And she...is...outta here!

Filed under: Twins

BatGirl--she of the Lego game recaps, Boyfriend of the Day, hilarious Photoshop jobs, and the best sports nicknames around ("Chairman" Mauer, "Sweetcheeks" Hunter, etc.)--announced yesterday that her popular Twins blog is going dark. She blamed the constraints of new motherhood for her lack of blogger energy. Too bad--it was a magical run while it lasted. From her final entry:

Thank you for reading and for sharing this with me. Remember, that it's only a game but it's the best game on earth and it's our privilege to watch it, that everything looks better in Legos, and that the word "ass" is inherently funny. And do Batgirl a favor--when your favorite player strikes out with the bases loaded or muffs a bunt or walks a guy in and the crowd around you boos, I want you to stand up and shout at the top of your lungs, heart bursting with unconditional love, THAT'S MY BOYFRIEND.

Posted by Chuck Terhark at May 24, 2007 12:29 AM | Comments (1)

 

The Money Disease?

Filed under: Twins

Well, this season has got me beat...

In all likelihood, it will take until mid-August for that creeping cynicism to finally take hold in the Pollyannas, and they realize that the season is shot. It's certainly taken hold of me. Do I think it's possible for the Twins to rebound? I do. Stranger things have happened. Do I, the neg-head, want a comeback? You bet--if anything, it would give me a lot to write about. Baseball is not a Hindenburg sport, like auto-racing. Disasters get old in baseball--such as having a team with a division title, MVP, batting champ and Cy Young winner one year having none of these the following season (a good possibility). Our sport's failures take forever, festering over the course of 162 games. Rare is the team that's kicked out on the final day; it's extremely rare in this day of wild-cards. Oh, we can crow all we want about overtaking the Tigers on the last contest of the 2006 season. But we all know things came to a grinding halt three contests later, while the Tigers got to see the World Series.

From now through the dog-days of August, we will tell ourselves that the Twins are only x games out of first place, a mere x and a half out of the wild card spot, and remember that just last year we were almost a dozen games out before we went and took the crown. All the while a sneaking suspicion that history will not repeat itself begins to take hold. So what do we do now? What can we learn, what can we look for?

Rookies, for one. But even there we're thwarted. Supposedly, the Twins management is keeping Matt Garza down below for contract reasons--according to those in the know, allowing Garza to pitch brilliantly in the minors gives the home team another year of free agency (in 2013) if they hold off letting the guy pitch in June, and if they can hold off until past the All-Star break they can delay arbitration until 2010, when the new stadium opens and management has to come up with exciting new excuses for why they have no money.

I sincerely hope they bring this kid up, and a bunch of other kids, because I'd frankly rather see the Twins lose with these young-uns, and all their tremendous potential, than lose with Ramon Ortiz and Carlos Silva (or Ponson). Allowing these gents to take the mound over the rookies is detrimental, I think, for a number of reasons. OK, so the Twins save a considerable amount of money in, say, six years, three years after the stadium opens (on Matt Garza). To begin with, this strikes me as an astoundingly cynical take on the game, and an affront to fans and taxpayers who have coughed up a new stadium for this team. The season's not over, and I'm guessing we'll all be happy as the proverbial clam if it were Sidney Ponson who won 20 games and marched us into the fall classic. But he didn't. Pitching has not brought the Twins to this woeful condition, but watching Garza take his lumps and show his mettle is, I would say, one of the inherent joys of the game--seeing the rookies grow.

I ask because it brings me to my second point: in these bleak days it pays to watch talent develop. It gives a person hope, just as Tigers fans watched patiently as the young pitching staff, some of whom endured that wretched 2003 season, grew stronger and stronger. Then Mike Ilitch, who was watching his goodwill slowly erode over the course of a dozen worse-than-hideous seasons, brought in some notable talent in the form of Ivan Rodriguez and Magglio Ordonez to work with the youth movement. Since then, they've strung together a good team made up of myriad prospects and a few roving, powerful veterans.

Probably I'm tilting at windmills to think that the Twins will ever pull the trigger and bring in a free agent, like Jack Morris all those years ago. For the Twins to spend any money, even on rookies, undermines a philosophy that they've nurtured for almost ten years now, namely, that the Minnesota Twins have no money (despite the owner's being the richest in a group of extremely rich men), are small-market, and can only afford to develop talent and then watch it fly away later. They must keep good rookies from the majors to save money in the distant future, and cannot but hope that this model will bring home a World Series.

For now, every Twins fan is going to get a see-saw ride for the next sixty days: 2 of 3 from Milwaukee will give us renewed hope, while getting bombed by the Texas Rangers will make us blue (expect this for the rest of the year, I say). I wonder, sometimes, if we can't ask for more from this franchise, for a policy that doesn't make it seem like we're lucky to have what we have, and the rest of the league (and especially the division) moves on without us. I don't have a clue as to what we can do about it, since the Twins don't take suggestions and its not as if we're going on strike. But if the current season has you down, as it does me, I don't foresee this thing changing anytime soon. And I don't mean just this year.

Posted by Peter Schilling Jr. at May 22, 2007 1:06 PM | Comments (2)

 

Ladies and gentlemen, your Atomic Bombshells

Filed under: Media

Congratulations to the Atomic Bombshells, who beat the Rockits to take home the Minnesota Rollergirls championship last month at the Roy Wilkins Auditorium. Didn't make the event? Don't fret. Check out this fantastic behind-the-lines rollergirls doc, filmed on the scene by the vlog wizards at CoolHunting.com:

Posted by Chuck Terhark at May 21, 2007 1:46 PM | Comments (0)

 

Street Sense, Hard Spun, Curlin and some other sad beasts

Filed under: Horse Racing

After the madness of the Kentucky Derby--20 horses jostling for a clean patch of dirt for a mile and a quarter--The Preakness is something of a letdown. The field is set at nine, with only four Derby contestants returning to the starting gate at Pimlico. Street Sense will be there, of course, along with the other two horses that finished in the money, Curlin and Hard Spun. The other retread is Circular Quay, a late runner that I was dumb enough to throw some money at two weeks ago and who finished sixth.

There's a reason none of the other five horses competed in the Derby. They look to be a bunch of stiffs. King of the Roxy is the only semi-impressive beast, having finished second (to Tiago) in the Santa Anita Derby. I'm also semi-intrigued by C.P. West, who's only finished out of the money once in eight runs, but against suspect competition.

After re-watching the Derby, it's impossible not to think that Street Sense will romp again at Pimlico. It was a thoroughly impressive run, slinking from 19th along the rail to blow by the field with ease. Watch for yourself:

Posted by Paul Demko at May 18, 2007 2:45 PM | Comments (1)

 

Watch the mighty Minnesota Thunder at Brit's tomorrow

Filed under: Soccer

The Minnesota Thunder are winless in four matches, posting an 0-2-2 record. The squad's last game was a bummer, with the Vancouver Whitecaps netting the game winner in the 88th minute and spoiling the Thunder's home opener.

This weekend the Thunder will try to right things on the road. Tomorrow night the squad will take on Miami FC. Folks will be gathering locally at Brit's Pub to watch the nationally televised match. Kickoff is 7 p.m. CST. Then the Thunder travels to Puerto Rico for a Sunday afternoon clash with the Islanders.

Despite an 11-day layoff, the team is pretty banged up. Defender Alfredo Esteves tore his ACL during the Vancouver game and will be out indefinitely, leaving a big hole at right back. Veteran midfielder Godfrey Tenoff is expected to slot into that position against Miami.

Ansu Toure (pictured), the team's most dangerous attacker in the early going, is out for this weekend's matches owing to a hip flexor. Defender Kevin Taylor remains sidelined with a broken foot. Finally Freddy Juarez, who scored a crackerjack goal against Vancouver and was named to the USL First Division Team of the Week, will miss the Puerto Rico game because of personal obligations.

Posted by Paul Demko at May 17, 2007 4:39 PM | Comments (0)

 

Boom. That's the Sound of Backs, Not Bats, Breaking...

Just the other day I wrote, "Oh, I'm certain that it's way, way too early to stick a fork in these New York Yankees, but I'm going to anyway." That was referring to the Gotham squad, though, and the problem with that unholy statement is that the Yanks have a much better chance of raging back into the post-season than the Minnesota Twins. This afternoon, the Twins were swept by the powerful Cleveland Indians, who won 2-0 and handed our ace, Johan Santana, his fourth loss. Fausto Carmona out-deulled the King, and in three short days the Indians devoured any confidence the Twins picked up in their Mother's Day beating of the Tigers. No matter what the Tigers do this evening (having already lost this afternoon), the Twins will be at least seven games out of first place.

Pink bats are not going to help this team. I don't know what's going to help this team. But I do have a sneaking suspicion that last season's miracle run is giving local fans too much hope. I hope to God it's not giving Twins management any hope. I hope to God they are in a panic mode. I hope to God that something is going to happen, because it stands to be a very long season otherwise.

Last year, when the Twins began a fifteen game stretch against the National League, they were sitting on a 31-34 record, 10.5 games behind the surprising Detroit Tigers. In inter-league play, they proceeded to beat Pittsburgh, Houston, the Cubs, Dodgers, and Brewers soundly, taking an astounding 14 of 15 games, and went 65-32 to finish at the top of the Division.

On that Victory March they took

10 of 14 from the then-hapless Indians
6 of 7 from the always-hapless Devil Rays
8 of 12 from the White Sox, who were in the midst of a freefall
8 of 11 from the Royals (no comment)
and 6 of 10 from Detroit

I bring this up simply to illustrate that I don't think there's a Falwell's chance in hell to repeat that season. Consider these points: We're done with Tampa Bay (having gone 3-4). After six games against the Royals, we've won only two. The Twins meet Washington, Atlanta, Milwaukee and the Mets in inter-league play, one doormat and three contenders. Great contenders, who will give us no quarter. The 2007 Indians are not the 2006 Indians, and the Tigers are no longer surprising to anyone, including themselves. So who do we think is going to roll over to allow the Twins to jump three spots to the top? Last year's surge to the Division title came not just from timely hitting and good pitching--it came as at the demise of a gassed Tigers. Who righted themselves and marched to the World Series, thank you very much.

Frankly, I'm at an utter loss as to what to do about the Twins. Hunt for a slugger? The other day I overheard Jerry Bell utter his mantra that he's not looking for home run hitters, just run producers, and if that's the case, great. So who are these run producers? Seems to me that home run hitters generate runs with one swing of the bat. Or am I missing something?

Posted by Peter Schilling Jr. at May 17, 2007 2:34 PM | Comments (1)

 

Rooting for U. S. Steel

Filed under: MLB

"Rooting for the Yankees is like rooting for U. S. Steel." attributed to Bill Veeck, Bennett Cerf, Jimmy Cannon, someone named Jimmy Little (probably a figment of Toots Shor's imagination), Red Smith, and Joe E. Lewis, among many others.

Oh, I'm certain that it's way, way to early to stick a fork in these New York Yankees, but I'm going to anyway. As of this writing, the Yanks are 8.5 games behind the Red Sox, and 4.5 games out of the Wild Card race (behind Cleveland). These are unquestionably surmountable numbers, both for the Wild Card and the Eastern Division title. The problem is, this is no longer the near-cakewalk it used to be, when the Central and West divisions were weak and the Yankees were sole possessors of first. Not only do the Yanks have to contend with the Tigers and Indians fighting for first and wild card, but the Twins and White Sox might get better (I'm guessing the Pale Hose will get much better offensively--the Twins, I don't know), and the Red Sox have a team that seems able to plow through September without falling apart (like last year). Not to mention the fact that the Yanks are getting bit with some bad luck, and their solutions seem reckless at best. Too much is riding on the back of Roger Clemens, the guy whom no one dares accuse of steroid use, and who is 44 years old and getting nearly that many millions of dollars.

All of this spells catastrophe on par with the forthcoming Evan Almighty.

But I also regret the fall of the Yankees. The Yankees have been bullying their way into the playoffs for eleven straight seasons, and it's always been purely enjoyable to watch. I love seeing them beaten up in the playoffs, and have enjoyed some of their crazy World Series. New York seems to shine in the bright lights of October baseball, and I truly adore all the hoopla (though I could do without the constant shots of poorly-aging Billy Crystal in the stands). And it's so great to have your team beat these guys. Really, would the Tigers have been quite as celebratory had they crushed the Twins in the first round last year? There's something magical about besting the Bronx Bombers. Damn Yankees work; Damn Athletics not so much.

And what of the Yankees fan? The great Arnold Hano, in his magnificent little book A Day in the Bleachers, once dismissed the Yankees fan as someone who "knows nothing about baseball except that the Yankees will win the pennant and World Series more often than they won't and that a home run is the only gesture of worth in the entire game." He wrote that in 1954, and was a New York Giants fan, and was a really good writer, so I let him get away with such venom. But it's not entirely true, is it? I mean, Stephen Jay Gould, a brilliant writer, and a decent baseball writer (he could be a bit long-winded) was a tremendous fan of the Yankees, who knew the difference between the value of a suicide squeeze, a stolen base, great pitching, and a towering home run from his idol Mickey Mantle. And there's lots of intelligent Yankees fans out there--if the Twins won year after year, and had an owner that didn't consistently make it seem as if the Twins have to recycle old aluminum to pay salaries, you'd get the casual, unobservant fan out there as well. Hell, we get an average of 23K per game and I'm telling you the majority wouldn't appreciate much more than one of Morneau's blasts.

Why is this significant? Because the state of the Yankees is important to baseball, and I think it says a lot about us when they're faltering--just as the demise of General Motors affects Michigan directly, and the U.S. as a whole. I asked Jeff, a friend of mine who is also a denizen of Florida, and who does not follow any of the Sunshine State teams. Jeff's been a Yankees fan, I believe, his whole life. When you think about it, from the teams of the late 70s to the Joe Torre club of today, he's got good reasons.

By the way, Jeff wrote this ten days ago, but it's still relevant.

The Yankees fan sez:

"For what it's worth, the following are my thoughts on the State of the Yankees...

The Yankees are my team the way America is my country. Both entities are gleaming examples of capitalism and both delight and frustrate me regularly. Both are the most successful and prosperous in the world. This makes them a target of hatred amongst radicals of hostile nations, I mean, fans of other teams. Maybe it's the wealth and success, the legacy of winning. Maybe the mandated haircuts, facial hair restrictions and the reasonable concealment of tattoos makes others view them with distaste.

However, the State of the Yankees is a bit of a sore subject with me, as you might imagine, because I love my team, sure, but also because I question everything that happens in the organization.

I watch them train each spring. Each game is an event in Tampa and this year, they won most of their home games. Everyone looked good, except Mientkiewicz who was relatively hitless. But they played hard and looked like they were having fun. Maybe it was a little too hard, too soon.

The epidemic of hamstring injuries and having three of five starters out of the rotation, has led to the firing of the strength and conditioning coach, which means there is yet another empty spot in the organization. Perhaps it's a chink in the armor.

Speaking of which, supposedly, Mr. Steinbrenner skipped the trip to the Bronx for opening day this year. There are rumors of his declining health. Some say it's Alzheimer's which is never good. Compounding that issue is the fact that George Swindall, Mr. Steinbrenner's son-in-law who was slated to take over the reigns of the team when Mr. Steinbrenner retires, was arrested for driving under the influence just before spring training began. Yeah. That doesn't show well. But as if that wasn't bad enough, Mr. Steinbrenner's daughter is supposedly divorcing Mr. Swindall, so, since Mr. Steinbrenner's own sons haven't been interested or involved, the future of the team's ownership is unclear. But Joe Torre is going to keep his job for at least a few more weeks and we still have our captain.

I'll spare you any rhetoric deifying Jeter, but you've got to admit, that guy is exemplary. Seriously, he deserved the MVP last year. And when you're a Yankees fan, you've seen him come through, ever since he was a kid here in Tampa playing single-A ball. A-Rod, on the other hand has always been held suspect. I mean, sure the salary was the biggest red flag, but what interests me more than what he earns is how can a team buy the most expensive player in the history of the league, a gold glover and MVP, and then make him change positions. (That's how much Jeter means to the Yankees, you know?) But I mean, what is up with that? Right there, he comes off as wounded in a bad fight. Then there is the relationship issue with Jeter--are they enemies or just not as good of friends as they once were? Who cares? We're all a little curious. Aren't we? I mean, when A-Rod was struggling last year, Jeter made no public statement of support or of condemnation. That tells me Jeter is strong enough in character to not kick a man when he's down. Notice also that, as team captain, he still didn't make a public show of support. This makes me wonder if A-Rod is just that big of an asshole that Jeter won't extend the olive branch. Whatever it is, it is interesting to watch unfold. It is like our generation's DiMaggio and Mantle.

As a Yankees fan, people ask me about the acceptance of A-Rod as a 'true' Yankee. I'll be honest, I want to like him. I'm hoping he gives me a reason to like him, but as of yet, he just hasn't. Sure he hit thirty-five homers and had 121 RBIs last year, but he hasn't done anything publicly to prove himself as possessing genuine Yankee-ness or being even reasonably likable. Maybe he'll come through in October and I'll be able to look past all the aloofness and neediness, but I doubt it. I mean, Wade Boggs helped us win a series and I'm still not particularly a fan of his.

And beyond this rift between A-Rod and Jeter and the ongoing injuries (who could have seen that first-pitch line drive into Karsten's leg coming?), the team has also shown some signs of fatigue, Mariano Rivera has blown a couple saves, the bullpen is already tired and the future of Joe Torre is being called into question every day. But, despite it all, we started out with a similar record in 2004 and we won the division. We could do it again. I suspect they'll get healthy and go on a division-chewing roll and at least get the wild card.

It could happen, even with the management and ownership issue so unclear, and the injured pitchers will heal (except Pavano, apparently) and we may or may not get Clemens. If we do, he may help or he may not. But since the World Champs for the past six years have been young teams with more chemistry than star power, it will take a lot of that old Yankee Magic for this group to get close this year. But if anybody can do it, it's this talented group of millionaires. And I'd really like to see the Yankees win at least one more before the city demolishes the house that Ruth built. (Don't even get me started on that.)"

Words from the horse's mouth, even if Jeff isn't a horse (not in the least, unless he digs horses, well you get the point...) Something tells me that the success of the Yankees actually creates just the opposite of what Arnold Hano suggests--it actually generates fans, and intelligent ones to boot. People who start to pay attention to the level of commitment the Yankees have as a team, which isn't always measureed by the size of its payroll. After all, Alex Rodriguez, for all his millions, is one hell of great player. The Yankees also instill such a loathing in people that playing against them is also great fun. The Tigers are in first, are last year's pennant winners, and they didn't draw as many people to the Dome as the Bombers did. Perhaps this will be the beginning of a dry spell for the Yanks, but be careful of what you wish for...

Posted by Peter Schilling Jr. at May 15, 2007 5:20 PM | Comments (1)

 

We can all learn something from Sidney Ponson

Filed under: Twins

As someone who feels pangs of inadequacy whenever I burn the toast, I couldn't imagine how Sidney Ponson must have felt when the Twins fired him this weekend. Here's a guy who came to Minnesota to cries of "He sucks! He's fat! He's a loose cannon! He's weird! And look at that hair!" And what does he do? Pretty much proves everyone right. How can you not put the guy on suicide watch?

Then, immediately after being told to clean out his locker, he says this to the Strib:

"I had a feeling yesterday that it might happen. And it happened and I have to live with it and go through it. I'm going to go home and ship everything to Florida. Go sit on the beach and enjoy it."

Dude gets his pink slip, and he's already in Margaritaville! If only we could all be so even-keeled. Cheers, Sid.

Posted by Chuck Terhark at May 15, 2007 4:31 PM | Comments (5)

 

Mother's Day Massacree

Filed under: Twins

Could pink pull the Twins from their troubles? On this Mother's Day, the Twins donned pink sweatbands and festooned their jerseys with pink ribbon pins. Six players actually swung bright pink bats. All of this festivity was to show the team's support for breast cancer research, a worthy cause. But considering the Twins had their best offensive game of the year, in a 16-4 clubbing of the Detroit Tigers, well, you have to ask: why not wear pink all year, if the results are this good?

Behold these numbers: sixteen runs on twenty-two hits, four home runs, two from Torii Hunter, who knocked in seven RBI all by himself. Every Twin had a hit this evening. And I mean every single one, including Luis Rodriguez and Jason Tyner, both of whom came into the game in the eighth and proceeded to get hits in their only at-bats. All but Nick Punto and Tyner scored a run (Rodriguez went home on Cuddyer's late homer). The team itself scored at least once every damned inning except the second and the ninth (which, of course, they didn't play). They broke every offensive record as a club for this short season, more runs, hits, and RBIs, which, considering their prior output, was admittedly was not difficult.

At first, it seemed that we might chalk up tonight's victory to the shaky debut of Tigers pitcher Virgil Vasquez. This young pup, up to replace Jeremy Bonderman (who's out with a blister on his middle finger) worked just 2 2/3 innings and gave up six runs and nine hits. His folks were in town to watch his first game, as was his girlfriend from Germany. Jim Leyland had the best advice for this kid, apropos of his performance: "Better tell them to get to the game early, in case we have to take you out."

Take him out they did, and handed over the game to the trio of Jason Grilli, Wilfredo Ledezma, and Jose Mesa. Now, you'd think the Twins would calm down a bit with new pitchers, but no, they just kept on hitting as if the ball were on a tee. We would still have taken this game with that six-run cushion young Vasquez gave us, even though it looked, at first, like it was going to be close. The Tigers scored first on a Magglio Ordonez two-run homer, and again in the second when Curtis Granderson sent Craig Monroe home on a nice double. The Boof was hardly dominant, giving up four runs in five innings, struggling a bit but earning his first victory. After the second, when the score 4-3, our boys knocked in two more in the third, a pair in the fourth, one more in the fifth, and Boofus was sitting on a five-run lead. But the fun wouldn't end there, for we still had seven more runs to push across the plate. And this team that couldn't hit against a last-place American Legion club, who shut down entirely in the face of decent pitching and failed more miserably against bad-to-worse hurlers (see the series against the Devil Rays, Royals, and even Yankees), suddenly came alive against possibly the best team in the American League.

You're really telling me it's not the pink?

Look, perhaps the Twins were buoyed by the news that Sidney Ponson was sent down, hopefully never to return. Perhaps they were sick and tired of losing at home, and especially in front of mother. It is, after all, not a good thing to give one's dear mom another crushing loss on her special day. But this game turned out to be the equivalent of a dessert buffet, with a night of yardwork and housecleaning thrown in for good measure. I mean, Mike Redmond, who in the seventh was the only Twin without a hit, blasted his first home run in over a year, for Christ's sake. "Well, I don't play much, and I certainly don't swing for the fences," he admitted later, when ruminating on the gap between four-baggers.

Like the thunderbolt patch in The Natural, which spurred the hapless New York Knights to race to the top of the standings, I think it would behoove this club to start wearing the pink sweatbands, pink ribbon pins, and swing pink bats. They don't look bad--the bats especially are actually kind of cool. And it's not like this could actually hurt the club, or, God forbid, cost them a lot of money, like a decent hitter would. It's not as if they have to wear pink hats and uniforms. After all, what's more embarrassing? A pink bat and you win like this, or black bats and ash bats and a slow, steady march toward last place?

Posted by Peter Schilling Jr. at May 13, 2007 6:47 PM | Comments (1)

 

Conversations Real & Imagined: Let the Old Jokes Suffice

After the third out in the sixth, with the Twins trailing 5-0: "Well, Ortiz's got a perfect game going... except for the first and fifth innings. Still, four perfect innings, two five-run innings. If we could actually score on their new pitcher--or any pitcher, on any team--Ortiz wouldn't have the loss. And we wouldn't have the loss. And maybe we'd be in first. And not watching another season go up and down and up and down. Jesus, I'm depressing myself."

...

"How many lousy pitchers have to look awesome when they play us? God, everyone who's in a slump comes to the Metrodome to shut down the MVP and the reigning batting champ. OK, so Mauer's not here... but this goofball Danks gets his first win here? Figures. Good thing we're not letting Garza cut his teeth against guys like this. Better to let Ortiz suffer through another mediocre season..."

...

In the press box, when Torii Hunter "extended" his 22-game hitting streak with an errant throw that, if it had been on target, would have nailed him by a three long feet: "Watch, it'll be a hit." Indeed, a hit is announced by the scorekeeper. "I wonder how many of those they gave DiMaggio or Rose. I wonder if Hunter cares that they fudged that one. I'd sure care."

...

Section 215 (Family Section), a kid brandishing not only his finger puppet but a piranha t-shirt, and gazing at a scorecard. "The piranhas were only 2 for 16. But they scored all our runs! Do you think they might get the MVP this year?"

...

An old grumpus, arms crossed, shuffling out after the game. "In 87, I thought they weren't as good as the '65 team. In '91 I said they couldn't shake a stick at the '65 or the '87 team. Well, lately I've been saying these guys ain't as good as none of those other ones. For once I seem to be right..."

...

Another reporter on Ozzie Guillen's profanity. "Well, at least he's not ogling the teenage girls. I think they've got him on a short leash now. But Jesus, before it was pretty disturbing. Now it's just fuck this and fuck that piss on this and that. I'm trying to remember the last time I heard that guy talk about baseball. Maybe I don't spend enough time with him. Which is fine with me."

...

From an irritable vendor arching his aching back outside section 118: "Man, we're certainly giving those motherfuckers a fight for third place! Oh, yeah, this is going to be one hell of a third place team, you can bet your ass on that. I'm certainly going to sell tons of beer during these White Sox games. Fuck me, man, fuck me..."

...

A scalper by the light rail tracks: "I don't want it to be like last year. You know, that first half killed me, and the second half surge didn't make people go crazy until almost September. God damn it all, how are we supposed to make some dough if they don't get a bat? This isn't Kansas City, after all...

...

One of the bauble vendors laughing with another about some joke at the Twins expense. "That's funny, but it's already old. May and we've already heard all the lousy jokes! It'll be a long season..."

Posted by Peter Schilling Jr. at May 9, 2007 11:04 PM | Comments (1)

 

Juan Carlos Toja is the bomb

Filed under: Soccer

The big new signings are yet to have an impact on MLS. David Beckham and Cuauhtemoc Blanco won't suit up until July, and Juan Pablo Angel got his first minutes last night for New York. But in the opening six weeks of the season, a slew of new faces have had a marked impact on the league. My five favorites:

5. Danny Dichio: Yes, the former Preston North End striker has played all of one game for Toronto FC. But he made such a tremendous impression. The burly, bald-headed Brit went barreling into 'keeper Kevin Hartman like it was a rugby pitch just 23 minutes into his debut, earning him a yellow card. He then boasted about it to the sideline reporter at halftime as if he was auditioning for a spot on WWE Smackdown. I have no idea if he's got any talent. Given that he scored a paltry five goals in 63 appearances for Preston, odds are pretty strong that he's a bum.

4. Michael Harrington: It took the rookie from North Carolina all of three minutes to score his first MLS goal. He's since proven to be the 2007 version of Jonathan Bornstein. Harrington's got chutzpah to burn and is comfortable lining up pretty much anywhere on the field. He gets the nod over Dane Richards as early frontrunner for rookie of the year.

3. Steve Morrow and Curt Onalfo: The pair of first year coaches have put together two of the league's more intriguing squads. Morrow boldly threw overboard a bunch of veterans (Ronnie O'Brien, Greg Vanney,Aaron Pitchkolan Simo Valikari) in favor of young, untested talent. Not surprisingly, the results for Dallas have been uneven. Ramon Nunez has displayed moments of brilliance and Kenny Cooper continues to manipulate his huge, hunchbacked frame in ways that amaze. I still think Dallas' green defense (Alex Yi? Clarence "Own Goal" Goodson?) will ultimately leave them near the foot of the table, but they're awful fun to watch. By contrast Onalfo hardly touched a K.C. squad that was second worst in the East last year and has somehow transformed it into the most consistent team in MLS. Eddie Johnson's playing with renewed vigor. Sasha Victorine is displaying heretofore unknown skill. And the addition of Kevin Hartman has cemented K.C.'s defense as the best in the league. Now if they can just get some fans to show up for their games. (I'll be doing my part by traveling south for this Saturday's clash with Dallas.)

2. Claudio Reyna: There's no disputing the positive impact that Reyna's had on a team that has been the laughingstock of MLS since its inception. Just look at New York's gutty 1-0 win over Houston last month despite playing a man down for the final 54 minutes. Reyna slowed the game down, controlled the middle of the field, and frustrated the Dynamo into playing poorly.

1. Juan Carlos Toja: Throughout the offseason I was consumed by a gnawing concern: Who would lead the league in fouls now that Simo Valikari is no longer around to inflict mayhem on opposing squads? Heading into the first match, the odds-on favorite for this prestigious honor looked to be unrepentant hack Danny O'Rourke. But it only took one game for me to anoint Juan Carlos Toja as the man to beat. The Columbian midfielder is seemingly everywhere on the pitch. He's like Joey Franchino, but with talent. So far Toja's fighting off strong challenges from Ben Olsen, Jeff Larentowicz, and fellow Hoop Carlos Ruiz to lead the league in malfeasance, but I'm confident that ultimately he'll prevail. Even better he's risen to the top of this distinguished category without receiving a single yellow card. There should be a trophy for this honor. The Simo Valikari Memorial Hack Cup. Or somesuch. Of course Toja gets additional love for his glorious heavy metal hair.

Posted by Paul Demko at May 9, 2007 3:31 PM | Comments (5)

 

Piranha Finger Puppet Night!

Filed under: Twins

It was Piranha Finger Puppet Night here in the Dome, and thousands of merry children were given little green toys to play with and ignore the game on the field. And where at first it seemed as if the collective magic of a bunch of urchins biting at the opposition wouldn't have an effect on the diamond, eventually their hoodoo worked. For the piranhas did their part, helping to tie the game while the big bats won it for the Twins, 7-4, on Justin Morneau's walk-off three-run homer in the tenth.

Now, I don't know if this is a league-wide thing, but it certainly seems like the "younger" teams--like the Twins as opposed to the White Sox--have to rely on sugar-coated gimcrackery as Piranhas and TC Bears to keep their fans amused. I'm pretty sure the Tigers don't have goofy, faux-Disneyland mascots, nor do they have this fuzzy-wuzzy piranha thing to describe their lesser players. The White Sox don't either, but what they do have is an abundance of curmudgeons in the stands, which is sort of a mascot in itself (though one that's woefully undermarketed). These grumps are one quality of this franchise that I've always found interesting.

Talk with a White Sox fan prior to their miracle 2005 season, and there was a distinct lack of self-pity, unlike their brethren on the North Side. They didn't bemoan the fact that the Sox had gone as long or longer with a championship than the Cubs or Red Sox, nor that they had built the last of the ugly stadiums. There was never a curse with these fans, the fault of their incompetence didn't rest on the shoulders of Billy goats or Bambinos. No, it wasn't anything other than riotous mismanagement and the hard knocks inherent in the sport of bat and ball.

(Except this one guy I once interviewed, a doctor who felt the spirit of banned Black Sox shortstop Buck Weaver enter into his body during a game and knew that the Sox would never win unless Buck was reinstated. He is currently in the process of trying to build a Black Sox museum and spending lots of money to do so.)

Something tells me that if you were to talk to the typical Sox fan today--and by 'typical' I mean the guy who's been watching these bums since he was a kid and not just on the still-rolling World Series bandwagon--he'd be grouchy, grumpy, insisting that the woes of this Chicago White Sox can be found in nothing so mystic as lousy hitting.

And, man, is their hitting lousy. The White Sox--who were supposed to have big bats this year, if nothing else--suck at the plate. They make the Twins look great, and that's saying a lot. Their numbers are atrocious: the Sox have scored the fewest runs in the American League (110), lowest average (.222), the worst average with runners in scoring position (.219) and the worst on-base percentage(.305). Curmudgeons feed off stats like those, sit scowling at home and the park, and don't wonder why life is as it is. Just sucks, is all. Have a beer and watch the exploding scoreboard. And know that good luck charms and silly little finger puppets don't mean much in the game of bat and ball.

Give the Twins credit for hanging on and playing well. It looked, at first, as though the Sox were going to steal this game away from the Boof. A pivotal error (on Boof's part) and a string of cheap hits in the sixth inning took Bonser's effective performance (and Morneau's second-inning blast, the first of the night) and turned it into a 4-1 deficit that lasted until the eighth inning. Bonser gave up only eight hits, one walk, and seven K's--and four of those hits were in that sixth inning, and three of them would've been taken off the board if he hadn't thrown the ball away on a toss to third. With the extra out, the Sox pounced, scoring three times on as many cheap singles.

For a moment it seemed as if the Sox would also benefit from the Twins usual practice of trying to suck even worse than their opponents. Through seven innings, Javier Vazquez kept our bats cool, giving up only four hits against his own single walk and seven strikeouts.

But in the eighth, Ozzie Guillen relied on White Sox reliever Mike MacDougal, who must surely have a place in the hearts of Southside existentialists who see this game as more evidence of the pain and futility of life. MacDougal gave up three straight hits before wandering out, head low, and then watched as, two outs later, Torii Hunter knocked a hit that tied the game and kept his hitting streak alive at 22. The Twins had to be content to wait until the tenth, when Castillo hit a double, Hunter was intentionally walked, and Morneau did his heroic deed, sending a towering home run into the upper deck in right. Maybe this marks the point where the MVP resumes his style of play from last year. It took some time and a talking to last season before he turned it on. One can hope, one can hope.

So it was a night with a little bit of everything: grumps, mascots, good luck and bad, errors, decent and lousy pitching, Texas league hits, a coach whose first name is Razor (that's an aside), an intentional walk on Nick Punto (!), a 22 game hitting streak and a walk-off homer. Not to mention Piranha Finger Puppets.

Posted by Peter Schilling Jr. at May 8, 2007 6:51 PM | Comments (0)

 

Still life with sausages and kazoos

Gameday preparations are complete:

C'mon Thunder

Posted by Paul Demko at May 6, 2007 12:45 PM | Comments (2)

 

Pirahnas? No, Mice Won This Game

Filed under: Twins

Once again, the Minnesota Twins are working wonders on the fragile psyche of opposing pitchers. Bosox hurler Julian Talvarez had not thrown more than five complete this season, had an ERA of 7.58, had walked 8 and fanned no more than 11 this whole year, and then proceeds to stare down our guys like this:

Six innings. Two runs off four hits, only one run earned. Seven fucking strikeouts.

Seven strikeouts. Seven. And yet, you say, our Minnesota Twins small ball style of play created two runs to the Red Sox measly one. So why complain if we put one in the win column? Well, I'll grouse if I damn well please because I get to sit here and watch these lousy contests. By all rights, the Twins should be winning these games in a big way, padding numbers, building confidence in themselves and their fan base, at the very least wearing down journeyman wonders like Julian Tavarez with longer at-bats... oh, it's the same damned story. With both Joe Mauer and Michael Cuddyer out, the Twins once again made every effort to provide a level playing field for their guests. In this contest between a future hundred-million-dollar-man and a guy on his last legs, the latter gave the former a run for his money. And it simply shouldn't be that way day in and day out.

Fortunately (if you can call it that), the Red Sox were as weary as the Twins, succumbing to the mystique of Johan Santana, working him hard, forcing him out in the sixth after running his pitch count to 98, but utterly unable to capitalize on the seven runners they left on base, including a bases-loaded jam in the first. Johan whiffed five total, never had a 1-2-3 inning, and was a shaky, to say the least. The one run the Sox did score off our ace came on Dustin Pedroia's ground-rule double with two out in the fourth, which scored Wily Mo Pena. Now, Wily Mo was standing on third after a single thanks to Santana's two wild pitches (the guy threw all of four last year) and waltzed home easy as pie.

So I don't know if the hoodoo from Wakefield's game was hovering over the Dome tonight, but this was game was weird, though not weird in any way I would consider fun. Yeah, yeah, our bottom of the order fishies drove in the winning runs in the second inning with a well-placed grounder and a base hit. And Torii Hunter hit safely in his twentieth game, a big-bam double off the baggie with one down in the sixth, and with that and Nathan's striking out Manny Ramirez to end the game, there's your good news. But when we can get but four measly hits off a guy like Julian Taverez, does anyone really think we'll get through the quagmire of Cleveland and Detroit playing like this?

I don't. I see this as being a very long year. I see a team that's acting like the Central is a cake-walk like 02-04. The Tigers are a shade out of second place, 17-11, and already Jim Leyland's had more than a couple shout outs to his underachieving club. He's not mumbling forlornly like our skipper, nor resting on last year's laurels. Are the Twins?

Posted by Peter Schilling Jr. at May 5, 2007 5:49 PM | Comments (0)

 

It's A Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad Pitch

Filed under: Twins

In Baseball Bugs, master hurler Bugs Bunny tosses a certain slow pitch that befuddles a whole line-up of monster mashers with one throw. They hack and lunge and cut and swipe, as the pitch just sputters along. In fact, Bugs strikes out the whole side with one pitch.

With his pinkie extended as if he's sipping tea with the Brahmin elite, Red Sox starting pitcher Tim Wakefield tosses his knuckleballs not much faster than old Bugs. Tonight, before a 34,951 paid, he baffled a whole lineup of Twins (Torii Hunter exempted), giving up but three hits and no runs through seven, in the Red Sox 2-0 victory.

Have you ever watched a knuckleball pitcher at the ballpark? It's like watching someone throw through antique glass, clear but wobbly. The ball doesn't just dip and tumble, but it veers left and right. The damn thing comes in between 60 and 70 mph, unless Wakefield chooses to uncork a 75 mph fastball. Sometimes, his throws appear high and inside to right-handers, and the batter dives back, only to watch in disbelief as the umpire calls a strike. Often, pitches--good pitches--skip on by the catcher (Wakefield's one of the few in history who've struck out four batters in an inning). Often they strike the batter (Wakefield led the league in hit batsmen twice, and is often in the double-digits). Always they're unpredictable.

Knuckleballers make the game schizophrenic. Tonight I sat awed as The Great Wakefield, the latest proponent of that cartoon pitch, kept the Twins off base, and then did a double take when Carlos Silva took the mound and everything righted itself again. A normal pitcher making normal swings. Batters not diving at strikes and taking normal swings as gravity and physics reasserted themselves.

With such an atmosphere, one might forget that Carlos Silva pitched one heck of a good game. Though he struck out but one and had only a single 1-2-3 inning in the second, he'd given up only two hits through five. The Twins fielded their positions with aplomb (including a sharp play in the third, when Jason Bartlett gunned down the slow-footed Doug Mirabelli at the plate), and Silva didn't lose his head when a long, difficult fly bounced off Josh Rabe's glove for a two-out triple in the fifth. He ran the count to Julio Lugo full and then induced him to pop out to center.

But the fifth hit off Silva was the killer: sitting on a 1-1 count, David Ortiz unloaded one of Carlos' fastballs 423 feet into the upper deck in right. Papi trotted around the bases slowly, kissed God, and the game was over.

Sure, there were still four innings left for the Twins to try their luck (and the Sox actually won 2-0, pushing another run across in the ninth off Juan Rincon) but as a sullen scribe moaned in the pressbox after the blast: "The chances of rallying are low." Indeed.

Who can blame the Twins for this loss tonight? Wakefield struck out but one, letting the Twins bats flail at his knucklers. Powerful connections resulted in feeble grounders or weak flies against that unspinning ball. Sometimes you just get outplayed. Sometimes, as was the case tonight, you just get tricked, over and over and over again. Give Wakefield credit for keeping his career going with a pitch as wacky as that one. His knuckler can produce a game like this, or he'll miss and the pitch becomes a 65 mph warm-up toss, easily destroyed. Tonight, it was a yo-yo on a space shuttle. If the Gas-House Gorillas can't beat this type of throwing, how can we?

Posted by Peter Schilling Jr. at May 4, 2007 6:33 PM | Comments (0)

 

Mmmm... Bartolo...

Filed under: MLB

Best sports headline ever.

I really don't know what else to say. (via Marta)

Posted by Chuck Terhark at May 4, 2007 12:48 AM | Comments (1)

 

Free beer! Free admission! Thunder Home Opener

Filed under: Soccer

The Minnesota Thunder open their home campaign at The Jimmy on Sunday against defending First Division champs Vancouver Whitecaps. Kickoff is 5:05 p.m. Tailgating will commence by 3 p.m. (Look for the flags.) As proud supporters of the Free Beer Movement, there will be abundant supplies of beverages (and food) available for the uninitiated. Admission to the game is free. There are no excuses not to attend.

The Thunder have gotten off to a middling start. During their first southern campaign the squad nicked a pair of draws from Carolina and Charleston. But last Friday they were gutted 3-1 by Atlanta. The score was only that close owing to the heroics of defender Kevin Friedland, who cleared at least two balls off the goal line.

"The fact that Minnesota was able to go on the road and get a couple of draws is a good start for them," says Vancouver coach Bob Lilley, who I spoke with on the phone yesterday. "They'll obviously want to win their games at home and sneak points on the road. It's going to be a difficult season for all of us because I think the quality of the teams are getting better each year."

Vancouver's squad is loaded with talent. Dynamic midfielders Steve Martin Nash and (former Thunder standout) Jay Alberts will cause fits in the center of the pitch. Up top Joey Gjertsen (the league's reigning MVP) and Eduardo Sebrango are possibly the most redoubtable scoring duo in the league. Vancouver secured a win (1-0 over Seattle) and a draw (2-2 against California) in its first two home matches.

"It's early and we're trying to get better week to week," says Lilley. "The win against Seattle was not a sharp performance. Soccer is a strange game sometimes. California, I thought we played much better and with more urgency, but didn't finish our chances."

The Thunder will have the homecooking of The Jimmy on its side. Artificial grass, narrow dimensions, and football lines. "It's a difficult place to go play," says Lilley. "Minnesota is used to those dimensions because they play all their homes games there."

The Thunder's squad is young, talented and upredictable. The Strib ran a nice piece on new 6'4" Japanese target forward Keisuke Ota.

I hope to hit practice tomorrow morning to speak with some players.

Posted by Paul Demko at May 3, 2007 10:33 AM | Comments (0)

 

P.A. and Dubay

Filed under: Horse Racing

Horseracing guru Steve Davidowitz will be on the show around 11 a.m. P.A. says he likes Tiago, Dominica, and Great Hunter. Wagering commences in less than seven hours!

Posted by Paul Demko at May 3, 2007 10:03 AM | Comments (2)

 

Queen Elizabeth and the smart money is on Street Sense

Filed under: Horse Racing

Here's the Derby lineup:

1 Sedgefield 50-1
2 Curlin 7-2
3 Zanjero 30-1
4 Storm in May 30-1
5 Imawildandcrazyguy 50-1
6 Cowtown Cat 20-1
7 Street Sense 4-1
8 Hard Spun 15-1
9 Liquidity 30-1
10 Teuflesberg 30-1
11 Bwana Bull 50-1
12 Nobiz Like Shobiz 8-1
13 Sam P. 20-1
14 Scat Daddy 10-1
15 Tiago 15-1
16 Circular Quay 8-1
17 Stormello 30-1
18 Any Given Saturday 12-1
19 Dominican 20-1
20 Great Hunter 15-1

I'm not inclined to care much about post position. It's going to be a long, messy race. But Great Hunter getting pushed all the way out wide insures that he won't be in any of my bets.

After Milan went up 3-0 in its brilliant pasting of Manchester last night, I spent some time studying the race history of these beasts. Granted the wine stains on the sheets indicate that I might not have been at the height of my handicapping powers, but how is Street Sense not the favorite in this race?

He's raced seven times, winning three and never finishing out of the money. He's earned, by far, the best speed rating (108) of any of these horses. Granted he finished a lousy second to Dominican in the Blue Grass Stakes, but given the ridiculously slow early pace on the polytrack surface at Keeneland, popular consensus is to toss that race out the window.

And who has Curlin beat? Teuflesberg?

I'm going to be out at Canterbury this evening. I'll conduct a straw poll of Derby favorites among the skells haunting the third floor.

Posted by Paul Demko at May 3, 2007 8:57 AM | Comments (2)

 

Queen Elizabeth AND little Dannielynn...

Filed under: Horse Racing

He had done a few good sketches, but so far we hadn't seen that special kind of face that I felt we would need for a lead drawing. It was a face I'd seen a thousand times at every Derby I'd ever been to. I saw it, in my head, as the mask of the whiskey gentry--a pretentious mix of booze, failed dreams and a terminal identity crisis; the inevitable result of too much inbreeding in a closed and ignorant culture. One of the key genetic rules in breeding dogs, horses or any other kind of thoroughbred is that close inbreeding tends to magnify the weak points in a bloodline as well as the strong points. In horse breeding, for instance, there is a definite risk in breeding two fast horses who are both a little crazy. The offspring will likely be very fast and also very crazy. So the trick in breeding thoroughbreds is to retain the good traits and filter out the bad. But the breeding of humans is not so wisely supervised, particularly in a narrow Southern society where the closest kind of inbreeding is not only stylish and acceptable, but far more convenient--to the parents--than setting their offspring free to find their own mates, for their own reasons and in their own ways.

--Hunter S. Thompson, The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved, Scanlan's Monthly, vol 1, no. 4, June 1970

Nobody writes alt-pop love songs about the demure yet pretty Sarbanes-Oxley audit girl and her pale grey eyes. Writing about music for so many years, I've been forced to think in metaphors, similes, and subjective language so much, that when an "objective" event like the Kentucky Derby rolls around, I have to jackhammer all of the meaningless bullshit out of my brains so that I can wring the truth from the filth soaked rag of the horseracing business. People have spent the past week pissing all over themselves about whether Teuflesberg will get into the big dance. Who gives a damn? Also, I've been waiting for the inevitable paen to long odds...8 column inches on why Tiago is a lot like Giacomo and all boat dreams will come true after 1 1/4 miles of magic. These horses could come in for you and pay big on a large bet...and then you'd be able to move Little Vito and his mom to Maine and help him get his life in order.

A 3/3 waltz about a sweaty girl in her big brother's old gym shorts buying brie at the deli counter won't inspire a love triangle fistfight on the dance floor of Lee's on a Friday night. The Derby is a literal race, and when there are 20 future glue bags shooting out of the gate at once, bulldog ugly is sometimes your best bet. Curlin hasn't lost. Nobiz Like Shobiz doesn't like to lose. Scat Daddy won the Florida, the only prep win that has any kind of statistical translation to Derby wins in recent history. Cowtown Cat doesn't lose. If you bet $2 to win on any of the four, you aren't going to get rich, but you'll most likely end up with a grin on your face, come 5 o'clock Saturday.

Fake tits are fake tits. So, let me get this straight, polytrack changes everything about the way a jockey guides his horse through a race, and affects the overall speed of the horse, but we're supposed to ignore that the trainer, jockey and horse all altered their focus and plied their trade differently, and assume that everything will be just fine come post time. Riiiiiight. Look, if you run your damn horse across a frozen pond for 3 months and then show up in Hawaii and expect him to eat poi and glide down the beach like a Greek epic, you're a bigger fool than George Steinbrenner.

This is without a doubt the biggest bunch of garbage ever to show up at Churchill Downs, magnified only by the fact that it will be a full field of garbage...20 horses crashing into the first turn like a bunch of inbred hillbillies in stock cars cramming themselves around an oval squawking at their pit bosses over the radio and kissing bumpers trying to get an edge. If you think too much, you'll lose your shirt; just look for types and pick the best horse of each and line them up in your boxes...or, if you're a gambler, calls 'em like ya sees 'em.

You need a speed horse that will set a nasty pace and fade at the end for a solid fourth without stopping dead still and throwing his jockey on some 300 pound reject from "The Sound and The Fury" slumped over the rail, drunk in the infield (Hard Spun). You need a strong horse who's used to running in the money but doesn't have the killer instinct to finish, a real bastard who won't let anybody crowd him (Street Sense). Then you need two horses that will battle for the win, and win is the operative word in the Derby. Winners win. Curlin, Scat Daddy, and Nobiz are the winners in this field. If Curlin wins, it will be like lightning striking. Why battle overwhelming statistics in your thinking? I mean, don't get me wrong, if you're part of that Giacomo crowd, then go for it. In fact, bring your money to the window in stacks of 2 dollar bills, give them a fistful of old Thom Jefferson, and tell them to kiss your ass as you blow cigar smoke in their faces while you swill the only mint julep you'll drink this year and subsequently throw up.

But this is all meaningless drivel to me and Demko, who will open the horsey season at Canterbury Park and watch the big race on a big screen, thousands of miles away from the real action. Opening day at Canterbury is like a valet parking stand on the world's busiest street, where thousands of drunks roar up in large loud cars and are handed a button instead of a stub; they spend the next half hour staring at the button, then staring at their own clothing, wondering where it fell off, never aware of how painfully obvious they are, swaying from the ankles in their intoxication, dangerously close to the heavy traffic nearby, only to angrily and confusedly discard the object and go in search of stronger drink after looking up for a moment and realizing they weren't the only ones burned by that bastard valet. Fuck it, it was only a button.

Finally, of course, Saturday will feature all sorts of last minute panic bets...Zanjero to show...Dominican, Chelokee, and Circular Quay to place...Demko, 24 hours in the klink for public intoxication. But these are really side bets for small amounts of money, meant solely to entertain bored gambling dilettantes like ourselves, not for wins, but for the pure adrenaline of it all. At the end of the day, the only true advice I have for you is to let someone else drive, and don't let the kids watch when Floyd Mayweather makes De La Hoya's head spin 360 degrees on its axis about the sixth round.

The Bets
Box Exacta: Scat Daddy and Nobiz
Superfecta: Nobiz-Scat Daddy-Street Sense-Hard Spun
Box Trifecta: Scat Daddy-Nobiz-Curlin over Scat Daddy-Nobiz
Win-Place-Show: Nobiz
Two ibuprofen, a Bloody Mary and a back pocket full of loser betting slips: Demko

Posted by Jack Sparks at May 1, 2007 11:26 PM | Comments (3)

 

Sloppy Second Leads to Utter Desolation

Filed under: Twins

Gladden: "Can you imagine what it would be to be a beat writer on this ballclub?"

Gordon: "You'd have to come up with some imaginative thoughts on the game of baseball."

That was part of a dialogue between our broadcasters, spoken in the Twins' half of the eighth inning of last night's lopsided 9-1 victory over the Tampa Bay Devil Rays, who appeared to be a baseball team in name only. It was a hard game to call, hard to listen to, probably fun only for the Twins to play, thanks to countless at-bats. And when the game was still young, on the second pitch of the second inning, when Sidney Ponson watched one of his fastballs fly over the center field fence, I bet he thought, "At least I wasn't the other guy."

It was that kind of night: you play well, but you also witness such utter futility on the part of your opponent, you have to wonder how good or how bad you really were. Edwin Jackson, the Rays' young fireballer, who might very well have pitched his final game, was tonight's opening starter. This kid, all of 23 years old (perhaps his only saving grace, as he's been near-awful with every team on his resume), gave up six runs in an inning and a third, four of them in the Twins' half of the second. Granted, the rest of his team fell apart with him, making errors, standing in the wrong places, being out of position as routine pickoff throws sailed into the outfield, and looking very much like a bunch of hapless bottom dwellers.

Golly, this was a miserable game. We'll take the victory, but it's not something to enjoy. No, this was the type of game you catch on a nice drive and then turn off after three innings, even if all you can get on the box is modern country. And when you get sick of that (as I hope you must), and check on the score, finally you settle on blissful silence.

The game began well (for us), as the first two Twins scored on what was the epitome of small-ball. Castillo conjured up an infield hit on his first at-bat in ten games, Nicky Punto knocked a double into center, and then the next two outs got 'em over and got 'em in. Oh, and the silence was suddenly deafening. "The Boo-Birds are out," John Gordon noticed, and sure enough, that one guy was about all you could hear behind the Twins radio announcers. After the Twins scored four more in the next inning, there was a hollow, empty sound, a vacuum of despair that filled that dome like the deadly empty space in Kubrick's 2001. Just that one guy, bellowing his boos, for no one's amusement but his own.

That second inning? Two bases on balls, two throwing blunders (only one was credited as an error--both were Jackson's mistakes), a pair of hits and another error and that was all she wrote. With little else to talk about, Gordon and Gladden spent time analyzing the psychological woes of the Tampa Bay Devil Rays. At one point Gladden described the players around the field, each one with his head down, hands on their knees, utterly defeated and demoralized. Earlier, Gordon remarked on the new scoreboard and the Tiki bar in the outfield at Tropicana Field, and, well, it sounded like nothing but utter despair in St. Petersburg.

And yet, there's always hope in this wicked sport. After going down 6-0 with but one out in the second, Jackson fell behind 2-1 to Nick Punto before throwing a much-needed strike. With that, one lone fan rang out with a noisemaker and wild cry, trying to get the faithful to remember there were still seven innings to go. Faith? Or futility?

But I digress: give the Twins credit for taking advantage of the myriad opportunities presented them. Give Sidney Ponson credit for not allowing the Devil Rays into the game, even after his second inning homer. Granted, maybe the Rays spirits had been utterly crushed, but the Aruban threw only 90 pitches in seven frames. He wasn't great to start, but seemed to gather his confidence as the game wore on, eventually tossing two 1-2-3 gems in the last two innings. Give this guy a big lead and an unraveling club, and you've got something, by gum.

We needed this--an easy win against a losing team. I believe it was Ty Cobb who once advice a young and forgotten slugger that you made your money when the games were over; that is, if you wanted the fat averages that meant bigger paychecks, you hit when the scores were lopsided and everyone's a bit off their game. Catillo, Mauer, and Tyner all smacked three hits, Punto and Morneau and even Josh Rabe got a pair (and his as a pinch hitter). Torii Hunter's lone hit extended his sixteen game hitting streak.

And in the ninth, Jason Bartlett shot the Twins fourteenth hit into the outfield, and B. J. Upton blew a play at second, and all was lost, all was so clearly lost. Then, with two men on, Nick Punto struck out, and suddenly that manic Rays fan with the noise-maker began to try and rouse the troops, shaking that rattler for all it was worth. I couldn't help but wonder about that poor, suffering fool. Maybe that's why we follow this punishing sport, keep listening after nine long innings, or sit glued to our seats when our team's struggling in the standings and losing that very day. There's hope, there's always hope.

Posted by Peter Schilling Jr. at May 1, 2007 6:13 PM | Comments (3)

 

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