Kids, Go to Your Rooms!

Today I came across this Sports Illustrated item about the multimedia kerfuffle between two highly paid, high-profile ESPN commentators and personalities, Bill Simmons and Mike Golic.

As the kids say, I can't even.

Sports is supposed to be the fun relaxation you have after everybody's done with their workday and then done screaming at each other about the news.  Of course, we also have to know what's going on with our favorite teams, so there's another informational layer atop the actual sports we enjoy: the news about sports.

Then, however, things get sillier and sillier.  In the order of decreasing relevance and increasing distance removed from the games themselves, we have

• Opinions about the news about sports;
• Opinions about the opinions about the news about sports;
• Opinions about the people who have opinions about the opinions about the news about sports;
• Program producers who encourage the airing of strong opinions about the people who have opinions about the opinions about the news about sports;
• Sports networks, including ESPN, that egg on their program producers to encourage the airing of strong opinions about the people who have opinions about the opinions about the news about sports;

 and ultimately,

• The management aspects of sports networks, including ESPN, that egg on their program producers to encourage the airing of strong opinions about the people who have opinions about the opinions about the news about sports.

Which brings us to this Sports Illustrated item, which is, in essence,

• News about the management aspects of sports networks, including ESPN, that egg on their program producers to encourage the airing of strong opinions about the people who have opinions about the opinions about the news about sports.

I'm thinking you can guess my opinion about that.

Jürgen Klinsmann on the Hot Seat

First-time U.S. Men's National Team soccer coach Jürgen Klinsmann, a former German National Team player, seems to have made his personnel decisions very personal.

Klinsmann recently made the inexplicable decision to not only bench the face of U.S. Men's soccer, Landon Donovan, but to leave him off the U.S. roster for the upcoming World Cup tournament in Rio de Janeiro altogether.  In NFL terms, he's tried to avoid a quarterback controversy by shooting the charismatic incumbent.

We can reasonably conclude that the Donovan decision took on the dimensions of a ego-supremacy battle for Klinsmann.  In the immediate aftermath of the roster decision, his teenaged son crowed at Donovan on Twitter, an immature and classless act but one that also suggests the promulgation of a "Him vs. Us" mentality around the dinner table.  It would appear Daddy has been taking his work home with him.

The Donovan episode reminds me of another battle of wills: German engineers vs. American test pilots in the early days of NASA, as depicted in Tom Wolfe's book and the subsequent movie "The Right Stuff".  The control-minded engineers had designed a faceless, windowless capsule, and barely bothered to disguise their contempt for the pilots, viewing them essentially as laboratory animals; whereupon the daredevil astronauts-in-training rebelled, demanded windows and aircraft controls, and insisted their vessel be recharacterized as a human-piloted spacecraft.

Even if Klinsmann is technically right about Donovan's late-career decline, the roster snub is a crude attempt to squelch the essentially American character of the U.S. team by eliminating its signature player, the one individual whom history suggests can save their bacon in stoppage time. It's a hostile and contemptuous act by an insecure leader.

Landon Donovan's place in U.S. soccer history is secure, with or without Rio.  All he's done since Jürgen Klinsmann's roster debacle is surpass the all-time MLS goals record.  Meanwhile, as the result of one blinkered decision, Klinsmann's tenure in the Western Hemisphere may be over almost before it's begun.

Opening Day - It's Here!

We've raked, burnt firewood, and exchanged gifts.  We've huddled, shoveled, and whined.  We've counted the weeks until Spring Training and the days until the Major League Baseball season starts.

It's here.  It's Opening Day.  The 2013 Milwaukee Brewers are ready to play ball, three miles from our house.

It's still freakin' cold.  Doesn't matter.  We've got a roof - eat your heart out, Minnesota!

Lyle Overbay: Fan Instructions

As a Milwaukee Brewers fan, it is incumbent upon me to instruct Boston Red Sox fans [ed. update: as of March 26, 2013, New York Yankees fans] [ed. update #2: as of January 20, 2014, the next generation of Brewers fans!] in the proper procedure for welcoming their newly signed free agent, journeyman first baseman and former Brewer Lyle Overbay, to the batter's box for his plate appearances during the upcoming Major League Baseball season.

The Preparation

Step 1: Set beverage in a safe location.

Step 2: Assume an attentive posture, either sitting or standing, depending on the game situation.

Step 2a: If sitting, sit upright and swivel torso slightly in the direction of the batter's box.

Step 2b: If standing, face the batter's box, balanced evenly and comfortably over the soles of both feet in a "ready" position.

The Positioning

[Note:  The following Steps 3 through 9 are performed in rapid succession.  Practice until you have achieved a competent speed and smooth motion.]

Step 3: As Mr. Overbay leaves the on-deck circle, raise arms above head, as if you are signaling a touchdown.

Step 4: Flex the elbows until the fingertips touch.

Step 5: Flex the elbows further, lowering the point of fingertip contact along the vertical axis above the head by approximately 3".

Step 6: Pull elbows back slightly until your arms occupy the same vertical plane as the non-intersected line segment between your ears.

Step 7: Bend the wrists slightly to form a rounded, approximately circular arc from each shoulder to the fingertips.

Step 8: Open mouth into an "O" shape.

Step 9: Take a deep breath.

The Catharsis

Step 10: Sing the poetic word "O" as if it were the first word of the song "America the Beautiful" being sung after midnight in a fraternity basement.
Step 11: Hold the "O" as a whole note for eight measures or until you run out of breath, whichever comes first.

Step 12: Repeat Steps 9 through 11 for the duration of the at-bat or until your neighbors threaten to call the usher, whichever comes first. 

The Denouement

Step 13: Lower arms.

Step 14: If standing, retake your seat.
Step 15: Inform your Beloved Spousal Unit, who did not stand and therefore did not see the play as it transpired, of the outcome of Mr. Overbay's plate appearance so that she may properly enter it in the scorebook.

Step 16: Close mouth before the flies, gnats, and mosquitos sign a lease and take up residence. 

The Epilogue

Step 17: Pick up beverage.

***
Update: Lyle Overbay was granted a release by the Boston Red Sox on March 26, 2013, making him a free agent.  The instructions presented above remain fully applicable and may be transferred to a new team.
***
Same Day Double-Update: Doubles hitter and free agent Lyle Overbay was signed by the New York Yankees on the same day that he was released by the Red Sox, following in the footsteps of former Bostonians Babe Ruth and Johnny Damon. My Two Innings looks forward to posting reports of the echoing "O-O-O" calls, if not actual doubles, careening around the Yankee Stadium monuments.
***
UPDATE: WELCOME BACK TO THE BREWERS!  Milwaukee signed Lyle Overbay to a minor league deal, with an invitation to Spring Training, on January 20, 2014!  A whole new generation of Brewers fans will require instruction in the basics.  "O-O-O-O-OOOOOOO!"

Maybe If I'd Been a Cage Rat...

When I was 11, I was selected to play for the Niskayuna Rotary Little League team.  I'd hit pretty well at the A and AA levels, and I could catch a fly ball in left field.  I'd been too sick to attend four out of five weeknights of major league tryouts, so unlike my more qualified peers, I had the crucial advantage of not yet having demonstrated my incompetence to the coaches.  I got the call!

(Similar logic by Internet analysts -- buy anything that hasn't publicly failed yet -- explains in large part the NASDAQ tech bubble of the late 1990's.)

That first year in the majors, I batted two hundred points below the Mendoza Line.  (You might say, I had a NASDAQ crash of my own.)  Needless to say, Kevin Long was not my hitting coach.

Fortunately for the New York Yankees, Kevin Long is their hitting coach.  Even better, he's a good coach, the 2012 postseason notwithstanding.  He's written a book, Cage Rat, describing his years as a minor league player and coach, ultimately getting the call to join the Yankees and serve as a second pair of eyes for All-Stars Derek Jeter, Alex Rodriguez, Mark Teixara, Robinson Cano, and the rest of the Bronx Bombers.

Even more fortunately for Little Leaguers, Cage Rat presents Coach Long's instructions, with photos, on how to stand in, balance, stride, sit "dead red" (assume a fastball is coming), and keep your head still so you can see the pitch without distortion.  For the professional ballplayers, Long spends hours upon hours in the video room and the batting cage (his "office") analyzing, deconstructing, and reconstructing the mechanics of each player's swing.

Imagine a book by an auto mechanic who absolutely loves being an auto mechanic.  He may be a bit shallow, personally, but he knows absolutely everything there is to know about steering linkages.  He also knows how to sweet-talk and persuade the especially balky steering linkages into yielding willingly to his wrench.  The steering linkages love him for it.  That's the tone of this book.

Mostly, however, this is Long's personal and professional story.  He struggled as a minor league player for eight years in the Kansas City organization, never quite achieving a promotion to the majors (maybe he should have feigned illness during tryouts?).  He restarted his career as a minor league coach, working his way up and eventually shifting to the Yankees' organization.  As minor league salaries are less than table scraps, he was supported financially for more than a decade by his wife Marcie, who worked crazy hours at restaurants and bars to support their three children.  The wisest move K-Long made in writing this book (with the assistance of sportswriter Glen Waggoner) was to hand Marcie the pen for a chapter plus several more passages.  The lady more than earned the right to tell her story, and to sport her Yankees-blue playoff scarf proudly.

The behind-the-scenes views of the Yankees' clubhouse and batting cages are limited to various stars' pregame routines.  The limited look through the peephole in the fence that we're allowed isn't nearly as salacious as a true clubhouse exposé -- this is no Ball Four, despite a few personality and work habit descriptions -- but it should satisfy fans who are truly interested in the mechanical aspects of hitting and the detailed work that goes into daily game preparation.

It also serves as an excellent cover letter and resume for one Kevin Long, Professional Hitting Coach, should the need ever arise.

Ahhhhhhhhhh...Gotta Go!

Farewell, Nyjer.  Milwaukee just won't be the same.

NFL Zebras Not the Only Animals in Owners' Sights

Hey, d'ja see the Packers-Seahawks game last night?  Cool how it ended, huh?

The NFL replacement officials are in way over their heads - so far that the integrity of the entire league is in question.  Evidence of their incompetence arises in every quarter, if not in every set of downs.  But, it's time to refocus: it's their employer, NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell, who planned the current lockout of the regular referees, in collaboration with certain activist owners; it's Goodell who hired the replacement refs, put them on the football field, gave them a whistle, and let them loose with insufficient training and experience; and it's Goodell and this handful of owners who are the only remaining parties to insist that nothing is wrong with the status quo.

There's obviously more to the NFL owners' posture in the current lockout of the regular referees than just the cost savings at stake, a relative pittance; else the league would have ended the lockout unilaterally after Week 1.  That they haven't suggests the following motivations:

(1) PRECEDENT: Not only does a hard-line posture toward the regular referees demonstrate the owners' resolve in the instant dispute; in their minds, it likely also sets a precedent for future contract negotiations with the Players' Association, a much bigger economic opportunity.  It also signals a strategic rigidity with respect to labor unions and salaried workforces in general, both in the owners' non-NFL businesses and in American society at-large.  The message: Negotiation itself is off the table.
 
(2) IDEOLOGY: The current generation of NFL owners came of age when President Ronald Reagan broke the Professional Air Traffic Controllers' Organization (PATCO) by hiring and training replacements.  As Paul F. Campos wrote today at Salon.com, appropriating the contemptuous jargon of ownership-class lionizer Ayn Rand and referencing her avid adherent: "Paul Ryan's beloved Packers were robbed last night -- because the owners are putting the 'moochers' in their place."

(3) PEER PRESSURE: Rigidity in the face of common sense allows the owners to display their boss-class status to and gain the affirmative, personal approval of their fellow sports team owners and business peers, whom they run into at Board meetings, Chamber of Commerce meetings, and country clubs and are, in fact, the only constituencies who actually matter to them.

(4) COMBATIVENESS: The hardened, combative societal attitudes evidenced first in America's so-called culture wars, then in its "red state-blue state" political divide now pervade all walks of life, including the business of sports.  An entire generation has grown up with categorical attitudes that are uninformed by critical thinking.

(5) LOMBARDI-ISM: (I could get exiled from Wisconsin for this.)  Former Packers coach and NFL demigod Vince Lombardi's famous line,"Winning isn't everything; it's the only thing [that matters]!" has been inflated to the status of received wisdom throughout American society.  It is, in fact, a sophomoric locker-room slogan, not an organizing principle for the modern world.

(6) VANITY: The owners continue, stubbornly and conceitedly, to deny a gross, strategic error that they have committed in public, as doing so would be an admission of their own fallibility; thereby compounding the problem.

(7) COLLUSION: The consistent pattern of the NFL, NBA, and NHL using nearly identical, hard-line labor tactics suggests that their executives are motivated by and doing the sector-wide bidding for the money-center banks, including Bank of America and Citibank, that serve the sports, media, and entertainment industries.  These financial players are often equity investors as well as the principal lenders to ownership groups.  Their influence in the sports world is an underreported story; whether they are also instigators in the recent spate of lockouts is a matter of speculation.

What troubles me most is that this infestation of hostile tactics toward players and officials could spread further.  In particular, Major League Baseball Commissioner Bud Selig's vaunted two-decade stretch of labor peace with the Baseball Players' Association, with no strike or lockout since the World Series washout of 1994, is surely threatened unless he and his eventual successor can wrangle MLB owners into a collective posture that does not rely principally upon the threat of work stoppages to achieve economic ends.

  *  *  *

UPDATE: After a 31-hour negotiating session following the Green Bay-Seattle game, the NFL and the NFL Referees Association agreed on the terms of a new, eight-year contract.

50-50 Raffle

It had to come down to the Brewers and Cardinals, didn't it?

Last year (2011), it was a race for the NL Central Division title, won by the Milwaukee Brewers, followed by a rematch in the NL Championship Series, won by the bad guys.  I mean, excuse me, the St. Louis Cardinals.  (Sorry.  Force of habit.)

This year (2012), it's a race for the second NL Wild Card spot.  Doesn't sound quite as compelling, does it?  Sure, the Wild Card teams have made the playoffs, their possibility of a Galactic Championship still alive.  But what have they won, really?

A coin toss.  A lottery ticket.  A 50-50 raffle.

Random chance.

The Brewers sell 50-50 raffle tickets every home game at Miller Park, with 50% of the proceeds going to the raffle winner and 50% going to the Brewers Community Foundation.  That's different.  That's a win-win. That's the Law of Large Numbers, the outcome roughly predictable over a season. 

This is win-lose.  This is playing 162 major league games in order to subject yourself to a coin toss to see if you go home in shock.  Make no mistake, a single play-in game is a coin toss.  You could be eliminated on the basis of an injury, an umpiring call, a bad hop.  Even if you've won 10 more regular season games than your Wild Card opponent, as the Atlanta Braves might this season, you could go home in three hours.  Even if, as the Brewers are hoping, you tunnel your way out of a disappointing first half with a maniacal stretch drive that lasts for weeks, you could lose one ball in the lights and go home.  Even before your fans see a single home playoff game, scalp one triple-priced ticket, wave one terricloth towel for the cameras, you could be done.

The Wild Card round needs to be a Best of Three elimination series.  Even the College World Series, with far fewer regular season games determining the participants, has a loser's bracket.

I hear your objections. "There's no time on the television calendar!" say football-besotten television sports executives, and those who carry their water.  To which I reply: Really?  Two days, not possible?  Two fewer split-squad games in the spring?  You can't drive your Jag back from Florida two days earlier?

"The excitement of a single, sudden-death game trumps all!"  These are the people who think a penalty shoot-out in hockey or penalty kicks to decide a soccer contest make for superior television to a clutch goal with time expiring in overtime.

"Teams play crucial elimination games in every round!"  Yes, but not in Game 1.  Baseball is an ebb and flow, the build-up of a season -- or a playoff series -- to a climax.  It's seeing if a slumping player can pull out of a slump just once in October.  It's needing several members of a starting rotation to succeed, not just a single ace.  It's planning relievers over a multiple-game series in order not to overextend and overuse them.  It's enjoying prolonged excellence and series-long narratives.  The two-team battle leading to a deciding Game 5 or Game 7 enhances the week-long drama.  Those elimination games mean something more, at least to the discerning sports fan, than simply deciding who advances.

Moreover, imagine the lower season-long investment in player payroll that many baseball owners will likely commit to if the most positive result they can foresee from competing is a 50-50 coin toss.  In MBA-speak, that's like slashing the expected value of having a good team by one-half.  Owners like Pittsburgh's Bob Nutting might never invest in an A.J. Burnett on the free agent market again.

Make a deal with you, Major League Baseball executives: if MLB agrees to expand the Wild Card round to Best of Three, I'll agree that you can cut the MLB League Championship Series back to a Best of Five.  Fair enough?  Just keep your hands off the Best of Seven World Series, alright?

We're all reasonable people here.  We all want what's best for the game.  Like everyone else in the game, from the Commissioner's Office to the Player's Association to the networks, we can all choose to honor Major League Baseball's time-honored motto, courtesy of Red Green:

I'm a man, but I can change.  If I have to.  I guess.

How High Can These Orioles Fly?

This morning, as most mornings, I sipped coffee from a garish orange and black coffee mug.  What's different this morning is that it's September, and the cartoon bird logo on the mug is that of a first place ballclub.

Last night, the Baltimore Orioles, plagued by years of terrible ownership, poor attendance, and the presumption of being the doormat in the AL East, the most difficult division in Major League Baseball, delivered a 12-0, 18-hit pounding on Toronto and moved into a first place tie with the New York Yankees at 76-59.

My Beloved Spousal Unit and I were frequent denizens at the old Memorial Stadium in Baltimore during our East Coast incarnation in the 1980's and early 1990's.  We'd drive up I-95 from Suburban D.C. through the streets of Baltimore, up Charles Street and down St. Paul, and perch in our seats like Shoe and The Perfessor from the Treetops Tattler-Tribune.  Whether alone or road-tripping with friends, we'd usually get lost in the city trying to make our way home -- especially at 1:00 a.m. on a Sunday night after a 12-inning game!

I owe a particular debt of gratitude to Frank Robinson, the Orioles manager from 1988 through 1991.  His Hall of Famer's self-confident bearing and shrewd managerial tactics taught my perceptive wife the intricacies of the game and turned her into a baseball fan for life.  (Thank you, Frank!)

After the high ceremony of the home plate relocation at the end of 1991, the grounds crew dressed in tux and tails, a new era for the Birds began near Baltimore's Inner Harbor in the new Oriole Park at Camden Yards.  We attended just a couple of games in April 1992; the beautiful, new ballpark with the throwback architecture was jam-packed both times.  But, as it happens, we moved away from the Free State of Maryland that season, just as the craze began.  The Orioles mug, a parting gift from our road-tripping friends, became a reminder of our good times. We followed the denouement of Cal Ripken's consecutive games streak and cheered Eddie Murray's 500th home run from afar.

A long, dark age for the Orioles followed, with fan frustration growing, contending teams rare, and the economics of Major League Baseball working against Eastern Division teams not in the Yankees-Red Sox and Mets-Phillies axes.  During those years, I thought Washington Post baseball writer Tom Boswell would suffer a stroke fuming over whatever was the latest cheapskate move by Baltimore owner Peter Angelos, before D.C. gained its franchise and diverted him.

But this year, somehow, some way, through draft choices and propitious signings, aided and abetted by a Yankees swoon and a Red Sox collapse, this flock of crazy birds has overcome its franchise-specific disadvantages and competed its way into a contending season.  Led by the team's three All-Stars, outfielder Adam Jones, catcher Matt Wieters, and 41-save closer Jim Johnson, and bolstered by a supporting cast of -- oh, who am I kidding!  I don't know who these guys are, and neither do most fans.  Faced with low television ratings and disappointing attendance, upstaged recently by the Washington Nationals to the south, it's been far too long since the national spotlight has shined on the O's, the cameras trained on the Baltimore skyline, the announcers eager to call B&O Warehouse home run shots.

I don't know much about these Birds, but I'm learning.  So is the rest of the baseball world.  I'm yearning once again to hear the fans yell "O's!" during the National Anthem.  I'd like to see how high this flock can fly.  It's time to sit back, enjoy a tasty beverage, and watch them earn their wings -- or try.

Ron Roenicke: Take My Wolf — Please!

Has any baseball manager in recent memory collaborated so willingly -- and publicly -- in a general manager's wholesale marketing of his team's veteran pitching staff at the trade deadline as has the Milwaukee Brewers' Ron Roenicke in recent days?  Based on his vocal sales pitch to the other clubs, you'd think he were in the business of reselling high-mileage used cars.

Typically, a manager tries to keep the 9 players on the field, and the 25 players on the roster, most likely to produce a winning record in the current season, thereby saving his own neck.  In baseball, as in other sports, there's often a GM vs. Manager/Head Coach conflict of interest which manifests as "build for the future" and "play the guys I drafted and traded for" (GM) vs. "win now" and "play the best players every day" (Manager).  Not so, apparently, with Doug Melvin and Ron Roenicke.

The Brewers are trying to jettison high-priced set-up man and former Angels and Mets closer Francisco Rodriguez, a.k.a. K-Rod, who until two weeks ago looked utterly lost on the mound in 2012.  Just in time, K-Rod seems to have turned his season around with eight hitless appearances.  Other clubs may be wary, but Roenicke thinks they should look at Rodriguez:

"All I know is if I'm another team and I'm a contender, and I want a guy who's a big-game pitcher, I would certainly come after Frankie," Roenicke said. "I told you guys all along -- I have tons of confidence in Frankie, even when he was going bad, I had lots of confidence in him. Now he's back throwing [well]. Somebody should grab him." [1]

(Zero percent financing to qualified buyers.)

Veteran left-hander Randy Wolf was recently released by the Brewers during a substandard season.  Roenicke's comments, hoping to induce another ballclub to hire Wolf:

"I think he's going to have a good year for somebody. ... I like him as a player, and I like him as a person. He prepares himself as well as anybody I've ever been around. He's a great teammate. He helps out the young guys. ... He worked as hard as you could possibly work to get things turned around." [2]

(Did I mention that he throws 50 mph curveballs? and gets 35 miles to the gallon?)

Now come reports that starter Shaun Marcum has been put on waivers and is on the trading block. This from the Skipper:

"Why wouldn't you [consider him]?  The guy can flat-out pitch." [3]

(Hurry down to your Volkswagen dealer!  Tax and title extra.)

It's noteworthy that Roenicke's comments are entirely truthful, valid, and as beneficient toward the named players and their playoff goals as they are helpful to the Brewers' future.  It just strikes me as extraordinary that a field manager would participate in what has traditionally been a front-office function.

Either Roenicke and Melvin have a closely coordinated marketing strategy to entice their trading partners to act, and are carrying it out as planned; or, beneath his stoic exterior, Roenicke is a bit of a loose cannon, talking to the press to push trades forward when he thinks Melvin isn't proceeding with enough urgency.  It wouldn't be the first time; Roenicke recently openly expressed a preference for keeping newly repositioned Corey Hart at first base for the long term, possibly putting Melvin in an awkward spot and costing the Brewers some money in Hart's upcoming contract negotiations.

No matter who makes the pitch to the other clubs, one thing's for sure: if you want to sell a used car, it can't hurt to toot the horn!

* * *

UPDATE: MLB.com's Brittany Ghiroli has reported on Twitter that Randy Wolf is close to signing with the Baltimore Orioles. [4]  Presume it's just a matter of completing dealer prep before the deal is announced.

UPDATE #2: Randy Wolf signed with the Orioles.  His first appearance in the orange and black was a scoreless inning against the Yankees.  Francisco Rodriguez and Shaun Marcum were not claimed on waivers before the September 1 post-season trading deadline and remain on the Brewers' roster.

* * *

[1] "Marcum activated off DL, to start Saturday", Adam McCalvy/MLB.com, 08/24/12 7:10 PM ET.
[2] "Randy Wolf released by Brewers", Associated Press, 08/22/12, 5:27 PM ET.
[3] McCalvy/MLB.com, Ibid.
[4] Brittany Ghiroli/MLB.com, on Twitter (@Britt_Ghiroli), 08/28/12 2:14 PM ET.

American Pentathlon

With the London Olympics underway, the time's arrived to send our sportsmen and sportswomen into pitched battle and bring the hardware back to the good ol' U.S. of A.  Now that Baseball and Softball have been swift-kicked out of the Olympics, the better to avoid all that spittin' and cussin', that's at least thirty well-trained athletes, plus a couple of designated hitters, who won't get to hang a shiny, gold object on the moosehead over their fireplace.  As Americans, you and me and Ethel, we desperately need a new sport to dominate so we can once again feel good about our drive-through cheese fries.

We at My Two Innings have considered various possibilities for a new Olympic competition at a recent offsite retreat.  We have brainstormed, conceptualized, and imagineered.  We have used Kaizen techniques and Powerpoint slides.  And flipcharts.  Don't ever forget the flipcharts.  We have come up with ideas and suggestions and thought about them for about eight minutes, tops.  We have tested the final recommendation with our focus group, and she agrees with us.

The new Olympic sport: American Pentathlon.  Five days, five events:

• Day 1: Punt.
• Day 2: Pass.
• Day 3: Kick.
• Day 4: Home Run Derby.
• Day 5: NASCAR.

Brilliant, right?

I hear what you're saying: the stodgy, old-guard Europeans may balk at this innovation.  But never forget, my friends, we have the U.S. Dollar, God, and Liberty on our side.  And the Penske racing team.

I think you'll agree, it's imperative that we get American Pentathlon approved by the IOC as an Olympic sport in time for the 2020 Summer Games.  A strong proposal and a few key bribes should do it.  We can vote in one of their favorite sports at the same time: Rescuing Greece.

It's the least we can do in the Olympic Spirit.

Zack Attack

In a mid-season game yesterday against the lowly Houston Astros, Milwaukee Brewers' ace starter Zack Greinke was ejected after four pitches in the first inning.  He spiked the baseball into the infield dirt after a close play at first base.  First-base umpire Sam Holbrook, apparently utilizing eyes in the back of his head like the lava lizards of the Galapagos Islands, found in his infinite wisdom and frocked authority that the stoic, silent Greinke, who had said a grand total of no angry words after the play, not to the umpire nor to anyone else on the field, nor faced nor confronted the ump, nor argued the call with vehemence, nor with an air of sophisticated insouciance, nor gestured at the ump, who wouldn't have seen him do so anyway, nor so much as glanced sideways with a stony, hollow eyeball at the man in blue, had nevertheless said one word too many.

Greinke's ejection -- "unprecedented," according to Brewers' television announcer Bill Schroeder, inasmuch as the non-celebratory touchdown spike was spectacularly and notoriously unwitnessed by Holbrook, who nevertheless was evidently convinced it was the deed of a villainous scofflaw rather than the self-scolding of a Gold Glove-caliber pitcher angry at himself for being late to break to first base -- was followed closely by the pro forma ejection of the manager, Ron Roenicke; the Brewers proceeded to lose to the AAAstros, 6-3.

This being the Brewers' penultimate game before the All-Star break, and with Greinke connected to mid-season trade rumors, there's naturally more to the story.  Major League scouts from several teams interested in Greinke were reportedly in attendance, although they probably left to tour NASA's Johnson Space Center with their kids after Roenicke replaced Zack on the mound with 76-year-old Livan Hernandez (spoiler alert: not a prospect).  Unfortunately, the scouts still need receipts in order to write off the space junket, which means they can't return from a suborbital voyage to Houston without filling out their TSP reports, which in turn means they still need to see Zack pitch.  Instantly upon his departure, as he headed up the tunnel to play Three Card Wenceslas with Roenicke in the clubhouse for three hours, the hue and cry on Twitter and the game broadcast rose as one voice, voicing a potentially Nobel-winning concept: could Zack Greinke start for the Brewers in Sunday's first half-closing contest, his last opportunity before the All-Star break and conceivably his last as a Milwaukee Brewer, after throwing only four pitches on Saturday?

If the Brewers want to pitch Greinke today in order to compete and win, that's fine. If, however, the Brewers are considering risking Greinke's arm just to showcase him for the visiting scouts, that's risky and distorts the purpose of playing a Major League ballgame.  Woe to the organization if he gets injured after his every-five-day preparatory routine is thrown off.  Besides, Marco Estrada has been pitching quite well in his spot starts.

To me, the answer is simple: give Zack a cold drink and a lounge chair.  What more can the scouts possibly need to see that isn't already on game film?  He's a former Cy Young Award winner who would be the ace of most staffs and has had an excellent first half.  Either sign him to a new contract extension or start the bidding.

Then, when Estrada is ejected by Holbrook for glancing suggestively at second base, the Zack Attack will be tanned, rested, and ready.

The 2012 Milwaukee Brewers: .404 (Not Found)

Did it have to happen so soon?

It's only Memorial Day, and already the defending National League Central Division Champion Milwaukee Brewers are being talked about as sellers at the trading deadline.  They've hobbled and wheezed their way to an unimpressive Memorial Day record of 19-28 (.404), nine games below .500 and eight games behind the division-leading [who knows; they're too many games below to see who's above].  Barring a hot streak in the first half of June -- which, frankly, would be amazing with the current roster full of injuries -- it's hard to see how this Crew can climb back into division contention.

Here's the 4-1-1 on the .404:

The Brewers' training room and associated rehab facilities have been jammed full in 2012.  The infield has been decimated; Mat Gamel (1b) and Alex Gonzalez (ss) are out for the season.  Backups-promoted-to-starters Travis Ishikawa (1b) and Cesar Izturis (ss) are on the DL.  Aramis Ramirez (3b) has been held out for a few games after a HBP turned his elbow into a grapefruit.  With Prince Fielder gone to free agency and Rickie Weeks scuffling at the plate, a starting four of Cody Ransom (3b), Edwin Maysonet (ss), Brooks Conrad (2b), and Taylor Green (1b) could be coming soon to a ballpark near you.

Fifth starter Chris Narveson is gone for the year, and effective spot-starter/long-reliever Marco Estrada is on the DL.  The Brewers haven't been using reliever Kameron Loe in recent games due to elbow soreness.

The catching crew, a rare beacon of light in a dismal offense, just took a potential hit as back-up George Kottaras was pulled from yesterday's game after he tweaked a hamstring.  He's only back in today because All-Star candidate Jonathan Lucroy is sitting out today's game with a bruised hand.  The outfield by comparison has escaped relatively unscathed, with Carlos Gomez recently reactivated from the DL despite running at half his usual breakneck speed.  That's not insignificant, as speed is 80% of his game, offensively and defensively.  However, he's back, which is good.

It goes without saying that the Brewers, not to mention metro Milwaukee's 1,751,316 denizens (2010 U.S. Census), held their collective breath when franchise player Ryan Braun suffered achilles tendon pain.  It's not clear that he's back to 100%.

Add to this roll-call of injuries a spate of inconsistent starting pitching, awful situational hitting by all but Braun and Lucroy, and creative blunders on the bases and you have the story of the Brewers' early season.  Corey Hart hasn't yet seen a grounder to shortstop that would keep him from running into an unforced out at third.  Yesterday, batter Nyjer Morgan slowed down to watch the play at the plate en route to being thrown out at first in a 6-2-3 double-play.

What made the 2011 Brew Crew strong from the outset was a staff anchored by three starting aces, a back-to-back Braun-Fielder tandem in the 3-4 slots, solid hitting from Weeks and Hart, an unanticipated, high energy shot in the arm from Morgan and Gomez, and two front line closers in Francisco Rodriguez and John Axford -- plus a clubhouse chemistry that worked.  This year, Fielder's gone, and not just the heart of the order but much of the Brewers' heart with it.

It's come to this: there are, perhaps, two to four weeks to persuade 2013 free agents Zack Greinke and Shaun Marcum on the one hand and Brewers' owner Mark Attanasio and GM Doug Melvin on the other that the 2013 Brewers will be different and are worth a contract commitment.  Dollars will talk, but the prospect of a winning performance has to match the promise.  Otherwise, the Brew Crew will be truly blue, unanticipated sellers at the trading deadline.

In short, if the Brewers cannot improve from .404 to .504 by 7/4, the 4-1-1 in the 414 will become a full-fledged 9-1-1.

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UPDATE: After a narrow win on Memorial Day against the Dodgers, the Brewers broke glass and pulled the alarm, placing Jonathan Lucroy (c) on the 15-day DL.  The story of his injury is too outrageous not to be true: his wife shifted a suitcase on their hotel bed; it fell on his right hand, fracturing it, while he was reaching under the bed for a sock.  (You mean to say that hasn't ever happened to you?)  Nashville Sounds catcher Martin Maldonado, batting .198 for the season in AAA, will join the Brew Crew to serve as understudy to the hobbled George Kottaras.

The good news is that Miller Park has a roof so they always play the game.

Uncle Rickie

The conundrum that is the Milwaukee Brewers' starting second baseman Rickie Weeks continues. Weeks, a National League All-Star in 2011 after a red-hot start at the plate, is ice cold in 2012. Through May 17th, Weeks has a .156 batting average, 7 RBI's (4 of which are accounted for by his 4 home runs), and a league-leading 49 strikeouts. Watching him struggle at the plate is as painful as watching Casey McGehee face his season-long slump last year.

By all accounts, Weeks is tough as nails. His work ethic, his recovery from numerous injuries, including a severe ankle sprain after last year's All-Star break, and his ability to shake off a nasty hit-by-pitch are all legendary. He seems to have a league-leading pain threshhold. It's possible that his body is finally breaking down after all that abuse, though he's still capable of hitting a tape measure home run. That's the first, most obvious explanation for his troubles.

Baseball's relentless grind is a second possible theory. Minor league call-ups notwithstanding, there's rarely a better alternative for Brewers' Manager Ron Roenicke than to keep Rickie in the line-up daily and hope he works it out. For some players -- Roenicke cites himself during his playing days -- a day on the bench is a chance to refresh, regroup, observe. He says Weeks is different, which seems entirely plausible; keep him out, and you might miss the spark of a three-hit game that would break the slump. Through his dedicated effort, Rickie's also earned the chance to keep playing and find his swing again, but one wonders how much more patience his manager will have.

Roenicke has suggested, directly and indirectly, that some of Weeks' struggles by now might be partly mental as well as physical, a not uncommon observation about slumping players. That's a good third explanation, as far as it goes, but it's insufficiently precise. Here I think we have the key, and it might be more involved than a simple performance issue.

Consider last year's Milwaukee Brewers, a division championship team that bowled over all comers until the St. Louis Cardinals asserted themselves in September and October. Last year represented a confluence of good fortune for the Brew Crew. Ryan Braun, bolstered by Prince Fielder's booming clean-up presence in the batting order, compiled an MVP season. Nyjer Morgan came on board and took Milwaukee by storm, his Tony Plush act winning over the crowd and his hustling play eventually winning over Roenicke and most if not all of his teammates. Following Zack Greinke's return from a basketball injury incurred during spring training, the five-man starting rotation stayed effective, at least until Sean Marcum's arm ran out of gas, and away from the DL for the season. Both in 2008 and 2011, GM Doug Melvin pulled off amazing mid-season trades for star pitchers, C.C. Sabathia and Francisco Rodriguez respectively.

The clubhouse chemistry also seemed tight last year -- in the good sense of the word. Upbeat energy-guys Morgan and Carlos Gomez and pranksters like Marcum and McGehee -- who once did a hilarious, bogus translation job of Spanish-speaking teammate Yuni Betancourt's interview comments for the camera -- kept the team loose. Odd ducks like Morgan and Greinke and struggling players like McGehee were actively supported by their manager and teammates. Most pertinently, family man Prince Fielder and his best buddy Rickie Weeks anchored the locker room, with Prince's kids a constant, welcome presence. When Weeks incurred his injury and was sitting in the trainer's room, discouraged, Prince told his kids to "go see Uncle Rickie." They goofed with him, laughed with him, and cheered him up, as only kids can do.

Prince isn't here this year. His kids aren't here. Nyjer is having his own offensive struggles. Ace starter Yovani Gallardo can't seem to perform well against the archrival Cardinals. Yuni B.'s successor Alex Gonzales and Prince's successor Mat Gamel have gone down with season-ending injuries, as has starting pitcher Chris Narveson. Greinke and Marcum are in the last years of their contracts. Corey Hart seems lost defensively as the Brewers try to decide his best position on the field. Ryan Braun, while hitting his way out of an early slump, still faces travails in the aftermath of his tumultuous off-season. Former coach Dale Sveum is now picking apart the Brewers' swings as the Cubs' manager instead of bolstering their approaches in the batting cage. At least in comparison to last year, this team seems to be a collection of individuals dealing with their individual woes. There's no one around to cheer up Uncle Rickie.

The Brewers desperately need Weeks to step up as both an offensive threat and a leader in order to salvage the 2012 season. Whether he can do that is an open question. What this season has proven, though, is that ballplayers are human, as susceptible to pain, doubts, and the insecurities that come from organizational change as anyone else. They expose their struggles very publicly before fickle, impatient crowds; their every move is observed, catalogued, and amplified.

The cause of Rickie Weeks' batting slump may be physical or it may be mental, but it's surely also an accumulation of these surrounding factors. Call it the Gestalt Theory of Baseball. Last year's Brewers were a unique bunch; this year, they've become unique individuals. If I were Ron Roenicke, I'd do everything in my power to chop off their individual heads and restore the unruly classroom of 2011.

I'd start by giving Uncle Rickie a new phone -- one with Prince Fielder's kids on speed-dial.

I See What He Did There

I'm through page 73 of For the Win, Cory Doctorow's 21st Century novel of multi-player virtual reality games and their intersection with bands of far-flung, carbon-based humans facing real, increasingly precarious predicaments.

Already, in fewer than 15% of the novel's rapidly readable pages, FTW has called to mind George Orwell's 1984, Norman Jewison's pithy short story, "Rollerball Murder" (later made into the violent future-sports movie, "Rollerball"), and Thomas Friedman's breathless economic globalism treatise, The World is Flat.

Then, without warning, Doctorow executes a perfect educational ambush and explains how financial arbitrage led to the mortgage and banking crisis of 2008, without ever using the words mortgage, banking, or collateralized debt obligations -- without even mentioning the historical events of 2008, in fact. He accomplishes this in only four pages, written at an eighth grade level, using vorpal blades, gaming gold, and other virtual treasure as currency to illustrate.

I'm now fully convinced of the author's powers. I'm hopeful that if I keep reading, I'll learn how to solve the Israeli-Palestinian conflict without using the word Jerusalem. I'm pretty sure a vorpal blade will be involved.

A Win for the Buccos, At Last

I have often, repeatedly, and ruefully lamented the lowly exploits of the Pittsburgh Pirates, The Team That Would Be My Other Team, in this space.

Yesterday, March 4, 2012, Pittsburgh's days as a perennially cellar-dwelling National League franchise unworthy of the Steel City's 1970s moniker "City of Champions" finally came to an end. Yesterday, the Pirates agreed to a high-value, six-year contract extension, with a club option for a seventh year, with its franchise player, All-Star center fielder Andrew McCutchen. Yesterday, the Pirates set themselves up to achieve a winning record in 2012 and win the N.L. Central Division within four years.

You could say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one.

It's impossible to overstate the break with the past that the McCutchen long-term signing represents. Here's the past: starting with Barry Bonds, the post-Willie Stargell Pirates had lost to free agency, or traded for budgetary reasons prior to free agency, the Killer B's -- Bonds and Bonilla -- along with most other letters of the alphabet. Ex-Bucs stars squeezed out of Pittsburgh's plans for having the temerity to move up the MLB salary scale have included Jason Bay, Jack Wilson, Freddie Sanchez, Aramis Ramirez, Adam LaRoche, Andy LaRoche, Xavier Nady, Nate McLouth, Ian Snell, Zach Duke, and Paul Maholm. Jose Bautista just smacked 54 and 43 home runs for the Blue Jays in consecutive seasons; how did your right fielder do?

Fast-forward to the present (Q: Do MP3 shuffles "fast-forward"? I need a new cliche!). The proof of concept, on the field and at the gate, was Pittsburgh's extraordinary first half of the 2011 season. Excitement was up, attendance was up, the buzz around baseball was up. Clint Hurdle's suddenly fearsome 25-some was, for once, the talk of the town in a city that also sports the Steelers and Penguins. The Bucs' epic second-half regression to the mean of their prior performance doesn't obscure the startling conclusion that if you win more, you attract more fans; if you attract more fans, you can sign more players and win more games -- sometimes, almost immediately.

Now, in preparation for the 2012 season, the Pirates are making their move. Atop the earlier Jose Tabata signing, the A. J. Burnett free agent acquisition, the return of veteran Nate McLouth, and the inexpensive trade for former 100 RBI man and comeback candidate Casey McGehee, the McCutchen deal sets in place a multiple-year core around which the Buccos' front office can attract talent and manager Hurdle can develop young players and win ballgames.

As with the Milwaukee Brewers during the past four years, when the youthful core of Fielder, Weeks, Hart, Braun and Gallardo remained intact, the Pirates can be seen as a choice destination for free agents and first-round picks for the first time in decades. Or at least an acceptable one. Upon his retirement, National Leaguer Jim Edmonds recommended Milwaukee as a free agent destination with a lot to offer veteran players; the Pirates have now put themselves in a comparable position to compete in the market for scarce talent, and maybe even avoid inclusion on some All-Stars' no-trade clauses.

Time will tell if Owner Bob Nutting, President Frank Coonelly, and General Manager Neal Huntington truly mean it; will they put forth a half line-up of stars with a limited supporting cast to try to overcome twenty years of losing, or will they now, finally, provide the resources to give the Steel City a full roster worthy of its long-ago winning history?

Of course, if the Pirates' notoriously stingy ownership reverts to its pattern of recent years, McCutchen might not play the full length of his contract in a black and gold uniform. He could be traded, as McLouth was at the peak of his value, to a savvy organization with deeper pockets. Perhaps Theo Epstein will covet an outfield asset for the Cubs, or the Steinbrenner family or the new Dodgers owners will make the Pirates an offer that they can't refuse -- which historically has been far less than what other teams couldn't refuse. Or, heaven forbid, McCutchen could be injured and follow another Pittsburgh sports legend, Sidney Crosby, onto the long-term disabled list.

But for now, the benefit of the doubt is in order. This shot in the arm for the Pirates is a shot across the bow of every team in the National League. The pregame pyrotechnics on the PNC Park scoreboard can finally be matched by its tally of Pirates' runs during the game. The polarity of free agent transactions can be reversed.

Once again, at long last, you can raise the Jolly Roger. It's shredded and tattered after years of neglect, but if you look closely, you can still see a hint of a wild skeleton grin. It's a Renaissance at Three Rivers, Yo Ho!

You in?

The Ryan Braun Story

The Ryan Braun story is a writers' workshop in disguise. Collectively, the media reports of the scandal read like an unfinished novel.

Ever since the confidentiality breach that spilled (leaked? sorry...) Braun's allegedly positive drug test into the public sphere and his appeal that stirred it into an full-blown controversy, sports fans have followed events of the case obsessively. Both prior to and following Braun's successful challenge of the result, we've continued to absorb, scrutinize, and dissect each new report with the fascinated attention usually reserved for NFL replays.

What has been a nightmare for both the player and Major League Baseball officials has become a wonderful exercise for budding writers. Here's your assignment: irrespective of your personal conclusions about Braun's veracity and the test's reliability, take the scenario in toto and create from it a cleverly crafted, multi-threaded work of popular fiction.

Do you choose a wry, comedic tone that divides the characters into good guys and bad guys, mocking the bad guys' motivations while still allowing them a certain integrity of purpose and conviction, à la Carl Hiassen's South Florida novels?

Do you fashion the story as a Stieg Larsson-meets-Patricia Cornwell medical suspense novel, choosing as your protagonist a smart, dragon-tattooed test lab assistant, alone in the world, who fends off dangerous challenges from powerful forces beyond her ken?

Are we witnessing a John le Carré entanglement of morally compromised operatives, their bosses' cynical public proclamations providing a nervous public with a reassuring cover story while concealing organizational machinations of dubious legality?

Is the Braun saga at its core an Aaron Sorkin screenplay, a workplace legal drama leading up to the conclusive scene in which the arbitrator rules for Braun, Tom Cruise receives a salute, and the fuming Marine colonel is taken away in handcuffs?

Is this a Shakespearean tragedy, a King Lear tale in which a powerful Commissioner, nearing the end of his reign, is undone in the end by a confluence of factors of his own devising?

Or is it a Dickensian redemption tale in which Ryan Braun is visited on the bases by three spirits -- the Ghosts of Princes Past, Rickies Present, and Aramises Future -- before being waved home by Ed Sedar?

Of course, you can always ditch the assignment, write a nine-minute beat poem, and major in Interdisciplinary Studies. The choice is yours!

One last tip to conclude our writer's workshop: as in reality, leaving certain details unsaid only heightens the suspense. In the wise words of Mark Harris' fictional pitching ace, Henry "Author" Wiggen, "Half the fight is knowing, and the other half is not telling."

Gary Carter, Former Expo

[Originally posted June 2, 2011]

The sad news of Harmon Killebrew's passing and the happy posthumous celebration of his admirable life in and out of baseball is now followed by a discouraging report about Hall of Fame catcher Gary Carter's medical prospects. This has not been a good season for legends.

Gary Carter, of course, led the famously rowdy 1986 New York Mets, World Series champions and touchstone heroes for a half-generation of Mets fans, from behind the plate. Not since the 1969 Miracle Mets had New York's second squad ridden in the ticker-tape parade; not since 1973 had they won a National League pennant. His larger-than-life, charismatic grin and in-charge demeanor served as tonic for a pitching staff as diverse as New York itself; four Mets starting pitchers received Cy Young Award votes in 1986. That Carter was also the best hitting catcher in baseball since Johnny Bench was more than a bonus; it was essential to the Mets' success. When Mets' closer Jesse Orosco struck out the last batter, photographers captured Carter's exuberance as he charged the mound and embraced the pitcher. They and the rest of the Mets became the toast of New York.

Following the 1986 championship, Carter was named Mets co-captain, along with Keith Hernandez. They were chosen ahead of New York icons Darryl Strawberry, Lenny Dykstra, Mookie Wilson, Ron Darling, Sid Fernandez, and the youthful phenom, Dwight Gooden. The role suited Carter perfectly; the catcher is and has always been the de facto field captain in baseball, and Carter's baseball talents, leadership qualities, and charisma made him an exceptional choice. By 1986, Gary Carter had cemented his role as a Mets team leader and his status as a New York sports hero for the ages.

And yet...and yet. When I saw the online articles reporting Carter's terrible illness, I was taken aback at the prevalence of three words in their headlines: "Former Mets Catcher". It's true, but it's far from the whole story.

The year is 1969, or perhaps 1970. New baseball curtains are purchased for my bedroom, the same room in which a 2-D Bob Gibson pitched to a 2-D Harmon Killebrew in perpetuity. The colorful team logos of the expansion Montreal Expos, San Diego Padres, Kansas City Royals, and Seattle Pilots adorn the cotton-poly fabric along with those of the twenty legacy teams. Montreal, in particular, was special for several reasons: it was almost as close to the Capital District of Upstate New York as were New York City and Boston; it was the first Canadian team in Major League Baseball history; and it had just come off a World Exposition in 1967 that inspired the team's name and lent a cosmopolitan air to the franchise. The expansion drafts prior to the 1969 season were events of fascination for Little Leaguers and adult sports fans alike -- how could you cobble together a major league team out of cast-off players, unprotected from the draft by their respective franchises?

How indeed. Just as the expansion Mets had set a modern era record for futility in 1962, the expansion teams of 1969, playing in six-team divisions, finished 4th (Royals) and 6th (Expos, Padres, Pilots). Yet by the mid-1970's, the Expos had outgrown their l'enfant terrible phase, along with their expansion roster full of Coco Laboy's, and approached respectable .500 season records. A few team stars had emerged: Rusty Staub ("Le Grand Orange"), Bob Bailey, and Ron Fairly at the plate; Steve Renko, Bill Stoneman, and Mike Marshall on the mound.

Into this mix of rag-tag irregulars arrived Gary Carter as a rookie call-up, in 1974. From 1975 to 1984, Carter became a recognizable face of the Montreal Expos: a seven-time All-Star; second in the 1980 National League MVP balloting; the league's RBI champion in 1984. But Carter was far from the Expos' only star player in franchise history; Andre Dawson, Larry Walker, Dennis Martinez, and Randy Johnson all played large portions of their All-Star careers in tiny Jarry Park or the oversized Olympic Stadium. You may have heard of one or two of them. Montreal career lifer Steve Rogers won the NL ERA crown in 1982. Tim Raines led the National League in steals four times and led the league in batting in 1986. Vlad Guerrero is still driving bad pitches into the corners. Maury Wills, Tony Perez, Al Oliver, "Mudcat" Grant, "Spaceman" Bill Lee, "Oil Can" Boyd, and Jeff Reardon were all hailed by the Expos' French-Canadian P.A. announcer at one time or another. Even Pete Rose spent a season in his 40's hustling out singles at "The O". Reaching a bittersweet pinnacle for the franchise, outfielders Walker, Moises Alou, and Marquis Grissom led the Expos to a surprising first place in the strike-shortened 1994 season.

So, yes, Gary Carter is a "Former Mets Catcher", and that great part of his career and 1986 World Series ring are worthy of celebration. He also played briefly with the Dodgers and Giants in his later years. But when Carter returned to Montreal for a ceremonial end to his 19-season career in 1992 and entered the Baseball Hall of Fame in 2003 as a Montreal Expo, that, mesdames et messieurs, was as it should be. Like the storied Expos franchise itself, it's a part of baseball history that should never be forgotten.

* * *
Epilogue: Baseball Hall of Fame Catcher and World Champion Gary Edmund Carter of the Montreal Expos, New York Mets, San Francisco Giants, and Los Angeles Dodgers died peaceably from cancer on February 16, 2012. Here's a link to an Expos-themed montage of photos and videos from Gary Carter's illustrious career and retirement ceremony, set to a hokey but fitting tribute song (tip of the script-M cap to Annakin Slayd). Here's looking at you, Kid!

Blissful Anticipation

In less than four hours, as I write this, the Milwaukee Brewers will play Game 5 of their National League Division Series against the Arizona Diamondbacks.

At this moment, all things are possible.

The Brewers could win the game. Starter Yovani Gallardo, continuing a winning streak that includes NLDS Game 1, could go seven strong with eight strikeouts, giving up only two runs, and use his uncommon hitting prowess to add a two-bagger at the plate. Slugger Prince Fielder could knock the stitches out of an Ian Kennedy fastball, driving in Ryan Braun and Corey Hart. Later, Nyjer Morgan could execute a competent safety squeeze in the sixth on a 2-1 count, one of the Brewers' tried-and-true plays, to score Jonathan Lucroy from third after Hart's second hit of the game. Utility man-cum-starter Jerry Hairston, Jr. could drive in a pair in the seventh with a solid hit the other way. Manager Ron Roenicke could then turn the game over to his pair of ace closers, Francisco Rodriguez and John Axford -- thanks, front office! -- and the Brewers could proceed with happy, laughing relief to the next round. The team's other ace, Zack Greinke, could take the hill for the Brew Crew in Game 1 of the NL Championship Series. A few breaks against the Phillies or Cardinals, and they truly could go all the way to the World Series for only the second time in franchise history.

The Brewers could lose the game. Gallardo could give up a two-run homer in the second inning and a solo shot in the third. The Brewers' hitters could struggle against the Diamondbacks' ace, who is 21-4 this season. In the sixth inning, with Kennedy finally showing some wildness and walking his second batter to load the bases with two outs, Yuniesky Betancourt could execute his favorite play and pop out on the first pitch. Rickie Weeks could miss a potential game-tying home run by three feet in the eighth, and none of the Brewers' pinch-hitters and role players could solve Arizona's average bullpen. Next year's fresh hope at third base, rookie Taylor Green, could be called upon for the final at-bat of the season ahead of Casey McGehee, whose plummeting performance this season left huge gaping holes in the lower half of the order. Or, Milwaukee-area native Craig Counsell could take the final curtain call of his career and tease the fans with a would-be gapper, only to have some speedy replacement outfielder lay out for the catch. The players then would walk around in mild shock, give monotone interviews to beat reporters and television analysts, and proceed like zombies toward their waiting families and flights home, wherever home is.

Or, as we know from "Bull Durham", it could rain. Unlike the $1.5 billion Yankee Stadium, however, Miller Park has a roof. Plus, it's a gloriously sunny day in Milwaukee today. October baseball will be played.

The crystal ball is fuzzy, the permutations and combinations are nearly infinite, but the general outline of an elimination game is always the same. It's one and done for somebody; one and onward for the other guys. The next six hours will reveal all.

Is this great, or what?

The Brewers' Diva Distractions; Or, Can We Please Be Done with Crash Davis, Already?

Most talented ballplayers have a sizable dose of the diva in them. They're good, they think they're the best -- they know they are -- and they want to play. Finding suitable roles for all 25 on a ballclub that can only field 9 at a time is a management challenge. For a rookie manager to satisfy all of his star players' and role players' egos and ids simultaneously, especially on a team unaccustomed to success and loaded with personality, is impossible.

In the last two days, in the midst of the Milwaukee Brewers' best season in 29 years, the team's fans and followers have heard two potentially disruptive comments from two of their star players. Reliever Francisco Rodriguez, acquired for a song from the Mets in mid-season, spoke Tuesday of his disdain for the 8th-inning set-up role to which he has been relegated from his accustomed 9th-inning closer role. Yesterday, slugger Prince Fielder, whom the team had extended for one last, high-priced, "all in" season in anticipation of his upcoming free agency, had the temerity to reveal -- surprise, surprise -- that this is likely his last season with the small-market Brewers. It's no surprise at all, actually, just a very strange time for truth-telling as Prince and the rest of the team struggle to clinch a post-season berth.

Let's add to this list the ongoing Mr. Toad joy-ride that is the Brewers' charming centerfielder, Nyjer Morgan, a.k.a. Tony Plush, whose charisma, energy-level, aggression, and propensity for in-your-face outspokenness have repeatedly run him afoul of the Unwritten Rules of Serious Baseball as enforced by Serious Baseball Men.

The Brewers' stretch run has turned into a referendum on the Crash Davis School of Public Relations. In the media era's classic baseball comedy, Bull Durham, failed journeyman catcher Davis instructs hotshot pitching prospect "Nuke" LaLoosh on avoiding interview calamities: "You're gonna have to learn your clichés. You're gonna have to study them, you're gonna have to know them. They're your friends. Write this down: 'We gotta play it one day at a time.'"

The Crash Davis prescription -- keep your head down, play the game as it was meant to be played, and shut up around the media -- is the wrong prescription for this team. Maybe it works generally, but not for this Crew; not in this season. The Brewers are an unruly classroom with a substitute teacher in charge. They like to make trouble; they want to stand out; they need to rock the boat. We should celebrate, not cringe, when Prince talks about going out with a blast -- isn't that the very meaning of "all in"? Allow K-Rod to blast management in the media, then watch him strike out the side in the eighth to prove his point. Don't shame Nyjer Morgan into calling himself "Tony Hush"; instead, put a television camera on him, set him on fire, and watch him blaze around the basepaths.

Brewers' manager Ron Roenicke isn't a firey speechmaker. Unlike the Durham Bulls' inept mentor in Bull Durham, he probably won't throw the bats in the shower to get the team's attention. Right now, though, he needs to do everything he can in the clubhouse to burn an unshakable vision into the brains of his charges: the unfurling of a National League pennant at Miller Park -- not just a playoff slot -- and the rare opportunity to compete for a once-in-a-lifetime World Series trophy.

To borrow from another sports tradition, this is Roenicke's Herb Brooks moment. As Olympic hockey coach Brooks said to his struggling goalie, Jim Craig, I want the guy who refused to take the standardized test. Roenicke needs to say to K-Rod, to Prince, to Tony Plush: I demand your extraordinary talent, I want that diva, I embrace your highest ambition. Above all, he needs to tell them that they never, ever have to apologize for who they are.

This is their year, and what got them here is already the best of who they are. Let Prince be Prince, let T-Plush be T-Plush, and let Frankie Rodriguez be the angriest half-season rental player ever to win a World Series.