The All Star Break has indeed arrived, providing it’s usual prompt for differing opinions on a variety of mundane topics, ranging from how exactly home field advantage should be tabulated in the Fall Classic, to whether every single team should have it’s respective existence justified with an All Star selection. The answers to these questions are relatively simple, but it doesn’t stop the media from pondering philosophical for days on end.
[By the way, there is no right way to determine home field advantage in the World Series. The prevailing argument at this current unstable juncture calls for the team with the best record to be awarded home field, but even that seemingly sane opinion can be easily challenged: If an NL team has the superior record in this particular season, their dominance would definitely include a caveat, that being success reaped over inferior competition. I say give it to the League who won the Inter-League battle. If nothing else, it would annoy pessimistic purists to a laughable boiling point. Always a worthwhile exercise.]
Without further digression, here is my personal take on another glorious half of Major League Baseball, from my perch as a constant surveyor of all things Yankees and Red Sox. Aside from the rather deviant steroid mess, it is of my opinion that Bud Selig and company have unwittingly stumbled into a Golden Age, not unlike Christopher Columbus discovering America by utter accident, or the Twins drafting Joe Mauer instead of Mark Prior strictly for financial reasons. This era, it’s importance, stretches for beyond the relative relevance of the Bronx Bombers and Sox.
But then again, it never does get old analyzing the merits of each eternal rival.
Boston Red Sox- Built to win
It has been a roller coaster ride for both team and nation, one currently on an upward arch, thanks in large part to unfathomable excellence from a previously unproven closer [The eerily efficient Mr. Papelbon]
All it took was one rough outing on Opening Day against Texas for manager Terry Francona to pull the plug on the closing career of 2004 Post-Season Hero Keith Foulke, whose status in Boston has careened from mythical to maligned. The decisive maneuver instantly catapulted the bullpen from suspect to reliable, an upgrade owed entirely to one John Papelbon.
Papelbon’s performance echoes sublime, his pitches zoom toward their targeted destination as if controlled by radar. His demeanor is flawless, the role as stopper played with equal parts serenity and menace. Some argue that his performance would be better utilized within the embattled rotation, yet, common sense prevails: Untouchable closers only present themselves once in a great while. Franchises either search, or sit contently with the knowledge of their discovery.
Whispers concerning Papelbon, his role, only imply the severity of this team’s weakness. The starting pitching has been alternately injured, inconsistent, or ineffective. Josh Beckett, Hot Stove Savior, has been obscenely prone to the home run, especially on road terrain. The problem with Beckett lies with his style in pitching, his strategy, which bathes in competitive fire, leaving him often burnt. When he cannot locate the curve, dropping it early in the count for easy strikes, he refuses to make necessary adjustments, opting instead to throw the uncooperative sphere harder. These reoccurring instances usually result in bonus batting practice for the opposition.
On the flip side of the coin, when Beckett can locate his breaking ball, the year may well be reset to 2003, the month October, and the occasion Game Six of the World Series. If Josh can harness the elusive curve, and if he can corral the electric fastball, throwing it to spots instead of anywhere and everywhere, he can be an ace, the pitcher that the Red Sox traded prodigal Hanley Ramirez for. If not, that particular transaction will be a blotch on Epstein’s resume, instead of another gold plated notch.
On the other hand, Curt Schilling, while wrangling with his own home run dispensing demons, has impressed many a cynic who doubted a successful journey on the come back trail. The trademark splitter doesn’t dive as much as it slopes, and the fastball may lack its previously requisite biting action, but his guile and experience are overwhelming forces against the bane of age.
In back of the two horses and consummate professional Tim Wakefield, David Wells has gotten hurt, Matt Clement has been certified a bust, and Jason Johnson couldn’t capture lightening in a bottle.
On the brighter side, rookie Jon Lester, despite a penchant for stumbling into jams, has impressed with both a steely poise and big league breaking ball.
Offensively, Boston has enhanced their bounty by diversifying their output. In place of walk freak/strikeout king Mark Bellhorn, who anchored second base in their championship campaign, Mark Loretta has proven his excellence in the execution of fundamentally sound ideals. He has been a frequent employer of the hit and run, a proud surveyor of pitches out of the strike zone, simply put, he has set the table for the heavy hitting tandem of David Ortiz and Manny Ramirez. With all apologies to Bellhorn, whose high on base percentage rightfully had stat heads everywhere swooning in reverie, Loretta brings far more to the dance with each and every at-bat. Stagnation is the first step toward futility, and while a single dimensioned performer such as Bellhorn could feed that beast, a Loretta only slays it.
On Base percentage, however, is perhaps the most valuable of all statistical advancements in the past fifty years, for it often expresses the true value of a hitter’s performance. Slap hitters who coast on a haughty reputation manufactured by the flawed marker of batting average* may find their paychecks downsized in the coming years, for as front offices become more in tune with statistical affluence, their services may lower in demand. Exhibit A in the overwhelming argument for .OBP may well be Kevin Youkillis. Dubbed in heroic tome as the ” Greek God of Walks” in the book “Moneyball”, Kevin’s approach in the batter’s box can be best described as undeniably assertive. He simply refuses to swing at pitches out of the strike zone, beyond content with taking a walk. Most impressive about Youkillis is that his plan refuses flexibility. Whether he is squaring off against All Star Mark Redman or Mike Mussina, one can count on a protracted turn at the dish. So effective are his at-bats, his cold compression of the sixteen-inch plate, that Youkillis hijacked Coco Crisp’s status as leadoff man.
And what of Covelli, called Coco? Johnny Damon’s heir apparent in center field hasn’t ripped off a characteristic hot streak yet, and has been shuffled around the Sox lineup, yet to discover a modicum of stability. Crisp has the reliable alibi of an injury to serve as an explanation for his disappointing performance, but if Boston squanders its lead, he could be miscast as a scapegoat for the team’s failings.
Alex Gonzalez was bought aboard to provide his routinely eye-popping defense at short, the glacial movements of an overwhelmed Edgar Renteria still fresh in the mind of an avenging front office. Gonzalez has become an invaluable cog in a smooth running defense machine, all the while bolstering his batting average well above respectability. His contributions may be somewhat overlooked, and the batting line may well regress toward career normalcy, but Gonzalez has provided enduring consistency, the mark of any winning team.
Boston’s defensive brilliance is the precise explanation for their current pole position in the American League East standings. Certainly, the mammoth output conjured by the dynamic duo of Ortiz and Ramirez is an unquestionable, continual factor in the Red Sox’s yearly excellence, but it is the defense, a previously foreign concept to the team just a decade prior, that can elevate them above the rest.
Quick Takes:
1. Trot Nixon’s decline in power will result in him wearing a different uniform next year. He wasn’t going to hit .330 all season, and without the pop, his assets are severely limited from a corner outfield spot.
2. Jason Varitek also appears on a rapid decline, getting beat on fastballs he used to crush.
3. The bullpen has been solid, as stated earlier, but it doesn’t erase the duel signings of Julian Tavarez and Rudy Seanez. Yuck.
4. Anibal Sanchez, another casualty in the risky Beckett transaction, has retained his status as an elite prospect down in Florida. While still unproven at the big league level, if Sanchez figures it out, and if Beckett doesn’t, that trade will look absolutely awful in the coming years.
5. How about Mike Lowell? Give him credit for deconstructing his swing and designing a new, better one.
New York Yankees- Wounded Bombers Fight On
A twisted prophet could not even begin to foretell the cosmic misfortune conspiring to annihilate the Yankees’ chances of competing for a Championship this October.
How’s this for some distorted trivia?
Every single soul who suited up as a starting fielder for New York on Opening Night in Oakland has missed at least one contest for a cause related to injury.
Hideki Matsui broke his wrist diving for a ball. Gary Sheffield suffered the same malady after a high-speed collision down the first base line with bulky Shea Hillenbrand.
[The idea that the Yankees’ somehow deserve these injuries because of roster construction is idiotic groupthink practiced by scribes who despise all things pinstriped. Remember, we are always at war with Eastasia. And the Yankees.]
Carl Pavano, practically hailed as a savior during Spring Training, hasn’t thrown a single pitch in anger during the 2006 sojourn. Carl, a hero in the 2003 Postseason, who displayed heart, tenacity, and talent on a pressure packed stage, has had his mental toughness questioned during an unsuccessful stay in the Big Apple. To gleefully skewer Pavano would be wrong, to question the wisdom behind his very signing would be only sensible.
The rest of the rotation has carried the weight of Pavano’s invisibility reasonably well. It just seems that expectation needs to be lowered to better parallel reality. For instance, expectation demands that Randy Johnson intimidate his way to 25 wins and a Cy Young, while reality offers a sporadic Big Unit, a charter member of the First Ballot being abused by the dregs of time, whose greatness can still occasionally shine through the spreading cracks. The facts hold that Johnson is simply a lock for 15 wins. His putrid ERA not withstanding, a season staked on a 42 year old pitcher is bound to fail. If however, that wily old hurler can still contribute toward a winning cause, than his trying would be far from worthless, in fact, it’d be invaluable. Johnson’s future can’t be judged by the past, his present disregard by the immediate, the essence of his overall season will lie somewhere in the middle. Expectations need to conform within circumstance: In the end, he may have a high E.R.A., but with enough reside of that prior greatness, he can still propel the Yankees toward their obsessive goal.
If Johnson has been in transition, a dominator becoming a battler, Mike Mussina has morphed, from suspect to nearly perfect. The control artist has been the Yankees unquestioned ace, compiling numbers rivaling his career best. He doesn’t have that same explosive fastball, but what time has corroded intellect has restored, as an improved change-up heightens his entire repertoire. Working off the change instead of his fastball, Mussina is able to devilishly set up hitters, forcing their weight shift wildly out of sync, a dour puppeteer.
While the continued emergence of Chien Ming Wang, he of the turbo sinker, has further validated a ridiculed Yankee farm system, the evaporation of Shawn Chacon has been demoralizing. Chacon, a feel pitcher who lives on the corners, has far too often nibbled his outings away, departing with the bullpen having to clean up an irreversible mess. Displaying the brooding behavior that the Rockies grew unhappily accustomed to, Chacon has completely fallen out of the Yankees’ favor, and will be traded before the dealing deadline. The horrific pitching of both Chacon and Aaron Small just may have restored the karmic balance of the universe.
In the bullpen, it took two months of superb work for Ron Villone to finally reach entry in Joe Torre’s ring of trust, a circle that includes both the obvious [Mariano Rivera] and the inexplicable [Looking at you Scott Proctor]
Proctor, who in scout’s parlance does indeed have a belly full of guts, just doesn’t own enough talent to pitch every day in high leverage situations. In fact, he is a much better fit at the back end of the rotation. With a straight fastball and below average slider, Proctor leaves many a Yankee fan pining for the glory days of Flash Gordon.
Proctor’s foil is undoubtedly Kyle Farnsworth. Talent isn’t Kyle’s problem. He unfurls gas, bullets clocked at 99 MPH. His slide piece is wicked, a real knee bender that slants violently out of the strike zone. Farnsworth’s primary enemy is his own brain. Stereotyping may cast him as a brainless jock, but when he is beat, it is often in over-thinking, vanquished by way of hanging slider instead of blazing fastball. How Farnsworth ever rationalizes that his slider is a better option than his fastball is a mystery, but the answer may reside in the very competitive impulses that allow athletes to thrive.
The slider is a sultry temptress, a flagrantly easy gateway out of any given dire strait. When thrown properly, the slider is untouchable. However, it can be an ineffective dealing of doom when thrown incorrectly. Any number of variables can cause a slider to fly awry. For instance, when it is gripped to tightly, its spin choked, the pitch often backs up right down the middle, missing only a written notification declaring it’s ineptitude.
” Hit me.”
But, one could easily comprehend why a big league pitcher would be seduced, placed under the slider spell. After all, any Major Leaguer is in undeniable possession of almost inhuman confidence, a trait that could become weakness where the slider is concerned.
The truly competent pitcher will never a fear a legendary mistake with the slider, because it is ingrained in their system to simply disbelieve that such a disaster could ever befall them. So they throw it. Over and over, even if they are beat with it, because they’re pride will never allow defeat to creep into their minds. That is, perhaps, until one fateful October night, when it is too late, and the slider cascades helplessly, right down the middle…
Farnsworth is addicted to the slider, a delivery unreliable at its basic core. And it could kill the Yankees in a big situation. Ask Brad Lidge, or Mark Wohlers, if they could have that one fateful slider back, if they should have gone with the heat.
While Farnsworth wrestles with the slider, Mariano Rivera solidifies his own legend. His pitch selection will never discover scrutiny, because there is only one choice to employ: the cutter. And as long as Mo has his cutter, he has greatness. And long after it leaves, he will always possess the grace and class that has almost overshadowed his place in history:
Best relief pitcher now, and forever.
In the absence of the two corner outfielders, Melky Cabrera and a company have done an efficient job. Cabrera will be remembered for holding down the fort admirably if the Yankees make a late drive into the Post-Season.
Bernie Williams, the revered one, will deserve the same praise.
Alex Rodriguez, psychological analysis aside, has had a sub par first half, but his enduring curse of superhuman ability will eventually eradicate any emotional difficulty, and the team will rest safely on his shoulders for at least one month of the next half. Derek Jeter, his neighbor in the infield, is having his all around best season since 1999, in spite of a slight drop off in the power department. Ironically, while many thought the stature of Derek Jeter would be lessened with the dawn of A-Rod in New York, it has only been reinforced, often at the expense of his unfairly badgered teammate. What fans see inside of Jeter, the mental toughness, is what they yearn for from Alex. They need Rodriguez to win, win like Jeter, for the Yankees to reclaim their place atop the peak. What they refuse to understand is that these are two uniquely different individuals.
Alex will never be Derek.
It should be good enough.
One day, it will be good enough.
They’re going to share that infield for a long time together.
Quick Takes
1. Jason Giambi has the best eye of any player I’ve ever had the privilege to watch everyday. He is a definite MVP candidate.
2. Before his injury, Robinson Cano was proving his critics, those predicting his demise due to inferior plate discipline, completely incorrect. Hopefully the time off won’t screw up his complicated mechanics at the plate.
3. Jaret Wright has been solid. Seriously. Look it up.
4. Brian Cashman will really show me something if he holds onto prospects Phil Hughes and Jose Tabata. Dynasties are built, not bought.
5. This team has heart. That can’t be underestimated, especially in big games. It should be a fun stretch drive.
