It’s right after death that it feels like a person is most alive.

This is especially true of great and famous men and women. We are surrounded by the recently departed, by their photos, their videos, their actions and their words as we try so drastically to try to create their essence just as the real thing is no longer available.

In this world, the true magnitude of a passing doesn’t hit until much later on, at some point in time in which we would normally consider a said person in a situation, only to find that he or she is no longer there.

Such is the case with George Steinbrenner.

Most likely, if you are reading this, you are like me–you never met him, or, if you did, it was only for a moment. In his life, he was busy running the Yankees; you and I were busy being fans, applauding and criticizing his decisions as they seemed relevant to the common cause of yet another World Series title.

We live our lives, he lived his, and if not for the vehicle of a baseball team, the probability is that they would have never intersected.

And yet, here we are now, if not necessarily blindsided, than at least stunned by the passing of a man who truly was a lion in his realm. In our remembrances, we bring him to life again.

We remember him, figurative warts and all, because his character so often made an appearance in our pastime, and even for some of us, our jobs. We will remember him not because he was perfect, but because he was human. His goal–that of winning–was human, as was the manner in which he set out to do it, a manner that could sometimes blur the lines between what was acceptable and what was not.

It does seem fitting–after all, ideals don’t play baseball; people do. Yes, people that we hail as near saints, but also people that can err–sometimes quite grievously–but people all the same.

The videos, the obituaries, the tributes will fade with the passage of time.

Yet it is because of his legacy, because of what he did, good and ill, for the baseball team we like to call our own even if we never paid a cent nor swung a bat, that his memory will not just live on, but prosper.

Some cultures pose that no one is truly dead until the last that remembers has gone as well; if this is the case, then Mr. Steinbrenner will live for a little while longer…

No longer seeing red

How Philadelphia Phillies manager Charlie Manuel snubbed him is beyond me. The Cincinnati Reds are the best hitting team in the National League and first baseman Joey Votto has had a lot to do with that.

Votto currently leads in most major offensive statistics:

SLG – 1st

OBP – 1st

OPS – 1st

BA – 6th

HR – 1st

RBI – 5th

RS- 3rd

BB- 4th

Smells like MVP to me.

The player selected ahead of the Toronto native, Phillies slugger Ryan Howard, is well behind him in these stats.

It was an odd omission only made right by the fans. Odd because the NL needs all the help it can get to win its first All-Star game since 1996. They’ve lost 12 in a row to the American League.

Mind you, I don’t want to praise fans too much. They voted for Nick Swisher of the New York Yankees over Boston Red Sox first baseman (and MVP candidate) Kevin Youkilis.

Please.

Youkilis belongs.

Recently, on one of the blogs I read regularly, there ensued a debate as to whether the commenters on that one, or on another much-frequented blog knew the game better.

Tonight, a question was posed that’s one of those so-simple-it’s-profound: “What exactly is knowing baseball?”

Immediately, a few different ideas come to mind.

There’s knowing baseball in the sense of knowing the rules, written and unwritten.

There’s knowing baseball in the sense of “I’ll take 1970s St. Louis Cardinals for $400, Alex”.

There’s knowing baseball in terms of knowing about OBP, OPS, FIP, BABIP, K/BB, WAR, LI, and so on.

There’s knowing baseball in the sense of owning season tickets, of going to as many minor league games as major league ones, and recognizing names that may or may not jump out at you.

There’s knowing baseball in the sense of knowing its place in culture and lore.

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We sit here and read blogs and writers and come to conclusions about whether or not someone knows baseball, whether or not he or she possesses the analytical mind necessary to dissect it’s “finer points”, as my grandmother likes to call ‘em.

We spend hours constructing optimal fantasy rosters–indeed, fantasy sports is now so huge (and not just baseball) that there’s a company that underwrites insurance policies for fantasy team owners.

We buy Baseball Prospectus and The Baseball Codes, Ball Four and Baseball Between the Numbers all in our effort to expand our knowledge, from the statistics to the rules of etiquette on the baseball diamond, from behind-the-scenes of a world only a select few ever get to experience, to evaluations of each and every player expected to don a Major League uniform in the coming season.

We watch The Natural and Field of Dreams, Bull Durham and the Sandlot in an effort to live and breathe that which matters so much to us, even if it has to be vicariously.

We draw conclusions, make assumptions, and then stare in wonder as these are blown up or taken down right before our very eyes.

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Is baseball truly knowable? Is it something that can be truly understood via facts and figures only, or is it something that must be intuited, something that can be grasped only by sensing it?

That, of course, is part and parcel of the scout-vs-saber debate, and it seems that we’ve reached a point where we can say, you really need a bit of both, when it comes to prospects.

Yet, you can hardly argue that evaluating prospects is the same as knowing baseball, because baseball it involves so much more.

It involves an entire mythology of its own, an entire culture and an ethos not entirely different than what you’d expect if you suddenly found religion. The similarities here may be endless. If you’re born into baseball, such as you may be born into religion, and it’s nurtured right, you may never know anything else. If it’s forced on you the wrong way, you may rebel and say you want nothing more to do with it, or you may come from the outside, with no connection other than a feeling that yes, this is right, this is where I belong.

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So what makes an intelligent baseball fan/writer/person? Someone with whom you can converse, and with whom you enjoy conversing, reading or playing or otherwise utilizing the sport?

Maybe it’s this–and this is just one example of many, many others, but it’s what comes to mind:

If you saw the 27th at-bat against Armando Galarraga on one June night not too long ago, if you shared in any part the pervading emotions–happiness, shock, outrage, sadness and then, for many, forgiveness, if you smiled with Galarraga or cried with Jim Joyce, if you advocated expansion of replay or argued for the system to remain as it is…

…if you did any of that, if you sensed and you felt like you understood what had just happened, and not just what happened but that it was important, even if you didn’t necessarily know why…

Then you understand the pull that this game can have, and if you understand the pull of the game, then you know baseball.

I’ve been watching sports for an awful long time and seen, like many people older than I, many great athletes come and go. I’ve witnessed phenoms take different sports either by storm or by whimper. 

Over time, one naturally becomes skeptical of over hyped athletes. Living up to hype is practically an impossible task. I remember reading an article about Bruce Springsteen during his first concert to Europe. Plastered all over the Hammersmith-Odeon venue were posters of him promising patrons an unforgettable rock journey. Springsteen later told  the story of how the posters posed needless additional pressure and tore them down.

Nothing hurts a performing person in whatever field more than not measuring up to a media driven promise. 

In sports we’ve seen Tony Mandarich and Lebron James and everything in between.  

That being said, I don’t recall a more hyped up athlete (Eric Lindros maybe?) than Washington Nationals pitcher Stephen Strasburg. So high were the expectations one could wonder even if he did pitch well would it satisfy observers?

We won’t have to ponder that question.

In his pitching debut against the Pittsburgh Pirates, Strasburg’s performance was one for the ages. It was stratospheric in its supremacy as he allowed two earned runs, struck out 14 and issued no walks in seven innings worked. Let me repeat the 14ks and 0 walks. All under 100 pitches; 96 I believe.

He came up one strike short of the all-time record for a pitching debut held by both Karl Spooner and J.R. Richard who each pitched a full nine innings. Judging by how Strasburg was dictating the pace of the game – literally. The game had barely been two hours old by the time he was done – it’s not a stretch to think he could have beaten the record.

I don’t know why, but for some reason, he reminded me of Steve Carlton, Doc Gooden and Pedro Martinez – all rolled into one.   

His change up was clocked at 91 mph, a lethal curve at close to 80 mph and fast ball that hit 100 mph. Such was his nasty dominance.

Granted, it’s but one game. The hype machine can yet still sink its fangs (through injuries for example) and claim another young career. However, you can be forgiven for thinking not with this guy. No way.

I don’t know of ANYONE who doesn’t think  “the call” should be overturned. Well, except for Bud Selig for some reason. Here was a chance to make good on a situation where everyone has acted with utmost grace and still the commissioner has the moxy to not make the right call himself even though the overwhelming majority of fans and casual fans alike feel he should? What planet is he on?

Everyone acknowledges the error. So MLB will pretend it never happened for the record books?

Absolutely ridiculous. A joke. A farce.

JUST OVERTURN IT FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!

For all intents and purposes, THIS is a perfect game. Life, never mind sports, is  just plain absurd filled with human folly. I’m sure Jim Joyce is feeling terrible right about now. In the aftermath of the game Joyce was extremely apologetic while Galarraga displayed remarkable sportsmanship by simply accepting his fate. Sometimes folks, life is all about the response and in how you handle things that don’t go your way.

MLB may not recognize the obvious fact a blown call prevented a perfect game, but the Detroit Tigers can honor it in their own way. And what’s with all these no-hitters and perfect games anyway?

About instant replay. Look, on this blog, I’ve been nothing but a huge proponent of it in any sports including soccer.  I really don’t get the resistance against its usage.

Years ago when I was coaching u-12 soccer I had a superbly talented player who belonged in a category higher than where he was. As most coaches know, it’s a joy to coach a talented kid; especially one that values hard work and effort. It’s less fun to handle one who doesn’t value it.

My player was a kid who didn’t feel he needed to play hard to the best of his abilities. His team mates noticed it.

A kid on the team said to me. He said, “I’d rather have a guy with less talent but plays with his heart and for his team than one who has all the talent in the world but mocks it with his selfish play.” The kid was 12.

That’s what I thought about after watching Hanley Ramirez pull his lazy stunt. Sure, it was but one play in a 162 game series, however, is it too much to ask of an athlete who earns millions to play out every other play? Seriously.

Ramirez mocked his team mates, his manager, the fans and above all else himself.

He’s not the first or last athlete to “dog it.” Far from it. That happens for a multitude of reasons (injury being one of them and Ramirez has been playing on a bad shin). It’s in the response of the athlete to it that reveals his true colors. Ramirez first let his ego control his actions and then he proceeded to offer the weak excuse “many players are dogging it here.” Or to that effect. Who cares what the others do? You can control your own actions.

He acted like a spoiled athlete who refused to take responsibility and only offered an apology once someone caught his ear. For that his manager was correct in disciplining him.

All one can hope is that he learns from it.

Health and Fitness Advice

Comments made by Mark McGwire’s bodybuilding idiot of a brother illustrate A) what a joke body building is and B) why  bodybuilders should NEVER be allowed anywhere near real athletes.

So Mark McGwire’s loose-cannon brother has come out with a book, and in it he details his big brother’s steroid and Human Growth Hormone (HGH) taking regimen.  Does anyone really care what this little man has to say about his disgraced brother?

As a matter of fact, who really could be interested in what he might have to say about anything, what it’s like to be the  talentless brother?  Is there that much interest in bottom feeders these days?

Note: Someone should ask Jay if he helped his NFL quarterback of a brother Dan McGwire get an edge, as well.

Jay McGwire’s comments really speak volumes about how little bodybuilders know and why they should be ignored when they talk about athletic performance.  Here’s a sample of idiocy from Little Jay, “Oh, his strength. His leg strength was awesome. I talked about what he is doing on the leg press — over 600 pounds for 20 reps. That is pretty good for a baseball player. And that is the key in baseball, I think. … Mark didn’t really have big legs until after that. He couldn’t do some other serious leg workouts because of his lower back issues, so we had to be careful with that.”

Hey Jay, did you stop and think the leg press machine might be responsible for your brother’s back problems?  What did you do to try to strengthen the lower back, huh? Also, as a guy who supposedly spent a lot of time in the gym, you should know that 600-pounds on the leg press is common-place, unless you’ve spent your time in Curves’ gyms.  And come on, what functional purpose does the leg press serve for a baseball player, not to mention for a guy who is approaching the end of his career? A lot of people can leg press 600-pounds for 20 repetitions, I have seen it countless times and it is completely unimpressive.  It also proves nothing and is indicative/predictive of nothing.

More nonsense. “And obviously his arm strength, getting those hands through the [hitting] zone. Think about it, it is pretty remarkable. He is gaining 30 pounds over three years, and that is the right way to do it because you go slow and the body reacts slow in the ways of getting it more flexible. So Mark was more flexible 30 pounds heavier. Now think about that torque that he could have. That is why the ball was going out of stadiums.”

WTF? This is gibberish. It would take thousands and thousands of words to try to decipher this garbage. It’s classic bodybuilding, throw some jargon around, figure you’ll impress/intimidate people who supposedly don’t know as much, and Voila, you sound like an expert.  He actually sounds like a moron.

At 170-180 pounds Roger Maris, Mickey Mantle and Hank Aaron were hitting home runs, why couldn’t Mark McGwire hit them at 225-pounds?  Oh, and the Cardinals’ new hitting instructor had more strike outs than hits during his years as an active player in St. Louis.

Then Jay McGwire spoke about his brother’s drug cycles.  More Neanderthal musings.  Just like Greg Anderson, the alleged personal trainer who ruined Barry Bonds’ body with steroids and unsound training, Jay McGwire dosed his brother up with massive amounts of drugs.  Again, bodybuilders who don’t do anything that can be considered even remotely athletic just need to add muscle, and ingest tons of drugs.  Baseball players and real athletes don’t need to pack on muscle at any cost, especially at the cost Jay McGwire exacted on his brother’s body.

No less of an expert than BALCO Labs’ Victor Conte says, “The first thing you are going to see is size. You are using Dbol (Dianabol) and this stuff at this dosage, you’re going to look like Hercules, if he is doing the weight training. At 12 weeks and those dosages, this is not baby food.”  By the way, you can train like Olive Oil and you’ll look like Popeye if you dose up like Mark McGwire did.

The final insult comes in the form of this statement by Jay McGwire, “Jay McGwire repeatedly stressed that any changes weren’t just from the drugs, but that his brother trained ridiculously hard, often six days a week. And the combination paid off.” This is just bullshit.  The drugs are responsible for allowing someone to train “ridiculously hard, six days a week.”

Don’t buy this nonsense. And don’t but the malarkey that teammates and team personnel didn’t know what was going on.

Mark McGwire cheated by taking performance-enhancing drugs because he wanted to break home run hitting records and his brother was right there with him every step of the way.

Health and Fitness Advice

Spare us the tears, Mark.  It’s 2010 and nobody is buying the pathetic nonsense that you didn’t take steroids to help you hit home runs.  Furthermore, if it weren’t for steroids – not androstenedione, creatine or any other supplement – Mark McGwire would have been out of baseball around the time he was setting home run records.

Steroids were responsible for allowing McGwire to embark on his magical 8-year run that began in Oakland in 1995.  That’s all we needed to hear.  Not getting that simple,unqualified admission made the McGwire/Costas interview kind of silly.

McGwire acted like a little kid who got caught doing something wrong and broke down in an attempt to minimize the punishment and engender some sympathy.

Although it is sad that McGwire is still lying to himself and is still in denial about his steroid use.  His claim that he didn’t take steroids to hit home runs defies logic, especially when you consider that Little Mac had the help of a public relations firm.

And let’s ignore Tony LaRussa’s defense of McGwire.  LaRussa was on the scene of two of the biggest steroid scandals in baseball’s history, the Jose Canseco/McGwire A’s and the McGwire St. Louis Cardinals, and now he wants to bring Mac back to the scene of one of the crimes.  I wrote about this years ago, and my case holds up to this day.  LaRussa has managed to skate through all these years without having any of this steroid stink stick to him.  Don’t buy this “Teflon Don’s” take on McGwire or anything to do with the steroids in baseball story.

The overlooked joke of this whole story is that Mark McGwire is coming back as the Cardinals’ hitting instructor.  McGwire is a guy who struck out once every 4 times at bat and was worthless at the plate when he didn’t hit a home run.  In his last year, after the steroids had ravaged his body, he had a .187 average, 56 hits with 29 home runs and 4 doubles.  He struck out 118 times in 299 at-bats, the 4th highest total of his career in about 40% fewer total at-bats for the season.

The bottom line is that Mark McGwire got another chance to come clean and he blew it.