All-Star Character

            This is how the ‘60s went for me—the White Sox would finish in second place (until they got very bad late in the decade) and the American League would lose the All-Star game.  So, Chris Sale picking up the win last night makes up for some very old and unpleasant memories.

            Sale was pretty much MIA in the NYT sports’ section; it was all Mariano Rivera and Matt Harvey, which makes sense.  The sun does rise in the east, and NYC is east of here.  But I have no problems with Rivera, in his 19^th and final season as arguably the best-ever closer.  He also looks to be an athlete who doesn’t seem to know it.

            By that I mean the sense of entitlement.  Here’s a millionaire ballplayer and future HOFer going out of his way to thank fans and workers at the other ballparks.  In Cleveland, Rivera actually told the guy who sits in the stands beating that kettle drum, “I love you.”  Last night, as Rivera prepared to enter the game in the bottom of the eighth, you could see him taking it all in—the field, the fans, the emotion.  I could be wrong, but his face registered equal parts awe, wonder and joy. 

            Now compare that to Pete Rose.  Has there ever been a ballplayer more self-centered and at the same time clueless?  So, I’ve tipped my hand on the question of Rose plowing into Ray Fosse at the plate to end the 1970 All-Star Game.  Yes, I think it was a cheap shot, and, yes, people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.

            The Sox had A.J. Pierzynski for eight years.  By all accounts, A.J. is one of, if not the most, disliked player in the majors, but it’s for his mouth, not his dirty play.  Which brings us to one Clare Bukowski, who proudly wore her Pierzynski jersey to school on sports days.

            Clare has gone after a few catchers in her time, and laid at least one flat out.  Here’s the difference between her and Charlie Hustle—my wife Michele and I waited, literally, for the dust to settle and see if we’d be taking our child to the hospital.  It’s been the same with her playing the field.  In high school, Clare had to stand in there at second base with runners barreling down.  Now, in college she’s contorted her body every which way while going after balls in right field. 

            To me, there’s a clear difference between fearless and cheap.