Sunday, June 29, 2014

Time


This is how I mark the passage of time in my life.  On Friday, the Pirates traded closer Jason Grilli to the Angels.  Ten years ago, Grilli went 2-3 as a spot starter for the White Sox.  That same summer, my 12-year old year old daughter hit .320 in Pony Ball and pitched 1/3 of an inning for me.  The next year, without Grili, the Sox won the World Series, and Clare switched to softball.

Got it?   

Saturday, June 28, 2014

Musical Interludes


Yesterday morning, I was driving around to “Green Onions” by Booker T and the MGs, which just so happened to be the walkup music for one of Clare’s teammates this spring.  Of course, that got me thinking about softball and how strange it is to have my summer weekends free now and forever more.

Then, in the evening, the three of us went to Morton Arboretum for an outdoor concert by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra.  It was Mendelsohn, Tchaikovsky and Beethoven.  I hate the notion of either/or in life, either you love sports or culture.  My power hitter was sitting there next to me, and she kept me up to date on the White Sox-Blue Jays game.  Two more homers for Jose Abreu to go with Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony.  Not “or” but “and.”

Tuesday, June 24, 2014

Tidbits


Tidbits

Clare and I traded these tidbits after dinner.  She went first, telling me about a 17-year old girl who on Monday pitched batting practice to the Rays for ten minutes.  According to news stories, Chelsea Baker learned to throw a knuckleball from Joe Niekro when she played on the same Little League baseball team as his son.  Baker, who pitches for her high school team in Plant City, Florida, looked pretty good against Evan Longoria and Jose Molina.  Rays’ manager Joe Maddon issued the invitation to Baker after appearing at her school.  I always said the knuckleball was an underutilized weapon.

After hearing the above, I told Clare about a study out of England that claims the best athletes are born in October and November.  My child, born November 20th, was happy to hear that, but I’m not sure she was too surprised.
Now, if she could just learn to throw a knuckler….

Monday, June 23, 2014

A League of Their Own


Yesterday, the Tribune ran a story on the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League that actually noted one of the inaccuracies in the movie, “A League of Their Own”: The movie has the league playing baseball its inaugural season of 1943 when in fact it was fast-pitch softball.

Still, the AAGPL was pretty interesting, with as many as ten teams (1948) and attendance over 900,000 (also ’48, the information here coming from the AAGPL website).  That’s not bad, considering most of the teams played in small Midwestern cities like Ft. Wayne, Kenosha and Racine.  The league even tried to establish youth and minor league teams to ensure the flow of talent.

So, why did the AAGPL fold after the 1954 season, by which time the pitchers had switched to throwing baseballs overhand?  There are a bunch of possible reasons, including poor management; the impact of television on attendance; and the difficulty of developing players in a pre-Title IX world.  But I’d also look at a few other factors as well.

Today, the Chicago Bandits play in a four-team league.  What, four softball teams in a nation of some 300 million human beings?  What’s going on here?  It probably all boils down to interest.  Men and women may have different notions of what it means to be a fan, or it may just be a factor of deep pockets (hello, Warren Buffett, Bill Gates and Oprah Winfrey).  If women’s professional athletics is important as a stand-alone entity, people have to start standing up.  Otherwise, it’s sparse crowds and teams going belly-up.           

Or maybe the movie title says it all.  A league of their own is like the Negro Leagues, and that wasn’t quite the same as the big show.

Saturday, June 21, 2014

The GM Speaks


The GM Speaks

We were watching Twins-White Sox last night when Clare said, “If I were a general manager, I’d put [the always-hustling, high-energy] Sam Fuld, Adam Eaton and Reed Johnson in my outfield.”  Johnson and Fuld are both 5’ 10”, or so says Who’s Who in Baseball, while Eaton comes in at 5’ 8”.  If I didn’t know better, I’d think my daughter was talking in code.  These are major league ballplayers no bigger than softball…girls.
Did I father the next Jackie Robinson, or Branch Rickey?  Time will tell.

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

Softball Chairs


So, there I was sweeping out the garage this morning and BOOM!  The memories come flooding back, all because of two chairs hanging off the rafters.

Clare’s first summer of travel ball we either sat in the bleachers, which does little for a person’s back, or tried to make do with cheap chairs that kept falling apart.  The next season we switched to very fancy reclining chairs, the garage ones.  Little did I know when I bought them that they possessed the magical ability to gain weight.  The hotter it got, the heavier the chairs felt as I lugged them from field to field or back to the car.  The weekend we spent in Toledo, those chairs must’ve weighed 100 pounds each.

It was an 80/90 weekend, humidity to heat.  You need to drink in those conditions, only the complex had no water fountains.  The concession stands, though, did sell bottled water that we shelled out $50 for over the course of two days.  Of course, that had to be the weekend Clare’s team made it all the way to the championship game.  That guaranteed our driving home on a Sunday night in the dark.

Fool us once, shame on you; there was no second time.  We went out and bought two lightweight camping chairs that literally brought oohs and ahs from people, along with a nice rolling cooler for our water and healthy snacks.  Thus did our family travel forearmed ever after.

I threw out the fancy chairs after sweeping.  Let someone else drag them around.   

Tuesday, June 17, 2014

Guessing


Clare was so upset she called from work yesterday.  “Guess who died? Somebody I really liked.”  It was Tony Gwynn, one of her favorite players.

Why my daughter took to Frank Thomas, I have no idea.  Tony Gwynn, however, made perfect sense.  Clare played on the Bronco Ball Padres for a summer or two, and I liked how Gwynn approached the game, so I would have passed that on to my young hitter.  You don’t have to look like an athlete to be one.  And at 5’ 11”, Tony Gwynn did not look like someone who would collect 3141 hits over twenty seasons, only in one of which he failed to hit .300.

I particularly remember Gwynn helping Ted Williams throw out the first pitch for the 1999 All-Star Game at Fenway Park; a lesser man might have tried to trip old Teddy Ballgame.  Williams liked Gwynn, but not to the point of forgoing criticism.  Gwynn hit with a “toothpick,” he wasn’t tapping into his power, he needed to turn on inside pitches….For his part, Gwynn loved Williams’ The Science of Hitting.

Yesterday was a big day for our daughter; the new car, her first one ever, was ready.  But she just couldn’t let it go.  “I hate when people do dumb things,” Clare told me, and by that she meant dipping tobacco, which was the probable cause of the cancer that killed Gwynn.  Of that, she need not worry with me.  I tried Mail Pouch once, and only once.   

Monday, June 16, 2014

Field of Dreams


Kevin Costner spent part of his weekend in Dyersville, Iowa, to help commemorate the 25th anniversary of “Field of Dreams.”  The national news picked up on that, if not the controversy surrounding America’s favorite ball field by the corn.

I was a very angry camper in 1989, upset the White Sox were going to abandon a landmark for a free stadium courtesy of our elected leaders.  (The outrageously generous lease agreement based stadium rent on attendance, meaning the worse the Sox did on the field and at the gate, the less they paid; talk about questionable incentives.)  Michele thought seeing the movie might cheer me up.  She was right.

I tend to think the Black Sox took the money in 1919 and threw the Series that year, but I also believe in the quality of mercy, which Baseball Commissioner Kenesaw Mountain Landis most certainly did not.  Landis punished the Black Sox, and they got their revenge in a movie.  Call it Hollywood karma.  But Ray Liotta really should have tried to bat left-handed, like Shoeless Joe Jackson.
The news reports said nothing about the turmoil the new owners of the movie site have caused with their development plan.  The mayor and three council members who agreed to a bunch of new softball and baseball fields surrounding the original were voted out of office last November, and a group has filed a lawsuit to stop the city from rezoning farmland for commercial use.  Still, from what I could tell, everyone looked happy watching the movie on an outdoor screen Saturday at dusk, a perfect time for ghosts to move in and out of the corn.

Friday, June 13, 2014

An Ice Skater, Really? An Ice Skater?


This week, the White Sox signed Olympic speed skater and Silver medalist Eddy Alvarez to a minor league contract.  A shortstop, Alvarez last played baseball in 2011.

What a wonderful message, in the true spirit of Jackie Robinson, to send to women softball players—We don’t care how long it’s been since he last played.  He’s a guy.

Thursday, June 12, 2014

Blasphemy


Father and daughter spent the evening watching baseball—Sox Win!  Sox Win!—and badmouthing the World Cup.  A good time was had by all.

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

Influences


How does the nursery rhyme go?  Oh, right, little girls are sugar and spice and all things nice.  I wonder. 

Clare is a very good swimmer, enough so that she was asked to join a club long before she played softball.  If she had a role model, it was Amy Van Dyken.  My daughter liked that the Olympic swimmer spit water at opponents.  Clare was all of eight at the time of the Sydney Olympics.

I’m happy to report Clare never spit at another player, teammate or otherwise.  But plenty of infielders out there can attest to the gusto of a certain base runner who always slid hard into second base to break up double plays.  Cuts and bruises given bothered Clare no more than cuts and bruises received.
On Friday, Van Dyken severed her spine in an ATV accident.  The fire that burns does not go out when an athlete retires; it seeks release in all sorts of ways.  I pray for my daughter every night.

Tuesday, June 10, 2014

You Just Can't Win


Today, a Chicago sportswriter came up with this gem:  “All of a sudden, the Cubs were trying to complete a perfect homestand.  [They went 5-1.]  How stupid is that?”  No more than slamming them for losing all the time.

I try not to wallow in nostalgia.  While parts of my childhood were idyllic, I never contacted polio, and I never grew up on the other side of a racial boundary that defined so much of Chicago life in the 1950s and ’60s.  That said, I’ll take the old sportswriters to these guys any day.  

For openers, the old-timers made me want to read.  David Condon, Jerome Holtzman and Bill Gleason all came out of the so-called “Greatest Generation.”  I know Gleason saw combat, which may explain his writing style, always direct, nothing wasted, like running from foxhole to foxhole.  The same went for Condon and Holtzman.  Together, they turned baseball into a sport worth following.

And now?  Everyone wants to be the next Jay Mariotti, except for having to go to court over domestic abuse charges. In print and on the air, commentators mock in equal measure to the way networks treat a sport as if they were covering Mother Teresa.  Give me the old days of Condon et al anytime.   

Monday, June 9, 2014

Bricks and Ivy


Why is the Ricketts family acting like the Keystone Cops?  I take that back.  The Cops would have gotten Wrigley Field’s renovation started by now.

Late last month, Cub management announced plans to move the bullpens from foul territory down either line to a spot under the outfield bleachers.  This would require knocking holes into the outfield walls for pitchers to look out through, and that would mean getting rid of some landmark protected bricks, to say nothing of ivy.

The only problem is, the Cubs don’t have the authority to do any of that, as they learned when city hall told them as much, and I couldn’t be happier.  The ballpark is an official landmark that its owners can’t gut as they please.  I’m sure the Cubs would love to pull off what the White Sox did nearly twenty years ago by claiming, it ain’t original.  The bleachers and ivy date to the late 1930s.

When the White Sox were hell-bent on getting a new facility for free in the 1980s, they had to go through the motions of submitting to a report on the historic nature of Comiskey Park, this strictly from an engineering standpoint.  Talk about stacking the deck.  The report came back that very little of the original facility from 1910 was still around, ergo, there was nothing historic to save.  Case closed, the White Sox feed from the public trough.  Indeed, the late ’80s were very different times.

People tend to think of landmarks—if they do at all—as places frozen in time, like the birthplace of someone famous.  Call it log-cabin syndrome.  But by this definition, hardly anything qualifies as a landmark.  Do you think the White House has remained unchanged since its opening in 1801?  My god, Obama has electricity.  Tear it down!

Well, that’s how my White Sox would do it.   

Sunday, June 8, 2014

Is Softball Sexist?


Yesterday, Sports Illustrated senior editor Emma Span wrote an op-ed piece in the NYT  asking, “Is Softball Sexist?”  Her answer was an unequivocal Yes.  The funny thing for me is that I’d stop sending pretty much the same essay to the Times after numerous rejections each spring.  Me no write good, I guess.

Anyway, I wanted to know what Clare thought of the piece.  You can’t expect someone who’s just gone through eight years of intense softball on the high school and college levels to turn on her sport, and she didn’t.  What I found interesting, though, was my daughter’s observation that, “All the best hitters I met played baseball first.”  And Clare, of course, belongs among them.
What I’d like to see is the Cubs opening up Wrigley Field to women for a little batting practice as part of its hundred-year anniversary.  I mean, the All American Girls Professional Baseball League was the brainchild of P.K. Wrigley, so why not?   

Friday, June 6, 2014

MLB Draft Day


In its never ending attempt to ape the NFL, major league baseball tried to make a production out of its annual draft yesterday.  I particularly (dis)liked the number-one draft choice singing karaoke.  Worse, in Chicago where football reigns as a 364-days-a-year story, comes the news that next year’s NFL draft could move to the Windy City.  Radio City Music Hall won’t be available.  Seriously.

Hmm, the Rockettes perform at Radio City.  Maybe baseball could take a hint from them and actually draft a woman.  What a kick in the butt of the sports’ establishment that would be.     

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

Finished


The Women’s College World Series ended with Florida beating Alabama, two games to none.  Really, anything that bills itself as a world series has to be best of seven.

Alabama went old school, starting Jaclyn Traina a second straight day, even though she’d thrown 114 pitches 24-hours earlier; Traina didn’t make it out of the second inning.  Conversely, Florida used three pitchers in a 6-3 win.

And now all the seniors on both teams find themselves in the same predicament as my daughter.   Clare has defined herself as an athlete for so long, what does she do now?  Walk away, get fat, play in co-ed league?  ESPN doesn’t have answers for that.     

Tuesday, June 3, 2014

Say What?


The announcers for last night’s Women’s College World Series game on ESPN alternated between gibberish and cliché.  Item #1:  Alabama starting pitcher Jaclyn Traina was throwing at 70 miles per hour, “which is like 100 miles per hour in baseball.”  Then tell me, why doesn’t somebody see what Traina could do with a baseball in her right hand?

And then we have this gem—Florida pitcher Hannah Rogers “pitches to contact.”  Well, so has every pitcher with a career ERA over 4.00.  Better to say that Rogers depends on groundballs rather than strikeouts.  Tommy John did, too.     

Monday, June 2, 2014

Coach Q


The Blackhawks lost game seven of the Western Conference finals to the L.A. Kings in overtime last night, so there’ll be no Stanley Cup repeat in Chicago this year.  When it was over, Hawks’ coach Joel Quenneville had to appear for the obligatory postgame media session.  Lesser coaches have imploded over lesser losses, but not Quenneville.  That would have been totally out of character for the man.

I’ve never met him, but my nephew Nathan did, twice, the first time as a waiter; Coach left a big tip.  Nathan reminded him of that when Coach came to visit a few weeks before Nathan’s death last March of pediatric cancer.  He was 23.
Clare hit a homerun in Florida for her cousin, a hockey coach dropped by to visit.  Each did what they could to help a boy deal with the worst break imaginable.  If nothing else, their actions made an impression on me.

Sunday, June 1, 2014

'06-'10-'14


Eight years ago next weekend, Clare graduated eighth grade.  During her party, she snuck in to watch Northwestern play in the Division I Women’s College World Series; the Wildcats finished second.  Four years ago, Clare graduated high school and watched UCLA win the Series.  I watched, too, because that was my job as a father, and to drive to wherever next week’s tournament was being held.

Yesterday, on May 31, 2014, our daughter graduated yet again.  It was a sunny day in Elmhurst, as evidenced by my sunburned forehead and scalp; the commencement speaker went on about achieving goals the way he had in setting up a PPO health plan for some state or country, I’m not sure which.  I was only twenty-four hours removed from a trip to the emergency room for “peripheral vertigo.”  Who knew a human being could vomit so while lying flat down on a floor?

We had a nice lunch after the ceremony, changed and watched this year’s World Series.  We liked Oregon, but they’re out.  And I won’t be driving to a tournament next weekend.