The Votes Are In

 First, I read a passionate defense of HOF candidate Mike Piazza that dismissed all allegations that the former catcher did steroids.  Two days ago, I heard a sportswriter cite Piazza’s acne-filled back and extreme mood swings as evidence of steroids’ use and reasons not to vote for him.  Well, Piazza will be giving his induction speech at Cooperstown come this July.

Either Piazza is right and he never did steroids, or he’s confident that real proof will never come out.  Personally, I wouldn’t want to be guilty of something while proclaiming my innocence; that would only come back to bite me somewhere sensitive.  For Piazza, that would mean blackmail or juicy details spread over weeks in the New York Post.  So, I’m going with the man is innocent of PEDs.

Still, I’d change HOF voting procedures.  Is there any bigger group of cowards than HOF voters?  They want guidance on how to handle players from the steroids’ era.  Hint: decide for yourselves whether or not PEDs’ use was right, and then have the courage of your convictions.  You want Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens enshrined, fine, then vote for them.  Problem solved.

I’m more concerned with players left out of Cooperstown for no good reason—basically, other than that they didn’t play long enough in New York.  Tommie John, Jim Kaat, Minnie Minoso, Billy Pierce, Alan Trammel, Lee Smith: what a mass of talent to go unrecognized.  Again, let me suggest that fans take the place of the veterans’ committee to decide on players no longer on the ballot.  Make a list of candidates and set a number—not a percentage—of votes to qualify.  Then open up the voting for a two-week period at $25-$50 a vote; either mandate one vote per person or allow ballot-box stuffing like they do for last roster spots for the All-Star Game, I don’t care.  Any player who receives the necessary votes gets inducted.  That, or the top three.  And do it every year.

Baseball wants my money all the time.  Why not as a HOF voter, too?

Closer to Home

Guess who sent a representative to the recent climate change conference in Paris?  Why, the NHL, of course.  Truly, of all the major sports, hockey is the most affected by climate change.  After all, warm temperatures and ice don’t mix.

That’s pretty much what Omar Mitchell, NHL vice president for corporate social responsibility (and doesn’t that sound like an oxymoron), told the Washington Post: “We need cold weather; we need fresh water to play.  Therefore, our game is directly impacted by climate change and fresh water scarcity.”  Some might argue the opposite, that the NHL has too much water in places like Columbus and Edmonton.

If we’re going to talk about a business being responsible, why not start closer to home with an issue like concussions?  The NHL hasn’t exactly been in the forefront of research and safety measures.  And what about health care and pensions?  Compared to baseball, NHL players today get a pittance; it can only be worse for players from the ‘60s and ‘70s.  Being responsible doesn’t mean being all wet.    

Sort of Humble

On Sunday, Bulls’ guard Jimmy Butler took an elbow to the mouth in Toronto, which may be why he only scored two points in the first half against the Raptors.  Not to worry.  Butler told teammates he’d do better the rest of the way, and, oh boy, did he ever.  Butler poured in a franchise-record 40 points in a half to lead his team for a come-from-behind victory, 115-113.

For me, Butler’s postgame performance was better yet.  A breathless TV reporter tried to compare Butler to Michael Jordan for breaking Jordan’s record of points scored in a half, but Butler would have none of it.  Then the reporter asked if the hero of the game intended to fly the plane home, he was so obviously talented.  Butler laughed and checked what must have been an impulse to ask, Are you f’n’ nuts?  Instead, the Bulls’ star asked the reporter if he wanted there to be another game.

Things could be getting interesting with and for the Bulls.  Butler has called out his coach as well as himself in recent weeks.  I can’t tell if it’s made much of a difference with Fred Hoiberg, but Jimmy Butler has upped his game in a way you don’t often see with pros these days.  For most guys, it’s all talk and little walk.  Butler, though, is doing the walk without getting called for travelling.

The Refrigerator

William “The Refrigerator” Perry attended yesterday’s Bears’ game, to the delight of fans who saw him.  That wouldn’t have included me.

Perry played on the defensive line for the Bears, 1985-1993.  Somehow, he played well, despite having to haul 335-plus pounds around on a 6’2” frame.  Other players that size might have looked sculpted; Perry looked fat to obese.  His love of food was treated both as a joke and an endorsement tool.  Who knows how long he could have played with an understanding of conditioning.

Looking at Perry, I couldn’t help but see a human being out of control.  After his career ended, Perry ballooned to over 400 pounds, which had to be a contributing factor to his diabetes if not his alcoholism.  Several years ago, he came down with Guillain-Barre syndrome, a condition that affects the nervous system.  It should have come as no surprise that Perry didn’t walk into Soldier Field.  He was pushed in a wheel chair.

Back when he played, I wanted Perry to exhibit more self-control over his body and his health.  Now, I just want to know what the NFL is doing for him.  Ditto the Bears.  One of the McCaskeys gave Perry a jersey with his old number on it.  No. 72 needs considerably more; he’s broke and living in some sort of retirement community down South.  I can only hope the family that benefitted so much from William Perry is quietly underwriting at least part of his care.      

Catapult

It’s the last day of the NFL regular season, and I’m ecstatic because it means we’re into January.  Yes, it would’ve been nice had the Bears made the playoffs, but I can still pass the time just fine rooting against the Packers and Patriots while pulling for the Cardinals (a South Side team, if twice removed).  Before you know it, the Super Bowl will take up the first week of February.  The game’s going to be played in Santa Clara at Levi’s Stadium, home of the 49ers and, according to one website, “the greenest and most technologically advanced professional football stadium in the United States.”  That must mean no trough urinals.

Two weeks after the annual orgy of food and commercials pitchers and catchers report.  Of course, it used to be I didn’t need football to get through the winter.  I had Clare and softball.  I’d drive her to her Sunday practices, which ran from September through mid-March, and stay to watch.  She had this coach who was the second coming of Busby Berkeley the way he choreographed drills.  It was a thing of beauty to behold, enough to get me through another week of snow and cold…until the snow and cold of the high school season started in late March.  But those days are gone, and now it’s the NFL that bridges winter to spring for me.  So be it.  

Scorer's Decision

I’m sure those very smart people at the Society for American Baseball Research (SABR) have done research on it, but, in case they haven’t, allow me this January observation—baseball scoring has undergone a profound change over the last sixty years or so, from the days of Frank Malzone to Manny Machado.

In 1958, Malzone won a Gold Glove at third base despite 27 errors and a .950 fielding average.  In 2013, Machado won his Gold Glove based on a .973 fielding average; Machado was 13 errors short of perfection.  Eric Chavez did even better in 2006.  The A’s third baseman committed all of five errors for a .987 fielding average—and Gold Glove.

Does this mean Frank Malzone was a butcher back in the day?  I doubt it.  My guess is that the reduction in errors is the product of two factors, starting with grounds keeping.  Remember the 1960 World Series, with the ball hopping up to hit Tony Kukek in the throat in the bottom of the eighth inning of game seven?  Kubek didn’t get an error, but I’m guessing there were a lot of bad hops back then with official scorers deciding that fielders should have handled regardless.  The pebbles have mostly been excised from infield dirt in the years since, and scorers have taken a more generous/realistic view of what can and can’t be handled.  And I’m OK with that.

Unless the SABR folk have information otherwise.     

Sibling Rivalry

Some of the best history written today comes by way of obituaries.  Frank Malzone, a third baseman for the Red Sox from 1957 to1966, died the other day.  The NYT obit noted that Malzone said he learned baseball by watching his brother and SISTER play.  Malzone allowed that his sister Mary “handled herself well.  Line-drive-type hitter.  No power.”

Too bad Malzone never saw Clare hit.