A seriously cool post: being a busy man, I apparently missed where some of these old scouting reports on recent players were coming form. It comes from here. This site. Which is pretty darn neat. With the draft around soon too, it will become all the more relevant.
That is all, check it out, and have an awesome holiday weekend.
-V
With Roy Halladay landing on the DL (and in general looking very un-Doc-like), I am reminded some (now many) weeks ago when Curt Schilling streamed a commentary on a very disappointing Halladay Spring Training start. His concluding, and definitive, tweet is below:
“@gehrig38: Halladay threw 81 pitches and induced the Blue Jays to swing and miss only three of them that’s when I knew things had changed for me…..”
You can say a lot of things about Schilling, on the full spectrum of love and hate. Personally, I like the guy (his sports views, at least). One thing everyone can agree on with Lord Bloodied Sock is that he rarely pulls punches. Schilling speaks to what he sees, and he saw Halladay’s dominance slipping away before his eyes. As Schill points out, he would know. So I trust his assessment completely…
…That’s a lie. I refused to believe Curt Schilling. I have been a Roy Halladay fan since I first really dove into baseball. Truthfully, I’ve been a fan since I got a whollllle bunch of his rookie cards in the thousands and thousands of Topps cards I bought:
Yung Doc and the Wildlings up North (Album TBD)
What did I expect to happen? Did I really expect Doc to throw 220 WHIP-of-one innings a year until he was 45? Maybe a little bit. I ignored Schilling for a while, drafting Halladay late in Mock Drafts over and over, assuming I was cleverly weeding out how long I could wait before snatching up a great fantasy value and, more importantly, a staple of my teams & fandom.
But as then the drafts approached a funny thing happened: I had a big-picture change of perspective. This certainly had something to do with the Patriot’s handling of the beloved Wes Welker (and in a larger sense, a realization that they truly stuck to their ‘better a year too early than too late’ principles). On top of this serendipitous timing, though, was a realization of something sort of horrible – it’s actually been quite a while since I was a kid.
I mean in no way that I am an old fogie. While I do love shuffleboard, I will refuse to use the saying ‘in my day…’ until I have truly earned it. What I mean is – it’s been a long time, in sports and fantasy terms, since the late 90′s/early 2000′s (my sports coming-of-age time). My favorites are aging. Their name often carries more weight than their bat or arm. Such is life.
This revolutionary show came out in August of 1999. Think about how old Regis is now.
So this raises the question – when do you give up on a proven warrior for you? For example, just how long can Lance Berkman be your binky? The easy answer there, for me, up until he went to the Yankees.
I have been pondering this all season. Another example; It makes sense for the Rangers to move on from Mike Young, as hard as it may have been. They have young players coming up to fill his spot in the next 2-3 years and, in the Rangers’ mind, he was no longer a cost-efficient part of their equation. For us fantasy owners? I sure as hell was not giving up on a 200-hit guy - especially on the cheap. But for every Mike Young redemption, there are two more aging favorites falling off the map.
Sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good. Sometimes an elder statesman finds a second wind (with assistance or otherwise, Mr. Ortiz). Sometimes, as in the case of Doc Halladay, age brings a tearing at the seams.
I settled on this: Loyalty in fantasy baseball is admirable. I will hold on to an aging favorite, squeezing every last drop of productivity out of their skills until the crap out and I drop them. Loyalty in ‘real’ baseball, and in sports-business in general, is misplaced. Derek Jeter ought to be a Yankee for life – he means more than just his numbers to an entire city. But for most players, in most sports, someone like Roy Halladay, the hardest part (for both us as fans, and for the declining player) is often letting go.
Now that you are sufficiently sad about your aging favorites getting worse, I recommend that Bolton jam at the top of the page and some Ben & Jerry’s.
- V
Filed under Baseball, Fantasy Baseball, MLB, Opinion, pitchers
I am pretty sure I could write pages and pages about why I love The Natural—its solemn nostalgia and ability to reawaken every part of me that loves every part of baseball—but I will try to contain myself to the subject outlined so subtly in the title.
Perhaps you are wondering what this man has to do with our title figure, Mr. Harper. Patience, I ask only for patience.
Roy Hobbs is not necessarily a fallen hero; he did no wrong but circumstances outside his control doomed him to fall short of the potential recognized by himself and others. We can never know if he would have fulfilled his Williamsesque prophesy, to walk down the street and hear people say: “there goes Roy Hobbs, the best there ever was,” but I am confident he would have. In sports, I see largely ordinary men do extraordinary things. I know they are ordinary because they get hurt like us (Tony Canigliaro); they aren’t ready like us (Billy Beane); they fall from grace and from the public eye, never to reveal just how deep their talent runs (Josh Hamilton).
Both the Rays and Hamilton seemed destined for greatness following the 1999 draft.
The film came out in 1984, when Josh Hamilton was three years old. He quickly became as close to a real-life Roy Hobbs as we will ever experience. Blessed with physical gifts as both a pitcher and hitter, there was not speculation about Hamilton’s potential: it was simply known that he would become one of the best players in the world, never mind that he was just 17 when drafted in 1999. The most “sure thing” prospect since another teen draftee, Ken Griffey Jr., Hamilton was believed to be able to make it in the majors as a pitcher or hitter (very Hobbsish), and would likely do so soon after the start of the new millennium. He was Bryce Harper before Bryce Harper picked up a bat, godly in his talent and titanic in his potential. Then he showed the world how human he was.
Imagine how much THIS would be worth if he was real.
Hamilton fell victim to injuries and drug addiction. Instead of bursting onto the scene with precocious teen talent, Hamilton struggled to find his way to the majors, finally making his debut in 2007. He was supposed to be the best in the league on his way to “the best there ever was” by then, well on his way to cementing his place among baseball’s immortals.
Hamilton has shown his talent over the last six years, even taking home an MVP in 2010, but one night stands out to me, a night that only young boys and Hollywood could have imagined. In 2008, the Home Run Derby at Yankee Stadium (in New York—the Hobbs comparisons become eerie) allowed the baseball world to feast its eyes on talent unlike most ever witnessed. Hamilton swung 38 times in the first round. He hit 28 home runs, including 13 in a row at one point.
Hamilton put on a type of show unseen since Barry Levinson’s magical 1984 film.
People can’t even do that in wiffleball or video games. Hamilton—or Hobbs—is the player you create in a virtual world because you will never see him in ours, the slugger you pretend to be in your daydreams and fantasies. I didn’t just want to be a major leaguer; I wanted to be THE guy, the player with unlimited talent and even more potential—Nomar in 1997 or Pujols in 2001 or Ted Williams back in 1939.
Whoops. Not this Nomar.
Hobbs makes me smile, but Hamilton breaks my heart. Hobbs ensures that he will be remembered forever, rising from the depths as he lifts a team and city from comparable doldrums, as he carries the Knights to the pennant in dramatic fashion. People may not say “the best there ever was,” but they would certainly say “there goes Roy Hobbs.” I do not know for certain if Josh Hamilton will reach that point, and that kills me. That magical night at Yankee Stadium in the summer of 2008 reminded every person witnessing of the deep well that contains Hamilton’s ability, a place that will perhaps never run dry but has certainly been greatly depleted. Hamilton is a hero to many, not only a great baseball player but also a human being who got his life back together having faced a crippling addiction. But I don’t think he will ever be a hero to himself, because he knows how good he could have been. One must hope he has an Iris Gaines of his own, reminding him of the present and future, lest he forever mire in the missed opportunities of the past.
Hamilton does a lot of looking off into space, as if forging in his mind what could have been. Must be a pretty picture.
I realize now that I failed in my attempt to focus on how Redford shapes the film, but I think this says a lot about his performances and about me as a viewer. He embodies Sundance and Johnny Hooker and Hobbs and all of his characters with seductive magnetism, reminding us of the lives we dreamed of as kids and still remember dreaming of as we age but fail to grow up. Redford’s appeal transcends gender or sexuality or time, I believe. In The Natural, who wouldn’t root for a country boy with a homegrown swing and self-made bat? Who can help but root for the Knights, decked out in the regalia of a time when greedy owners and their corporate ambitions could be overcome by the divine prowess of a single man?
We often place superheroes’ expectations upon the shoulders of our superstars, calling upon them to bring in fans or sponsors or to save fading leagues. Rarely are we granted the privilege of experiencing a Roy Hobbs, but even rarer is the chance to witness someone with that talent who does not lose his years to gunshots or drug addictions.
Watch – witness – Bryce Harper as often as you can while you can. Naturals are in limited supply.
Let’s hope whatever that picture is he’s seeing becomes a reality.
Filed under Random Thoughts, batter v. pitcher, NBA, Baseball
SPOILER: The 1957 Old Yeller movie is crazy sad. Make your kids watch it early on to learn some valuable life lessons.
Meanness Alert: Alert Level 10 (on a scale of 1 to Regina George)
Truthfully, I mean to be only partially as mean as it may appear above. Craig Sager is merely an audaciously dressed version of a terrible-horrible-no-good-very-bad evolution in sports: the sideline reporter. Craig Sager is often the most flamboyant, but they all need to be taken behind a shed and put down like Old Yeller go away.
I mean this not as some groundbreaking revelation. Rather, I have reached my breaking point.
At some point, perhaps, sideline reporters offered a unique perspective. In days of yore (maybe not YOUR yore, but someone’s yore), indeed a sideline reporter was in fact in a unique position – on the sideline. This may have at some points offered them opportunities to find out new information, but in today’s technological, all-access world the sideline is relegated to this:
Or this. Look Here. Here. Deadspin is of course all over this idea. This thing Here. Example also found…Here. Aw, hell, here’s a compilation of Popovich owning sideline reporters.
Embarrassing. This grown ass man (in Sager’s case – I did my best to not provide ONLY Sager links) is made a fool of by asking an entirely irrelevant question, getting a terse if not combative answer, trying again, then grinning like an idiot. Sideline reporting today has reached the same level as the ‘four corner ‘ offense. It must go, and it must go now, for our sanity.
Again, I do not mean to pick on Sager. It’s just easy. You can quickly find any number of examples on the Internet of sideline reporters’ failures or lack of importance, just as I did above. It took me all of 4 minutes. I mean, sure, I don’t mind looking at Erin Andrews, but she adds literally nothing of value and should really be an embarrassment to actual, knowledgeable female fans worldwide (this issue of female reporters and commentators in Sports is a larger concern and deserves a longer, better thought out discussion in its own right).
Coaches do not want to talk to someone after a half, quarter or (the most egregious and awful idea ever) inning, and certainly not after a game, win or lose. Players sure as hell don’t want to talk regardless of outcome partly out of convenience, partly for their own sake. Some guys know in the heat of battle they are going to say something they might have to answer for. OK, only a few of them think like that, most players are one opening of the mouth away from a necessary public apology. Forget their concerns, I can’t imagine the public is clamoring for more of this:
This example obviously falls under the category of ‘satire,’ but it is not far from the truth. So maybe that’s what sideline reporting has devolved into – plodding dumbassery, coachspeak and cliches, waiting for that one time where they can catch someone saying something stupid in the heat of a competitive moment. It seems likely to me. Which is very, very sad.
We as sports fans and channels as sports entertainment producers have moved past the need for sideline reporters, nay sideline REPORTING, altogether, the way it is conducted now. The practice is stale, remaining as some foolhardy tradition, an embarrassment of excess and world-class BS. With the amount of pre-game, halftime/break-time, and post-game coverage, analysis and preparation – shouldn’t the men and women covering the games already be capable of reporting the coach was really happy with his team’s choice of pre game snack of Honey Bunches of Oats?
I’m sure there is a place for reporting from the sideline, somehow. I don’t know if I have the answer. I do know that the Craig Sagers of the world need to go away. At least get a new angle and a makeover.
Or does everyone really feel comfortable with this guy posing as a source of ‘information’?
With all due respect to Craig Sager, you and your brethren make me want to not watch sports. So I suppose if you’re in cahoots with the radio industry… then bravo, you evil geniuses.
-V
h/t to Deadspin, who’s running a photoshop contest for this amazing image.
And here’s your Step Brothers fix:
Filed under basketball, March Madness
not heaven.
Filed under Baseball, March Madness, MLB, outfield
Charleston, specifically. The Notebook Edition, if you will.
a very dramatic scene.
Filed under Baseball, Fantasy Baseball, MLB, outfield
The hiiillls are aliiiiive…. with the sound of LJ
