Saturday Kickabout

It's only a matter of time now. Very, very soon the fake games held in a fake place are no more, and the real stuff rolls. How about some lazy news delivered lazily on a lazy weekend?

• Most of the hard-charging prospective employees of the Toronto Blue Jays were given a Vegas vacation consolation prize for all their hard work and tater-totting this spring. Some say Joe Inglett and his options are on the outside looking in. Shoulda been you Bautista.
  
• God Bless the Bottom of the Order. The artist formerly known as /a takes down a tweedy professor's dismissive downward glances at sports fans. The author of the piece believes we shouldn't waste our time watching sports when we can consume great art and literature, like his new book! How convenient.
  
• Also linked in the BotO post is an amazing article regarding Ichiro and the idea of leadership. Roy Halladay improves the careers, nay, lives of those around him just by being who he is. These guys are pros, save the rah rah stuff for Friday Night Lights. Which has been renewed, much to the delight of cougar-enthusiasts and the chagrin of people who like crap. I don't watch the show often but I recognize it's survival is integral to the betterment of mankind.
  
• Yup, Manny's awesome

Of course, because I'm a glutton for punishment, self-loathing, and complaint, I must point Fangraphs organizational rankings wrapped up this week. I know it's just one man's opinion, and complaining about things beyond our control does nothing, but the top three teams were as follows:

1. Boston
2. Tampa Bay
3. New York

Well fuck. As they say on the aforementioned Friday Night Lights:

Clear eyes, full hearts, LET'S BOOZE

Gone to Seed

They aren't kidding with this offseason stuff, are they? Jays news has completely dried up, sham postseason awards are being handed out (not to Rocco, which just ain't right) in celebration of players going from just okay to really good. Cliff Lee is determined to haunt my dreams.

What is left in Blue Jay land? Postmortems! Fangraphs Blue Jays season in review finds disparity between the Jays excellent run differential and their team balance. In other words, rather than being a balanced attack of offense and defense, the Jays underwhelming offense was covered up by their overwhelming run prevention. Fangraphs uses a figure called BaseRuns, a modified version of Runs Created. Using the Baseruns model, Fangraphs suggests that the Jays should have expected to win just under 92 games this year, down from their 93 win Pythagorean record. What does that mean? The Jays lack of situational hitting during the first half really hurt them. They scored and prevented enough runs to be right in the mix. Moral victories etc.

The CBC kicked it old school on their website; old school and arbitrary! Wanna do a season in review? Wanna keep your editors at bay? Nobody cares about stats or numbers or any of the real talk under the surface. Bust out the letter grades Sally, we're mass-communicating here!! I'll give the author of this piece credit, he slid some run differential in there, praised Roy Halladay's secondary numbers and quality of opponents. Seems like a guy that knows what's up. As for the letter grades, I'm sure the suits forced your hand.

Unsurprisingly, this brave scribe goes out on a limb and gives the Jays pitchers an A+. Cool man, I'm with you so far. What's next? Defense? Word. The Jays are a great defensive team, and you even used a sweet picture of Scott Rolen droppin' fundamentals in Spring Training. Right on Jesse Campigotto, you and I are boys. Yeah, Alex Rios is great, Dr. Hale agrees. Wait, what is this? Adam Lind is a solid young left-fielder? Adam Lind is a solid young left-fielder??

Oh Jesse, you had me. I was right there with you, and now you've gone and ruined it. Adam Lind is a lot of things; excellent to above-average hitter, Indiana finest, and a mediocre (at best) left fielder. He's the second-best up & coming left fielder of the two up & coming left fielders at the Jays disposal. According to the numbers, he isn't even as good as Shannon Stewart.

Stewart - 48 balls in zone, 43 plays, 14 out of zone plays, .896 RZR
Lind - 108 balls in zone, 96 plays, 17 out of zone plays, .889 RZR

Ugh. It's cool though, I'll let the overall A grade for the defense slide. D for the hitting, B+ for the coaching? The classic vote split, I assume. Good marks for the pitching coach, bad marks for the hitting coach? Nobody likes the good cop/bad cop routine, sir. B for the management? Alright, I'm sure you'll get some flack for that but whatever. Full marks to the guy in the comment section that announced JP should get an O because he's just going around and around in a circle. Gold.

Hindsight and Hubris

Rather than make baseless postseason predictions, I will take this opportunity to reflect on how wrongheaded and ignorant I was six long months ago. I won't delve right into the nitty-gritty of my foolishness (I picked the Twins to finish last, hinting at my future hate), only the teams I tipped for the playoffs.

I selected Boston, Detroit, L.A. as the division winners, the Wild Card going to Toronto. In the National League I picked the Mets, Cubs, Dodgers, and Phillies. All told: 5 outta 8. Better than half, even though three were pretty much slam dunks. Many people picked Detroit so I don't feel bad, and the Mets have broken sweeter hearts than mine. I'll probably pick the Jays to win the wild card every year until they officially rebuild. Basically forever.

In the spirit of deflecting criticism and making myself feel better; I'll look over some other writers picks and belittle them for being shortsighted.

• Noted contrarian Robert MacLeod nailed the Jays as a fourth place team and the ascension of the Rays. He picked the Indians to win the World Series, which is really too bad. He did better than Jeff Blair, who may have selected the 100 loss Seattle Mariners as his AL West Champs. Ouch.
• Peter fucking Gammons himself predicted an Indians - Mets World Series! So did Canada's boyfriends Keith Law & Jonah Keri. Wow. Looking back makes us all dumber.
• Not one of ESPN's experts predicted the Rayvolution, only one found a White Sock at the bottom of his hamper. Pedro Gomez can apparently see the future. He picked the White Sox and an Angels/Dodgers World Series, one of only two writers with both World Series horses still bejockeyed.

What does this prove? Nobody knows shit about the future. Injuries, bad luck, shitty starts whatever. The Tigers finished behind the Royals, Seattle lost 100 games! Nobody in Blue Jay land should complain about a damn thing.

Numbers Game

Hey, Lyle. How are things? Yeah, you're right, things aren't looking too hot for you or the team offensively these days. The team is winning, true. And you play the hell out of the lukewarm corner. You even had an RBI today. Which is good. But other than that Lyle, you're kind of blowing it.

Oh Lyle, things started out so well for you. You were everything the Jays hoped for and more in your first season. Then last season, you started out poorly. Then broke your hand. So last year was a write-off. This year though, Lyle, hopes were high. But you've started out the season rather rolling low. But why?

Well, quite frankly, you strike out too damn much. The most on the team. Your BABIP is exactly the same this year as during your excellent 2006 campaign, you just aren't putting it into play enough. And when you are, you seem to be going the other way almost exclusively. Which isn't a bad thing per se, but could explain why you aren't racking up the doubles as you've been know to do.

Why aren't you pulling the ball Lyle? Is this a conscious choice? Is Denbo all up in your shit, trying to turn you into Ichiro? Remember when Eric Neel gave you a big shout out? I do, he said you hit doubles falling out bed! Go back to falling out of bed Lyle! (Ed. Note: I really, really miss those Eric Neel On Baseball columns)

Maybe that's it. Maybe this is a precipitous drop off thanks to being on the wrong side of 30? Maybe you're thinking more about getting into bed than doubling to the power alley? Maybe you've lost some bat speed? I can't tell, the view from my parents basement isn't good enough. (Ed. Note: I also really miss Botch. I don't think Eric Neel likes Botch, but I sure do.)

There is one more number that you should crunch along with me Lyle. 17. Now that Frank is gone, why not take your old number back? It won't make a lick of difference, but you're a ball player. You believe in this crap. Do it. It'll feel good. Real good. 35 is a ballplayer's number. 17 is for overrated never-wases. If wearing 35 will help you regain your power stroke and find you driving the ball, by all means don it once again.

Just do something. Your inherent genetic flaw (left handedness) is actually a good thing in this game, and in this lineup specifically. Just think back to the view from second base. You can see it all from there. The signs, the girls serving in the expensive seats. And you're almost home. Come on Lyle, come home.

Feelin' Kinda (tentatively) Not Without a Scrap of Hope

"I'ma miss you, sweater-wearin' New Yorker fag." - Patton Oswalt, "Gay Pride Parade", Feelin' Kinda Patton

Ben McGrath's year of magical sportswriting has passed into the annals of journalistic feistyness, and not, it shouldn't need to be said, given the profile of the celebrated organ that employs him, without some considerable notice. Not the least of which notice recently came from the Boston straightedge veterans over at The Medicine Agency, whose quick recap of the three subjects McGrath and his editors (what up, D. Remnick) saw fit to take down a notch (or three) is as mercifully brief as their forgivable Red Sox bias is plain to see. Among the more egregious of the blogosphere's crimes (and there are many) is its tendency towards redundancy, and it's in recognition of this that I'm not going to spend any time excerpting or repeating what it was that McGrath actually wrote about Manny Ramirez, Scott Boras and Lenny Dykstra. The internet's got that work. Read it, son.

What I will spend a second to say is that it feels like I-don't-even-know-what to have good sports copy lying around. Lloyd and I have had several meetings of the tex-mex-clogged mind on the subject of what is asked of a self-respecting man that he might subject himself to printed baseball news. Putting aside what one deals with on the radio and TV (notwithstanding the yeoman's work this hero puts in on behalf on that OTHER game), one nevertheless is, and has long been, reading either the roteness of any one of the interchangeable dailies, the post-Seinfeldian/post-Olbermann&Patrick-Big-Show snark of so many Bill Simmonses, (genuine and counterfeit alike), the vague but off-putting insiderism of SI, or, if one is a pencilneck armchair intellectual like me, one is wolfing down one's fill of "literary" baseball writing (LBW). The latter is to be found in greatest abundance in the aforementioned New Yorker before it is inevitably collected in books of poignantly austere jacket design. Many of LBW's canonical works were produced by moonlighting middlebrow authors (I'm pretty sure that reciting John Updike's account of Ted Wiliams' final at-bat is a prerequisite for securing tenure at all New England universities), so it's not surprising that the genre is an exercise in fetishizing things like "the laconic rhythm of the game, which allows for minute observance and philosophical reflection" (I made that quote up). Roger Angell made a storied career out of getting lost in his doddering thoughts while sitting next to his wife at Class-A and spring training games. Onetime Esquire/TIME/NYTimes editor and widely reviled asshole Daniel Okrent — the man who invented the rotisserie league (!) — positively oozes the LBW vibe in the lengthy interview he did for Ken Burns' Baseball PBS miniseries.

Guys like me inhale this stuff because it affords the prestige of being a true-blue litman, without requiring any of the work. It's The Official Sub-Genre of Stuff White People Like. But just because I'm addicted to it doesn't mean it won't occasionally make me feel like I just came from a swing-dancing lesson in the summer of 1998. It's got literally nothing to do with being a man. And that is why each new dispatch from youngbuck McGrath is being welcomed like an Age of Reason strongman general just back from his latest campaign. It's because there it is in the New Yorker, but instead of allegory, you get swearing. Instead of a finely honed, three-dimensional character sketch of Dizzy Dean, you get Lenny Dykstra answering a cellphone that rings to the tune of "Stuck on You" by Lionel Richie. Instead of patronizing white-guilt-laden reminiscences about Satchell Paige's "down-home personality," you get Dominican-ass Manny dealing with traffic violations and smoking cess in the Green Monster cubbyhole. McGrath specializes in the passive-aggressive undermining of the rich California asshole, but it's obvious, not just from his choice of subjects but from the sheer length of Persnickety Scribe Signature Series-brand rope with which each of them so far has gamely hung himself, that he's got no shortage of that fratboy dogg blood in his own damn veins and he's not afraid or apologetic about letting the boorish manners of the Yaley that he is shine through. He is what every self-styled smarter-than-the-average-bear sports fan thinks he is. He is, for the moment, my favourite American.

Mike Wilner - Dan Shulman v2.0

If I was looking for a reason to love Mike Wilner (I already have plenty) I was gifted one via his blog today. He astutely pointed out that David Eckstein is bag of bones with no redeeming value. At least the bones are polished to a shine from all the grit and grinding. In his words, he is one of the Jays worst hitters. You'd have to pretty thick to argue that David Eckstein is anything but the Jays worst hitter. A commenter, in open defiance of logic and anecdotal evidence, questioned Wilner's reasoning. If he is so bad, why is he hitting lead off? Wilner's response was short, sweet and to the point.

Eckstein is batting first because he’s believed to be a legit lead-off man, which he’s not.

Ahhh, that hit the spot. Later on, Wilner hints at his career aspirations, while not looking to bite feeding/aging hands.

I’d love to eventually move into play-by-play, but I’m happy to wait my turn (not knowing if I’ll ever get one). I enjoy doing what I’m doing right now a great deal.

Understandably, his job is one to be envied. Serving up dollops of knowledge and perspective to the myopic Leaf fans that badger him daily can try the patience, but clearly this is the largest fish in our little pond.


The man that formerly held the title of Guy That is Destined for Big Things: Dan Shulman. The pride of Thornhill worked his way up the broadcasting ladder in a fairly conventional way (aside from studying something worthwhile ie. not broadcasting in university). He was the voice of the Blue Jays on TSN for 7 years before the allure of ESPN's dollars took him south where he does baseball and basketball. He and Buck in the broadcast booth were a pleasure to listen to, despite doing the bulk of their work during lean years in Blue Jaysland.

Wilner, like Shulman, found his way into broadcasting rather than pursuing it via education. So what is next for young Michael? As I stated elsewhere, having seen him on The Grill Room alongside Stoeten of Drunk Jays Fan fame, TV is not out of the question. The only question is where. One hopes that Mike Wilner will have the opportunity to ascend within the Jays organization/media, because if it isn't here it will surely be somewhere else.

The Battle for Jamie Campbell's Soul

A busy weekend of sports (team of destiny sets course, middling basketball team loses in Detroit for 1000th time) forced two of this weekend's Jays games from the domestic airways. Thankfully, Rogers offers those of us that offer the blood of their first born every month a respite: out-of-market Jays games as part of a MLB Extra Innings free preview. While not in HD (quibbling), watching the Jays with an outsiders perspective can be interesting. Generally the opposite of poor Jamie Campbell.

The FSN Southwest team of Josh Lewin and straightman/former player X showed us what a true orgy of homerism looks like. Whatever. That seems to be Fox's mandate. But with the Jays sweeping the Rangers, Lewin's attention turned towards the Blue Jays, and it came aboard the good ship comedy. His constant riffing and wisecracking was at best entertaining and at worst out of place. But at least he was doing something. His foil Tom Grieve offered even less than the average Jays colorman, but Lewin just kept the stream of goofy lines coming. That is more than we can expect from Jamie Campbell.

Jamie Campbell has, arguably, the greatest job in the entire world. He graduated from Rye High, no doubt worked his ginger balls off and earned himself a job. He's been doing it full time since 2004 to varying levels of success. Some say he's boring, others say he's incredibly boring, with a firm grasp on the banal. World beater and press box interloper Hale noticed a new wrinkle in Jamie Campbell's arsenal for the 2008 season: unbridled enthusiasm.

Jamie Campbell is attempting to compensate for baseball knowledge with pure enthusiasm and it’s painful. Every time the Jays score a run, he raises his voice to a shout. Right after Wells went yard, Thomas hit one hard but only to the wall and Ramirez’s glove that he went positively ballistic over on contact. Even when you’re sitting in the stands, that’s not cool.

Poor Jamie Campbell can't win for losing. I, here and now, will make a humble suggestion to a man I've never met. Jamie Campbell: Sabermetrician to the Stars.

I know what you're thinking Jamie, Gordy and Dougy from Medicine Hat aren't ready for VORP, they care not for BABIP. They know that Johnny Mac is totally fucking awesome, but they don't stay up nights contrasting which zone rating evaluation system produces the most accurate results. But they will, Jamie Campbell, they will. You can bring them, and us along for the ride. You've got Scott Carson just sitting there. I'm sure he'll be pissed that he can't watch the third season of BSG in the booth, but he'll hold your freckled hand through the hard parts.

Baseball broadcasts are full of meaningless stats, usually based on rarity of occurrence. Somebody says "this clown hasn't accomplished this meaningless feat since this other, more drunken clown did it on this day before the day after forever." It sucks. No one cares.

But that is the beauty of Bill James' world, Jamie. These stats and numbers DO mean something. They prove stuff! They tell the future! They enlighten the past! The world is no longer flat my good man, we live in the golden age. The glorious internet has not only given me a dick joke platform, it has given much smarter people with much more time on their hands a platform. One of mathematics, statistical savvy and virginity. Hard numerical proof is taking over a world formerly dominated by people more superstitious and habitual than a bingo junkie.

Go forth Mr. Campbell, get on Baseball Think Factory, worship at the James alter, join SABR. You can even start with Fire Joe Morgan, the vile VORPies that they are. You can bring it in slowly, introduce new ideas as they come up so not to frighten my mom. You will be ahead of the game, and your cellphone hocking overlords will appreciate your attempts to appeal to a young, hip crowd. It is up to you Jamie Campbell, what do you have to lose? More people watching the games on mute so they can be massaged by Jerry's dulcet tones?

Welcome to the Terrordome

With Ted and the boys dutifully rolling out the red carpet for any and all division rivals this year, I propose that we dedicated Jay fans adopt "Welcome to the Terrordome" as our unofficial slogan for the year.

This has nothing to do with Dave Zirin's screed about politics and sport, but much more to do with turning the sterile, excessively Canadian Rogers Centre into a wholly more interesting place. There are rules, once unwritten but obviously blog-fodder for 10 years, related to attending a baseball game. And it is up to us, the learned and/or elitist scholars to ensure proper ballpark decorum and "etiquette" is observed.

Too often I see people doing some of the most self-absorbed and mindless shit at the Rogers Centre. The number one atrocity is moving around while the ball is in play. This is UNACCEPTABLE. These pricks need to be shouted down on sight, and constantly reminded of their status as pariahs.

Leaving early? Not without an earful. Cheering more for a free t-shirt than the on-field action? Jeers are your reward.

Booing an important former Jay that now plays for the opposing team? Not only does this showcase your stunning lack of knowledge, it makes Toronto look like a second-rate, minor league backwater. An unfortunate stereotype that Leaf fans have long been guilty of perpetuating. An important moment in Ghostrunner history involved El Leal and I at a Jays - Angels game in 2004 (Alex Rios' first in the bigs!) The Angel's firstbase coach was none other than Alfredo fucking Griffin. We, along with two other guys in our section, stood and applauded in appreciation for the former Rookie of the Year.

If someone is wearing the opposing team's hat/jersey, it is incumbent on you to openly question their motivation/sexuality. If they are from out of town, it is your duty to insult and degrade their place of origin. If they are from the area, any and all bandwagoneer barbs are in play, and you are well within your rights to alert them of their failings as a human for the entire game. The score shouldn't matter, but use your better judgment. "At least I'm not from ________" is always in season. Make those Saskatoban's hate Toronto for a reason!

I am not going to rattle off a list of ballpark crimes and misdemeanors, I am merely encouraging all of us to break from our Canadian shell of deference and accommodation and show a proper level of hostility toward the perpetrators. Violence is not the solution, so we must fight through our alcohol-induced haze and make criminals the subject of intense levels of mockery and public derision.

Whiny girls complain about the having to play in the AL east, but as JP says "this is our reality." The team is well within its rights to capitalize on traveling fans, but we certainly don't have to lay down for these dogs. Just remember:

WE ARE NO BETTER

Love in the time of Hysteria

Times have certainly changed. There is enough analysis, anecdote, and prediction floating around these days to please the most devoted fans and most compulsive of gamblers. A lot of people fill their days reiteration the same facts or sucking the interest out of the quaintest of human interest stories. This competition for freshness lends itself to a certain amount of hyperbole, some understandable and some off the deep end.

Marc Topkin's article surely ranks near the giant slide and swinging rope end of the pool, as he stops just short of comparing the DevilJesus Rays' top three starters to the 1966 Dodgers. While this isn't unique to reporters unaccustomed to seeing actual big league players (Rios pounds BP, Jays to reinforce Windows Restaurant), it is clearly way over the top. Pitching staffs with more than 61 cumulative wins mentioned include the A's of the early 00's and shockingly the early 90's Braves. The Fuck? Tom Glavine is likely to go down as the last 300 game winner while Smoltz has 200 wins and 150 saves. Is that all? Perhaps you could compare Scott Kazmir with Steve Carlton? Matt Garza isn't a number three starter on a bad team, he's Bert Blyleven.

Scott Kazmir can pitch, but he reminds of one guy - AJ Burnett. Same plus stuff, same inefficiencies, same unquenchable thirst for Ks at any costs. James Shields? Meet Shaun Marcum. I'm sure you'll have a lot to talk about.

Purported clubhouse leader and caffeine-enthusiast Troy Percival took the story and ran with it, creating the shirt seen below. This clearly unstable man is being hailed a the saviour of the historically awful Rays pen. Surely his year off combined with a year of mop-up in the anemic NL Central makes him more than qualified to send dozens of people home disappointed every night.

Much like the New York Yankees, this sexy pick is going nowhere. Sure, they'll score some runs. That won't change the culture around the team nor will it retire batters or improve a porous defense. Not even the divinity/health of Rocco will guide this team past anyone but the shameful Orioles.

Good times hold sway over wifeless Florida

As I alluded do a few days ago, spring training is the ideal time for men to have the time of their lives. When money > time but time > responsbility - awesome stuff is bound to be the result. Those are some Sabermetrics that I can get behind.

I am sure this video has already made the rounds, but it is so enjoyable and testament to the "fuck I'm bored, let's make the young guy cry" spirit that makes baseball so amazing.



The straight facedness of the ruddy manager, the legitimacy of signing official-looking forms (in triplicate!!!) combined with the absence of the thought: "wait a minute, I can't get traded to Japan." A minor detail that should have set off all manner of bullshit detector, but truly makes this one for the ages.

Video via With Leather who in turn borrowed it from someone else.

God Bless the sports blog circlejerkoflife

Greener Pastures

All the talk of scandal and greed, screw jobs and Massholes leaves me cold. Big companies make painful and heartless decisions every day; this one just cut a little closer to the bone. But the scenery is about to greatly improve for baseball fans. Money grubbing and rectal probing will be replaced by palm trees, sun, and guys in strangely-numbered jerseys having the time of their lives.

Baseball and sports in general are great because they offer opportunity to those who would otherwise be without. Brandon League, by all accounts, is not a genius. People of such diminished mental capacity are usually left to sad lives in the Jays ticketing department or supporting the Toronto Maple Leafs. Luckily for young Brandon, he can rush it up to the plate in a serious and sinking way. Which bodes well for his once budding, now question-marked baseball career.

Much was expected of Brandon League in the build-up to the 2007 season. He had been positively lights out at the end of 2006. He threw hard as balls and came complete with the kind of downward movement on his pitches that makes scouts drool. He was penciled in as the set-up guy going into 2007, leaving the Mullet and the Midget to pick up the pieces after the latest Josh Towers debacle or suffer similar indignities.

No scenario for 2007 considered the possibility of Brandon League losing his damn mind. Only in Brandon's pipeline-concussed brain do his reasons for ignoring the advice of the coaching staff lie, but somewhere in there he knows he fucked up. Large. He lost a year to injury and pissed off the Jays brass. He lost a great deal of zip from his fastball and the precious motion that helps separate the Mariano Rivera's from the Mark Wohlers'.

Fast-forward to this spring. Instead of having a predetermined role, he comes to camp fighting for those same 6th inning scraps. A return to form and initial visit to Sounddecisionmakingtown for League would give the Jays an enviable amount of flexibility. The Ginger Gangster could stay in the 'Cuse for a year of seasoning, Handsome Gus and JP's choice Casey Janssen could fight it out for the fifth starter's role. All the while a clutch of talented right handers would be vying for the chance to set up or step in for the rehabbing closer. Brandon League must be a part of the discussion and should play a key role in the Jays bullpen if they expect to repeat the success of last year.

Not Ready for Primetime

A few days ago I was frantically alt-tabbing away from doing research on uhh, science, when I stumbled across something that astounded me. In my haste to unsee what will remain forever etched in my mind (terrible, terrible and offensive science), I somehow accidentally learned of a past transaction of which I had no recollection. In the summer of 2001, the Toronto Blue Jays signed free agent outfielder Deion fucking Sanders to a minor-league contract. He played 25 games for Syracuse before being released one month later to the day.

Long known for suits that could bring a pimp to tears and being one of the best cover corners in NFL history, Deion was also a baseball hobbyist. Not baseball hobbyist in the "I play Strat-o-matic because I'm fat/I go to fantasy camp because I'm rich" sense; but in the "I steal 26 bases and record 14 triples in 97 games because the off season is boring" sense. Many Jays fans will also remember Deion being everywhere in the 1992 World Series, when he hit .533, stole 5 bases and (with an assist to Bob Davidson) deprived Devon White his rightful immortality.

Even though it was a few years too late and a clear sign that Gord Ash was good for nothing, the thought of Deion Sanders as a Blue Jay is an intriguing one. It would have been interesting to see what he could have accomplished had he actually pursued a proper baseball career. He was a phenomenally gifted athlete and among the first (for better or for worse) to establish himself as a brand. This entire turn of events likely registered on my radar in 2001 and I'd simply forgotten, but it made my head spin none the less. That kind of thing happens as one approaches the tender age of 8000.

Tit for Tat

Turns out the off season is interminably long; when legitimately big news surfaces in early January it is consumed by the filthy beggars thirsting for such morsels at a frightening speed and with deadly precision. I won't flog this bloodied horse much further.

Scott Rolen has long been a favorite around these parts (somehow I end up with him on my fantasy team every year and sneak him onto my team in whatever video game I'm playing) and is a welcome addition. While some seem content to stomp all over Troy's grave, I'll remember him as a guy that hit home runs, offered to play shortstop for a weekend and adjusted his manboobs with alarming frequency. We're talking "Stieb to the Jock" type stuff here.

Having sent Mark Kotsay on his way to Atlanta in exchange for a six-pack of coke, three foam Tomahawks and a small bowl of simmering racial tension, the Oakland A's have continued their proud tradition of making chicken salad out of chicken shit thin air. Billy Beane has a press conference scheduled for Monday to announce that he's traded their entire starting line-up for the 15 crusty punks that happened to be standing in front of 924 Gilman Street on Friday. Cough syrup and crystal meth for all! Put them down for 85 wins, just to be conservative.


Thanks to the excellent Athletics Nation for picking 20 names out of a bag. Rich Harden is right now inside some mall trying on a Mets hat.