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As the Alex Rodriguez steroid scandal unfolded, I traded emails with a buddy of mine. The nature of these letters explored my emotional impact of baseball’s best player being a cheat. I thought they were rather well-written (that and it’s been a slow week) so I decided to post my side of the emails here.
This Arod announcement has taken me to a new level of jaded. Not because I’m a scorn Yankee fan, but because what it means. I now realize there is nothing true from the home run explosion of the 90s. Mark Grace wasn’t mediocre because he didn’t hit enough bombs–he just happened to be the only person clean. Look at the list–all of the great players of the past 15 years are linked to steroids. I’m not going to name everyone because you know every one, but the majority of them have juiced. Not just speculation. Now there’s failed drug tests and BALCO allegations. Camaniti and Canseco’s claim of 75 percent of baseball looks very, very true.
Arod was supposed to be different. I remember when he was a number one pick out of high school. He was always supposed to be great so that’s . . . . .
The Olympics start this week…but does anyone really care? Do you know anybody who actually gets excited about the Olympics? I don’t know anyone who watches. Outside the big-name events (men’s basketball and Michael Phelps) I don’t know anyone who cares. I certainly don’t care. There’s no fun in watching someone run around a track. There’s only so many times I can watch a person swim in a pool (zero). There are very few mainstream events in our society that are as past their prime as the Olympics. I truly believe no one gives a crud…other than the athletes involved. If the world were to somehow skip an Olympics, do you think anyone would even notice? I don’t.
Recently I was sitting outside a very rich and classy hotel. It was one of those expensive joints–the kinda place where two nights cost more than I pay in month for rent. Normally I wouldn’t be caught dead near such an establishment, but an assignment for work put me at the hotel’s entrance for a few hours. Since my job isn’t challenging, I had little to do other than watch numerous cars come to the valet and wait to get parked. It . . . . .
I got hit with a batted ball again this week–I feel like I’m a marked man. It’s rare to see someone get hit by a ball–yet I’ve had more balls come at me than a gay porn star. Man, I’ve had a lot of close calls over the past six months. I’ve only discussed the ones that hit me: there’s been a lot of near-misses, too…and as far as I can tell, it’s just me. No one else on my team seems to have balls come their way–I’m the only one.
The opposing team was short a guy so they had to play without a second baseman. After every pitch, the pitcher stepped towards right field in case a ball got hit that way. Most of the time it’s a futile effort–one player simply can’t cover that much ground. But it helps slow the bleeding because at least teams can’t intentionally try and hit it there.
I was standing on second base with our three-hitter up. One the very first pitch, I saw where the pitcher was throwing the ball, the batter was in the box, and the nature of his swing I knew it immediately: He’s going to hit . . . . .
Slow pitch softball is a game with many unwritten rules. We’re not professional ballplayers out there and no one wants to get hurt. Win or lose, no one takes the game home with them. Many players are friendly with guys from other teams. It’s a laid-back affair because we all have day jobs…and most of us are severely out of shape.
One of the unwritten rules is Thou Shall Not Walk with a Ten-Run Lead. Some folks take even more extremely (Thou Shall Not Walk At All). But for the most part, guys are trying to win the game anyway they can. If the opposing pitcher can’t throw strikes, so be it. But once the game is outta hand, the team with a double-digit lead shouldn’t be looking to walk.
Like any rule, there are some exceptions–most notably when the pitcher is so bad, the hitter has no choice. But generally, a batter shouldn’t walk when he has a strike to spare. If the pitch is out of the strike zone, take a phantom swing to extend the count.
The team we played last week wasn’t extraordinarily bad…but their pitcher was. He was walking guys left and right. He probably . . . . .
The gravitational pull that is my giant head pulled in a new object the other day while playing softball. I was walking back to the dugout when someone chucked a bat in my general direction. I didn’t see it–but I heard screams to look out. Instinctively, I crouched down and covered my head with my arms. The bat narrowly missed me, falling in between my legs, ricocheted off the ground, and hit me square in the manhood. I wish I could boast about the benefits of wearing a cup…unfortunately, I’ve never been the athletic support type.
Now the skeptic would say this is proof that my head isn’t that large and it doesn’t have its own gravitational pull. Instead of hitting me in the cranium, the bat fell short. But a softball bat is a heavy object. I believe the gravitational field of my head pulled the bat closer to me–but wasn’t strong enough to fully pull that bat into my head. Kinda like the way comets circle around the sun. Gravity is strong enough to alter the orbit–but not enough to pull the object in.
And that’s what it’s come down to: I’m comparing my head to celestial objects. . . . . .
I don’t know what it is about my giant head–I swear, it must have its own gravitational pull. I was throwing the softball around with a buddy when he threw a ball way out of my reach. I jumped for it, but had no chance. The ball hit a pole six feet behind me–and ricocheted into the back of my head. Immediately, all my friends started laughing because such a thing could only happen to me–or Jose Canseco.
What are the odds? The pole had maybe–maybe–an eight-inch circumference. What are the odds of the ball hitting it? And even less likely–what are the odds of a round ball hitting a round pole and bouncing directly back in the direction it came from? Not to mention, if I didn’t jump for the ball, it would’ve missed my head. The only way that ball bounces directly back and hits me in the head is if my cranium has its own gravitational field. The ball was drawn to my melon like a meteorite to the earth. It had no choice due to an uncontrollable, powerful force–gravity.
My head gets banged on more often than Ricky Ricardo’s bongos. I’m not sure if this is . . . . .
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