WBC Final: The Straight Skinny

I wasnt planning on watching much of the World Baseball Classic, until the cultural mavens at AVS turned us on to the novelty of the international game. The first thing I noticed, were ten thousand Korean thundersticks shaking Dodger Stadium like some fool Rain concert, making me long for one Angelino beachball. Then, I noticed all the ill-nourished, jaundice complected, half adult/half anime players and it was on.




ESPN.com's Eric Neel:

Japanese left fielder Seiichi Uchikawa skidding to cut off a sharply hit ball in the corner later in the fifth, and then popping up and firing to nail Korean second baseman Young Min Ko at second base -- a play from start to finish I cannot imagine a single current major leaguer even attempting, let alone pulling off.

It's true. He looks 155 pounds, dripping wet, an Asian Endy Chavez. The training, agility and flexibility to make that play is not something we see in major league baseball. Indeed, diminutive Ichiro burst onto the MLB scene some years ago and immediately laid claim to best defensive outfielder, best OF arm, MLB's best leadoff hitter, and one of the game's top base stealers.

Now, I know the WBC isnt the majors and our team is shaking off world conquering American rust. But Japan's won two of these tourneys now, with a roster of guys under 160 pounds. Except for the slanted eyes, yellow complexion and proverbial buck teeth, you'd swear they were MLB players from my youth. Forget steroids. That was a time when baseball and legitimate weight training mixed as often as Noam Chomsky and Sarah Palin.

That was always part of baseball's charm - that you didnt have to be 6'9" or bench 400 pounds to be a ballplayer - even a great one. Boys could relate to that, could see themselves in normal-sized heroes in a way today's disconnected youth cannot incorporate distant, comic book monstrosities.

Growing up, I remember Bobby Murcer, the Yankees most powerful hitter of his time, listed at 5'11" and 180 pounds. In the box, he'd lean forward awkwardly at the waist, head almost in the strike zone, and leverage balls into the right field stands at Yankee Stadium, as if by magic. He was the same size as Willie Mays and Hank Aaron. Stan Musial was 6 feet, 175. Before them, Mel Ott, all 5'9" and 170, was one of the greatest power hitters of all time. There were bigger guys, to be sure, but even Jimmie Foxx, The Beast, was only 195 pounds.

Watching the WBC final and championship teams built on discipline and grace, thin hips and small shoulders, reminded me of baseball before the American fall. And it was not hard to imagine young boys laying skinny necks on pillows, from Osaka to Seoul, dreaming of their tomorrows as men.