Yellow Blazer

Jim McKay was older, balding, neither charasmatic nor a particularly commanding orator. He knew horses, somewhat,  and did not exactly convey thick-necked masculine duende in the anchor chair. Let's face it - a young Jim McKay today might not even land an entry level network sportscasting job. So, how could someone like that be, maybe, the greatest sports commentator in the history of television? First, he didnt have much competition, especially early on. That's not a cut, it's just that when Wide World of Sports debuted in 1961, it began to fill and expand an unsatiated, pent up demand for televised sports. Much of what's aired today doesnt fulfill that basic need so much as fight for market share with redundant subject matter. How many times, for example, were you "informed" yesterday of Big Brown's loss or the death of Mr McKay? ESPN's rotating tickers and much of today's "coverage" has become superfluous. 

 Mr McKay wasnt superfluous. He brought to us, people and events from places that, back then, no one else was. Places a boy could barely imagine. My first memory of anything Mexican, before I ate a taco or saw a Mexican in person , or read about Mexico in school, was WWoS' black and white footage of cliff diving from Acapulco. The repetitive swan dives might bore today's attention spans, but it was riveting and exotic in its day. If McKay hosted wrist wrestling from Petaluma, CA, by Monday morning my elementary age classmates and I had fashioned tiny elbow boxes from notebook paper and tape, and were wrist to wrist at recess. Barrel jumping from Wisconsin inspired playground 'barrels' of tree limbs or anything we could find. He was positioned as an integral tour guide of our sheltered lives. The second reason for his historical standing was the man. He seemed like an inquisitive but slightly reserved uncle from an earlier age, the kind who might take you out on the lake, point out interesting things and probably even let you bait your own hook. His cheerful good company often inspired a familial fondness amongst guys my age. He seemed smart and insightful, but like any good reporter, was more student than teacher, elevating his subjects, both the events and principals, by melting into the background, respectful and intrigued, letting their expertise and humanity preside. *****************

 My mother purchased identical T-shirts for my eldest brother and me in the summer of '72, for the upcoming Munich Games. They were gold with Munchen in black letters over a red horizontal band across the chest, bisected by a stylized bavarian lion. I was eleven and this was the first Olympics I fully engaged. We sat on the sofa, in our marigold garb, and rooted on Americans in the opening ceremonies through the early events. When the kidnapping occured, my initial concern was whether the Games would be suspended. An adult coach had been killed, but kidnappings and hijackings of the era were often bloodless affairs, leverage for the release of political prisoners. The extended seige was eerily gray and disquieting, but to an eleven year old the Olympics were still a symbol of American strength, sports' equivalent of Bonanza or Gunsmoke. Besides, the trapped athletes were worth much more alive, as collateral, so something would be worked out, with the whole world watching. Everybody, I think, has a moment in their childhood when a horror, even a faraway horror, stops time and that childhood, for most intents and purposes, ends. For many, it was when JFK was shot. For younger folks, the first Challenger disaster or, certainly, 9/11. For me, it was when Jim McKay appeared a bit ragged, turned to the camera and said:

When I was a kid my father used to say our greatest hopes and our worst fears are seldom realized. Our worst fears have been realized tonight. They have now said there were eleven hostages; two were killed in their rooms yesterday morning, nine were killed at the airport tonight. They're all gone."

Much has been made over the past twenty four hours about the expression "They're all gone" and that's what resonated at the time. Just prior, ABC had received an erroneous report that the hostages were saved, so McKay seemed as shocked as I was - that these young athletes, kids really, could be murdered - at the Olympics.

A couple points about McKay's delivery that day. First, is the briefly personal intro about his dad. Today's newscasters are taught to separate world events from any hint of informality, but McKay eloquently braced viewers for the awful reality of his next sentence. Second, he doesnt cite any particular authority, like German police, as a source - it is simply "they". That wouldnt fly today, but this initial, heartbreaking update isnt about the German, or any other, authority and McKay seemed to instinctively sense that. Third, and most chilling, is his emphasis on the word "nine", as if even he didnt realize how many were truly at risk.

I doubt Jim McKay could ever land an anchor job today. He had none of the required glamourous attributes, but inside had all the right stuff - making the world smaller with honest wonder and a cultivated decency. A decency content with relating to the world that the young Israelis were victims, rather than commercially viable heroes. A decency that never strayed from the sense of human loss, by elevating graphic minutae or by falling into the depths of schadenfreude. 

In Connecticut, I learned that young world class athletes, who I aspired to be, could die in an instant, that even after Hitler people were trying to kill Jews, and from the understated and dignified Jim McKay, that both of these revelations were painful to bear and announce to the world.  We folded the golden shirts ourselves, neatly into the bottom of a large bureau, never to be worn again.

Mr Hacks Goes To Washington

After a week visiting Washington, we submit Diamondhacks' State of the Union:

• Regrettably, the Nation finds itself at war. Not with Islamofascists or methodical Chinese workers. The heart of our Republic, the one Frank Capra fictionalized, is under imminent threat from middle schoolers. From morn to midnight, this fructose addled horde swarms Mall museums and sticks to District monuments like lichen. We must mobilize to thwart this audible army of metallic teeth, in order to establish a more perfect union. Or at least relaxed Capitol vacations for the restuvus.

• Here, at home, it's still unclear whether the All Star Roast is sold out, after a dozen days of "unbundled" opportunities, following two and a half months of sluggish strip sales, which followed private account purchases, so called "lotteries" and MLB's internal allotments. Ticketmaster "explains" seats are available, in fact I apparently have several "on hold" but they cant tell me where they are or how I can purchase them. 

• On the field, the Snakes are evolving from a hapless basement fixture to a respectable also ran.   Our shortsighted, Sonoran version of the Algonquin round table is delirious. Through late May, runs scored are down 12% from last year, but runs yielded plunged more than 40%, sufficient to hiss and slither into the NL West's "place" position, between suddenly lame division favorites.

• Speaking of "lame", "slither" and "hiss", Jim McLennan's trollish treatment of Buster Posey's career threatening injury reinforces a petty mindset and online tactics we've documented and disparaged for years. The Pit does some things well and hopefully this represents a last vestige of its founder's embittered insecurities.  Kudos to some of his invested lieutenants for calling him out.

• I favor the initiative to rid MLB of smokeless tobacco, but find Ken Kendrick's public health rationale characteristically selective. Like every owner, Kendrick reaps millions from volume pumping lucrative alcohol - a far broader threat to the general welfare than Skoal or Copenhagen. Unlike alcohol (the nation's largest contributor to youth deaths), Mr Kendrick isnt beholden to tobacco, and demonizing it poses zero risk to his portfolio. His selective zeal and parsed essay suggest that he's more passionate about marketing a squeaky clean - and largely illusory - image of players than he is with wholesale improvement in public health or safety.

• Predictably amusing, also, how KK's moral justification for spending more than $2M on a baseball card casually inserts its way into his ostensible essay on health policy. Kendrick's reportedly tried to dump this card for years, but it's allegedly trimmed better than he is and worth a fraction of what he foolishly paid. All Star Weekend is, among other things, his shiny mega stage to broker the T-206 and sucker some equally undiscerning magnate to mercifully take it off his hands.

God Bless America !

*********************

Some DC Recommendations:

Old Ebbitt Grill - one block east of Barack's Place, bustling, historic, delicious, surprisingly affordable

National Gallery of Art - few if any showstopping masterpieces, but no glass or ropes either, and a breathtaking array of top artists. Look into the eyes of a Rembrandt or DaVinci, put your nose up to a Pollock, Picasso or Van Gogh. A still life of pears actually teared me up;  just the startling proficiency, dedication and perfection of it, the practice of Man copying and honoring God (or Nature), and humbly accepting I'll never deliver anything close to that beatiful in my life.

Chesapeake & Ohio Canal (Georgetown) - just down the hill from the snooty college town, near the heavily wooded Potomac, is a narrow 19th century commerce canal with wooden locks, dirt bikepaths on either side, even occasional tours on boats pulled by mules. You can almost spit across the waterway...and it's 180 miles long !

Raku - ordinary sushi joint off Dupont Circle. Nothing fancy. If you like seafood and noodles, though, get the Pad Sew. About fourteen dollars. Sit outside on a Friday or Saturday night.

National Archives - the Charters of Freedom are faded, almost impossible to read.  Do it just to say you did, but be sure to spend time at "lesser" exhibits, which are more engaging. Celebrity documents, historic photos...I watched a 1919 film loop of American workers spinning cotton and hand manufacturing catchers' mitts for fifteen minutes. It was mesmerizing and evocative, seeing New England girls, who might've known my grandmothers, in linen dresses and carpal tunnel wrist tape, crafting what "third world" workers do today.

Lincoln Memorial - as I get older, the monument moves me less than the resolute stream of world travelers, some aged, who trudge up its enormous steps day after day, decade after decade.

Vietnam Memorial - easily the best designed, most effective memorial I've ever seen. An inspired, stark synthesis of four or five deceptively simple elements that mesh to convey loss in a powerful yet dignified manner. 

****
Oh, and will somebody please be my hero and break the tenacious tie in the interminable Melvin Mora poll (right)? We need a mandate here, people, and we need to move on.

More Whispers From Kendrick

Of all the famous gaffes and baffling missteps perpetrated by Managing Partner Earl "Ken" Kendrick, perhaps none backfired like the time he curiously volunteered to The Arizona Republic that previously unimplicated Gonzo was the subject of vague and unspecified steroid "whispers". 

Four years later, Kendrick appears to have this 'whispers' strategy down pat.

thrilling climax and denouement >>>

Double Edged 'Advocacy'

Just as placarded protests at Diamondback games seem to be dying down, a related story questioning the integrity of club ownership is just building steam.

Ken Kendrick is reportedly "hosting" a partisan fundraiser at Chase Field on May 20th, during a game. This is important because it comes on the heels of Derrick Hall's SB1070 related denials that the "organization" takes political stands.

I really wouldnt have an issue, if one of the "quieter" partners (ie Royer, Chipman) held a fundraiser, and comparable suite leases were available to different political persuasions (which, I assume, they are).

But Kendrick is the face of the franchise, along with Hall. So for him to lend his name to this event (quite apart from any money), in our publicly financed stadium, seems incongruous with the club's stated position. It contradicts the tone of the earlier statements, that's for sure.

For a blustery figure with an almost casual penchant for sullying the integrity of others (Colangelo, Luis Gonzalez, Wally Backman, WVU athletic dept), Mr Kendrick appears to be saying one thing and doing another, parsing his own actions and words with the sharpest of double edged blades.

Houston, Tenemos Una Problema

Dear Astros,

Mayday. Events are spinning out of control in Arizona. People from other places dont wanna play with us. I've convinced customers we've got a 'championship-style' team, but the truth is our brick red juggernaut cant seem to get off the ground either.

So, here's where you come in, amigo. Aside from the Pirates, who we hosted before the storm, we hear you're the worst team in the National League. Heck, Mark Reynolds and Kelly Johnson each have as many homers (9) as your whole roster.

We were wondering, if it wouldnt be too much trouble, if we could play you? At your place, of course. Dont worry, we're not going to profile anyone, unless Mr Oswalt cares to spend a few uncomfortable moments with Mark McClune.

As our record indicates, we're very beatable. Please advise Fat Elvis to swing with impugnity from his power side, since we employ not a single lefty. And we rarely field our best players together in the same games.

If that's not enough to incent Houston's large Latino population to visit your fine facility, consider our entertaining bullpen and manager trainee with skin as white and tough as porcelain. As an organization, we never advocate racial profiling, but just between you and me, your swarthier fans could have alot of fun with that.

We'll try to be as accomodating as possible. If there's anything else we can do to make your homestand a frenzied success, please dont hesitate to play us.

Your revenue sharing partners,
The Arizona Diamondbacks

Arizona Immigrants Cuff White Male "Lilly"

On the strength of highly organized, intimidating mega-rallies reminiscent of fascism, Republican-financed Diamondbacks abused the basic dignity of the Cubs in Chicago, 13-5.

Arizona's Ian Kennedy, Adam Laroche and Kelly Johnson - three credentialed offseason migrants - supplied probable cause for the victory. A white male, alias "Lilly", was identified as Thursday's scapegoat, after providing Sedona Red operatives with an actionable lead.

I. Hope. He. Fails

We rarely dip into politics, being the tasteful, retiring blog we are, but something ugly forced our hand. If you were to poll my neighbors, seems our young Afro-American standard bearer, a renaissance man, is too into hisself. Hasnt delivered on all dem lofty promises. A fat blowhard went sofarazta sneer, "I. Hope. He. Fails." Now, Phoenix dont want him influencin' our childrun on tellervizun. Too much hero wushup, an awl.

Needless to say, my Phonetic neighbors speak of rightfielder Justin Upton. You hear it on local message boards, and not always thinly veiled. About how the 22 year old doesnt play 'smart' or exhibit sufficient 'humility'. Despite the fact he's already baseball's third best rightfielder (Ethier, Suzuki), a vocal element insists he'd benefit from a train ticket (upper berth, presumably) to Reno for "seasoning", where some white coach can whip him into shape.

To be fair, it hasnt all been about race. For some time, most fans didnt understand how good Upton was for his age. It wasnt their job to care, particularly, and they wanted to see good players now, regardless of age or color. And there's that ongoing "fielding" of Justin's. Statistically, quite good, because of the range and cannon, but frankly, enduring JUp muff grounder after grounder transcends issues of race. The glove's a pet peeve of mine, but that's all it is. Before too long, maybe he'll invest in a mitt smaller and more flexible than a jai alai cesta. He does too many things, too well, to get all bent out of shape about it, let alone suggest demoting him to the minors.

Diamondhacks sez: "Keep doing your thing, young black fellow. Dont let The Man in Phoenix get you down. The Man on talk radio. The Man in the forums. The Man in section 118. Just keep your eye on the ball, a bit moreso on defense."

Change we can believe in.

Were

What am I thinking about, eight years to the day? Dumb little things I cant forget, like how first sight of the smoking gash triggered something my father told me when I was ten. He worked in the city as the towers took shape, and marveled how WTC was a small city itself, housing 50, 000. So as soon as I saw the gash, I said to my wife, "That's a thousand." I guess that's what you do, early in a far away crisis, to get your arms around it.

I remember Giuliani's remarkable nooner from City Hall, courageously leading us into the horror. Telling the world what it needed to know, and nothing that it didnt, under extraordinary conditions.

I remember watching TV late on the 12th, alone, when a satellite piped in the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace, accompanied not by "God Save The Queen", but Sir Francis Scott Key.

Other moments, however, from that first morning require uncommon recall, because for one reason or another, our culture has chosen to make them disappear. One of those things are the jumpers. They are not things, of course. They are people.

Were.

Hundreds of functional, mentally stable people, confronted with unbearable choices. If you want to get to the heart of 9/11, to "confront the horror", as Col Kurtz in Apocolypse Now advises, these people are it.

Were.

Realtime accounts from that misbegotten morning have since faded. I remember a distraught young man from Clinton, Connecticut, perhaps a broker or agent, trying to answer a reporter's question, "What did you see?" He spoke for minutes, without a breath, fighting an answer at odds with his soul, as if expelling a virus or demon. He had seen jumpers, up close, and would never be the same.

Dust was everywhere, for days, and one evening, a network ran an essay about the dust. They didnt spell it out with an anvil, but the narrator advanced the profoundly disturbing notion that some of the ubiquitous, inevitably inhaled, particles are people.

Were.

It was a heavy time, and people cope in different directions, to get on with living. We lean on patriotism, religion and create heroes, to supplant the horror that is extinction without mercy. It is a human response. But it haunts me that if that's all we remember, perhaps we are condemned to relive these horrors.

We are teeming with life, we humans. Busy with who we are. We often soften death by remembering victims as people, smiling in good times. We connect ourselves with their lives, rather than with their demise.

On this paticular day, it's not enough. If we mean "Never again", we should look beyond the lives, to the horrors in my father's "city" that day. Imagine the fire and the flesh. Crumbling walls, floors, alarms and fear. The slow, black death of thick, hot smoke. Broken windows a thousand feet high, stuffed with panicked souls gasping for life.

Dont be afraid to remember. Be afraid of the way they were.

Master of his Campaign

Shadow Mountain High graduate, Curt Schilling, has expressed "some interest" in Ted Kennedy's vacated Senate seat. To his immense credit (everything about Curt is immense), the glib, opportunistic pitcher and online wargame wiz conceded "many, many things would have to align themselves" to make a run for the legislative body.

Not "many" things. Many, many things.

Um, yeah.

The Philosophy of Organizational Aggrandizement

Before AJ Hinch ever coached a game, Diamondhacks distilled what his auspicious arrival primarily portended. Quite apart from driving tangible improvement, his head scratching hire was wordsmithed and painstakingly timed, to position and ultimately seize organizational credit for generally expected short term performance regressions, following an injury plagued and uniformly disappointing April.




Not a month into Hinch's 12-14 reign (versus weaker foes than Melvin faced), the front office Dream Team unveiled Phase II of its campaign to assume and assign credit for their hand picked Success Agent. Amidst an 8-0 rout of the hapless Padres (projected by many to lose 100 games), play-by-play toadie Daron Sutton dutifuly chimed in that the club is hitting "almost a hundred points higher" with runners in scoring position (RISP) than they did "in their first twenty nine games". This is true (well, seventy-six points [.262 v .186] when he said it, so true "enough"), but this was no impromptu trivia, blurted in the booth to kill time in a laugher.

The less than cryptic "twenty nine games" is a measure of Bob Melvin (12-17), the 2007 NL Manager of the Year-turned-scapegoat, who predated Josh Byrnes and CEO Derrick Hall, and who was Ken Kendrick's reluctant second choice following the West Virginian's self-inflicted Wally Backman debacle. These high class movers and fakers are too classy, it appears, for mouthpiece Daron to actually name the skipper they aimed to implicitly malign last night.

Sutton couldnt simply observe, for example, the team's hitting better "in May than in April", which reflects an even clearer statistical distinction for the public. No, the ponderous '29 games' spiel is their rather purposeful cue that Melvin couldnt manage an offense (and Hinch can) - although it bears mentioning (because Sutton assuredly didnt) that Rick Schu (another Josh Byrnes hire) was hitting coach during this entire inoffensive stretch. Schu, we recall with limited amusement, was this GM's 'answer' to replace Kevin Seitzer, Byrnes' earlier, outside the box, personnel "failure".



If that's all Sutton said, it wouldnt be a big deal, of course. Announcers say stuff like that all the time. In SedonaRedland, however, Daron's riff set up a pre-edited video segment with Jack Howell, this month's hitting guru. Howell emphasized working on batters' weaknesses and, unlike Seitzer, didnt say anything too aggrandizing. That came after, when Sutton proclaimed causality between recent BA/RISP gains and the efforts of Howell and Hinch.

It's not just happening, folks. It's the direct result of a philosophy.

There are substantive and political problems with this tone of declaration. Substantively, the samples are too small to draw that conclusion. The player samples (and circumstances) are also inconsistent. Is Schu culpable for trotting out his most consistent hitter (from 2008) with an undiagnosed case of valley fever? Or savaged for playing Augie and Josh Wilson, when Drew went on the DL? When it suited his agenda, Derrick Hall chirped about how TEP puts the whole team at an April disadvantage - now, the poor April hitting is on Melvin and Schu? How much credit does Howell deserve for a AA callup (Parra) hitting .667 (12/18) with RISP? I dont really know, but the point is, neither does Daron Sutton or anybody else.

The team is undoubtedly hitting better since Melvin left, but it's also a fact the three guys who hit for him (Upton, Lopez and Reynolds) have continued to hit under Hinch, and with the exception of a surging Snyder and reserve Ryan Roberts, the culprits who didnt hit for Bob in April (CY, Byrnes, Whitesell, Montero, even Drew for pity's sake), havent hit much since either. The biggest boost, so far and by far, has been Parra, who never played for Melvin, and Roberts, a 28 year old with a career .074 BA, who's been ethereally raking .400 for Howell. A month of this is being touted as a triumph of coaching philosophy? Seriously?

The more galling component of this quick and very dirty presumption is that Melvin and Schu are somehow responsible for the .186 BA in any meaningful sense; the idea that this young, ascendant offense might somehow be resigned to hit .186 w RiSP under Melvin going forward. Last night, Sutton praised Howell and Hinch for briefly overseeing a .262 RISP at Melvin's expense, despite the fact Melvin's 2008 squad, the one tirelessly lampooned for a lack of clutchness, hit .257 w RISP over an entire season. Talk about a disingenous, statistically insignificant comparison.

Is Daron unaware of such context? A big innocent earnestly trying to educate us, even if he doesnt "get" all the statistical implications?

Hardly.



Sutton himself is intensively 'coached', tutored, by statistical wonks - wizards if you must. Wizards well aware of data's limitations - and no doubt hip to Daron's contrived declaration and the disinformation campaign to come. That's the self-serving political aspect that's to be expected from a Dream Team with a long history of glossing over, and indeed blaming others for, their strategic and tactical missteps. The next time we're subjected to this sort of organizational blather, and I promise it wont be long, understand these sorts of things dont just just happen, folks - it's the direct result of a philosophy.

Goodyear, Arizona

I've been choked up over the loss of traditional spring training for years now, the way old men still ask for Beef Wellington, long since removed from the menu.

No point rehashing details, just thank God the calendar ended this latest vernal iteration of MLB's ostensible largesse, so that fat white drunks can fly home to Chicago and aimless latinos in Manram threads can lowride their chubby families back to Norwalk. Attendance was down about a thousand per game from 2008, up overall due to a couple new teams (LAD & CLE) and stadiums (Camelback Ranch, Goodyear).

By now, the primary beneficiaries of these publicly financed temples shouldn't surprise. Players, coaches and team execs uniformly love the new digs, fans not so much. Indian rooters likened "their" shiny Goodyear complex to a prison, a metaphor begging for more general application in and around MLB.

The paradox is that enough alcoholics and dopes still flock to these overpriced slammers to politically eke out their construction. Goodyear's penal colony, for example, exceeded 99K, well shy of our state's largest holding cells, but a spring mark for visiting Indians.

Club spokesmen call Goodyear an unqualified success. $1.6M in ticket revenue, about that much in beer and junk. How much fry bread does that bring the city? Let's be generous and say Cleveland fans spend six times more outside the stadium than in. That's $3.2M x 6 or $19M, which sounds about right if the Cubs bring Mesa $25. Let's call it $20M. What's the local tax yield on $20M? A million? Toss in a fancy Keynsian multiplier and call it two.

Goodyear residents and tourists, most of whom will never enjoy the venue, let alone benefit from plush clubhouses and opulent weight rooms, paid $108M in taxes to finance it. Sounds like Redistribution of Wealth, my friends. Away from decent, unlicensed, sporadically working Americans like Joe the Plumber.

Sounds like a job for the senior senator from Arizona

This Week's Hacks

Going to the Super Bowl and inaugurating black Presidents is all well and good, but the biggest buzz around town this week has to be D. Baxter's arrest for extreme DUI. Surely our mischievous Top Cat, clocked at 95 on the outer loop in a company car, after smoking pot with a BAC twice the legal limit, wasnt what the Dream Team had in mind when they sought to drive home an aggressive new identity. Really, I have no immediate issue with Baxter's dismissal - this is one messed up cat - although I was stirred and shaken that The Republic chose to treat the anonymous, low wage sot inhabiting the mascot costume as a public figure, open to major metropolitan ridicule usually reserved for his employers.

Speaking of impairment, alleged Patriot Rush Limbaugh bluntly embraced his democratically mandated President, sulking: "I hope he fails". The cocooned drug addict culminated his comedy routine by curtly blaming liberalism for where "we" are today. Liberalism? Heh. Say what you want about Obama's specific policies, but in Limbaugh can there be a more indulged or tortured demagogue who, even in a time of national crises, despises bipartisan pragmatism more than he supposedly loves his country?

My poop on the inaugural address can be found here.

Not sure what to add about our football Cardinals. I guess today's observation is that Edgerrin James runs like a fairy. I know he's old and had 73 yards Sunday, but it's astonishing to consider Edge is 11th All Time in NFL rushing yardage after watching him run nowadays. He prances to avoid contact, even at the expense of yards, and often looks like he's going down intentionally, like a sliding QB at the end of a scramble.

It's no coincidence that on the Cards' two biggest plays of the NFC Championship game - the fourth and one from midfield, and the third and goal screen pass from the Eagles' nine, the ball was given to Tim Hightower each time - with Edge nowhere in sight. The fourth and one sweep could have ended Arizona's remarkable season, but Hightower sidestepped debris and was able to turn the corner. On the touchdown screen, he followed blockers before butting helmets with an Eagle back at the two, barely stumbling into the end zone. Edge doesnt make that play in a million years. Perhaps neither play. Smart coach.

ASU men beat Arizona in Tucson despite a miserable shooting night, clanking wide open threes like a junior high squad. Does that make them a good team, or not so good - the fact they won on the road on a really bad night? The erratic shooting has become a nagging characteristic of this team, as has C Jeff Pendergraph's early foul trouble. Sendek's zone defense is solid, but there's little athletic depth here. The inability of Harden's teammates to convert his glorious feeds has grown into something of a joke in our house. If they shoot well, ASU's capable of beating all but a few tems in the country, but I just dont see them putting a meaningful tournament run together. The shooting is just too sporadic, and they lack redundancy (depth) when things dont go well.

Our condolences to the loved ones of Tommy Jones, an upbeat Director of Player Development for Colangelo's Dbacks, who passed away this week. He was also briefly a first base coach.

Finally, here's my All Time Alphabet Team, spurred on by AZ Snakepit. Twenty five man positional roster, twenty five available letters (all but 'x') - one for each surname. Only the closer can have 50+ career saves. Them's the rules:

C - Yogi Berra
1B - Jimmie Foxx
2B - Napolean Lajoie
SS - Honus Wagner
3B - Mike Schmidt
LF - Rickey Henderson
CF - Willie Mays
RF - Babe Ruth

Reserve C: Joe Torre
Reserve CI: Darrell Evans
Reserve MI: Arky Vaughan
Reserve OF: Top Cat
Reserve OF: Hank Aaron

SP#1 - Walter Johnson
SP#2 - Lefty Grove
SP#3 - Satchel Paige
SP#4 - Cy Young
SP#5 - Sandy Koufax

Loogy: Jesse Orosco
RP#1 - Brendan Donnelly
RP#2 - Jeff Innis
RP#3 - Paul Quantrill
RP#4 - Jeff Zimmerman
Setup - Jeff Nelson
Closer - Ugueth Urbina

Can you do better? Go on. I dare you.

*****************

Song of the Day - Top Cat

Dropping The Ball

I voted for Obama, but the brash leftward tilt of CNN's New Year's telecast is a bit nauseating. It's not just the usual fawning over Bill Clinton (whom I also helped elect once). It's the juxtaposition of that, with a barrage of Sarah Palin potshots passing for good natured humor. Election's over, guys.

And then there's Anderson Cooper's longstanding woody, fixed on Key West's crossdressing Sushi - descending as he/she/it does every December, in what is by now a giant red cliche. I guess outdoors New Year's celebrations are raucous youthful rites, and my wife says kids are just having fun, but beyond the commercialization (which isn't new, just more relentless), there's something else demoralizing about CNN's nationally televised bash.

Years ago, when Sushi first wriggled (Live!), from the plummeting pump, coast to coast, I laughed it off as an oddball - and quintessentially American - sideshow, sequestered as it was on a sandy spit thankfully removed from our precious bedrock mainland. But have we now, as a nation, descended lower than offshore Sushi itself? To a point where CNN annually elevates this local drag queen, primping for hard core Key West misfits, into some nationally recognized, time-honored New Year's Day fixture?

It took thirty years, but New Year's has gone from a musical, straight Guy, to innocuous Dick, to talentless, primping Gay - and corporate glorification of fetishy excess.

The ball isnt the only thing descending.

******************

Song of the Day - Go West (Pet Shop Boys)

This Week's Hacks

This week's ledger indicates we gots:

Felipe Lopez - 3.5M
Augie Ojeda - 700K
Scott Schoeneweis - 2M
James Skelton - rule 5

and lost:

Orlando Hudson
Adam Dunn
Juan Cruz
Randy Johnson (probably)
Brandon Lyon
Connor Robertson

...and lost out on:

Mark Loretta / Ramon Vazquez
Arthur Rhodes




Does this spell twilight for the Arizona franchise? I'm actually more hopeful than most, that some sizable checks are still forthcoming, hence the parenthetical 'probably' next to Unit. No less an authority than Earl Kendrick crows:

"We’re feeling pretty good about our revenues” and "I think we have a little more flexibility to make deals than maybe what’s being reported as of now."

Good news, I guess, but the intriguing bit in Bordow's article is this:

Arizona, according to a source, has approximately $15 million to spend, whether it be in free agency or trades. Kendrick would not confirm the figure.

The FO forcefully contradicted this contention in The Republic:

Club officials scoffed at a published report that said the Diamondbacks have $15 million to spend this off-season. They indicated that the team likely has something closer to half that available.

The $15 million question is this: Who was Scott Bordow's source for the $15M figure? I'll give you three guesses.

Josh Byrnes?

Bad answer. Way too smart to show his hand like that.

Someone like Moorad or Woodfork?

Doubtful, considering Bordow hasnt quoted either elsewhere in any article for quite some time (ie there's little evidence he's even recently spoken to them).

Who has Bordow talked to recently? Indeed, who is the only Diamondback source quoted by Bordow in the past week, in any capacity whatsoever?

Ding! Ding! Ding! Earl Kendrick. We have a winner.

This is an old reporter's trick, when a source divulges confidential information, then threatens to walk out of an interview if you attribute it. To save the relationship, a reporter will distance the stoolie and say "Kendrick would not confirm the figure". Which is absolutely true, and is what I believe happened here. Again, Mr Kendrick has a rather loquacious history, and if not Earl, what other highly placed source would've ( or logistically could've ) provided this figure to Bordow?

********************

Frank Rich cautions against submitting to elitists, and spanks Robert Rubin pretty soundly in the process. At a time when the mob is keen to blame Bush and Cheney for the failure of fantasy league teams, it's refreshing to hear an influental liberal really rip into his own party's self-interested excesses. Good for Rich. Good for the poor and the middle, too.

Are we on the cusp of a great depression? At first, I thought it silly, because our economy is more diversified - and institutions more insured - than in 1929, but each day I grow more troubled at the prospect. The lesser reason is that we've grown fat and lazy as a culture. We can mitigate that, somewhat. The daunting structural reality, compared to 1929, is largely beyond our control, however. The rest of the world is changing faster and more productively than we are, and I'm increasingly skeptical we can keep up. The protected illusions of Detroit (which we've all sensed for thirty years) and Wall Street (which I've been dubious about for fifteen), are almost staring us in the face now. We can either confront them head on and suffer significant dislocation, or suffer doubly with our cherished fantasies.

*** Yesterday, I heard tapping on my roof and went outside to investigate. About twenty orange segments lay on the shingles. Of more concern, about five citrus throwing kids - nine or ten years old - were playing on my neighbor's pitched roof with no adult in sight. Inside the home, when confronted, the middle-aged nanny cheerily explained, "Oh! It's roof day."

To be followed by "pink slip" day, if I have anything to say about it.

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Song of the Day - Up On The Roof (The Emburys)

This Week's Hacks

Big Brown accelerates like Deion Sanders, his trainer woofs like Deion, and I'm glad they didnt win. Not because Dutrow and the owners are jerks, but because racing immortality should be earned and the Belmont field was lamer than Barbaro. Dont let Secretariat's 31 lengths fool you - he demolished some fine thoroughbreds - and Affirmed was stalked by another champion.

Speaking of athletes with crap for competition, a look at today's standings reveals the real price of the Dbacks' tailspin. By losing thirteen of nineteen (that's a .315 clip, folks), the Dbacks have democratized MLB's worst division from an April landslide to a two party battle in May, to a four way free for all in June. The all but forgotten Padres have reeled off five in a row and find themselves 6.5 out with a hundred to play - the Giants, uniformly ridiculed this spring, are a mere five games back.

Watch out for Kerry Wood. He whizzed through the ninth at Dodger Stadium Sunday, with a free and easy motion tossing 98. Bad news for the National League.

Thanks to Price Waterhouse, I have the names of both VP candidates. The envelope please. For the Democrats: Jim Webb. And for the Grand Old Party: Carly Fiorina. I think it'll be tough for McCain to win with another Republican man on the ticket; he has to attract a sizable chunk of the women's vote. Obama should resist the overwhelming temptation to select a like minded woman, like AZ Governor Janet Napolitano, and seek out military gravitas instead. Why? Because under the harsh light of a presidential campaign, in the crucible of televised debates fighting for the nation's substantial midsection, Webb > Fiorina, but Fiorina > Napolitano.

Opening Day

This photo, snapped at first pitch, illustrates another "official" Diamondback sellout. Both OF corners were vacant the entire day, although sections toward home plate fleshed out by the second frame. The club evidently takes instruction from Kellogg's or General Mills on defining "full":

Some settling may occur in "packaging".

An hour prior to gametime, glacial queues of ticketed fans waited patiently to have their rucksacks fondled, free of additional charge, eventually gaining admittance into the exclusive ziggurat they paid for. Fortunately, it wasnt too hot under the 7th street overpass, so the elderly didnt drop like grapefruit in a hurricane - as they sometimes do in spring training.

"These prices havent gone down."

Those were the kid's first words upon entering the concourse.

"What do you mean?", I asked

He pointed to the large sodas, now $5.75. Werent the big sodas $5 or $5.50? I honestly dont remember, but he's an observant kid and may be right. Just three weeks ago, we both sat in Derrick Hall's office and distinctly heard Hall say Levy's "had agreed to lower prices on all their items". Is "agreed to" lower" not quite the same as "actually" lower?

Of more concern, 24 oz. sodas at Chase are favorably positioned @ $3.75 in the industry's most widely cited pricing report (see Adobe attach.), the same study insisting our $5 hot dog costs $3. Questioning the TMR itself seems folly - after all, it's done in Excel with spreadsheets and even footnotes! so it must be right - but the Dbacks appear to have jacked up prices before the ink was dry on the TMR, a nimble accomplishment given its March 28th release date.

Mr Hall came through on the kid's menu, though. The enigmatic $1.50 items he's vociferously championed are now - almost a year later - clearly displayed on menu boards, providing discounts to that esoteric niche segment, "adults with children".

It wouldnt be Opening Day without the valley's most recognized and beloved vendor, Darryl (pictured), and his dulcet treats:

"Lemonade! Lemonade. Like grandma used to make"

and my favorite leering innuendo:

You know you want it!

Derrick (not Darryl) also came through on his personal assurance that the scoreboard would serve to educate fans and "not gonna be ads". Here, the Hi Def board touts highly regarded Double AA prospect, Horatio Aquafina.

I have mixed feelings about the big board that I'll elaborate elsewhere - but the combination of size and Hi Def really makes an impression. Formerly innocuous Kiss Cam segments suddenly reveal an entire fan base in need of Crest Whitestrips and exfoliation.

Governor Napolitano received thunderous applause while Partner (not to be confused with "partner") Jeff Moorad was lustily booed. Seriously, Janet's mixed reception made me rethink my long-winded comment regarding ballpark politicians. It's fine, indeed beautifully American, for fans to express displeasure, but as a matter of ballpark taste, booing seems more appropriate than hurling personal or political insults.

First, they cant hear your catcalls 99% of the time. You're not talking to Janet or George. You're talking about them to folks in your section, who obviously reflect diverse allegiances and who've paid money, often good, to enjoy a ballgame sans one-sided harangues. We can hear Paul Begala or Bay Buchanan on cable, thanks. Whether it's true or not, nobody really gives a damn whether you think Janet is a free spending lesbian or that George Bush is a baby killer. Generic booing at a ballgame seems like a reasonable American compromise; a means by which to express political displeasure, without needlessly offending those closely huddled around you.

Whether rooting for Conor Jackson or freeing Tibet, this inveterate flag waver succeeded in offending fifty Democrats, Republicans and Independents seated directly behind her.

I dont boo a whole lot, but felt compelled to boo my in house hosts, Rallybacks Vanessa and Lame Guy Who Was With Her Last Year. Enduring their cheesier than Ajo Al's schtick is more "in-carceration" than "in-house" and a contrived embarrassment to a franchise aiming - and increasingly deserving - to be taken seriously.

And honestly, is there anyone in the valley with no felony convictions who can bray "Ka-risss Bah-uuurk!" in less than four sing songey syllables? Gruesome murders aside, it sounds as if our unnaturally happy PA clown is channeling John Wayne Gacy.

The game? The game, you say? Ah yes, there was a game and what a game it was. Even MLB "reporter" Steve Gilbert saw the game. Calls his story "Fat City". My, Steve, where do you find that inspiration of yours? Maybe we both simply have Fatburgers on our minds, which, judging from lines clogging the LF concourse in front of Chase's newest burger joint, is easier than having Fatburger in our stomachs.

Oh, the game. Yes. It was a blast. Four blasts actually. Half by Luke Skybopper, aka Cabana Boy. Druw Jones looking lethargic in center and worse at the plate. Juan Pierre being Juan Pierre. This is a story that will take some time in telling. The first chapter is very easy to tell and starts with a big "D": for Diamondbacks. It will take months before we can safely copy and paste that "D" onto a later chapter, titled Destiny.

(photo courtesy of Nick Oza)