Storytime! ...the Final Chapter

Continued...              

  Jason slowly came back to life after eight hours of surgery, in which he lost both legs and had an implant into right arm. His promising baseball career was most definitely finished. Though his parents asked him to wait till later to go see his brother, Kris totally denied that and ran from their grasp into his recovery room.

                “Jason!”

                “Lil bro…” Jason was half asleep but he roused when Kris busted in.

“Hey…” Kris didn’t really know what to say.

                “Tell me you’ll do it.”

                “Huh?”

                “Promise me.”

                “Okay Jason…but what am I promising?”

                “You’re the family’s baseball prodigy now. Do it. For me. Please.”

                Kris knew he had to. He didn’t have a choice, and honestly he didn’t want it any other way.

                “Promise.”

               

The All-Star break was coming up. Kris was sitting in his apartment when his cell rang. It was Prince Fielder, wondering if he’d wanna hop on the NL Home Run Derby team.

                Dude. Yes.

                Kris picked up one of the starting outfield positions in the All-Star game. Man this has been a fantastic week.  First get picked for the Derby team and then winning the fan vote? Score.

                Not a week later Kris was flying down to Arizona, to the Diamondbacks’ stadium. This would be his show, his five seconds of fame in front of the whole world. Kris was sure he’d make it a memorable one.

ALL-STAR GAME

                Verlander was pitching for the American League; opposing him was Tim Lincecum. What a filthy matchup. There was a friendly wager in the National League clubhouse on how long it would take for either side to score. Kris was keeping it light—he couldn’t get too nervous. He really, really wanted to make an impression on national TV. He was batting eighth and playing left field.

               

                “Welcome to FOX network’s presentation of the Major League Baseball All-Star game, coming to you from Chase Field in Arizona. We’ve got a great game on tap for you—the best players in the game on showcase!”

                “Yeah Tim! We have a fantastic pitching matchup. Justin Verlander is arguably baseball’s best pitcher, and Tim Lincecum is one of the filthiest starting pitcher of this decade.”

                “Both guys feature 95-plus mile-an-hour fastballs and can blow you away. The difference between them is that Verlander has better control.”

                Verlander lost control fast. It was 3-0 with two on in the top of the first. The NL was lighting him up when Kris came up to bat. And promptly ended the inning by grounding into a double play. Goddammit.

                It was 5-0 with a runner on third and two down for Kris’ second at-bat. Which ended in a weak popup to short. Oh-for-two.

                Still 5-0 with the sacks vacant for his third. He was leading off the fifth. Let’s get something going here. Fanned. Great game, Kris. Really.

               

After the game he was sitting next to his locker. He looks up and Matt Kemp is standing next to him. Images of the days sitting in the ballpark with his brother welled up in front of his eyes. The right fielder, whose autograph is still gracing the front page of Kris’ autograph book, is saying something. Kris snaps back to reality.

“Hey Kris!”

Little Kris suddenly pops back out.

“Hello, Mr. Kemp!”

“’Mister Kemp’?”

Kris chuckles. “Sorry…hey Matt. Whats going on?”

“How’s your brother doing?”

Everything stopped. What was that again?

“Come again?”

“Your brother. How’s he doing? …And yes. I know about the accident after I signed your book.”

Kris sat in disbelief. How did he…

“Uh…well he lost both legs and basically is homebound. But he’s still chipper as ever.”

“Did he watch the game?”

“He watches EVERY game.”

“Can he travel?”

“He can, but its not easy.”

“Tell him to pack up. He’s coming to the park to watch you guys play us next week.”

Kris literally jumped up and hugged Matt.

And then immediately backed off. “Sorry…”

“No, its totally ok. If you’re like me I know you probably don’t get a lot of time to spend with him during the season. And I want to meet him.”

“Thank…you. So much Matt!”

“No problem rookie!”

The door to the NL clubhouse closes and footsteps echo down the hall. The rookie has left. But he has arrived. And this...this is still just the beginning.

The End

Storytime!!! Part 3.

Continued....

“Well, Jim, a big slump-busting win for the Braves today. The offense finally came to life with Uggla's big fly in the fifth and-of course-Michaels' coming-out party—two doubles, a run, and an RBI.”

            “No kidding. He really has potential and showed it today. He struck out once but really showed good pop in his bat with the two opposite-field drives. This kid really has a bright future and I can't wait to see how he does this season.”

            “I really think with this kid's talent he could challenge for Rookie of the Year.”

            “No doubt. Good power to all fields, good speed, and good instincts.”

            Kris toweled off and threw his shirt and pants on. The reporters were still as annoying as ever here in the majors. Guess some things don't change. Damn. Mike Bourne slapped him on the butt as he opened the clubhouse door to leave.

            “Nice opening act bro. Can't wait to see the second.”

            The door closes and footsteps echo down the hall. The rookie has left. But he is only arriving. And this...this is just the beginning.

GAME 20. BRAVES VS. BREWERS.

God this slump sucks. Kris hated the feeling of not being able to hit anything—let alone hitting anything hard.  All through his college and minors career, hitting balls hard to the gap was his game. And he did it well. Now all he seems able to do is pop weakly out to shallow left. Oh—and don’t get him started on loud fly outs to the track. Nothing pisses him off worse than starting his trot only to get it squeezed at the wall.

Didn’t seem to Kris that today would be much better. He was facing off against Yovani Gallardo—he has a nasty curve and also a wipeout slider. Both pitches Kris knows he struggles against. Another two-K day is on the docket. He threw his gloves on and trudged out to the batting cage to take a few rips. The bat felt good in his hand, but then again it always does. Holding and swinging the bat has never been the issue. Kris just gets a little over-anxious in the box. Free-swinger, per say.

“Welcome to WCNN-93.7, home of the Braves! We’ve got a slightly overcast day here in Atlanta, but Turner field is dry. Should be a good day for some baseball. Its only mid-June, but the Braves have started a little slow.”

                “Yeah Chip, they have. Our pitching has been really suspect. It seems as though Tommy Hanson is our only real reliable starter so far. But he’s gonna need some help if we’re gonna turn this one around.”

                “One guy that has been struggling at the plate a little as of late has been their rookie Kris Michaels. He did have a good day at the plate the other day, going two-for-four with a couple of singles.”

                “I don’t think they called him up for singles. I know they had bigger things in mind than singles when Freddy penciled him in.”

                “He’ll have a tough day at the plate today with Gallardo on the mound though. He’s been inconsistent, but when he’s on he can be one of the best starters in baseball.”

                The game started out a bit slow for both teams. Kris was batting sixth, and got jammed on the first pitch he saw and nearly broke his bat trudging up to first, and then changed course to the dugout. Another day in the damn office.

               

                “Bottom of the fourth and the Braves are threatening. McCann is on third, and Michaels is up. One down. Gallardo peers in to get the sign and shakes it off. Now he settles, winds, ball one. Fastball down and away.”

                Michaels was pretty proud of himself that he didn’t hack and get sent back. At least on the first pitch.

                “Yo has the sign, winds and deals. Slider on the inside corner for strike one. Michaels steps out of the box and adjusts the straps on his gloves. He’s back in, and waits on Gallardo. Winds and deals.”

                Man that felt good coming off the bat. A loud but solid crack sent the ball in a high arc to right-center.

                “And that’s a long drive to right! This one has a chance!”

                Could it be?!

                “It’s gone! A two-run shot off of Gallardo and the Braves are up by two! Michaels picks a heckuva time to hit his first professional home run!”

                Yeah. It be.

                Kris batted in the seventh. Gallardo had been yanked after giving up three in the sixth. The Braves were up 5-1 when Kris led off against some reliever he hadn’t heard of. Ever. He fouled off a change for strike one, and watched another change well away for ball one. A fastball down was ball two. Then—it looked good. The rotation said slider, but this one didn’t look like it was gonna break. Yessir—it was a concrete mixer. And now it was in the seats in left. 6-1 Braves.

                Kris landed hard from the toss, but felt nothing as his brother was run down. He sprawled stunned on the strip of grass between the road and the sidewalk, yelling for Jason to get up. A commotion lit up the area with shouts and people staring disbelieving. A cop came by, lights flashing and pulled his car up to the side of the unmoving Jason and blocked all traffic. He came by Kris and asked him what happened, but the rest of the world outside of his senseless brother was static to Kris. Flashing lights pulled up and Jason was taken away. Kris sat in the back of the cruiser screaming for his brother. The cop just sat next to him and did his best to comfort him while they waited for his parents.

GAME 37. BRAVES VS. PHILLIES.

                Roy Halladay is a beast. So is Cliff Lee. Halladay had just owned the Braves the day before, and Kris had finally cooled off a bit after a torrid stretch where he hit 10 homers in two weeks or so. Doc held him to a one-for-four, and the only hit he got was a weak liner off Antonio Bastardo in the eighth. The Braves lost that one easily.

                The second game in Philly was shaping up to be another long one. It was hot as all blazes out on that field—ninety-eight and humid as hell. Sun was out, beating down on the field like an oven and it was all the groundscrew could do to keep the basepaths moistened and not clay. The Braves didn’t even take batting practice out on the field, they just hit some in the cages. The Gatorade sure seemed like it wouldn’t last long today.

                Lee came out dealing to start the game. His cutter in Kris’ kitchen wrecked one of his bats in his first at-bat, and made his stay at the plate a short one in his second. Advantage: Lee. The Phillies were up comfortably going into the seventh. Lee was looking like he was going full complete game mode. McCann singled though, and Kris, who was now batting fourth, came to the plate. Another cutter. One too many and this one was in his wheelhouse. It left his wheelhouse in a hurry too, and the Phillies’ lead was cut to one. Michaels trotted around third and bumped forearms with McCann at home plate.

                Lee was gone. Chased after he gave up the game-tying double to Martin Prado in the seventh.  The game was close. Kris came up in the top of the ninth with a chance to go ahead—two on, two out. For some reason the Phillies didn’t have their closer Madson in at this point; maybe that’s because the game was still tied. Kris hacked at a good first pitch—and flew out to the wall. Sonofa.

                Top of the eleventh, tie game, and Kris is sitting in the dugout praying hard for another chance. The Phillies had Madson in, probably because they wanted a shut-down inning before their big bats came up in the bottom half. Kris was slated to hit fourth. Michael Bourn was at bat and—

                Good job Bourn!!!

                A double started off the inning. The next two batters, McCann and Uggla, popped out. Uggla’s flyout was deep enough to move Bourn to third.

                Pressure situation.

                Madson’s first pitch was so fat it needed its own zip code. And then got its wish for a two-run Braves’ lead. First game winning homer for the rookie.

To be continued...

Storytime! ...Part 2

Continued...

“Lil bro! Who signed your book?”

            “I got the second baseman’s and the right fielders!” Kris was totally excited. He had always wanted the right fielder’s autograph, mainly for the fact that he thought right field was the coolest position. Not for any logical or reasonable reason, but for the fact that right field tended to be the closest to his older brother and his in-park hangout and because of that he had that feeling that he “knew” the right fielder.

            Kris’ brother was 4 years older than him, his self-appointed guardian and mentor, especially as baseball was concerned. Jason was a pure pitcher. He threw 90 as a sophomore in high school, to go along with a nasty changeup and curve. His ascension to the big leagues seemed almost foregone, and his talent was startling. Kris, on the other hand, was a pure hitter. So in that regard their play styles conflicted, but the two found that it actually was a blessing. Jason could practice pitching against the best, and Kris could practice hitting against the best as well. Jason showed him the ropes on fielding, the best way to camp under a fly ball and how to hit the cutoff man. He taught him some of the art of pitching and strategies pitchers would use against a hitter of his caliber. Kris thought he was learning from the best. Their relationship went way beyond baseball, though. Jason taught him the usefulness of humor and humility, but also when to be funny and when to be strong. Jason was the ultimate brother. Or so Kris thought.

            Jason and Kris were out at the local farm club game. It was their local hangout when nobody else was available to chill. They loved sitting out on the grassy hill out in right field and chugging Coke and hot pretzels, discussing baseball strategy and girls. Today’s game was just over, the local team busting out in the sixth for four runs and the win. The special for today’s game was autographs and “meet the team” after the game. Kris had his autograph book and got a couple pages filled. Including the right fielder. ESPECIALLY the right fielder.

            Kris’ Coke was only half empty so he was sipping on it as they walked back to the car. Jason had gotten his license about a year back and was always excited that he could take his lil’ bro to games, just Kris and him. Dad was always glad to loan his older “errand” car to the kids to go to games in the city—it was only about a 20 minute drive, and the kids knew the back ways and the roads less traveled.

            Jason and Kris meandered back to the car, enjoying the musky warmth of the Jacksonville evening. Kris managed to drop his cola as they were crossing the street. Jason didn’t notice, but after a couple steps of no Kris, looked back. Just in time to throw Kris out of the way of a drunk in a car. And to end up lying unconscious and mangled on the road.

            GAME 1. BRAVES VS. PIRATES.

            “It's a beautiful day here at PNC Park. We've got a good game on tap for today—who do you want to look out for today in the Braves' lineup, Don?”

            “Well Jim, we've got the regulars-Bourne and McCann. But the special one today is a rookie-Kris Michaels, who is making his Major League debut!”

            “Sounds good Don. The kid has potential, that's for sure. He was our best hitter in Spring Training and it was only a matter of time before they called him up. He was tearing up Double-A when he made the jump.”

            Kris was nervous. Man he loved this game, but damn did it mess with your emotions if you let it. They had him batting fifth—FIFTH. Behind the likes of Michael Bourne, Brian McCann, and Dan Uggla. They were showing a lot of faith in him batting him in the middle of the lineup in his first official big league game. Visions of sugarplums and RBI's were dancing in his head for sure. Chill, kid, and make contact. The fame will come-hopefully-but right now gotta stay focused so he can create that fame.

            Crack. Cleanup hitter Uggla led off the second with a drive into the corner in left. He basically walked into second. Even a fatass like Dan couldn't have come up short of a double on that one.

            “Well here he comes. Kris Michaels for his first Major League at-bat—and an RBI chance at that! Think nerves will be a factor here Don?”

            “Absolutely. But I think this kid has the focus and determination to make things happen.”

            “McDonald starts from the stretch. He steps off and looks Uggla back to second. Michaels steps out of the box and re-adjusts his gloves. Steps in and here we go.”

            Kris was almost shaking in the box as he watched McDonald keep tabs on Uggla. Why in the hell he even cared about the big boy on second—he wasn't much of a threat to run. Especially to steal third, nevermind the fact that Kris is a righty. The first pitch came ripping in-strike one.

            “Michaels just watches the first pitch for strike one. McDonald breathes, sets, and fires. Ball one, high and outside.”

            Wow did he want to take a hack at that. Always has been a sucker for the high heat.

            “Ball two. Slider low and inside. Not even close. McDonald looks a little ticked at himself.”         

            McDonald really looks pissed at himself, muttering expletives under his breath. That ball was almost a wormburner inside. Maybe he can get into Mac's head. If he could just throw a fat pitch here on 2-1....

            “Uggla takes his lead off second. The outfield is playing normal depth, normal rotation. McDonald readies himself and fires--”

            Hello there, beautiful. A 2-1 fastball belt-high that catches just a bit too much of the plate. Michaels hacks and the ball jumps off his bat. He takes off for first.

            “Michaels rips that pitch into the gap in right-center! This one is trouble! Could be extra bases! They're waving Uggla around third and HE WILL SCORE! Michaels gets his first hit, RBI, and extra-base hit all in his first at-bat! Welcome to the Shooooowwww!”

            He slides into second even though he probably could have done without. Michaels calls time, stands up, and smacks his hands together a few times in excitement. He looks to the dugout and everybody is jumping. Dan looks over before descending the stairs and gives him a thumbs-up. Man, that felt good.

To be continued...

Dear Heavens. Its been forever...

Hello all!

Nothing like a little 4-month-or-whatever-its-been break in between posts, eh? Baseball season is in full swing and I sure as heck haven't been covering it for you guys! My bad.
Here's whats going on. I've got a little story for you guys. This is totally fiction. But I thought you guys might like reading a little of my creative fiction work!
Yes, I'll still be posting on here analysis and news of current stories but this will be a nice break from the normal hum-drum of baseball. I'll break it up into several posts over the next couple weeks or so.
Hope you enjoy! First post, coming your way in
3..
2...
1...

Play ball.

Just the Beginning.

“Sacks are loaded. 2-1 count on Michaels. Here's the pitch---”

            WHACK.

            “A drive! Heading into the corner in right! It drops in and 3 runs will score! Michaels cruises into third standing up. He's blown this game wide open with a two-out bases-clearing triple!”

            Kris closes the door on his locker and grabs his gear bag. God how he hates all the reporters. Guess that's what comes from being the best player on the team—especially one that managed a 2-for-4 effort and 4 runs batted in.

            “Kris!”

            It was the director. Not of his Double-A team, but of the parent club—the Braves! He had met him a couple times before, earlier in the spring when he played on the major league team over spring training.

            “Hello Mr. Richardson! What brings you down here?”

            “You do.”

            “Whatever could you want with me?”

            “Your bat. And glove. In Atlanta. Tomorrow. You've made the Show, kid!”

           

            “Hey rookie!”

            Kris was still kind of taking it all in. He spent much of the spring with these guys during his Spring Training cup of coffee, but it felt totally different during the regular season. “Yeah?”

            “If you don’t homer in your first at-bat you’re buying us all dinner!”

            “Jesus man! I barely even have a big-league contract man…you guys eat expensive too.”

            “Sucks to suck—make it happen lil man.”

            Kris turned back to face his locker with a wry smile on his face. Michael Bourn was such a troll. At the same time though, he was somewhat worried that he would follow through with that threat. And they do eat expensive. He threw on his uniform shirt and gave his hat a good shake and pop with his hands. It was crisp and new. With the way he played, it wouldn’t feel like that for very long.
            A quick jog out of the clubhouse and into the bright sunlight of PNC Park took a second to adjust to. The park was new and sparkling, quite unlike the smaller, cheaper parks he had played in in AAA. There was a sprinkling of fans finding their way up to field level to get some autographs.

            “Mr. Michaels?”

            A young voice penetrated his thoughts. Kris turned around to see a young boy in a Braves jersey standing at the railing behind him.

            “Hey! What’s up bud?”

            The kid looked a little sheepish. “Can-can I have your autograph?”

            Kris grinned. “Sure!” He walked over and took the autograph book and pen from the boy and made sure his first big-league autograph was perfect. He glanced through and saw other top-level players’ autographs—Brian McCann, Dan Uggla, a freaking GREG MADDUX autograph too—he didn’t look old enough to have one of those.

            “I take it you’re a big Braves fan?” Kris was curious.

            “Yeah!”

            Kris handed the book and pen back to the boy and held out his hand. The boy looked slightly confused, then a grin passed his face as he shook Kris’ hand.

            “Thanks mister!”

            Enough of the mister crap. “Just call me Kris.”

            He waved as the boy and his father—just guessing that it was his dad—walked up the concourse stairs.

            “Now you’ve got to hit that homer!” Bourn called over from the outfield.

            Dammit.

Musings 3.0

So...there are a few things on the docket today. I thought I'd throw a few links at you and some musings about each.
Let's get started!!

8th-grader Owen Groesser drained two 3-pointers last night in a middle school game. Wait--who cares? Well, nobody except the millions on Twitter and Facebook that hashtagged #GetOwenOnSportsCenter. Groesser is an average 8th grade student, minus the fact that he has Downs Syndrome. He is the teams' manager, and his coach put him in for the last 2 minutes of a half in his final home game. Groesser promptly drain not one-but TWO J's. Here is the link. Fantastic story.

The Upton brothers are reunited!!! Atlanta and Arizona pulled off a horrendously one-sided trade favoring the Braves last night. Atlanta got Justin Upton and a throw-in Chris Johnson (not the CJ0K. He's in the NFL) for 3B Martin Prado, SP Randall Delgado, and 3 minor leaguers. Yes, Prado is a excellent third-sacker, but the D-backs only get a year of him before he can bail via free agency. Delgado is a solid,  but not even close to spectacular SP who may only contribute to the rotation, not improve it. And I don't name any of the minor league players because I haven't heard of them, and therefore don't care. The Braves get 3 years of discount top-5 outfielder for not much in return. Thank you and see you in the playoffs. Here's an overview of the trade.

The Lakers lost again. Howard slogged along defensively-again-and left the game after apparently re-injuring his shoulder. Kobe pretty much summed up the Lakers' season with one play: Lakers steal the ball and Kobe is on a 2-on-1 fast break. Advantage: Lakers. Kobe goes up for the dunk...and gets totally rejected by Tony Wroten. Wait...who??? Oh, he's a rookie. Kobe gets up off the floor and throws his fist in disgust and yells at the ref, immediately drawing a technical. Sux fo ya Mamba...
Watch the highlights here. 
Quik reax: with the hot thing being stars splitting from small-market teams to play with each other (see the Celtics, Heat, and this year the Lakers), I have been waiting for-and been expecting-the one try to fail. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner. Would Dwight, Kobe, and Steve please step forward and receive your award!! This year's Lakers experiment blew up in their faces on a nuclear scale. It is sad watching players of the caliber of these three playing as lackadaisical ball as they are. They don't have a swiss-cheese defense; no, they have NO defense. Their offense can't keep up. Yes-a team that includes Superman, a Black Mamba, and a Hall of Fame point guard can't keep up. That's how bad this defense is leaking points. The NBA as of late hasn't really been known for defense, but this...this is literally fatal.

Finally--can we shut up about the whole Te'o debacle? I'm sick and tired of it. So he was a retard in his relationships and/or his "friend" was a total d**k. I don't think this should make as big of news that it has. ESPN complains that he's doing it to garner attention for himself. Well, with the amount of attention that they are giving him is only making the whole thing worse. He's had his 5 minutes of fame. Let's let the guy move on and play football--which is what he is good at.

And that's all I got.

Death Before Change. #MLBTheories

Good Ole Boys' Club.
The Old Guard.
Old School.

There are plenty of ways to state it. Baseball fans know what I'm talking about. It's unfortunate, but its reality. Baseball is an old-school sport. Always has been, most likely always will be. Tradition runs the table in terms of how the MLB views its morals, awards, statistics, player negotiations, etc, etc, etc. Death Before Change.

Modern Day Example 1: Beane, Billy.
Have you ever seen the movie Moneyball or read the book? Quality read, very good watch. Billy Beane was (and still is) the GM (General Manager) of the Oakland Athletics. After watching his 2001 playoff-caliber team decimated by top stars leaving via free agency, Beane took it upon himself to totally change the approach at building a winning team. He, along with Yale grad Peter Brand, developed (mostly) a new way to build a team using advanced statistical analysis and jump-started sabermetrics. He, Brand, and the A's caught just about as much flak as possible. The Old Guard, even those within his own organization, raised Cain about the issue...until the A's wrecked the old American League record for consecutive wins and made the playoffs. After the season, Beane and Brand were hot stuff, but both chose to stay with the small-market A's.

Why do I bring this up? It's one of the most mainstream examples of how tradition rules all in baseball. The sport was developed in the late 1800's and made popular in the early 1900's, and in many ways it hasn't left that era. Statistical analysis was one of those things slow to change. Sabermetrics still aren't completely standard. Most experts are relying on them and most GM's refer to them as a bible for player identification, but when it comes to using them to determine the MVP, Cy Young, Gold Glove, etc., the Baseball Writers Association of America (BBWAA) almost completely ignores them. Which is bad. Why use guesswork and popular vote to determine something that common sense and scientific fact can tell you in a moment? I'm not asking to completely replace human opinion from the awards tally, but I think the statistics can give a clearer picture of who really deserves the award.

Modern Day Example 2: 2012 AL MVP race.
Winner: Miguel Cabrera, Tigers.
Runner-Up: Mike Trout, Angels.
Winner by Sabermetrics: Mike Trout, Angels. WAR: 10.0
Traditional Statistics and Popular Vote: Miguel Cabrera. Triple Crown winner (led the league in BA, HR, RBI; first TC winner since 1967)

Mike Trout got screwed. If Josh Hamilton had done his job and homered in the final game of the 2012 regular season, Trout would have been the runaway MVP. It wouldn't have even been close. But since Cabrera did something not seen in 45 years by the old standards, nevermind Cabrera was worth 2.9 wins less to his team than Trout was (FanGraphs.com), the Writers Association went nuts and Cabrera shut down a rookie who had put up a total body of work only seen 2 or 3 times in the history of baseball. Unfortunate. Sad. Pathetic.

I could go on with examples and arguments. Free Agency. PED's. Bud Selig. Instant replay. Baseball is literally killing itself and its popularity with its old-school mindset. I can't count how many people I have talked to, read, or heard from that say that because of this their interest in the sport is dwindling. Football is taking over America as "America's Game" because they are progressive. Modern. Understandable. Baseball is inundated with old stats, old strategies, and old Politicians. I still love the sport; and that is the main  reason I complain. I don't want to see this sport fail and lose popularity it so richly deserves. Baseball is the best sport, but the way it is handled is the worst.

And that's all I got.

Time To Start Rebooting This Blog!

Well, hello again folks! Long time, no see. Which is completely unfortunate but this has been a relatively quiet offseason since I bailed on posting. There really haven't been mad rushes for the few superstar free agents that were on the market this year (Josh Hamilton, Zack Greinke, Michael Bourne). Greinke was drew the most news, and landed in the deep pockets of the Dodgers, teaming up with Clayton Kershaw and Josh Beckett at the top of the rotation. Bourne is still without a job. Hamilton ditched Texas for Anaheim, and I still don't think that the Angels are contenders. I'll discuss that some other time.

What was on my mind today is something different. What is the place of the knuckleball and knuckelballer in baseball?
I am in a discussion with one of my baseball junkie buds about whether the knuckleballer--specifically R.A. Dickey can ever be a legitimate ace. I say no-the knuckleball is too inconsistent of a pitch to completely be relied upon to carry a team. This is why I think Toronto overpaid. They're not getting a Cy Young pitcher. They are getting an EX-Cy Young pitcher who will be solid-but not what they paid for. I'll go as far to say that IF he stays healthy, Josh Johnson will be better, and Mark Buehrle will be more consistent if not as good as Dickey.


Here's why:

Dickey is moving to a MUCH more offensively-stacked division. The NL East? It really can't get any weaker offensively. The Braves are the best-and last year they were just solid. Nothing like the Yankees (yes, they're old, but they can still hit), Orioles (young, but good-they can still leave the park with the best of them) and the Red Sox. Tim Wakefield was the best modern-era knuckleballer to have any kind of success. He pitched for the Red Sox-and had a career ERA of 4.41 (FanGraphs.com). His career peripherals weren't that far off of Dickey's, and Dickey, once again, put those up in the NL East. Now, as my friend stated, Dickey's stuff is better than Wakefield's and his mental game is getting much better. I think Dickey will be successful, yes; but not consistent. I think that an ace should be the guy that goes out there and you know that he'll give you that good chance to win. Dickey, many games will give the Jays that chance; but he will implode at times. His last season was legendary as knuckleballers go. His pre-All Star break numbers were sick. His post-All Star stats regressed, and I think that those post-All Star break stats are closer to the mean.

Here's my 2013 Season Stats Projections for Dickey:
12-9 W/L
3.60 ERA
1.25 WHIP
6.8 K/9
3.2 WAR

My friends:
19-5 W/L
 APPROX 3.25 ERA
8 K/9
3.7 WAR

And that's all I got.