by Gregg Pearlman
Sunday, May 9, 1999
The Giants played the 30th game of their 1988 season on Mother's Day. That was the first game of the season that I didn't watch or listen to; imagine, having to spend that time with my mom! During a ballgame! Gracious!
It was a painful affair, a 13-7 loss to the Cubs. I did manage to listen to bits and pieces of the game, though, and heard 12 Cubs runs -- and no Giants runs. I mean, what are the odds?
My family and I had gathered in Aptos for the occasion -- no, I don't know why either -- and I really went crazy not being able to listen to the game. In fact, that's how 1988 was for me, thanks to the previous two seasons. I've already mentioned, more than once, that I was never whacko-obsessive about the Giants -- I never felt this need for them to Win It All -- until 1986, for some reason. That's the year Roger Craig turned a terrible ballclub into a contender. The next year, they won a division title for the first time in 16 years, and 1988... well, they were supposed to Win It All. And I guess it was really important for me to Experience Every Moment of the Giants' Inspiring Championship Season! Yay!
Even my dad, who loves sports at least as much as I do and frets about this team (though he pretends not to sometimes), had not trouble setting aside his desire to listen to the game that day. On the other hand, he and Joe, one of my brothers-in-law, periodically asked me the score -- as if in passing.
But whether they really were doing this or not, I felt as though the two of them were joining the women -- my sisters, mother, wife, and grandmother -- in a discussion along the following lines: "What the hell's wrong with that boy?" (I was only 27, see.)
I've thought about that day many times over the years -- 11 years after everybody else has forgotten it. I hope. I don't think I've ever discussed it with anybody else who was there that day, partly because I wouldn't want to hear, "Geez, Gregg, what the hell was wrong with you that day?" I'd simply say, "You know what was wrong."
Today, of course, is Mother's Day, 1999. (I'd say "tomorrow," but it's "today" because it's 1:30 in the morning. I'm up writing and, to prove my versatility, baking my fabulous zucchini pizza squares.) I've done what I do every Mother's Day, which is to tell myself that I'll refrain from watching or listening to the game, because for the most part, none of the mothers at the family gathering tomorrow will be all that concerned about it. My wife, I know, would be thrilled at the idea of me, say, watching kids instead of ballgames, so I'm going to make the monumental effort to steel myself and not watch it... at least not for long periods at a time... and not to get involved in long discussions of just what the absence of Barry Bonds means to this team, and why the hell is Dusty bunting with a fast man on second, and why he's bunting with a slow man on second.
For a few years, there, our family custom was to meet at the ballpark on Mother's Day, which I'm sure was fine with my sister Deb, and figure my mother was reasonably okay with it. My sister Karen might have enjoyed it also, but she's never been as big a fan as Deb or my mom. But my poor wife... the only time she's ever really been interested in baseball at all was during the 1989 stretch drive -- even she will admit to having caught Pennant Fever, and to this day I rue the fact that she didn't accompany my friends and me to the playoff games, even though I know she wouldn't really have had a strong sense of what was happening on the field; she would've loved the atmosphere and the energy. But that was it. Since then, no interest. At most.
I'm okay with that. Really, I am. If anything, I'd rather not subject her to something that she doesn't enjoy -- especially on Mother's Day. And it's her sixth one of those. She made it clear early on that now that she's a mother, she really has no desire to do baseball stuff on a day set aside, essentially, for her. And I don't blame her. She doesn't ask me to go clothes shopping on Father's Day, after all.
So I'm going to do my best, on her special day, to ignore this thing that I love -- but not as much as I love my wife, my mom, my sisters, and my grandmother. I'll be squirming, but I'll try.
They came home, though, which is always encouraging after a horrific East Coast swing, and have beaten Milwaukee two straight, which is great because I'll always have something against the Brewers for changing leagues. Here are the last few days:
Today they'll face Hideo Nomo, who was released after three uninspiring starts for the Cubs' Triple-A affiliate and a failed tryout with the Indians (which clearly means that today's the day Nomo puts it all back together). On the mound for the Giants, we're told, will be Mark Gardner, returning from the disabled list. That means that someone will have to go, and since Wilson Delgado just joined the team after Julian Tavarez went onto the DL with pneumonia, he's got to be safe, so the most likely candidates are Edwards Guzman -- the poor SOB has batted 14 times without a hit, and every time you see him at the plate, you figure you're seeing him for the last time -- and Ramon Martinez, who has a couple dingers -- which can't possibly justify his glovework so far.
It goes without saying that the other prime candidates for demotion are "ABRIGG," Richard, "Gpcins," Jon R., Ethan, fungile, Sean, Dan P., Paul L., Carlos, Brian P., Anson, Tim I., John B., Jonathan, Jeff C., Mr. Crud, John G., Jim J., Mike W., George, Jason, and Lee.
Richard says, "Why would I want to see old videos of Tom Haller and Spec Richardson?"
He's just trying to mask the pain of the series in Pittsburgh.
The Giants' 9-8 loss to the Pirates on Monday was, well, horrific. Its two main features were Jeff Kent hitting for the cycle and Robb Nen utterly coughing it up in the ninth. Kent had five hits that day, in fact, including a single in the ninth. However, he was wiped out to end the inning when Charlie Hayes smoked a ground ball that hit him in the back. It came on a hit-and-run. I can't say that I'd ever seen that before; most runners who are hit by batted balls seem to get nailed in the leg, but Kent got it right between the numbers. Hayes shouldn't complain much, though: he's been in a terrible slump, and hey, he gets credit for a base hit.
Kent laughed as he headed back to the dugout, but he wasn't laughing half an hour later, as the Pirates scored the winning run.
"Gpcins" says, "Can you believe it? Here Charlie is trying to break out of his slump and Kent runs into the infield grounder. But Charlie is still credited with a single? This may be going overboard to help your teammate out of a slump."
Hey, Jeff's a team player.
"Kent only able to single in the ninth after hitting for the cycle earlier. What's wrong with this guy?"
Really! Chris Speier hit a second double in his cycle game, and Dave Kingman, I'm pretty sure, hit two dingers, including a grand slam, in his. A single? That's weak! (Teasing, Jeff. Teasing. So's Gpcins... I'm pretty sure....)
Cycles are cool and fun, but sort of a novelty act. I'm not discounting them, because it's four hits, minimum, and that can't hurt your club, but it's more a "feat" than an "accomplishment."
"I realize that anytime a player gets four hits, most of them being, extra-base hits it's a big deal," says Jon R. "But analytically speaking, hitting for the cycle has to be seen as more of bit of quirkiness than anything else. For example: A guy has a homer, a triple, and a double; he comes to the plate for his fourth at-bat. What is he supposed to do? Hope that he hits a single instead of another homer? Just so he can say he hit for the cycle? Or another scenario: A player hits two home runs in his first two at-bats; then for his third at-bat he hits a triple; his last at-bat he hits a double. What is he supposed to do? Say, 'Oh damn, I wish one of those homers I hit would have been a single'?"
"I agree that it shouldn't be that important, but I don't find it so quirky," says Ethan. "I find it to be a solid example of the modern human compulsion to categorize. Only in this light can the 'variety pack' be appreciated in lieu of absolute productivity, which is the unquestioned goal of every at-bat."
Mostly, though, the cycle is just plain fun.
"Agreed that it is only of statistical interest," says fungile. "However, the by products of hitting a cycle are: (1) the hitter got on base at least four times in the game; (2) the hitter got three extra-base hit during the game; (3) with any luck, the hitter would have a bunch of RBIs as well.
"In addition, specific to Kent's case, he did not need to sacrifice the team to get the cycle. I agree though that there are tons of situations where trying to hit the cycle will hurt the team."
Right. This is an extreme example, especially because it doesn't involve trying for a cycle, but Lou Piniella, according to Ron Luciano, was called out at all four bases in the same game (as a batter-runner) -- i.e., he grounded out once, then got nailed trying to stretch three hits. Or did I get that wrong?
Sean says, "Piniella got 'thrown out for the cycle,' but it wasn't all on stretching hits. He got nailed at home trying to score from second on a base hit, I think. His out at second base was the result of a caught stealing, too, as I remember. I think that the last out wasn't even close. Luciano has a great description of the look of disbelief on every face in the ballpark as Piniella hopelessly chugged towards home, out by 30 feet."
"Kent's claim to fame can be that he hit for the cycle and in the same game he got hit by a ball while running the bases," says Jon, "but that's typical Giants: No good, positive event can go unanswered with something negative shortly thereafter. In this case it was fitting: A rare positive event was greeted by a relatively rare negative event.
"Oh, and of course the tour de force: Mr. Nen coughing up not one run, not two runs, not three runs, but four runs to the Pirates. It was Kent's cycle that caused this."
"Not only is [the cycle] just plain fun," says Dan P., "it's also pretty rare. I'm too lazy to look up the numbers, but I think hitting for the cycle is more rare than no-hitters."
Not in the Giants' case. They've had, like, more cycle-hitters in franchise history than anyone else, including several since coming here... but haven't thrown a no-hitter in 22 years.
"When I turned on the radio for the drive after practice, it was the top of the ninth, with the Giants leading 8-5 (which surprised me since they trailed 4-1 when I got to practice).
"I should have turned it off right there after my previous experience in the day. I didn't. The hideous result is all too obvious now, and the conclusion is simple: I cost the Giants the game by listening in the 'Nenth' (ha!) inning. In the three innings I heard, the Giants were outscored 8-1.
"And Robb, please find your slider before it's too late. Maybe it wasn't just fatigue; your last three appearances have basically stunk with increasing stench from game to game."
"Look, you know there's no point in fighting it," says Paul L. "The Gods have already decreed that not only will he pitch at least a no-hitter, but he'll also personally drive in at least two runs. The sooner you accept it, the sooner you'll get over it."
I will? Cool! But how does acceptance map to "getting over" something?
"For a moment there I was hopeful and happy," says Carlos. "Then [Paul] correctly reminded me of those Baseball Gods. How soon I forget."
"It even works [against us] in retrospect," says Brian P. "See 'Hayes, Charlie' and his comments about the three worst pitchers faced this year: the Gods can predict that kind of thing and punish you in advance."
Anson says, "Everyone was ragging on J.T. Snow, but now he's red-hot. Everyone said the starting pitching really sucks, but now they're actually not doing too badly -- even Estes pitched well. Everyone said, 'Why get Spradlin when the bullpen is so strong?' But now the pen keeps blowing saves.
"This is the Baseball Gods' way of laughing at us Giants fans."
(The only element of this otherwise great point that I'd take issue with is that -- and I might be wrong -- I thought it was more like "paf." Though I like "poonf" a lot.)
"Well, he'd do a whole lot better if he got to face the Florida Roadrunners, the Colorado Roadrunners, and the Montreal Roadrunners," says Jonathan. "What I don't understand is how all four of the other teams in the division get to play the Brewers at the same time." Jeff C. says, "Rumor has that after picking up Spradlin, BFS had some new business cards printed up that read:
Brian F. Sabean"I wonder if he's canceled that order yet."
"Super Genius"
"Unfortunately, he just got the latest copy of ACME's Proven Major Leaguer catalog," says Brian. (Which reminds me that evidently the name of the furniture store owned by my maternal grandfather 50 years ago was "Acme." I always wondered if the beds exploded.)
"To my recollection," says Mr. Crud, "in all the 'Road Runner' cartoons, Wile E. never ever catches the Road Runner. I sure hope the Road Runner is not analogous to a division title, league title, or the Series...."
"Clearly 'The Road Runner' is a metaphor for a World Series Championship," says John. "Clearly Chuck Jones is a Giants fan; and clearly the 'E' in 'Wile E. Coyote' stands for 'EEEEEE!'
"This quote was lifted directly off of 'Melissa's Wile E. Coyote Web Page':
"'Wile E. Coyote is the great American anti-hero, the guy with a dream, overwhelming confidence and obsessive ambition who nevertheless always manages to lose.'
"She even has a comment on Brian Sabean:
"'Wile E. Coyote's unshakable conviction in his superior intellect leaves him wide open to the free-wheeling instinctive reactions of the Road Runner.'"
John G. says, "I gotta give you credit for starting an entertaining and creative thread here. And, I do believe 'poonf' captures it best. Trust your instincts."
"Think about it: At the beginning of the year, the rotation was awful, the offense was awesome, and the bullpen was okay. Then the offense went into a slump, the rotation improved to okay, and the bullpen was doing really well. Now, the rotation is awesome, the offense is okay, and the bullpen is awful."
"Yet the only one that seemed to work well for us," says Mr. Crud, "was the combination of the rotation being awful, the offense being awesome, and the bullpen being okay at the beginning of the year. We need Bonds back, bad. Can he pinch-hit? All he needs to do is this one-armed, right-armed backswing from the left side of the plate, if you can picture this. Hell, even swing his cast at the ball! I bet he'd serve a few into right field, at least."
"Heh," says Jon R. "This is nothing new to me. If I want to get fired from a great job I'll meet 'that perfect someone.' If I want to get dumped by my girlfriend, my work scene will be perfect. If my parents start thinking I'm the perfect son, the IRS will audit me. If my backyard garden starts flourishing, my dog will get run over by a car.
"If the Giants ever win the World Series, I'll either be terminally ill or already dead.
"Get the pattern? Accept it and you'll never be disappointed.
"This is life; nothing is ever is perfect in every area all the time. It's best to maintain an acceptable level somewhere just above mediocrity in every phase of your life. You don't want to excel in any one area; that means that some other area will get hammered by the Gods."
"As the Giants continue to reel, and as the weird, annoying losses continue to pile up, I feel a need to break out my rose-colored glasses for a minute," says John B.:
"16 Reasons to Cheer Up:
"Ahhhhhhhhhh... I feel much better!"
"I think most of us have been around these blocks before and are fairly level-headed when it comes to reacting to streaks good and bad," says Jim J.
"No," offers Richard, "I am only level-headed in the good streaks. I am usually close to suicidal in the bad ones."
Jim says, "My thought here is that this is one of the ways in which becoming a baseball fan in childhood serves to aid in the understanding of life.
"As a baseball fan, you eventually recognize a certain leveling wind that blows throughout a season. For most Jeff Kent cycles there are Robb Nen blown saves; for a Kirk Rueter one-third of an inning blowout there is a Russ Ortiz complete game; for every feeble J.T. Snow at bat against a lefthander there's... well....
("... another feeble J.T. Snow bat against a lefthander?" guesses Richard.)
"Hell, even the Jatester got ahold of one [Tuesday] night."
This is true. He finally hit his first home run of the season -- and off a lefthander, to boot: his first lefty homer off a lefty. He tripled off a lefty the next night, too.
"Life ain't all ticker tape parades, hot fudge sundaes, and wild, sweaty, backseat romps with taut 20-year-old junior college cheerleaders named Jennifer; nor is it an endless series of humiliations both personal and professional that drive a once proud man to take a second job as a rodeo clown just to pay his alimony; community property my ass! I worked my guts out for that woman always bitching at me to 'take out the garbage,' 'mow the lawn,' 'stop hanging around the junior college.' HEY! HEY! I WORK HARD DAMMIT! What the hell kind of country is this where a man can't...."
("... hang around the junior college in my rodeo clown outfit if I damned well want to...," interjects Richard.)
"What? Baseball. Right, yeah.
"All I'm saying is that, as in life, baseball provides us with good days, bad days, and the occasional three-hour rain delay. Cheer when pleased and shake your fist in anger when necessary. Scream, shout, wish, and cry. But understand it's rare that anyone busts into your home in late October to give you a trophy.
"In fact, it may never happen.
"So, maximize your opportunities and savor the little moments... a series sweep... a found 20 dollar bill... a 3-6-3 double play... a morning when your pants are more loose around the waist than expected... a pinch-hit home run... an extra two miles with your gas gauge below empty.
"If you remember to take pleasure in these types of small, in-between moments, then you'll be able to withstand even the most trying of seasons.
"And, always remember these two things:
"Not when you are over 40 and your pants are never 'more loose around the waist than expected,'" says Richard.
"Unless your infielders can't make good throws, in which case he becomes a much more important defensive position player," says Mike W. "Good defensive first basemen often turn errors into outs."
"First base is the easiest position to play," Sean says. "It requires little mobility or range, or even much of a throwing arm. The ability to 'scoop,' which J.T. is lauded for, can be beneficial, but it's not especially unique among first basemen. Scooping is much less difficult and important than a shortstop's range, or a second baseman's ability to turn double plays.
"I know J.T. catches a lot of throws in the dirt, but I'm not sure how difficult the plays are, or how many of those plays that an average first baseman also would have made. The positive effect of his defense doesn't come close to compensating for his bat."
It's easy to make the mistake, though, of thinking that because first base is the easiest and least demanding position, it's therefore easy. It's not. There's little things -- footwork, for instance -- that some players can never get right. Ever see Jeffrey Leonard play first? Also, if you have bad hands at other positions, there's a decent chance that hiding you at first base isn't gonna help at all -- quite the opposite.
"You can't just stick someone at first base and expect him to play up to league average, even if they are Gold Glove at another position," says Tim.
That's really it. You still have to learn it. And practice. Plus, if you have rotten hands.... This is why I was resistant to the idea of Glenallen Hill moving to first. (That's about the only thing I've steadfastly disagreed with Jonathan about over the years. In 1996, with first base being manned by the likes of Mark Carreon, Desi Wilson, and Dave McCarty, Jonathan was in favor of at least giving Hill a try, since God knows he played the outfield like a man wearing cement oven mitts in a sensory deprivation tank.
Tim says, "I was moved to first base on my softball team for a couple of years (until we finally recruited a 6'6" guy, which all but ended the first base career of a 5'7" player) and I made several errors in the first few games -- not because I couldn't catch balls thrown at me, or even because I couldn't scoop -- but because I made little mistakes in footwork which prevented me from being able to stretch properly."
Yes! Did you find yourself doing that cool thing where the foot you have against the bag is on the same side as your glove hand, and you're stretching with your other foot? Not real effective.
"Exactly. That was a big one. Not only was I stretching before I saw where the ball was headed (and making catchable balls fly out of my reach), I was stretching with the wrong foot.
"The second baseman on our team worked with me for about two months with respect to proper footwork and stretching (like 'Don't stretch until you see where the ball is headed'). Much of this seems obvious to the casual observer, but if you haven't played much first base, knowing what you should do and actually doing it are two different things. Catching and, yes, scooping were the easiest things to do because I had already caught short hops in some form for years, but I never had to perform a first baseman's footwork before."
The only first base I played was maybe about three games' worth in Pony League when I was 14. I remember chasing wild pickoff throws, stretching too early... all sorts of things. The coach, who wasn't exactly in my corner anyway, never gave me any instruction about playing first base, because, I guess, he figured that any schlub should be able to play it.
"Yeah, once you learn how to quickly go from fielding position to the proper position to take a throw on the bag, that may be true. But that part is not as easy as it sounds; sure, it can be learned by most, but you can't just expect someone to move to first and do it right for the first few games."
Well, I keep mentioning Jeffrey Leonard in this context, but only because he's a really good example. Macmillan says he played 42 games at first, including 30 in 1981 (when he started out with Houston; apparently five of those appearances came with the Giants), but the one I remember is the one in '82, when he looked hopelessly lost out there, and he pretty much copped to that after the game.
Kevin Mitchell, on the other hand, played a tiny bit of first in '91, I think, and he looked like he could've handled it. (I thought he was a decent third baseman -- sure did hustle and dive -- but a miserable outfielder, just a tadlet better than G-Hill. But still, somehow he had pretty good hands in the infield.)
"I should point out in my own defense," says Tim, evidently not realizing that he'd almost committed a play on words, "that I became a pretty damn good-fielding first baseman at the slow pitch beer league level, but I was too short to be anointed First Baseman For Life. The other infielders wanted a 'bigger target' to throw to. I offered to drink a few more beers to get bigger, but they wanted bigger in a 'different' dimension. Picky bastids.)
"Admittedly, most regular first basemen should be way past this stage. But my point is that you can't just take anyone and quickly expect them to be able to play first base effectively."
To know whether Snow's defensive prowess makes up for his lack of same on the other side of the ball, Tim says, "I guess one needs to look at how many runs Snow saves on average, and compare that to the amount by which Jater is below average in terms of offensive runs created. If he is below average in runs created by more than the amount he saves, then he sucks. That is, if he saves 12 runs compared to the league-average first baseman but creates 20 fewer runs offensively, then he sucks. If he saves 20 runs but creates 12 fewer than average, he's okay."
"What I've read by Bill James, et al., is that the best defensive shortstops (like Ozzie Smith) are about 30 runs above average," says Sean. "I would imagine the number of runs above average a first baseman could be is less than 10 runs."
In any case, I can't imagine Jateroo saving the team more runs than he's been costing them with his bat. I hope this turns around in a big way.
"Am I the only person who is suspicious about the timing of this illness?" says George.
I don't know quite how it works, but a team can only disable a player on the say-so of a physician. I don't know who that physician has to be -- the team doctor, someone appointed by the league, whoever -- but the rules are written so that teams can't pull a Charlie Finley/Mike Andrews on a healthy player. That doesn't mean there's no way to get around the rules, though.
Clearly Ethan didn't see Willie Stargell wearing one, then.
"Remember the all-black togs they sported in the late '70s?" says Lee. "As bad as those were, the all-yellow version was even worse."
All-yellow might be worse by definition. Kent Tekulve looked like a banana. Stargell looked like a grapefruit.
"I really dig our old orange tops," Ethan says. "I'm fairly proud that we've never gone to the full-color tops in recent years as many teams have done and looked like Little Leaguers, but I wouldn't mind seeing the orange from time to time. Orange pride, maybe...."
"Then make sure you go the '70s Turn-Back-the-Clock game," says Jason. "Orange jerseys and orange bills are supposed to be worn June 5 against the A's."
Aside from that being an interleague game and inherently unattendable: ick.
"By the way," Ethan says, "exactly how many uniform configurations do the Diamondbacks have? I've counted six shirts and at least two hats, but am not sure about the configurations. What a disaster, though. The only ones I like are the gray pinstripe road ones."
Oh, they all bite.
"The combinations are different from last year," says Jason.
This alone tells you we're talking about an identity-free franchise characterized by shallow upper management.
"When I was in Phoenix, someone told me the starting Diamondback pitcher picks what will be worn."
(Oh, to just get one start for the Diamondbacks. Knowing I'd get shelled (or walk the ballpark) before retiring a batter, I'd demand footy pajamas, long bunny ears, feather boas, and fake glasses with plastic genitalia instead of the plastic nose. (Bikini pix aside, I promise it's not my habit to dress like that... but for the purpose of humiliating that franchise, I suppose I could don that outfit for half an hour....)
Jason mentions the following items:
Ludicrous.
"The Diamondbacks have at least five hats," Lee says:
This is just ridiculous. One of the objectives of choosing logos and colors is to be easily identifiable, and "at least five hats" kind of defeats the purpose.
Jason says, "A friend of mine says he wonders if Diamondbacks fans forget for whom to root, since they have no reason to recognize the team on the field."
Plus no reason to care....
My peeve about baseball uniforms is that there's enough blue and navy to choke a horse. And now black is so damn "trendy" that you can't get away from it. Really, the only teams black suits are the Giants, Pirates, and Orioles (oh, okay, I'll be nice to the Rockies and White Sox -- at least the Sox look pretty cool). The Mets and Reds look ludicrous.
The Royals' light (gray?) hats look like college garb, and I'm glad the Dodgers didn't go with that idiot blue-on-white cap for the season (unless they did and I haven't seen it).
"Yeah," says Jason, "those were just those special 'mesh spring training caps' some teams wore (the red Blue Jays cap, the A's cap with the elephant logo [Which looked like it was straight out of the Senior League. -- GP], the Brewers cap with the Wisconsin silhouette, etc.) meant to take money away from the feeble-minded."
That's really it. Plus: "Oh, I gotta have the new Padres spring cap with the all-white 'SD.'"
I'm glad the Giants didn't go with some stupid novelty cap, though that really unattractive mesh fabric the spring caps were made of did look really awful.
Meanwhile, I'm with Ethan in the sense that there really needs to be more color, without the major leagues turning into the Doubleknit City of the '70s. I don't really want to see dark tops, but I would like to see more brightness, I guess, in teams' primary colors. I mean, c'mon, Brewers, you know? Padres? No excuse. There's no reason there can't be a bit of yellow here, some orange there, some freakin' maroon or something.
But right now, unless I'm missing some, at least 18 teams have some form of blue as a primary color in at least one of their respective uniform schemes. That's just too damn much. (Oh, and at least nine teams have black as a primary color in at least one scheme.)
"I also have a beef with all the red-and-white," says Jason.
Over the last 30 years, we've seen it a lot: The Senators (and Rangers), White Sox, Phillies, Cardinals, Reds... who'm I leaving out? But the color combination doesn't bother me much, because at least it's colorful. It's what the teams do with it. I mean, are the Reds for real? Criminy, they looked like perfect killing machines in the '70s and much of the '80s, and now they look as though their corporate motto is, "If we make up enough uniform combinations, we can sell more replicas in the stores."
"Ironically, to me anyway, the Reds also now look a lot like the old Cleveland Indians uniforms of the late '60s/very early '70s," says John B. "These were the uniforms they wore before they went to the 'softball uni' look -- including the all-red uniforms that made them look, in the words of Graig Nettles (I think), 'like walking blood clots.'"
Lovely.
I forgot that the earlier Indians wore vests. I'm still not sure what color the uniform sleeves were -- they look kind of brick red/orange on my 1970 baseball cards.
"There was a really good color combo the Padres used to wear," says Ethan. "The lettering leaves something to be desired, but I really dug the brown and yeller.
"I also think that some of the teams looked really good in the light blue road uniforms. The Phillies definitely did, and are quite homogenized now as just another red team. The Expos looked particularly good with the red, white, and blue stripes down the sides of the sleeves, shirt pocket logo, and numbers on the front. Their current road and home uniforms look pretty good too, but Tim Raines made those old light-blue uniforms work.
"Then again, I also liked the multicolor old Astros uniforms, and don't quite know anyone else who does. However, I think their current uniforms are so incredibly bland -- especially the gray road jerseys -- that it really affects attendance at their road games."
"I don't know about that last part," says Lee, "but I do think they should have at least kept their old caps. I still like the orange caps with the white 'H' on the black star."
Agreed. Need more orange. (Though I kind of like the Astros' new logo, even if it does look a bit like Lockheed's.)
I remember when the Padres announced that they were going to go with new uniforms a few seasons back. (Hank Greenwald said, "The distinguishing feature: no pants.") All that was announced at the time was "orange and navy blue," and I thought, "Okay, guys, get it right. Make orange the primary color, just to be different." Of course, they failed, as we know. And if orange is even on the uniform, I'm not sure where.
"Seattle and Milwaukee also need to change it up," Ethan says. "And I completely agree that the blue/navy is way overdone. Why aren't there any teams that use a combination of red/maroon with yellow... and for crying out loud, no team in pro sports has picked up on the forest green with orange that has kicked ass for the Miami Canes for so long."
"I don't know how many of you heard Ted Robinson's rant last weekend during the Mets games," says Jon R. "He has a tendency to make a point and drive it into the ground; I don't mind it so much except when his logic is skewed. His take on the Mets uniforms was that their colors (orange and blue) were representative of the two NL teams that left New York: Giants/Orange and Dodgers/Blue. I didn't know that; it was an interesting fact (although the Mets 'orange' is not really a true orange, as the Giants is)."
Well, the blue isn't quite Dodger blue, either.
"Anyway, he tied this factoid in with his complaints about the Mets black jersey, stating that it negated the traditional colors. I didn't understand his reasoning, and here's why: The black jersey takes the place of the white jersey (basically the 'background color'). There is no way logically that the wearing of a black jersey would preclude having the team's traditional orange and blue. (That is, the orange and blue could still be worn as trim colors on top of the black jersey, just as they are trim and accent colors to the white jersey.) So his whole point about that the black jerseys were at the expense of the traditional blue and orange didn't seem to be on the mark. It's no big deal; it's just that if I have to hear someone blather on and on about something they might as well be using correct logic."
I didn't buy Ted's argument either, except inasmuch as it was just a roundabout way of saying that the Mets look stupid and phony in black. Which they do.
I was a very good boy. I didn't watch the game, and I only listened to it on the way back to my family's Mother's Day celebration after taking my grandmother home. Of course, because I was trying to do the Right Thing, the Baseball Gods decided that the right thing for them to do was to make the Giants look silly yet again. In this case, they chose to have Hideo Nomo shatter our bats for a few innings, spray another coat of "Can't Catch" all over the Giants' gloves, and vouchsafe unto us a 3-2 loss. About the only part of the game I heard, aside from the Giants going down meekly in the fifth inning -- the Grand Auto Grand Slam Inning -- was our new reliever, Joe Nathan giving up an immediate home run in the sixth. And tonight we get John Smoltz and the Braves. Joy of joys!
Oh, and though I can't see why you'd be all that interested, my family has sojourned into the realm of pet ownership. At least I found this out last week when my kid brought home Greenleaf, a stray caterpillar who looked, for a while, like Heimlich of A Bug's Life. You never saw a kid so excited about a bug -- which, really, was a dog substitute: Almost immediately, he drew a detailed, 1,000,000:1-scale picture of the creature and asked me how to spell his (Greenleaf's) name... one letter at a time. "Oh," he said, "I wrote an M instead of an N." "No problem, kiddo. Just... change it." A minute later: "Oh, I wrote an M again." So the picture's title says:
GREE[crossed-out M]We fed the thing presumably yummy-looking leaves and occasional flowers -- funny how, because we didn't want the kid to be disappointed, my wife and I became involved in the husbandry of this particular pet: frequently we'd check his little plastic "bug box" in passing, just to make sure he was alive... but alas, little Greenleaf was destined to live fast, die young, and leave a tiny, graying corpse. When I informed Adam that Greenleaf had shuffled off his mortal coil, Adam was most upset -- "But I fed him leaves and gave him flowers! I want him to turn into a butterfly!" "Well, he did, son; he's a butterfly in heaven now." -- but my diagnosis was premature by a few hours, as a gentle poke with a stick showed movement in the fading bug's tiny legs. By Saturday morning, however, he had squirmed his last.
[crossed-out M]NLEAF
Adam seemed okay with that, evidently due to having grieved beforehand already. So we took ol' Greenleaf to a nice park, buried him in a hole nearly a quarter-inch deep beneath twin trees, covered him with the dried-up leaves from his little box, and zoomed off to the fish store to pick up a goldfish, well renowned for being the World's Lamest Pet -- aside from, let's be honest, a caterpillar. (I'm one of those people who believe that pets are animals that you pet, and we can't have those in our apartment.) Well, Adam decided on two fish, at three bucks apiece. (I'd never bought a fish before... I didn't know....) Add a bowl and some food, and we got out of there for eighteen bucks -- ask me if I feel like an idiot. Go on. Ask.
Adam was very decisive about a name for one of his new fish: He'd hit on "Pot 'o Gold" on the way to the store. (I don't know why, except that he's five.) Because I was fronting the dough, he let me name the other fish, so I settled on "Kuip," which I thought was the least likely Giants announcer for whom to name a pet.
After the fact, of course, I decided to call the Petco that's just down the road apace. I learned that I could've saved a whole buck on these fish -- "fancy" goldfish, they're called -- but that regular ol' boring goldfish could've been Adam's for eight cents apiece.
For some reason this reminds me of being a Giants fan. Something about personnel moves, but I'm not sure what.
Meanwhile, Pot o' Gold and Kuip are zigzagging along happily in their tiny new home, ignoring the small superball my wife dropped in, and Adam's happy enough with his new, not-low-enough-maintenance pets. Greenleaf still wiggles around in our hearts.
Copyright ©1999 by Gregg Pearlman
Last updated 5/10/99 Gregg Pearlman, gregg@EEEEEEgp.com