Grab Bag

Just like the grab bags my parents used to sell at their baseball card shop, you never know what you're going to get. And so goes today's entry:

**Sunday was the last Royals home game of the year and I was given a primo seat for the contest. I always like going to the last home game of the year, but I always come away with a bittersweet taste in my mouth. I'm happy to see the last game, but I'm always sad that I won't see another live baseball game for six months. And so it went with this game. I was hoping against hope that the Royals might actually pull a win away from the surging Cleveland Indians, but after the first inning, my optimism was squelched. Mark Teahen booted what would have been a possible double-play or at least one out at the minimum. This opened the doors for one of Zack Greinke's oft-thrown lollipops that escaped the surly bonds of Kauffman Stadium with ease for a first inning 3-run homer at the hands of Indians catcher Victor Martinez. Thankfully, young Zack settled down and pitched quite effectively for six more innings. During that time, though, the inimitable Terrence Long managed to add to the circus-like antics of his fielding resume, falling down while dropping a routine fly ball that he misplaced in the sun. One might think that Terrence, buoyed by the vote of confidence from manager Buddy Bell, would have learned how to play left field in Kauffman Stadium after being run out there time and again in lieu of youth movement members Chip Ambres or Matt Diaz. Greinke, though, managed to avoid turning Long's moment of foreshadowing into any additional runs. And Long actually managed to make up for his gaffe two-fold by singling in a run and immediately leaving the game due to tightness in his knee. Follow that up with an Emil Brown two-run rip over the left-field wall (at the behest of my mental pleading) and the game was knotted at 3. And though we managed to benefit from the misfortune of Indians pitcher Cliff Lee and take the lead on his wild pitch, another typical Royals scenario played out when "closer" Mike MacDougal allowed the tying run to score in the top of the ninth. Lest we think we've received an undue share of misery and bad luck, the Gremlins of Misfortune came out to play with the Indians again in the bottom of the ninth when Paul Phillips' line drive to center was also lost in the sun by centerfielder Grady Sizemore allowing the Royals to win in "walk-off" fashion and give the 11,453 faithful one last reason to believe that there's always next year.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

**From the semi-sweet sentiments of Sunday to the manic moments of Monday...

The latest "Debacle in Denver" really got my juices flowing. I follow and root for the Chiefs, if only because we both reside in the same municipality. But I'm not passionate about them in the same way I am about the Royals or the Jayhawks. That being said, I was livid with their performance on Monday Night Football.

First and foremost, the fact that we were embarrassed YET AGAIN on multiple bootleg plays is totally unacceptable. How many times over how many years do we need to be exposed to this play before someone on our coaching staff draws up a defense to combat it? We finally bring in some speedy linebackers who can pursue the ball from sideline to sideline and we waste them with Gunther Cunningham's overly-aggressive play-calling. Is no one required to keep "contain" on plays like this? I cannot come up with any reasonable explanation for why our coaching staff and players refuse to adjust to this strategy.

(Conspiracy Theory #1: When Denver had the ball within K.C.'s 10-yard line and Greg Wesley made a truly remarkable open-field tackle to stop Mike Anderson on the 1-yard line on second down, I think that little rat-face Shanahan decided to rub it in our faces. I'm convinced he told Anderson to trip before reaching the goal line on third down so that they could run Plummer's naked bootleg for another humiliating touchdown on fourth down.)

The next point is this: Jordan Black, Kevin Sampson and Chris Bober are not the future of our once-dominant offensive line. When John Tait left via free agency a couple of years ago, we didn't really miss a beat. With Willie Roaf out due to injury, our line was suddenly reduced to a laughing stock that not even Pro Bowlers Will Shields and Brian Waters could salvage. Included in the 13 total penalties the Chiefs racked up were four holding penalties. They made Denver defensive lineman Trevor Pryce looked like vintage Warren Sapp. In addition, there were two more holding penalties on kick returns.

(Conspiracy Theory #2: After Dante Hall humiliated the Broncos a couple of years ago on a kick return that featured an obviously blown holding call by Kansas City, the officials are determined to never let it happen again, hence the two holding calls on returns.)

Back to coaching deficiencies, when Larry Johnson fumbled deep in our own territory, Vermeil challenged the play. It was admittedly a desperation challenge, knowing full well that Johnson had coughed it up but hoping that by some miracle the refs would overturn the call. I don't necessarily have a problem with this specific challenge but what piqued my interest was the graphic displayed showing that Vermeil has been successful in less than 20% of his challenges in his career. Now, I don't know the situation of every challenge, but something seems inherently wrong here. Either Vermeil and his coaches have no concept of the challenge rule or their team is constantly in a desperate position where only a bogus overturned call could turn things around. Very sketchy, in my opinion.

Speaking of poor coaching and Larry Johnson, can anyone explain to me why Vermeil stuck to his arbitrary running back rotation when we had 1st and Goal on the Denver 4-yard line? Why is inexperienced, upright-running, speed merchant Larry Johnson getting goal line carries when we have one of the most prolific short-yardage, touchdown scoring backs in the history of the league standing on the sidelines? Johnson is going to be a very good running back in this league, but when you're down 20-0 with time running out before half you need to score a touchdown. This was an absolutely awful decision by the coaching staff.

That's an awful lot of ranting for a team that I'm supposedly not passionate about, but it needed to be said. This team still has problems that need to be addressed before any mention of "playoffs" can be uttered again seriously.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**The next topic is a bit more tricky. Surely, many folks have encountered a situation like the one I'm about to describe. I find this situation to be both challenging and perplexing.

The problem: The guy that sits across from me at work is almost unbearably annoying.

I don't say this to be mean. He's one of the nicest guys you'll ever meet. Which makes it that much tougher. It's a lot easier to dislike and write off someone who behaves like a complete jerk. But nearly everything he does gets on my nerves, much like having your knuckles run over a cheese grater.

First, he *loves* to chit chat in the morning. I'm not a morning person. I certainly don't expect everyone to bow down to my wishes, but I think a spirit of compromise would definitely be in order. My co-worker, who sits to his left, shares my general lack of enthusiasm for the hours preceding lunch. We started out by being quiet, nodding and grunting and trying not to encourage his behavior. Didn't work. Eventually, my co-worker came right out and said, "It would probably be best if you didn't talk to me until 10:00." Didn't work. I've resorted to avoiding eye contact at all costs for at least the first hour I'm at work.

Second, the stuff he loves to chit chat about is terribly mundane. "Well, I tried to mow my lawn really fast last night before it rained. It started to thunder and lightning and I just barely got it done. My wife wanted me to get inside before I was struck dead." Uh, how am I supposed to respond to that? "Great work, man! I really hope your well-manicured lawn was worth the possibility of leaving your wife a widow with four children." Another excerpt: "Oh, man; I'm tired." This is generally repeated until a response is offered. After two or three tries, I generally give in with the only response that seems appropriate: "Oh, yeah?" He then goes on to repeat how he didn't get any sleep the night before due to the fact that his wife just gave birth to their fourth child. The first time or two this was mentioned, I expressed sympathy since I have two children of my own and remember the choppy sleep patterns bestowed upon parents of a newborn. But how many times am I required to offer sympathy? I almost feel manipulated in a passive-aggressive way to pump him up. If it was a young, attractive single mom sitting across from me I'm sure I could come up with the stamina to keep doling out sympathetic phrases. Unfortunately, I'm not that noble.

On the subject of passive-aggressive behavior, whenever he screws something up (perfectly acceptable considering he's the new guy) he apologizes profusely until you tell him that he's just fine. Again, it feels very manipulative, like "Poor me, I'm an idiot, I'll never figure this stuff out, I'm always messing up," until I give in and say, "Don't worry about it, everybody makes mistakes at first, you're picking it up, it's OK." Again, I didn't mind the first couple of times, but after a while it just felt phony so I stopped.

Along those same lines, he's always whining about one thing or another. To me, it always feels like another disingenuous attempt to score some sympathy points or an ego boost. In fact, it never seems like a guy-to-guy, "I'll offer up my problem and you offer me a solution" kind of thing. It seems like a more female-oriented "I don't really want you to fix my problem; I just want you to listen." If I've got a girlfriend or wife, I'm more than happy to lend a sympathetic ear. If you're my male co-worker, it just seems out-of-place and I don't want to hear it. Maybe that's harsh, but I've always thought of myself as a good listener (and been told the same by others), but there's just something wrong with this exchange.

On top of that, he's in insufferable suck-up. Not only to our boss but to me and my co-worker. It's a case of the guy who wants to be liked so much that he tries *way* too hard. When my boss asks his opinion on something, it's always, "Well so-and-so and such-and-such, but only if that sounds alright to you." Again, as a new guy, some of that is perfectly acceptable. But it's been six months. Surely, he's got a solid idea by now.

And everything is hilarious to him, particularly his own jokes. Maybe I'm a comedy snob, but I never want to laugh at a joke that's already been laughed at by its creator. And I honestly don't ever feel obligated to laugh at a joke or comment that I don't find funny. Which seems weird in context, because I'm always making jokes or laughing at the jokes of others. So it seems really out of character when I sit there stone-silent after another tepid witticism. I just feel like it's my responsibility not to encourage humorless humor. It probably comes off as elitist, but I don't want to be fake.

In a similar vein, he'll include my name in a supposedly witty remark made to someone on the phone, expecting me to laugh or grin as if I always have my ears perked up to his phone conversations. Unless it has to do with the work at hand, I couldn't care less about anyone's phone conversations and find it intrusive and rude for anyone to eavesdrop on another person's conversations.

Anyway, what it comes down to is this: I feel conflicted because my heart and faith are telling me that I should be more compassionate towards this guy. But my brain is telling me that I'm getting boondoggled. Obviously, the guy is in need of friends and I understand that. But after trying to be a friend, he still behaves this way. I've dealt with people like this before and the last two times I've been in this situation something has changed and I've become friends with, or at least cordial with, each person. Not that I'm not cordial with him. Outwardly, anyway. But after each corny quip, whiny plea or over-dramatized apology, I just get myself in a mental tizzy. I've been praying about it and will continue to do so, but this doesn't seem to be something that will resolve itself any time soon.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

**Finally, I'm very excited! My brother, sister (I'm not going to use the term sister-in-law because it just seems so annoying), and niece are coming into town this weekend. I have only seen my niece once since she was born in December and she was still quite small and inactive. But now she is almost 10 months old and is developing not only a more distinct personality, but also the ability to move around and create havoc. This excites me, being a first-time uncle. I can only hope that my niece becomes as fond of me as I am as fond of my aunt. It will be more difficult given the geographical distance between us, but I'm willing log the miles it takes to make an impact in her life.

Plus, it's fun to be able to see my brother in the role of "Dad". He's doing a fine job already (and so is Kira), but it's still strange to see my kid brother pushing 30 with his own little one in tow. As Bob Dylan sang, the times they are a changin'.

Various Thoughts

I can't snap my fingers.

My favorite color used to be red, but now it is blue.

Carrie Carlson is the only person who could call me by my first and middle names without leaving me annoyed.

I don't understand what is so great about classic literature, Bruce Springsteen or BBQ potato chips.

I've never pulled a muscle even though I never stretch before participating in athletic activities.

I have no desire to ever own a house.

During my lifetime, I've known seven different people named Jeff/Geoff.

Number of people I've known named Lyle: one.

I have physically set foot in 29 states.

Missouri hasn't shown me much.

The Union Pacific and Burlington Northern/Santa Fe railroads are monopolies that excel in providing grossly inadequate customer satisfation.

Baseball cards and cartoons aren't made for kids anymore.

Driving is fun.

Classes I would pay more attention in, if I had it to do all over: Social Studies, English, Spanish.

Classes I would probably still blow off: Science, Math.

I can juggle.

I can throw respectably with my left hand.

I'm nearly impossible to beat in Mario Kart.

I've been knocked out in a fight.

Every time I wrestle with David, I tell him he can't escape, and every time, he escapes.

It's rarely a good idea to order fish while dining in the Midwest.

It's difficult to beat the allure of a girl wearing a sundress.

I always give a second look to a girl with a pony tail.

My hair has never been longer in my entire life.

My ankles roll just a little too easily.

I made one mean batch of peanut butter cookies from scratch once, and haven't made any more since.

I really enjoy wind.

She's Only Seventeen...

As a salve to help ease the pain of the Royals' 17-game losing streak (and a tribute to 80's hair band, Winger), I give you my top 17 favorite baseball moments. Hopefully, this will give a brief respite from the loads of negativity I've been pushing out here lately:


17. Watched David Letterman throw BP to Alex Rodriguez while Billy Crystal shagged flys.

I was visiting Jeff Peterson in Providence, Rhode Island and we decided to take a road trip down to New York City. We sat through the drizzle for five innings and watched the Mets plaster Mike Hampton and the Braves in the home opener. The entire crowd at Shea repeatedly chanted "HAAAAMPTOOOON! HAAAAMMPTOOOON!" until Hampton was relieved of duty. We decided to skip out and head downtown via the infamous Number 7 train. While wandering around looking for the Ed Sullivan Theater, we stumbled upon it. There was a small crowd gathered behind some temporary fencing along the side street next to the theater. We decided to hang around and see what might happen. After standing around in more drizzle for nearly and hour, out from the side doors steps Jorge Posada, David Letterman, Paul Schaeffer, Alex Rodriguez and Billy Crystal. Posada and ARod are both wearing suits, but Posada crouches behind the makeshift home plate and Rodriguez steps into the batters box. Letterman starts chucking an endless supply of baseballs at Posada and ARod fouls them up on over adjacent buildings unitl he finds a rhythm and starts knocking balls past Billy Crystal in the "outfield". It wasn't a "pure" baseball moment, but it sure was cool.

16. Saw Royals play Cubs at Wrigley and Brewers at old Milwaukee County Stadium in same weekend.

Another Jeff Peterson-induced roadie. I wanted to see a game at Wrigley Field and Jeff was doing medical school in Chicago. Didn't need much more reason that that to head north. My sister-in-law (at the time) and her boyfriend were both big baseball fans and wanted to do the same thing along with checking out a game in Milwaukee where her grandparents and uncle lived. So with three people pitching in gas money and two free places to stay, the trip was on. We bought bleacher seats from a scalper and enjoyed a mid-eighties, sun-drenched Royals victory at Wrigley. A perfect baseball afternoon. Milwaukee County Stadium was on it's last legs, Miller Park emerging from beyond centerfield. But it was quaint and serviceable. The sausage race was hysterical and Bernie Brewer sliding into a mug of "beer" after a homerun was perfectly un-P.C.. But my favorite part of the Milawukee game was the small-town feel. Lots of tailgaters grilling sausages before the game, a presentation on the field for the pitcher and player of the month with the players looking more "Aw, shucks" than "Who's your daddy?!" And the entire crowd sang every word of the National Anthem. I'd never heard that in Kansas City before and found it to be quite moving. Oh, and the Royals won that game, too.

15. Took the kids to St. Louis to see the Cardinals lose to Florida.

I took David and Samantha to their first game outside the friendly confines of Kauffman Stadium. We traveled the entired width of Missouri to see the (normally) hated Cardinals take on the defending World Champion Florida Marlins. I informed the kids that while we normally never, ever, EVER root for St. Louis, this game would be different. No need to stir up trouble in a foreign land and in a foreign ballpark. Luckily, our rooting made no difference, as the Marlins won anyway. But Jim Edmonds strengthened his case to be one of my all-time favorite players after hitting a homerun and making a signature over-the-shoulder running catch in centerfield. And the kids were happy to have received their bright-red Scott Rolen replica bats as the giveaway that day. And an interesting phenomenon had unknowingly just occurred...

14. David Ortiz hits walk-off homer in 11 innings to beat the Blue Jays at Fenway.

Yet another Jeff Peterson-inspired adventure. This was part of the same trip that gave us the Letterman/Rodriguez batting practice matchup. The day before our New York jaunt, I arrived in Boston and Jeff picked me up at the airport. From there, we immediately headed toward Fenway. We managed to get some very resonably priced scalped tickets that put us out in right field, as it happened, one row behind the red seat where Ted Williams hit a 500-foot homerun. It was a bit brisk, as it was April, but newly-acquired Curt Schillling was on the mound and the Toronto Blue Jays didn't seem to pose a formidable threat. But the game ended up going into extra innings and we continued to get colder. Thankfully, we were rewarded for our heartiness with a David Ortiz homerun over the Green Monster in the bottom of the 11th to win the game. It was early in the season in a seemingly meaningless game, but every person in that stadium was tuned into the game. And with the win, thus began the interesting phenomenon I mentioned in the previous blurb: I saw home games in person for both World Series participants, with Boston winning their game (and the Series) and St. Louis losing their game (and the Series). Coincidence? Yeah, probably.

13. Caught foul ball Ferris Bueller-style.

I wrote and entire article earlier this summer about this one, so I won't go in depth here. But I had only ever touched a foul ball once in my life before this incident, so it goes without saying that this was a great moment. Plus, I was playing hooky from work and I didn't get kicked out of my covertly-acquired seat. Lovely day.

12. Ken Harvey hits extra-inning, walk-off homerun to beat Detroit during 11 game win streak to start 2003 season.

Nick Nave and I decided to catch the excitement that was brewing as the Royals had won every game of their first road trip after winning their first home series. The walk-up crowd was the biggest I had ever seen and we didn't even enter the ballpark until the 3rd or 4th inning. Luckily, we got our money's worth when Ken Harvey hit a game winnning homerun in the extra frame and the Royals continued their amazing beginning to the only good season they've had in the last 10 years.

11. Carlos Beltran hits game-winning homerun Opening Day 2004.

After being fooled into thinking the Royals might actually contend for a playoff spot coming off a winning season in 2003, three friends and I purchased partial season ticket plans for 2004. Opening Day was turning into a bad omen until the bottom of the ninth when Mendy Lopez came to the plate. Doug Jones turned to me and said "I bet he hits a homerun," and I said something to the effect of "I'll bet you everything I own in this world that that lowly waste of a roster space does NOT hit a homerun." I don't think we shook on it and it was a good thing for me as Mendy hit a game-tying homerun. Hysterics ensued. Up came Carlos Beltran, he of the soon-to-be expiring contract. And hope was given that we would indeed make the playoffs as he hit a game-ending homerun. After listening to Ryan Thye moan about how bad we were before that inning began, it was hilarious listening to him extoll the virtues of our team after the two game-breaking homers. We went on to lose 104 games that year, but let's just stick with the good stuff.

10. Jermaine Dye hits a walk-off game-winning homerun to win the game on the day George Brett was inducted into the Hall of Fame.

My Aunt Vicki bought tickets for Allison, the kids and I in the middle deck for the game and post-game induction ceremony. The middle deck tickets were great seats, but also out of the blazing sun that day. The kids were little and not paying much attention and Allison wasn't terribly interested either, given the conditions. The prospect of extra innings did not bode well. But Jermaine Dye saved the day by hitting his game-winner and allowing us to watch George Brett's induction speech on the JumboTron. A hot, but satisfying day.

9. George Brett gets his 3,000th hit.

The culmination of a Hall of Fame career. He wasn't the same George Brett that he was in his prime, but you still believed that he would come through when you needed him to. The only Kansas City Royal currently in the Hall of Fame and will most likely be the last Royal in the Hall of Fame.

8. Pete Rose collects his 4,192 hit to pass Ty Cobb as the all-time hits leader.

He was playing AND managing at the time, which I found strangely cool. But this and Ripken's record are the two records I thought were the most impressive. It was my first real taste of the effect modern ballplayers would have on baseball history. Plus, my dad was impressed, so, naturally, I was impressed, too.

7. Cal Ripken, Jr. breaks Lou Gehrig'srecord for consecutive games played.

I had to run to the grocery store, but I heard it on the radio. It was one of only two goose-bump inducing baseball moments I've ever had (if you don't count all the times I've watched "The Natureal" and "Field of Dreams"). The announcers were quiet and allowed the sound of the roaring crowd to take center stage. With all the talk about steroids lately, this feat is all the more amazing considering the recuperative advantages steroids give people. And Ripken was able to do it without. As far as we know. God, I hope so.

6. Bo Jackson throws out a Mariner baserunner at home from 3oo-some feet away in Seattle.

I think I was in 7th or 8th grade and Bo Jackson was the biggest thing on the sports scene. The Royals were playing the Mariners in the Kingdome and it was a late game, probably a 9:00 start here in Kansas City. I had a TV in my room and my parents were long before asleep, but I always enjoyed staying up late and I was certainly glad I did this time. The Mariners' batter hit a ball into the left field corner and the runner who was on first at the time was speeding around the bases. Jackson races into the corner and disappears from sight of the camera. The ball comes flying out of the corner like a laser, blasting past third base and pummeling the catcher's mitt on the fly, no bounces, from over 300 feet away. The tag was applied and everyone was shocked: our catcher, the baserunner, the umpire, everyone in attendance, both teams. The announcers were tripping all over themselves finding the appropriate adjectives to describe what had just happened. It was one of the most unbelievable act of athletic skill I have ever seen.

5. David's first game.

My son was only about five or so and I don't really recall many of the details of the actual game, but the whole idea of being able to go to a game with my son was just off the charts. David was more interested in what was available to eat and drink than the outcome of the game. Come to think of it, that aspect hasn't changed dramatically. But we were able to get down close to the dugout in the late innings, which he found very fun. My picture of him sitting on top of the Royals dugout remains one of my favorite pictures of all time.

4. Will Clark dominates the 1989 NLCS.

Another moment I've previously written about, but a moment that forged much loyalty. I had found my favorite player (and, by default, my second favorite team) and my favorite sport. I had always liked baseball, but I had played a lot of soccer growing up. This was the beginning of an almost unhealthy addiction to baseball.

3. The Royals win the World Series in 1985.

The single greatest event in my sporting life. I remember going to bed after the our Game 7 pasting of the Cardinals and thinking that somehow my life would be different when I woke up in the morning. I was still excited when I woke up, but not much else had changed. A couple of days later, my mom and grandma took my brother and I out of school and went to watch the World Series parade and rally at Liberty Memorial. Things had certainly changed, as another piece of the foundation of my baseball fanaticism had just been poured.

2. George Brett's run at .400 and the Royals lose to the Phillies in the World Series in 1980.

These were some of my earliest memories of my childhood and my first memories of baseball. My grandma bought my brother and I Hal McRae t-shirts because all the George Brett shirts were sold out. She had (along with innumerable others) a "George Brett for President" bumper sticker. And the indelible image of Brett standing at second base with ".400!" flashing on the scoreboard behind him will always be etched in my brain. I also learned what it was like to defend your team after visiting my great-grandmother in Pennsylvania and having to stick up for my Royals over the neighbor girls' Phillies.

1. Kirk Gibson's game-winning homerun in Game One of the 1988 World Series.

This is the other goose-bump inducing moment. This World Series wasn't terribly enticing as I didn't have any sort of emotional investment in either team. But I loved baseball and I was certainly going to watch. Kirk Gibson was the MVP of the regular season, but his knees were killing him and he didn't start the game. The Dodgers were down in the bottom of the ninth and facing the most formidable reliever in the league, Dennis Eckersley. But Gibson managed to hobble to the plate as a pinch hitter and take a couple fo feeble hacks at the Eckersley offerings.
And then, the greatest moment I have ever seen took place: Gibson lunged and scooped a pitch low and outside into the right field seats at Dodger Stadium to win Game One of the 1988 World Series. Gibson pumped his fist in victory as he coaxed his pain-filled legs to circle the bases. And I tried to hide the tear that was running down my cheek so that my parents wouldn't see that I was crying over a baseball game. That's the kind of moment every kid dreams about having and Kirk Gibson just overcame everything and made it happen. Absolutely amazing.

I hope you had fun. As I post this, the Royals are well on their way to losing number 18. I guess I'll have to come up with another moment tomorrow...

How Low Can You Go!?

"Good evening everybody and welcome to the nation's fastest growing quiz-sensation,"

How Low Can You Go!?

"I'm your host, Nick Blakeley, and I'm here to guide you to an answer to everyone's favorite question, "

"How Low Can You Go!?"

"Tonight's game starts in the dregs of the Major League Baseball community, Kansas City. We'll start off by asking our first contestant, Kansas City Royals General Manager Allard Baird,"

How Low Can You Go!?

Allard Baird: "Well, Nick, that's a good question. I'm going to start out with my brilliant off-season signings of Jose Lima, Eli Marrero and Chris Truby. I realized we were coming off a 100-loss season and building for the future, so I figured I would sign a pitcher with a noted history of giving up homeruns, an outfielder whose previous season was successful and completely out of line with the rest of his career and a third baseman that I scouted from the original 'Bad News Bears' movie. I really liked their 'approach'. Unfortunately, the only thing they seemed to be 'approaching' was historical levels of ineptitude."

Nick: "Excellent first offering, Allard! Now, lets see if our second contestant has an answer to our question,"

How Low Can You Go!?

"Tony Pena, former Royals manager, the question goes to you."

Tony Pena: "Well, Nick, I think I'll go with the time I soaped myself up in the shower while still in full uniform in order to motivate my team last year."

Nick: "I'm sorry, Tony, while that certainly is incredibly low, the rules state that it must be an example from this season."

Tony Pena: "Oh, oh; well, then, how about my masterful guidance of the club to a 13-37 record before I abruptly quit and left the country with sensational stories of infidelity and an impending divorce nipping at my heels?"

Nick: "Great work, Tony! You're now in the lead! Team captain Mike Sweeney,"

How Low Can You Go!?

Mike Sweeney: "Nick, I'm afraid I can't go any lower; I would most certainly re-injure my back."

Nick: "Wise decision, Mike. In that case, let's go to new manager Buddy Bell!"

Buddy Bell: "Hmm...there have been so many lows, starting with my hiring, that it's hard to pick just one."

Nick: "Don't be shy, Buddy. Give us what you've got."

Buddy Bell: "Let's see...there's the four game sweep at the hands of the perennially hapless Tampa Bay Devil Rays..."

Nick: "Yes!"

Buddy Bell: "...oh, and we gave away leads to the defending World Series champion Red Sox in every game of our series in Boston..."

Nick: "Excellent!"

Buddy Bell: "...closely followed by the two games that the Oakland A's drubbed us by a combined score of 27-1..."

Nick: "Right-O!"

Buddy Bell: "...plus, there was the other night when we coughed up a 7-2 lead in the ninth versus Cleveland and went on to lose 13-7..."

Royals closer, Mike MacDougall: "Aw, man; I was gonna use that Cleveland game! I gave up five runs all on my own!"

Newly-acquired bust prospect, Chip Ambres: "Hey! I was going to use that game, too! I dropped a perfectly catchable fly ball that could have ended that game and the 10-game losing streak we were on!"

Nick: "Umm...it seems a bit early for the 'Lightning Round', but let's go with it. Jose Lima: you can stop clicking your buzzer and give an answer."

Jose Lima: "Halfway through the season, I had an ERA over 8.00 and less wins that Zack Greinke."

Pitcher Zack Greinke: "Dude, that's low."

Nick: "That's the name of the game!"

Zack Greinke: "No, I mean why'd you have to drag me into this? At least I had some quality starts, even though they were wasted by a lack of run support."

Scrap heap pick-up, outfielder Emil Brown: "What are you tryin' to say, kid? My .200 batting average, total lack of power and atrocious fielding during the first two months weren't good enough for you? Mr. Baird said I'd be the next Raul Ibanez!"

Zack Greinke: "Color me unimpressed."

Allard Baird: "Gentlemen, gentlemen. No need to get testy. I take full responsibility for how low this team has sunk. After all, I failed to trade Ken Harvey last year when his totally empty batting average garnered him a spot on the All-Star team. And I'm the one who decided to ship Calvin Pickering back to Omaha after receiving less than 100 at-bats to prove himself. I'm the one who decided to rush one of our best pitching prospects, Denny Bautista, to the majors without stopping in Omaha when Mike Wood would have been perfectly adequate as our fifth starter. Meanwhile, Bautista hurt his arm and has been on the DL the majority of the season. And speaking of rushing, how about the rest of the list of guys I've rushed to the majors, completely by-passing triple-A on their way up: pitcher J.P. Howell; pitcher Ambiorix Burgos; pitcher Leo Nunez; second baseman Ruben Gotay; second baseman Donny Murphy. All this while expecting Runelvys Hernandez to be a work-horse, an innings-eater, even though he just returned from a year-and-a-half layoff to rehabilitate following surgery on his arm. Did I also mention that I brought in Terrence Long to play the majority of games in left field?"

Buddy Bell: "Whoa there, big shooter! That's impressive and all, but I'm making history right before your very eyes! Under my command, we're currently on a twelve game losing streak, equaling the longest in franchise history. In fact, no Royals manager has ever lost this many consecutive games because the last time they lost twelve in a row, luminaries Bob Boone and Tony Muser split the managerial chores. Booney racked up seven straight before he got the boot and "Gunnery Sergeant" Muser followed up with five of his own, for good measure. But they can't hold my jock strap as I go for lucky number 13 tonight out The 'K'."

Wal-Mart head honcho and current Royals owner, David Glass: "Boys, I appreciate the effort you all have put in to try to go lower and lower, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to put you to shame. You see, after years of penny-pinching, I tried to bilk the tax payers of the Kansas City metropolitan area out of hundreds of millions of dollars to pay for renovations and improvements to Kauffman Stadium. Now, I wasn't nearly as arrogant and pushy as my colleague, Kansas City Chiefs owner Lamar Hunt, but the message I sent was still very clear: I don't want to invest my own money into my own product. To make it worse, included in the proposal were funds that were to be distributed to various projects concerning the arts in Kansas City. Ironically, the signature project would have been the construction of a world-class performing arts center that had been spearheaded by none other than the daughter of former Royals owners Ewing and Muriel Kauffman. The people of Kansas City were stuck with the choice of voting funds to a worthy cause (the arts plan) but also subsidizing the terribly inefficient plan we submitted to improve the sports complex. Or, they could vote down our lousy plan and shoot down the arts along with it. Unfortunately for the arts, they saw through our stupidity and greed. Interestingly, I also could have piggy-backed the public sentiment to improve downtown generated by the tax payer-approved Sprint Center by coming up with a plan that would have used about the same amount of money and built a brand new facility next to Union Station. Of course, that would have been too beneficial for all parties involved, so I soundly crushed all hopes of that ever happening."

Nick: "Well, I hate to say it, but we're all out of time. Today, you're all winners! Congratulations to the entire Kansas City Royals organization for bottoming out on the nation's fastest-growing quiz sensation,"

How Low Can You Go!?

"Join us again next week when our contestants will include the NHL Players Association, Mike Tyson and the kid who jumped 40 feet from the upper deck of Yankee Stadium into the netting behind home plate. Good night, everybody!"

Pleh

After a long hiatus, this is what I give you:

Pleh.

Say it out loud.

Pleh.

The "e" sound isn't like "glee"; no, more like "dread".

Pleh.

Now you've got it. And now you now what it feels like to be a Royals fan right about now. For the last two months, I've tried to think of something original and interesting to write about this team, this organization. But all I could come up with was "Pleh". So, I thought, I'll write that. It sums up my feelings succinctly. I've been to only one game in the last month because I couldn't pull myself out of the doldrums this team has put me in.

Don't get me wrong; there has been plenty to comment on since I last put fingers to keyboard. Tony Pena bolted town (and the country) with reports of infidelity nipping at his heels. But few made much of this. I'm not sure why, other than maybe people were dazed by the horrible performances his team was consistently offering and they were just glad to see something break the monotony with little concern for the reason.

Allard Baird conducted a "thorough" managerial search that reminded me of a kid who had just received his birthday money and it was burning the proverbial hole in his pocket. Instead of taking as much time as was necessary (the rest of the season and the majority of the off-season) probing for every possible candidate, whether it was Frank White (good guy, little experience), Art Howe (plenty of experience, little potential for anything beyond mediocrity) or Bobby Valentine (much experience, much volatility), Baird decided to go with "the best fit for our ballclub". How did he know Buddy Bell was the best fit for this ballclub? He interviewed less than 10 guys in less than six weeks. The team was not going to contend and had a serviceable interim manager in Bob Schaefer, affording Baird the luxury of scouting virtually every managerial candidate available, but instead he chose to go with the first thing that caught his eye. The thing with the worst active managerial record of the candidates supposedly in the running. The thing that was sitting on the bench in Cleveland without any other teams knocking down the Indians' door trying to interview him for their managerial post.

Which leads us to the Royals' record since Bell took the helm. Hovering near .500.

"That's respectable," they say. "That's a lot better than what Pena did," another adds. "It could be worse," speculates still another.

This is how high our expectations are supposed to be? David Glass was quoted the other day as saying how excited he is about the young talent we have accumulated. He said yet again that he would be willing to lay down some cash to help fill in the hole that will put us over the top. He listed the wonderful young players in the employ of the Royals organization: David DeJesus, Ruben Gotay, John Buck, Mark Teahen, Justin Huber, Billy Butler, Chris Lubanski, Denny Bautista, Leo Nunez, Andy Sisco, Zack Greinke, Runelvys Hernandez. No question, the talent is there. But will it gel before these guys are eligible for arbitration and we decide to low-ball them in salary negotiations? Will it gel before they are eligible for free agency and we haven't had the vision to sign any of them to a reasonable multi-year contract beforehand? Will it gel before
the players (and their agents) realize that we simply won't spend the market value for their talent, but the other teams will? I'm expected to root for a team whose collective talent level is somewhere between Double-A and Triple-A and has little reasonable chance of staying together long enough for each of them to reach their peak years of productivity?

This is why I say "Pleh."

Sure, it's fun to follow the youngsters as they grow and mature. It's also gut-wrenching to watch them grow and mature. David DeJesus went to Rutgers and seems to be a pretty fast guy. He's seemingly smart and athletic. Has no one taught him how to steal a base? How to pick up on a pitcher's pick-off move? How to take an appropriate lead? Zack Greinke has more talent than any other pitcher I've ever seen, yet he still has a tendency to be a flaky 21-year old. I guess that's because he IS a flaky 21-year old. Mark Teahen has the tall, strong, athletic build any young boy would yearn to have, yet he is content slapping the ball the other way every time rather than trying to occasionally pull and elevate a pitch.

And the confidence I have in Baird to bring in veteran talent has nearly evaporated completely. We got lucky once with Jose Lima; why did we tempt fate twice? How did we allow a pitcher with an ERA near 8.00 to stay on this club for half the year? Oh, you say he's had a couple of strong starts recently? So what!? D.J. Carrasco has been far more productive and cost us barely more than the major league minimum. Remember Eli Marrero? No? I don't blame you. We brought him here on the heels of a career year where he tortured lefties only to overexpose him and then let him rot on the bench until we finally dumped him on the Orioles. How about Terrence Long? You're telling me we couldn't find anybody better than Terrence Long to play left field? Oh, that's right; we unearthed the second coming of Raul Ibanez: Emil Brown. Not
that there's anything wrong with Ibanez or Brown but find me a team who has a legitimate playoff chance that gives 500 at bats per year to corner outfielders the caliber of Long/Ibanez/Brown.

On top of all this, our team captain, Mike Sweeney, is as durable as a Precious Moments figurine. He might be the most unathletic athlete in sports today. He can't seem to get out of the way of inside pitches or base runners. And his salary eats away at least a third of our payroll resources, leaving little hope of being able to sign additional free agents or trade him for cheap, young talent. But he teases us with his incredible skill in the 110 games he plays every year!

Watching this team is like the sensation you get when you've just finished exercising and you go to the sink for a cold glass of water, only to find that when you've brought that first gulp to your mouth, it's luke warm like a glass full of your own saliva. The water seems tantalizing and has the potential to quench your thirst and leave you refreshed. But in reality, you end up spitting it out and pouring the rest of the glass down the drain. This team has the potential to be a cool, refreshing drink of water. But what I'm left with is the word I end up muttering after spitting out that lukewarm gulp:

Pleh.

Good Day

Yesterday was a good one. Here are the components that made it so:

**The Royals selected Alex Gordon, third baseman for the Nebraska Cornhuskers, with the number 2 pick in the MLB draft. The general consensus is that he's the best hitter in the college ranks and could be contributing to the major leauge club as early as next summer. There were murmurs that they might select another player based on signability, but, thankfully, they went with the best player available. As a Nebraska kid, he would attend several Royals games per year with his family and has the humility and work ethic of a stereotypical Midwesterner. Hopefully those traits will be evident in the contract negotiation process.

**I purchased the latest offering from Coldplay. I had heard nothing but good things about it and "Speed of Sound" has been playing on the radio. One comment equated some of the songs to "lost tracks from U2's 'War' album". I found "Square One", the opening track, to definitely be reminiscent of that sound. The rest of the album is quite good, though I don't see many other similarities to U2 quite yet. I'll listen to it a couple hundred more times and then pass judgement. Also, it was fun "cracking the code" of the album cover with David. The cover has a strange sequence of colored blocks and in the liner notes there contains a "key" to the code. David and I enjoyed figuring it out and deciphering the message on the last page of the notes.

**I've been playing on my church's co-ed indoor soccer team this past session and enjoying it very much. Unfortunately, the girls never show up and we have to forfeit the official outcome, but we still play anyway. It has been an enjoyable way to fulfill my competitive spirit and have fun at the same time.

Well, a couple of days ago some of the guys on our team asked if I would be willing to play on their all-guys competitive team. They didn't have a true goalkeeper (which is what I play) and they hoped that I would join them. I figured my competitive spirit would help make up for the coordination, agility and quickness that I once had.

We played our first game last night and I'm not sure my spirit made up for any of my inadequacies, but we won regardless, 5-3. My head was swimming having come from an environment where girls were playing (no offense to girls. It's actually a compliment. You all are generally much more civil than us male-folk) and the games didn't count and everyone was going at about 3/4 speed. These guys were young, fast, strong, competitive and, in some cases, mean. It was great! I let in the first two due to misjudging speed and angles and the last one bounced off my chest, between my arms and into the goal, which royally pissed me off. But we hung in there and I made some decent stops and the guys played a great possession game and we won.

And in game recaps circulating via email today, three guys thought I had earned the game ball. Either I did a lot better than I thought or they were just buttering me up so that I would keep playing and they wouldn't have to get between the pipes. Either way, I was quite pleased.


**Finally, the Royals played the Giants last night in San Francisco and won 8-1. D.J. Carrasco, a replacement level starter if ever there was one, pitched a complete game. The only run that scored against him came in the first and at one point he retired 16 straight batters. I don't think Buddy Bell is the long term managerial solution, but one thing is clear: the Royals are playing focused, crisp, pressure-free baseball since he came on board. I'm sure this is just a function of the players reacting to the "new guard", trying to make a good impression and realizing that the gravy train era of Tony Pena is over. I have nothing personal against Buddy Bell and I hope he succeeds but his track record is overflowing with losses, losing and losers. Of course, Joe Torre had a lousy managerial record before signing on with the Yankees. But then, he has had the highest payroll and best players in the land to work with.

Florida

My first trip to the state of Florida was fantastic. But it had absolutely nothing to do with the state of Florida.

Don't get me wrong; I thoroughly enjoyed the pseudo-tropical feel of the palm-lined streets, walking along the most beautiful stretch of Atlantic Ocean I have ever seen, meandering through the art deco-themed streets of Lake Worth and the near-perfect weather.

No, it was the people who were most delightful. And I don't mean your average Joe walking down the street. (Not that there was anything wrong with Average Joe. By the way, are there any actual "native" Floridians living in Florida? It sounded to me like everyone was transplanted from New York.) No, the most delightful people in Florida are now a part of my family.

You see, the reason for the trip was quite significant. It was a celebration/wedding ceremony for my little brother, Seth, and sister-in-law, Kira, and a baby naming ceremony for my niece, Ella. This brought together the majority of my small family and a large contingent of Kira's. My parents flew in from Hawaii and my Aunt Vicki and I traveled south from Kansas City. Unfortunately, I couldn't afford to bring my kids, David and Samantha. Nonetheless, it was great to be in the same room with my mom, dad and brother for the first time in several years.

In stark contrast to my tiny little Christian family was Kira's large, Jewish family. Our hosts for the weekend were Kira's parents, Stephen and Lisa. Stephen is a rabbi whose personality can best be described as "gregarious" while Lisa is his more subtle and complementary wife. And while they have very opposite personalities, they both share a warm heart and hospitable spirit.

They not only welcomed us into their home, but allowed us to participate in several of their Jewish customs, which I found to be quite fascinating and enjoyable. We were witnesses to the wedding ceremony that Stephen presided over, shared a Shabbat meal and were invited to the temple for Ella's naming ceremony. The only other Jewish tradition I had been involved in was my buddy Alex Pearlstein's bar mitzvah and the only thing I really remember about that was that it was the first time I ever wore a pair of loafers.

Being a Christian myself, I was greatly interested in learning more about these Jewish customs and was especially pleased when Stephen involved everyone in the Seder dinner. He stopped to explain why we were doing what we were doing (to the dismay of some who have celebrated this meal every year and must have been weary of going through the program one more time) and involved everyone in the readings. I was highly impressed, not to mention stuffed to the gills.

And while all the traditional and formal things were wonderful, I probably enjoyed most of all the time I got to spend with Seth and Kira splashing around in the pool; staring at Ella much the same way one stares into a campfire, mesmerized; and talking in brief, frequently interrupted bursts with Kira's brother Seth about baseball (it's gotta hurt that the Royals have taken two in a row from the Yanks).

At the end of the trip Stephen and Lisa invited us to come back and visit and Seth Pinsky and I made loose plans to get me out to New York to visit and see a game at the Stadium and I definitely plan on doing both.

After all, they're family.

Fanatical

Fanatical adj. - Possessed with or motivated by excessive, irrational zeal.

I think "irrational" is probably the key word in the definition, but I would agree that "fanatical" is an adequate description of me in relation to my home town Kansas City Royals. I suppose "insane" would also be fitting, especially if you were to define it as "a state of mind wherein a person does something repeatedly, though expecting different results." I continue to watch, listen to, and follow the Royals expecting them to win to no avail. The following excerpt from The Baseball Analysts gives clarity to why I continue to place my hope and faith in this team that has provided me with very little in return in the way of success:


"It seems a battle has developed for the minors third spot in the hot corner rankings between Billy Butler and Andy LaRoche. Butler, the Royals first rounder last season, is currently hitting over .350, has 10 home runs, and now 27 walks. LaRoche now has six home runs in his last four games, bringing his season total to 17 in the FSL, in addition to his .361 average. The edge still goes to Butler because of his youth and patience, but LaRoche is definitely making me look good for putting him on my breakout prospect list.

Both players also face the problem of organizational depth at their position. Butler is in Kansas City where the team currently is sporting Gold Glove-caliber Mark Teahen, and will likely draft Nebraska third baseman Alex Gordon in a couple weeks. LaRoche is currently in high-A, and the Dodgers have Willy Aybar and Joel Guzman ahead of him. For Butler the move should be across the diamond to first, as they keep Teahen at third, put Gordon in left and Justin Huber at DH."


I realize dreaming about the potential of a couple of farm hands and one yet-to-be-drafted player sounds pretty pathetic, but when the major league club employs the likes of Emil Brown, Joe McEwing and Ken Harvey, you can cut a guy some slack for drooling at the potential offensive output of the guys riding buses. Baseball Prospectus forecasted a combined OPS (On-base + Slugging percentage) of .754 for Butler and Huber if they were playing in the majors this year rather than in Single-A and Double-A, respectively. Compare that with the combined actual OPS of .691 for Brown, McEwing and Harvey and you can see why I get eager about discussing the future fortunes of the club.

Combine those prospects with the current Kiddy Corral on the major league roster already, and you come up with this possible roster in 2007 or 2008:

C - John Buck
1B - Billy Butler
2B - Ruben Gotay
3B - Mark Teahen
SS - Angel Berroa
LF - Alex Gordon
CF - David DeJesus
RF - ???
DH - Justin Huber

#1 Starter - Zack Greinke
#2 Starter - Denny Bautista
#3 Starter - Andy Sisco
#4 Starter - Runelvys Hernandez/Mike Wood
#5 Starter - Leo Nunez

Obviously, this lineup may not pan out. But the important thing to observe here is this: these are all young, inexpensive and mostly home-grown players that are providing the core of what will hopefully be a competitive team in the next 2-3 years. This is the only way a team with the financial constraints of the Royals can compete. The Cleveland Indians of the 90's utilized this model and dominated the Central division and even made it to a World Series. The Minnesota Twins have utilized this model and dominated the Central division. The Oakland A's have utilized this model and consistently bucked conventional wisdom while winning every year. If the Royals can strategically sign some of these players to long term contracts before their arbitration and free agency years, they can overcome some of their financial limitations and not have to trade away young, talented players (like Johnny Damon, Jermaine Dye and Carlos Beltran) without enjoying the production of their peak years.

On the other hand, these guys could get injured; they may not want to sign with a team that has such a lousy recent history; they could hire another inexperienced manager that likes to soap himself up in the shower; General Manager Allard Baird might not be able to supplement the youngsters with actual productive veterans; Owner David Glass could sell the team and watch as it relocates to Oregon. Who knows? Despite all those things, I'll continue to live and die with my team, however irrational that may be.

Quick Hits

This has been one of the more hectic months I've had in some time, resulting in a poorly populated blog. So I thought I'd give an idea of what's been going on and cover a few items in a "Quick Hit" format.

* April 21-25

My aunt and I traveled to Florida to meet my parents, my niece, brother, sister-in-law and her family for my brother's anniversary/wedding ceremony and my niece's baby naming ceremony. It was an absolutely delightful time. My new "extended" family couldn't have been more gracious, hospitable or personable. I look forward to a time when I can visit again. In fact, I might be most excited about visiting Kira's brother Seth in New York to catch a Yankee game and get an "insider's" view of the city.

* May 14

Samantha had her final drama class/performance and we got to see her utilize
the skills she's learned during her acting classes this summer. She really enjoys it and it's good to see her confidence level grow the more she participates.

*May 14 (cont.)

The "young folks" reception was held for Jeremy Mai's wedding. It was enjoyable to talking to folks I haven't seen in a while, doing a little dancing and sipping on a gin and tonic. I'm glad I didn't hit the sauce as hard as most had, given that the wedding was the next day. Jeff and Sarah were in town, which always makes for a great time.

*May 15

Jeremy and Amanda's wedding was held outdoors on a nearly perfect day. The "old folks" reception was nearly as enjoyable as I ate more food and got to talk to Carrie Carlson for the first time in a couple of years. Hanging out at Ty and Kimberly's just extended the good times. Doug, J.J. and I played a male-centric game of "Stand Still and See If You Get Hit By a Thrown Football From 20 Yards Away". Good stuff.

*May 17

Ryan Thye and I took full advantage of my status as a F.O.K.er (Friend Of Kenny, the morning DJ on the radio station I listen to) and watched the Royals blow a huge lead to the Orioles. The good part was that we got free tickets (for being a F.O.K.er), free Chipotle burritos, free Sprite and the Royals got 12 hits which means we can turn in our ticket stubs for a free dozen Krispy Kreme glazed doughnuts. If the team's not going to win anyway, may as well horde all the free stuff you can!

*May 19

Thursday Night at the Hiller's included nice weather, grilled chicken and great conversation. A couple of things I learned: Shea saw two U2 shows in Chicago the weekend previous and had picture from inside the circular-shaped stage. Lance shared with me the practice of trading "weather futures" in the energy market, which I found to be rather interesting and somewhat related to the commodities industry I work in.

*May 21

My friends the Atkinsons held their annual "Norway or the Highway" party, celebrating Norwegian independence day. While it's mostly just an excuse to get outside and eat bbq and drink beer, this year was the 100th year of independence, marked by t-shirts reading: "Norwegian Independence Day 2005. 100 Years Swede-Free." For those of you keeping score at home, Rich Barr won the lutefisk eating contest.

Somewhere in all this chaos, my favorite teams had bits of news to keep up on. The Jayhawks starting shooting guard J.R. Giddens was stabbed in a bar fight and will not be able to play any basketball during the summer months. With the crop of youngsters coming in and the chance for Bill Self to mold this team into his image, this latest lapse of judgement by J.R. could very well derail his NBA hopes. When he got caught burglarizing Wal-Mart in high school, you could say that he was in an awkward position given that his uncle was the ringleader. But this one's all on him. It's sad to see such great potential wasted because of a total lack of guidance.

The Royals managed to do a little addition by subtraction when Tony Pena up and quit. He was obviously not cut out for a managerial spot in the big leagues, though I think he would make a great bench coach or instructor, especially for young latin players. Now the search is on for a new manager. My first thought was that I'd like Larry Dierker, but recent interviews make that seem like a long shot at best. Bobby Valentine would be another intriguing choice, but he's currently under contract in Japan and guiding a winning team. I have the greatest admiration for Frank White as a player and person, but if he is hired as our manager, I just might find another team to root for. He has only two years of managerial experience and that is at the Double-A level. Good guy, bad choice for Royals manager. At least the boys in blue have started scoring a few runs since Pena's departure. Interim manager Bob Schaefer has coaxed them to a 5-6 record while actually outscoring their opponents 67-66 over that span. Schaefer is one of those old-school guys who I think would be a lousy fit in the long term, but I'll take what I can get in this (unfortunately) unforgettable season.


So, I've had my hands full for a while now. I hope to start putting up some more articles soon, especially now that I've completed my marathon viewing of the first season of "24" at John Hiller's recommendation. So stay tuned for more good stuff to come!

Foul Ball

After a long delay and a busy month, I offer you my latest selection:

There haven't been many high points in this increasingly morbid baseball season. But I managed to steal a couple of great ones recently. I've attended five Royals games this year and have the distinction of witnessing both of their home wins (against 12 losses). The second of these wins is where this story begins.

It was Tuesday the 19th and the Cleveland Indians were in town. It was a "Business Man's Special", a 1:10 start. Luckily, I was able to ditch out of the office at noon and head to the ballpark. The forecast left the afternoon as a small window in which there would be the least possibility of rain. Thankfully, that prediction held up.

So I bought my cheap, upper-deck ticket, and, having plagiarized the "Ryan Thye System of Seat Upgrades", headed for the lower deck. The RTSSU calls for subtlety when choosing your improved viewing station. This means resisting the temptation to head directly for the front row, all the while looking nervously over your shoulder for the impending doom of the stadium usher. No, the key is to stay in the upper half of the lower deck where ushers never tread. Sure, the seats aren't as good, but you get to sit there instead of being humiliated and kicked out to some less desirable seats. This being a weekday afternoon game and the crowd being far from numerous, I did not have to resort to using an accompanying technique: pulling out my ticket and pretending to look at it and then at the row numbers until having "found" my seat.

As I sat there waiting for the game to start, though, I noticed that there did not appear to be an usher in sight. A few people who obviously lacked the tickets for the lower section meandered past me (all the while, looking nervously over their shoulders) and took up their places in the primo seats. And the game began with still no sign of ushers. "Wouldn't that be cool if I could actually get down there," I thought. "I'll give it a couple of innings though, and see if those rascally ushers are just lying in wait, ready to bust the whole section, en masse."

An inning passed. The Indians couldn't touch the fastball of young Denny Bautista. And still no ushers. "Okay, I'm going down there. If they kick me out, they'll have to kick the whole lot of us out and I can accept that." So at the beginning of the second inning, I made my way down to the fourth row from the field, halfway between first base and the right field foul pole. I sat behind a couple a little older than myself and a couple who I assumed to be the wife's older parents. There were a few people in the section to my left and a couple of young guys two rows in front of me to my right. It was overcast, but the temperature was pleasant. I was going to thoroughly enjoy not being in the office this afternoon.

The bottom of the second inning arrived and up to bat came backup catcher Alberto Castillo. One of the bad things about weekday afternoon games is that you often get a lineup full of backups (irregulars?) to give the regulars a rest after a night game. To be honest, I don't recall the pitch sequence that preceded what I'm about to tell you, because I was most likely still in a dreamy state given my fantastic seats, lovely weather, and the fact that our light-hitting backup catcher was at the plate. But I was awoken quickly when Castillo hit a hard and slicing foul ball in our direction. "Whoa," my brain registered. "This ball is coming right at us." The couple and their parents stood up in front of me and I stood up too. This wasn't a pop-up that we were waiting to fall relatively gently from the sky. No, this was an instance when quick action was going to be required. As dumbfounded awe transformed to impending reality, the man in front of me shielded his wife from the incoming projectile. Her elderly-looking father nobly reached his hand out to catch the ball as it sailed over his daughter's head. But he didn't manage to get even a fingernail on it and I instinctively stuck out my bare right hand only to have it struck instantly, sending the ball directly to the ground two feet to my right. I immediately bent over and picked up my new-found trophy and held it up for all to behold. Applause went up from the crowd as I sat down to inspect my souvenir and cherry-red palm.

Both couples in front of me were inspecting themselves and one another, taking inventory of body parts and making sure their party still consisted of four living persons. The two guys in front of them looked back with expressions of envy and incredulity. Thankfully for me, there were no children in the vicinity that would have forced me to give up the only foul ball I had ever "caught". (In fact, the only other time I had even gotten a finger on a foul ball came last season at a weekday afternoon game. Nick Nave, Ryan Thye, Dan Swanson and I had all utilized the aforementioned RTSSU and were sitting along the third base side. Angel Berroa ripped an absolute bullet right in our direction. Nick ducked (with good reason), but I leaned over him and put my hands together like a wide receiver trying to catch a pass. The ball ripped right through my fingers and landed several rows behind us and ended up in someone else's clutches. My finger tip was numb for the better part of the next 24 hours.)

As I spun the ball in my hand, a horrible realization struck me: they always send ushers to make sure foul ball catchers aren't injured. I'm going to get booted from this great seat just moments after recording the most memorable personal moment I had ever experienced at the ballpark. And just as I was thinking this, who saunters up behind me but a young lady wearing the uniform of an usher.

"Are you okay, sir?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm fine. Thanks."

She smiled and apparently went back to the secret "Usher's Lounge" where they had all been hiding during this game. "Whew," I thought. "My perfect afternoon will continue unspoiled. Except, of course, for when the Royals find some heart-wrenching way to blow this game."
Then I turn around to see some guy who appears to be the "Head Usher" behind me. He asks if I'm alright and I again reply that I am. He then goes on to say that if I need an icepack or anything else I should just go see him. I thanked him and he, too, returned to the "Usher's Lounge".

Denny Bautista alternated dominating innings with shaky innings and the Royals batters actually scored some runs, leaving the score tied 5-5 with two out in the bottom of the ninth. And who should come up? None other than the man from whose bat I received my new treasure, Alberto Castillo. Unfortunately, I wasn't thrilled to see him at this point. For some idiotic reason, Manager Tony Pena refused to call on John Buck to pinch hit, even though his power was exactly what was needed in this situation.

But wait. That just sounded like a solid crack of the bat. And the ball is sailing toward the left field bullpen. Woo hoo! The guy who provided me with a story that I can tell for the rest of my life just delivered a walk-off, game-winning homerun!

And I had salvaged two memorable moments from an already foul season.

Watershed

You know when you watch a movie and there's a scene when you think, "I wish something like that would happen to me..."? I had one of those Friday night. No, I wasn't watching a movie; I had one of those real-life, great moments.

My daughter, Samantha, wanted to go to a Girl Scout-sanctioned, Father/Daughter sock hop at her elementary school. Being a guy and realizing that some sort of dancing was involved, I wasn't particularly thrilled at the prospect of attending. But, being the dad of a daughter (and only those of you who fill the same roll will know what I mean), I knew I had to go.

The plan was to bring something to eat and then dance the night away. Well, at least until 9:00. So, we grabbed some Wendy's and headed for school. We arrived at the same time as some other girls and their fathers. Many girls had poodle skirts on and some of the dads had white t-shirts, rolled-up jeans and penny loafers. One father brought her daughter on the back of his Harley. Not realizing that everyone would be taking it so seriously, I was wearing a forest green t-shirt, brown cargo pants and my Royals cap. Samantha was wearing a little black dress (girls must have these issued to them at birth) and some tall black boots.

We walked in, paid our $5/couple cover charge and made our way to the cafeteria. There were cafeteria tables set up along three sides of the room, decorated with blue tablecloths and centerpieces made of balloons and old 45s. There was a DJ set up in one corner, complete with multi-colored lights. There were people sitting at the tables, eating their dinners and there were a few girls already warming up the dance floor. I'm certainly not old enough to have attended a real sock hop, but this certainly had the feel of one.

We both ate our dinners and watched as more and more people filtered in, each of us formulating some judgement on who was there and how the night would end up. Now, ever since my kids have been enrolled in school, I've been uncomfortable hanging around with the other parents. I'm a young parent and most of the other parents are anywhere from 10 to 15 years older than I am. It's not that I feel self-conscious; I just don't seem to relate very well to these folks who lead very different lives than I do. Most are fully established in their careers, making more than enough money, owning sizable houses and multiple SUVs, whereas I still consider my job relatively temporary, I don't make a great deal of money, I live in a two-bedroom apartment and I own what can be kindly be called an "economy car", though I personally refer to it as a "clown car". And I'm more than content with my situation, in fact I wouldn't ask for their situation in a million years. It just doesn't make for interesting conversation with folks who live a lifestyle exactly the opposite of my own. So I prayed beforehand that I would just focus solely on Samantha and ensure that she had as good a time as possible.

I can only speculate on what Samantha was thinking. She wasn't very talkative as we ate and seemed focused on the girls who were already dancing. Sam isn't the most outgoing person in the world and sometimes has difficulty getting to know other people. She's a little like me in the sense that she likes to sit back a little and get an assessment of someone before pouring herself fully into a relationship with someone. There's certainly nothing wrong with that, but it does make for a little anxiety in large, group settings. One of her little school buddies, Jordan, came up as Sam was finishing her dinner and asked her if she wanted to go out and dance. Samantha responded shortly that, no, she preferred not to go out there. Jordan bounded out to the dance floor for a few seconds and then ran back, imploring Samantha to come on out with her. I tapped her on the shoulder and encouraged her to go on out there with her friend. But, again, Sam declined and as she turned around, I noticed her eyes were a little red. I asked her what was wrong and she just started crying and put her head in her folded arms on the table.

"Oh, great," I'm thinking. "Not only do I not want to be here, but now she's crying. No wonder I don't go out on any dates." She was sitting across from me, so I asked her to come around the table and sit beside me. Just then, the DJ pumped up the volume and started playing "YMCA", making it a bit difficult to communicate with someone who was mumbling through folded limbs. I asked her if she wanted to go out for "YMCA". It was easy and something she knew, I reasoned with her. She responded, "I don't know." Okay. Uhhhh.... Then I asked if she wanted to go out with me on the next song. "I don't know," she repeated. So I said that we should, in fact, go out on the next song and she mumbled "Okay, I guess," and raised her head to reveal an unhappy frown that didn't promise for a sock-hopping good time.

"YMCA" ended and I leaned over and said "Don't smile; we aren't here to have any fun." That cracked a smirk on her face. "Whew!", I thought. I may avoid an evening of misery after all! We were seated at a table near a corner of the room so, sensing her nervousness, I suggested we dance to the next song right next to the table, in the corner. She liked that idea and then her face brightened when the DJ announced that he would be playing the "Chicken Dance". For those of you unfamiliar with this dance, you start by raising both of your hands to shoulder-level and make talking motions with your fingers and thumbs. Next, you bring your hands to your armpits, throwing your elbows to the sides and start flapping like a chicken. Finally, you bring your arms to hip-level and pump them forward and backward, while twisting your hips and bending at the knees. The first set of motions is performed while singing/yelling "I don't wanna be a chicken!" The flapping is accompanied by "I don't wanna be a duck!" and the fanny-shaking is serenaded with "So I'm gonna shake my butt!" A smile had fully replaced the frown on her face and the sock hop was officially on.

Next on the dance card was "The Hokey Pokey". We performed this in our corner with much enthusiasm. And then, the sock hop kicked in to an authentic 50s vibe with "The Twist". I asked Samantha if she wanted to enter the actual dance floor and she nodded yes. So I grabbed her hand and pulled her out to the floor and showed her how to do "The Twist". She picked it up quickly and was instantly hooked. There would be no more frowns on this night.

Mercifully, the DJ mixed in a slow song to give us dads a little break from bouncing, twisting and shaking. Samantha's first slow dance was stiff, awkward and spent mostly checking out all the other girls to see how they were doing things. At the conclusion of the slow dance, another high-energy song, "Shout", was cranked up.

And that's when the moment happened.

We were bouncing around and throwing our arms up in the air at each "Shout!", when I looked at her and saw quite possibly the most joyous look on her face that I had ever seen. Her eyes were fully alive and her smile was barely contained by her little cheeks. She had overcome her fear and nervousness with her daddy holding her hands and spinning her around the dance floor.

When the song ended, we were both pretty warm and decided to sit the next one out. The doors were open to the playground, so I suggested we go outside and cool off a bit. She agreed and went running off to find her buddies on the playground. I sat down, thankful for the rest, the cool breeze and the fact that I was able to provide her with enough confidence to enjoy herself in what seemed to be an overwhelming situation.

After a few minutes of talking with her friends and climbing on the playground equipment, she asked if I wanted to go back inside. I said sure, but as we made our way to the doors, a conga line appeared and started weaving towards the front of the school. She asked if she could join in and I said sure, that I would meet her inside.

When she made it back in, she grabbed my hand and we re-entered the dance floor.

And then "Moment 1a" happened.

She looked up at me and said, "I think all the dads are sitting down during this one, okay?" I said okay and she and her buddies went to the middle of the dance floor while I made my way back to our corner seat. In a little over an hour, she had gone from burying her head in her arms and crying to kindly blowing off Dad to cut the rug with the girls. I couldn't have been more proud. Little "dad tears" started to well up and I wondered if any of the other dads had experienced this. I didn't really care, though, because my daughter and I had really connected and grown, individually and together.

On the way home, we stopped and got twist cones at McDonald's. We chatted until the ice cream disappeared, successfully completing my fairy-tale, movie-moment evening. As a parent, you try to enjoy every moment in your kids' brief childhoods, but it's impossible to appreciate every one. I couldn't be more pleased that Samantha and I got to share this one.

I Love Technology

I love technology. Just like Napoleon's brother Kip sings to his new bride during their wedding in "Napoleon Dynamite".

I sit in front of a computer all day. That's my job. It may sound atrocious to some, delightful to others. Some may tout the benefits of having access to the internet and several challenging programs while others are more at home pounding the pavement, hitting the road or working outside in the fresh air. No doubt, each has its pros and cons. I should know; I've been employed in all of these situations. But what's really great is that it doesn't matter which set of working conditions I end up in. Why? Technology.

While sitting at my desk, in front of my computer, I can check yesterday's box scores and game recaps. "Who needs technology for that?", one may ask. "I do," I answer. With technology, I don't have to buy a newspaper. And I can get a full box score and recap for every major league game, rather than just the "box score and blurb" found in print. Then, once I've finished piecing those in between my actual job duties, I can check out the noon baseball games. Live. Both ESPN.com and CBS Sportsline.com have pitch-by-pitch, electronic, real-time gamecasts. I love these things! I can watch as many games as I want, all at the same time. I can know exactly what is going on in any game at any given moment, even if I have to take a break find out when a train full of wheat is going to arrive in Stockton, California.

"Ooooh, I'm scared of the internet and intimidated by technology!", one may say. "Balderdash," says I. Just turn on technology's "Old Faithful", the radio. As mind-boggling as the internet and computer technology may be, the fact that peoples' voices can travel through the air for hundreds of miles is still nothing short of astounding. My municipality's baseball team can be heard clear as day pounding some other city's squad into submission, even while I'm sitting in my car.

And if I decide to go get some lunch at the local brewpub, the chances are in my favor that I could actually watch the game on TV. Live television is even more amazing than radio, especially the way it's produced in this day and age. You can see every play from every angle on every game.

"Things were a lot better back in the good old days," one might say. You know what I say? "Phooey!" Baseball is draped in nostalgia and rightfully so. Part of the allure of baseball is that you can compare what is happening right now to some player or some team or some era from long ago. Or a decade ago. Or a week ago. Sure, it may be nostalgic thinking about the days when games were only played in the sunlight. But how many games could you actually go to? Didn't people have jobs then, too? Now there's certainly something to be said for attending a ballgame in person. It is far better to sit in the park with all the sights, sounds and smells. But if you can't be there, don't you still want to know what's going on? I sure do.

And what if your favorite team is out of town? Or you root for a team that doesn't reside in your neck of the woods? This was the case for me yesterday. The Royals were playin in g in Detroit and the Yankees/Red Sox game was also under way in New York. It was nice to be able to needle my cranky, pessimisitic co-worker with updates of Runelvys Hernandez hitting his spots and Mariano Rivera melting down YET AGAIN against the Red Sox lineup.

Maybe I'm just a product of a society built on instant gratification. But you couldn't do this stuff 50 years ago. And I'm guessing that if the folks who pine for the old days had the opportunities then that we have now, they wouldn't have passed them up.

I love technology.

Opening Slay

George Bell. Tuffy Rhodes. And, now, Dmitri Young. What do these three men have in common? They are the only players to have ever launched three homeruns on Opening Day. What team did two of those players achieve this amazing accomplishment against? That's right; you're very own Kansas City Royals!

The Royals and their fans started the year with hope and optimism, just like every other club. Granted, the hopes weren't grand: avoid 100 losses again and watch some youngsters improve and build confidence. Reality, though, was quickly and harshly shoved down our throats.

Our Opening Day starter was neither young nor particularly effective. I had faint hope that Jose Lima would harness some fire against the team who once dumped him like a crazy girlfriend. He started off quickly, striking out two in the early going. But "Lima Time, Part Two," was about as enjoyable as most Hollywood sequels. He went on to allow six hits, five runs and three homeruns in just three innings pitched en route to an 11-2 loss to the mediocre Detroit Tigers. All this in a ballpark that is supposed to favor pitchers and stifle offense.

Which is exactly the effect it had on Royals batters. Of course, young hurler Jeremy Bonderman had something to do with that, as well. Bonderman had a very solid outing, striking out seven while walking only two in seven innings pitched. He was helped out by a young and swing-happy team, though. Rookie second baseman Ruben Gotay seemingly swung at every single pitch offered to him, eschewing the plate discipline that helped him earn his starting job, and seemed to personify the term "rookie jitters". Fellow rookie and infield mate Mark Teahen seemed to be able to make some contact, but wasn't able to "him 'em where they ain't," going hitless in four tries. (Interestingly, Teahen is only the third Royal to start in his major league debut, joining Michael Tucker in 1995 and Joe Zdeb in 1977. Hopefully he goes on to a more distinguished career than the others.) And off-season acquisition/stop-gap Terrence Long put on a show of offensive futility, going 0-4 and leaving five men on base in his Royals debut.

On the bright side, leadoff man David DeJesus had a couple of hits and an RBI, Angel Berroa had a hit and a walk in four plate appearances, and new DH Calvin Pickering hit an impressive homerun, portending great things to come. Additionally, Matt "Beer League" Stairs got on base three times in his four trips to bat.

"Bright" didn't seem to appropriately describe the Kansas City bullpen. Each pitcher gave up at least one run, apparently in an attempt to sympathize with Lima. Rule 5 pick Andy Sisco was the only pitcher who didn't allow a hit, but made up for it with two walks. Shawn Camp didn't walk anyone, but gave up a couple of hits and was the victim of a Teahen error.

So, things didn't start out too well this year for the Royals. But a season isn't made on Opening Day. After entering his name in the record books, George Bell went on to have poor year at the plate. Tuffy Rhodes wasn't even able to stick on a major league roster. And one would have thought that last year would have been a rousing success after coming back to win in the bottom of the ninth with homers by Mendy Lopez and Carlos Beltran. So, maybe the Royals can reverse their fortunes this year. I doubt it, but there's still hope.

Optimism

The Royals made their final cuts yesterday, solidifying the 2005 roster. While this year's edition of the Men In Blue won't evoke images of last year's Red Sox, they will bring to mind the beginnings of some other successful clubs who were able to build a foundation of success on youth. The most recent Twins squads, the 90's versions (as well as this year's version) of Cleveland's ballclubs and the infamously ransacked rosters of the 90's Expos all built competitive teams using young talent and patience. The Royals are looking to duplicate this pattern as they employ no fewer than eight players with 2 years big league experience or less on Opening Day. Let's take a look at who will be helping this once-proud franchise dig itself out of the quagmire its been mired in for so long:

INFIELD

This infield has probably seen less major league games in person than I have. Behind the plate, John Buck has just over 250 major league plate appearances. At first base/DH, Calvin Pickering has about 280 career PA. Second baseman Ruben Gotay has chalked up 160 PA in the bigs, while third baseman Mark Teahen's next major league at bat will be his first. That leaves the shortstop, Angel Berroa, as the “seasoned veteran” with 1,300 trips to the plate, a total that eclipses the combined totals of his fellow infielders.

While this lack of experience may not be pretty to watch this year, it certainly will be better than watching the feeble crew that “entertained” us last year. No, there won't be an abundance of veteran mediocrity (or worse) with the likes of Joe Randa, Desi Relaford, Ken Harvey and Tony Graffanino either gone or saddled with reduced playing time and injury. And even if it's ugly, we can at least dream about what the future holds. Pickering might be able to get enough at-bats to threaten Steve Balboni's pathetic club record for homeruns of 36. Gotay could continue his covert ascension through the ranks and show some plate discipline and power that not many middle infielders his age possess. Teahen may play a respectable third base while honing his line drive stroke. Buck could show more pop than any Royals catcher since Mike Macfarlane and he's already earned brownie points for his ability to “handle the pitching staff.” And Berroa could return to his Rookie of the Year level of play, hitting the occasional homerun and showing good range in the field. And as long as we're being optimistic, team captain Mike Sweeney might shrug off back problems and log 500 All-Star -quality at bats. Or they all might struggle mightily, get injured and form the nucleus of a club that challenges last year's historic futility. Even if the latter happens, I'd rather watch young guys develop than old guys go through the motions.

OUTFIELD

This group is nearly as exciting as the Sunnyvale Retirement Village Pinochle Championship. The lone exception is centerfielder David DeJesus. DeJesus already possesses major league-ready plate discipline and can cover the gaps in center. Unfortunately, the gaps in center field may be quite large with the likes of Terrence Long, Matt Stairs and Emil Brown flanking him. Eli Marrero is an acceptable fielder; hopefully his bat will be properly utilized in some sort of platoon situation with the wholly uninspiring Long. The best part of seeing Terrence Long will be knowing that Darrell May was sent far, far away from us. Matt “Beer League” Stairs is still fun to watch, swinging from the heels in slow-pitch softball fashion, but his usefulness is quickly evaporating. Emil Brown managed to beat out one-time up-and-comer Aaron Guiel and the last remains of prospect sheen dimly emanating from Abraham Nunez. Normally I wouldn't get too excited about a journeyman coming out of nowhere to win the right field job, but this case is more symbolic. Just as last year's lone All-Star, Ken Harvey, was dispatched to Omaha, Allard Baird was not going to settle for the status quo with a previously moderately productive Guiel or the unfulfilled potential of Nunez. Baird is fond of using the term “approach” when evaluating talent and I think his approach in these two positions is positive. He's still in search of an impact bat for one of the corner outfield spots and he has resisted the urge to fill those spots this year with overpriced, middling free agents.

STARTING PITCHING

Any comment on Kansas City's starting pitching has to begin with the inimitable Zack Greinke. Without question, he has the most pitching talent the Royals have seen since Bret Saberhagen. The only question is if he can make it through the next few years without being overworked and, subsequently, injured. Before last year, the only time I've ever bought a ticket to a baseball game with the sole intention of watching a pitcher was 2002 when Pedro Martinez picked apart the Royals. I listened to the radio broadcast of Greinke's first major league start last year and was blown away by the incredulity in Denny Matthews' voice. Matthews isn't the best broadcaster of all time, but he's been the voice of the Royals since their inception in 1969, and he's seen a lot in his day. But he hadn't seen anything like Greinke that day. After that game, I decided I had to witness this phenomenon for myself. And I wasn't disappointed. He never tried to overthrow the ball, instead hitting his targets and hitting every notch on the radar gun from 80 to 94. And, invariably, he would follow up a 94 mph offering with a 60 mph looping curveball, leaving batters lurching and cursing. I made up my mind that I would do whatever I could to watch every one of his starts from then on. He is easily the best pitcher on the Royals' staff, even at age 21.

But the Royals have other potentially exciting young members of the rotation as well in Runelvys Hernandez and Denny Bautista. Hernandez was without equal the first two months of the 2002 season, but a sore elbow and Tommy John surgery cut his promising start short. He's now fully recovered and rehabilitated and looking to compete. He has ability, heart and extreme confidence in himself; hopefully he can put it all together and have a breakout year. Denny Bautista throws hard, has a nasty curve and an excellent change. He may have the best pure stuff in the organization. He's still a bit raw, though, and his lanky frame contributes to occasionally poor mechanics. If re-hashed pitching coach Guy Hansen is half as good as he claims to be, Bautista could contribute sooner rather than later. Jose Lima and Brian Anderson fill out the veteran portion of the rotation. “Lima Time” was a popular act in his first go 'round in K.C.; we'll see if the increased offensive atmosphere of Kauffman Stadium as compared to Dodger Stadium bumps “Lima Time” from prime time to pine time. Brian Anderson has received an “Extreme Makeover: Delivery Edition” from Hansen. There's really nowhere to go but up for Anderson after last year's 5.64 ERA and 33 homeruns allowed. I hope.

BULLPEN

The bullpen is talented, yet free of unnecessary “veteran set-up guys,” “proven closers,” and their cash-sucking salaries. Jeremy Affeldt is as close to a “proven closer” as it comes, yet is still making far below market value for someone in his position. Mike MacDougall, the reigning closer before Affeldt, has come back strong from a season filled with illness, injury and disappointment. His always-concerning mechanics have been much more consistent this spring and, likewise, so have his results. Mike Wood has had a solid spring and stands to accept a rotation spot should Bautista or Anderson falter. Shawn Camp is another reliever rescued from the scrap heap to put up respectable numbers at bargain basement prices. And Jaime Cerda seems able to contribute in the role of LOOGY (Lefty One-Out GuY), at worst, and effectively face multiple batters, if given the chance.

The Royals won't be world-beaters this year, as they were in 2003. They also won't be the doormat that the 2004 club was. Tony Pena has a youth-oriented team again and that seems to suit his rah-rah, teaching style. Guy Hansen is ready to perform miracles heretofore only concocted by Leo Mazzone, his major league counterpart while Hansen was employed as the pitching coach for Atlanta's AAA team. The hitting coach, Jeff Pentland, has been credited with teaching the benefits of plate discipline and pitch selection to Sammy Sosa and Barry Bonds. Allard Baird continues to do well looking under rocks for cheap and undervalued talent. The farm system is starting to produce both pitching and position prospects. If he can find the elusive “impact bat” to put in the outfield corners, the semblance of a respectable club might start to appear. Maybe not this year, but soon.

Names

Everyone has one. It's how we identify each other. It's how we keep track of each other.

Each Major League baseball team manages a 40-man roster. There are 30 teams in Major League baseball. This means there are over 1,200 names regularly being bandied about each season. But not all of these names inspire images of greatness and success when spoken or heard. Some conjure thoughts of utter failure, laughter, confusion or amusement.

This occurred to me first as a youngster. When evaluating the newest rookie crop as a kid, I would often rely on how a players' name sounded when I had no other facts to make a judgement by. Take, for instance, 1987. A buddy of mine was really high on Casey Candaele, a rookie shortstop for the Expos. We didn't really know a whole lot about him, other than what the back of his baseball cards told us. I decided, though, that I couldn't really imagine his name being associated with greatness: "Please welcome three-time National League MVP, Casey Candaele!" Just didn't sound right. On the other hand, you had two young players in Pittsburgh whose names just seemed to flow off the tongue: Barry Bonds and Bobby Bonilla. Those names sounded cool individually and collectively. Barry Bonds. Bobby Bonilla. Bonds and Bonilla. There's a lot to be said for alliteration. And it doesn't hurt to have name recognition from a dad who had a pretty decent career, as well, in Bonds' case.

So, I've compiled some notes and observations on the levels of success achieved by players with "good" names, "bad" names, "weird" names, and so on. This is about as far away as you can get from objective sabermetric analysis, but it's fun to think about, nonetheless.


OLD GUYS

Ty Cobb. A solid name. A concise name. Definitely material for a successful name. Unquestioned on-field results.

Honus Wagner. I don't think I would have bet on him to be successful as a rookie any more than I would have bet on Al Pedrique 90 years later. But he was arguably the best shortstop ever, so you can see where this is not an exact science.

Joe DiMaggio. Ethnic-sounding names don't always translate well. When your name appears in multiple songs, you can bet that it translated just fine.

Ted Williams. Very solid name. The name of a ballplayer AND a war hero. You can't go wrong with a name like Ted Williams.

Mickey Mantle/Willie Mays/Duke Snider. This is the jackpot of baseball names. All stand alone as great names. They combined to share the same position in the same era and create possibly the most talented triumvirate of names in history. Mickey Mantle may be the best baseball name of all-time. Again, you have alliteration, a definite plus. And how can you not like the name "Mickey"? Willie Mays was the "Say Hey Kid," a nickname that embodied his enthusiastic personality. But, even "Willie Mays" sounds like an incredible athlete. Duke. It screams out "authority" and "leader" and "John Wayne". Willie, Mickey and the Duke. Only "Tinker to Evers to Chance" comes within a stone's throw of this trio.

Johnny Bench. Almost any name that ends in "y" sounds great. It leads you to believe that he's still just a kid playing a kid's game. This rule also applies for Eddie Matthews, Rickey Henderson, Ernie Banks, Willie Stargell, Kirby Puckett and Ozzie Smith.

Tom Seaver. Sounds nearly as "All-American" as Jack Armstrong. Tom had 271 more wins than Jack, though.


RECENT GUYS

Pedro. Anyone who can get by with just their first name has both immense talent and recognizability. "Ed" for instance, would not fall into this category.

Sammy Sosa. Another excellent example of striking gold with alliteration. Even his nickname gets in on the act: Slammin' Sammy Sosa.

Albert Pujols. Another name anomaly. Albert is easily preceded by "Fat". And "Pujols" is another ethnic name that doesn't really roll off the tongue. But when you hit nearly as well as Barry Bonds, no one really cares what your name sounds like.

Hank Blalock. "Hank" is a classic baseball name. Hank Aaron. Hank Bauer. Hank Greenberg. Homer Hank-y.

Torii Hunter/Jacque Jones. Names that evoke images of their actual skills are cool. Torii Hunter "hunting" down balls in center field is a great example. Hunter's outfield mate Jacque Jones has the alliteration thing going for him, if not the actual baseball skills.

Ichiro! Sounds best when screamed by elementary school autograph hounds.


BAD NAMES

These are names that I just wouldn't imagine being announced at a Hall of Fame induction ceremony. If you have one of these names, you know you're not coasting on natural ability, but rather you're "maximizing your potential" or "doing all the little things" or "exhibiting a clubhouse presence."

Mark Grudzielanek. Doug Mientkiewicz. Wes Obermueller. Paul Bako. Vinny Chulk. Mike Koplove. Todd Van Poppel. Chris Clapinski.

I've already mentioned some players with bad names that have bucked the trend and played well. Here are a few more:

Nomar Garciaparra. Jason Isringhausen. John Smoltz. Magglio Ordonez. David Eckstein. Paul Konerko. Mike Sweeney. Wily Mo Pena. Erubiel Durazo.

Jung Bong. If Jimmy Fallon comes back to guest-host Saturday Night Live, you gotta think Horatio Sanz squeezes in a reference to Jung Bong during their "Jared's Room" sketch.

Bobby Hill. It can't be good if your name evokes thoughts of the pudgy, lacking in self-esteem son of Hank Hill on "King of the Hill."

Jose Mesa. Literally translated means "Joe Table." Lets stick with the Spanish version.


ODDS AND ENDS

Alliteration All-Stars: Barry Bonds. Bret Boone. Kiko Calero. David DeJesus. Corey Koskie. Geoff Jenkins. Melvin Mora. Matt Morris. Mark Mulder. Mike Mussina. Ugueth Urbina. Woody Williams.

Names That "Flow": I have a friend named Matt Atkinson. What's cool about his name is that you can flow it together: Mattkinson. Same goes for Seth Etherton (Setherton) and Brad Radke (Bradke).

"Fishy" Names: Tim Salmon. Steve Trout. Kevin Bass. Josh Karp. "Catfish" Hunter.

Pitchers With Unfortunate Names: Bob Walk. Grant Balfour. Homer Bailey. Steve Shell. David Riske.

"Combo" Names: Back in the early 80's, Topps baseball cards had cards with players whose names combined to form something moderately interesting. Bud Black + Vida Blue = Black & Blue. Steve Carlton + Carlton Fisk = Carlton & Carlton. Now we have Damian Rolls + Royce Clayton = Rolls Royce. And Jason Marquis + Marquis Grissom = Marquis & Marquis.

Young Guys Who Have No Chance At the Hall of Fame: Most of these guys are in the minors or are battling for a spot on the big league roster. They may very well have major league careers, but not a one has a Hall of Fame-caliber name. Ryan Langerhans. Yorman Bazardo. Callix Crabbe. Hernan Iribarren. Ian Bladergroen. John Van Benschoten. Tagg Bozied.

Guys With Superhero-like Names: Robin Ventura. John Buck. Prince Fielder. "Flash" Gordon. Orlando Hudson.

Great Ethnic Names: Rafael Palmeiro. Aquilino Lopez. Ruben Sierra. Roberto Clemente. Sandy Koufax. Hank Greenberg. Byung-Hyun Kim. Rocco Baldelli. Hiram Bocachica. Tony Graffanino. Shigetoshi Hasegawa. Rob Mackowiak. Frank Menechino. Frank Catalanotto. Micheal Nakamura. Mike Piazza. Juan Pierre. A.J. Pierzynski. Manny Ramirez. Seung Song.
Alfonso Soriano. Esteban Yan.

Rods: ARod. ERod. FeRod. IRod. LuRod. RiRod. SRod.

Guys Who Share Names With Other Celebrities: Kenny Rogers. Mike Myers.

Same Name, Different Pronunciation: Greg Gagne / Eric Gagne.

Potpourri: Chipper Jones. Brad Penny. Josh Fogg. J.T. Snow. Trot Nixon. Bucky Jacobsen. Cha Baek. Milton Bradley. Coco Crisp.