|
Every year around Opening Day, I get this feeling that anything's possible. I
know better. I know it's just romance and mythology playing tricks on me. But
I don't care. I figure it's healthy to spend a day or two imagining things breaking the way I want them to ... so I do. This year, I made a list; it's an eclectic, utterly disorganized list, but it's a list. Call it Eric's Fantasy Baseball World 2002, in which ...
|  | | Give Pedro Martinez a full season and a microphone. |
Gary Sheffield twitches his bat, crushes balls to left, and never gets within 50 feet of a microphone -- the guy's seriously confused.
Pedro Martinez is healthy, nasty and serving as the host of his own talk show -- the guy's hilarious.
I get fogged in at the San Francisco airport for about eight hours, sitting next to a kid carrying the 40th anniversary edition of Strat-O-Matic baseball in his backpack.
Sean Burroughs hits 35 doubles, walks about 80 times, wins NL Rookie of the
Year and gets fogged in at the airport sitting next to Chris Drury.
Rick Ankiel comes off the disabled list feeling comfortable in his own skin -- pitching, eating dinner, riding his bike, whatever.
|  | | We won't begrudge Byung-Hyun Kim if he gets a little swagger in his step. |
Somebody does one of those "Men in Black" memory eraser things on
Byung-Hyun Kim -- and he's a fearless, even cocky, pitcher who saves 40 games.
Diamondbacks execs, whose team is in first through July, decide they've
tempted the baseball gods long enough with purple-and-teal uniforms and
introduce new understated, home white-with-purple-piping togs at the All-Star
Break. The team goes in a second-half tailspin, but they look good doing it.
Randy Johnson lets his hair get long and stringy in the back. Mike Piazza
keeps it short.
Somebody does an Oscar Gamble thing -- I'm hoping for Derek Jeter.
Jeter sends Ruben Rivera a deluxe fan kit, including an autographed glove, bat and 8X10 color glossy photo.
The White Sox announce Bill Veeck Day at Comiskey; Frank Thomas and Kenny Lofton model the throwback unis, complete with shorts and wide lapels, at the
press conference.
Somebody, somewhere writes a Barry Bonds piece that doesn't lead with his personality or talk about how far off the 73-homer pace he is.
|  | | So, Barry Bonds, um ... read any good books lately? |
I'm driving west on the high plains in Wyoming and my car radio -- which
has a broken antenna, by the way -- gets hit by a bolt of lightening and it's
one of those cosmic tumblers sort of moments, and suddenly I'm getting Vin
Scully saying, "Hi again, everybody, it's a beautiful night for a ballgame --
pull up a chair." I stop the car on the side of the road and cry.
Cesar Izturis, the Dodgers' new Venezuelan shortstop plays a game worthy of
his name, kids all over LA start buying up packs of Topps trying to get his
card, and Scully waxes poetic about Davey Concepcion and Luis Aparicio and
the elite fraternity of Venezuelan glove men.
Quietly at first, but later in groups and with zeal, people begin talking
to each other about their enduring respect for and fascination with quality
pinch hitters. In July, they hold their first annual convention and vote to call themselves the Dave Hansen Society.
Major League GMs read "Baseball Prospectus 2002"; everybody else reads "The New Bill James Historical Abstract," daily, like a holy book.
Anyone anywhere who says "it's only a game" has to sit right down and read
Don DeLillo's "Pafko at the Wall." Twice.
Don Sutton is at the mike for a Greg Maddux no-hitter.
Cubs' No. 1 pick Mark Prior spends most the season in the minors, on a
pitch count. After an August call-up, Prior is 97 pitches into a 4-1 win ...
and Kerry Wood refuses to let him pitch the ninth.
About once every month of the season, a professional-wrestler son-of-a-manager chases a slightly overweight relief pitcher into hiding; or
vice versa -- I'm not picky. (If I can't have that, I'll settle for Troy Percival striking out Mo Vaughn in the World Series.)
Rickey Henderson steals home off Andy Pettitte.
Carlos Peña has a solid season at first in Oakland, Eric Chavez has a
monster year, and the A's win the AL West.
The Oakland PR department holds a contest to name Barry Zito's curveball.
"Lawdy," "Uh-uh," "Jan and Dean" and "Rip Curl" are finalists, but "Bert" is
the winner.
Speaking of which, Blyleven makes the Hall, for all the reasons Rob Neyer's explained, but mostly because aesthetics count and his curve was a thing of beauty.
So does Gary Carter -- no party this time, Gary, just share a nice bottle
of wine with your wife.
Every time a ballpark DJ is tempted to play John Fogerty's "Center Field,"
he plays Steve Earle's "Some Dreams" from "The Rookie" soundtrack instead.
Sly and the Family Stone's "Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin)"
replaces the Baha Men's "Who Let the Dogs Out?" as the season's crowd
pleaser, except in Pittsburgh, where "We Are Family" makes a comeback in
honor of Pops.
Somebody writes a hip-hop baseball song -- hopefully Snoop.
Cable, network and local sports shows agree to a one-week moratorium on
home runs in game story highlights. Why? Two things: One, we take them for
granted, and a layoff might make them interesting and impressive again. Two,
the other hundreds of things that happen in a game, the things that give it
its sense of wonder, chance and poetry, deserve a little play.
Roy Oswalt wins the NL Cy Young Award. I just like the sound of it.
Astros owners decide against selling naming rights to the former Enron
Field and decide instead to name the park after an ideal. Truth Field sells
out every night and the club makes every penny of the blown Enron deal back
on small donations at the gate from people who think Truth's a pretty good
thing and are happy for the chance to help keep a corporate logo off the side
of the building.
The Braves' Tim Spooneybarger makes about 50 appearances out of the pen --
must hear Skip Caray saying "Spooneyburger" as often as possible.
Either Bret Boone, Raul Mondesi or Alfonso Soriano takes a pitch, on purpose.
Kids under 12 get in for a dollar. If they don't have a dollar, they get in
free.
Mitch Albom does a season-long series of weekly interviews with Ernie
Harwell before Harwell retires, asking him what he remembers most in his
60-plus years in the booth. Bob Costas does the same with Jack Buck.
Veteran leadership and clubhouse chemistry stories are written about teams
way out of the pennant race. "We've got a lot of guys who know how to win,"
the players say, "and there's a lot of love in this clubhouse ... but man,
we're terrible."
Joe Torre and Phil Jackson co-author a book on Zen and the art of team
maintenance. Ichiro writes the forward.
Terry Mulholland stays with one team for the entire season and writes a
how-to book on throwing curve balls called "Easy as You Please."
In a welcome spin on the players' ages story, Edgar Martinez and Roger
Clemens confess to actually being two years younger than anyone thought they
were.
Ken Griffey Jr. finds his swing and his smile, and only good things in his
e-mail in-box.
Jose Rijo throws pain-free and hits his spots.
Curt Schilling and Matt Morris go head-to-head two more times and give up
five hits between them.
My friend Elliott builds a good-mojo shrine around his television to watch
Mets games -- Edgardo Alfonzo rookie card, old pennant, Gooden 1984 SI cover
and such. (This isn't really a dream, it happens every year, but if it didn't, I'd wish it would.)
Special Bud Selig voodoo bobblehead dolls to everyone at the All-Star Game.
Let the people decide.
Forget shorter, the games are longer, they're two and three-day things,
like cricket matches. Beer and pretzel breaks for players. What's everybody
in such hurry for?
World Cup feeds are broadcast live on Jumbotrons all over the league in
June.
A friend in Chicago (and you know who you are) sends me a tape of Hawk Harrelson saying "get foul, get foul, get foul!" and "stay fair, stay fair,
stay fair!" over and over again.
A-Rod has another 50-homer season, the Rangers are terrible, and he never
says a word about the organization's commitment to winning or how hard it is
to play for a losing team.
Brian Sabean leaves a Big Wheel with an orange bow on it in front of Jeff Kent's locker.
The Twins stay alive and in Minnesota -- Jim Caple deserves that much.
A guy with a pick hammer and climbing ropes makes his way up to the Olympic
Stadium roof and busts a hole in it, like Jim Carrey in "The Truman Show,"
revealing a whole wide world out there and letting a burst of light and air
in. The dam is burst, and by June there's not a bit of roof left. Attendance
numbers rise steadily throughout the season, Vladimir Guerrero does his usual
spectacular thing, and the last home game of the season is followed by a big
farewell bar-b-q.
Leo Mazzone stops rocking, just for a second, smiles knowingly and then
starts up again. John Smoltz is the only one who sees him do it; nobody
believes Smoltz when he talks about it later.
And finally ...
I'm in first base box seats in Wrigley in June, pavilion seats in Dodger
Stadium in July, anywhere anytime in Fenway, on a raft on my back with Jon
Miller in my ear in McCovey Cove, next to Don Zimmer in the dugout at Yankee
Stadium, and in a car on my way to Safeco Field with my Dad on the last day
of the season.
Eric Neel reviews sports culture in his regular "Critical Mass" column for Page 2. You can e-mail him at neel@sportsjones.com.
|
|
| 
CRITICAL MASS |  |
|
