BP on TV

As I noted back in June, I've become a fan of MLB Network.  Channel 783 on Time Warner Cable has become one of my go-to stations; I frequently tune-in for live in-game updates, out-of-market telecasts and a plethora of commentary, highlights and scores.  But I've always said that, in order to succeed, MLB Network needs to give baseball fans something that the traditional sports networks can't provide.  While live telecasts of the Baseball Hall of Fame Induction Ceremony and Major League Baseball First Year Player Draft are exclusive to the channel, they're only individual events that, while potentially interesting, won't fill up programming hours on a regular basis.

Now that I've been getting home earlier (one of the perks of quitting your job and heading back to graduate school . . .), I've noticed that each weekday at 5:30 PM MLB Network airs pieces of batting practice from around the Major Leagues.  Using what it calls its "Ballpark Cam," MLB Network goes from stadium to stadium filming players taking batting practice and adding pre-game access to interviews, analysis and lineups.  It's a unique behind-the-scenes look at the pre-game rituals and routines of Major League Baseball players, and it's truly fascinating.

When I was younger and first started going to baseball games, we always used to try and get there when the gates opened so we could watch teams take BP.  While playing in the Majors was, even at a young age, essentially impossible for me to even dream of, taking batting practice and fielding grounders and pop flies is something that every Little Leaguer has done countless times.  There's something awesome about watching the best baseball players in the world go through the same basic routine as a typical high school team.  Sure, the field is about a zillion times nicer, the equipment is better and there's a ton of support staff rather than an English teacher posing as a baseball coach, but the basics are the same.  BP is BP, whether at the highest levels of baseball or the lowest, which makes it one of the few remaining connections between professional baseball and the average ballplayer's childhood.

People love watching batting practice, even in Japan.

Some of my fondest baseball game memories are of watching BP.  I remember the fans in right field of Yankee Stadium trying to snag loose balls from the warning track using homemade contraptions made from coffee cups and string.  I remember watching the Pittsburgh Pirates take BP in Olympic Stadium in Montreal, with so few people watching that, rather than chasing home run balls, people sat calmly and waiting for the balls to be hit to them.  I remember sitting in the outfield of Shea Stadium before a Braves versus Mets game, screaming at the top of my lungs in hopes that Ryan Klesko or Kevin Millwood would turn around and acknowledge me.  The fact that MLB Network can restore these memories thanks to it's Ballpark Cam is awesome.  While I plan to spend the bulk of my summer break outside enjoying the warm weather, I'll be sure to take a break at 5:30 PM each night to tune in for a little BP.

Thank You Dustin Moseley

Middle relievers rarely receive any recognition, but they play a critical role in a Major League Baseball team's success over the course of a long season.  While baseball, like all sports, is ultimately measured in wins and losses, teams are often willing to sacrifice an individual loss to protect the long term strength of the club.  In this area middle relievers are particularly important; when games get out of hand and a team falls behind early, a nice long relief stint (even in a lopsided loss) can save the rest of the bullpen arms and give the team a better chance at winning games going forward.

This blog isn't about sports strategy, though.  We're here to talk about being a sports fan, and here middle relievers can play a surprisingly large role, too.  This Saturday I went to the Yankees game versus the Kansas City Royals to see if A-Rod could hit his 600th career home run (see my previous post for more commentary).  Rodriguez didn't make history on Saturday afternoon, and the game quickly devolved into Royal ass-kicking (pun intended) of the Yankees at the hands (or feet?) Kansas City.  New York starter Sergio Mitre got shelled and was pulled with one out in the fifth inning, and with the score 7-2 at the time manager Joe Girardi elected to turn the ball over to little used Dustin Moseley to eat some innings.

It was around 100 degrees in New York on Saturday (the on-field temperature was recorded at 108), and we had 100-level seats that were completely exposed to the sun.  We sat for hours in the sweltering heat, sweating profusely and constantly running up the stairs and into the concourse to buy $5 waters and steal a few minutes of shade.  Leaving the game early wasn't an option with A-Rod guaranteed to get another couple of plate appearances - we would never be forgive ourselves if we left early and missed the historic long ball, though many fans took that chance and vacated their seats in the middle innings.  So we resigned ourselves to 4+ hours of direct UV exposure and squinted to shield the sun and watch Moseley take the mound.

When the game started, I was most excited to see A-Rod.  When the game ended, I couldn't have been more thankful that Dustin Moseley got in the game.  The righty reliever got the final fourteen outs while allowing just one hit and one walk.  He also struck out just one batter, allowing him work nearly five innings of relief on an extremely economical 53 pitches.  A game that seemed destined to turn into an afternoon of long innings, time consuming pitching changes and a Chan Ho Park appearance became as enjoyable as a day game at Yankee Stadium in 100 degree heat can be.  Moseley kept the Yankees in it to the end; while New York ended up losing 7-4, Moseley's performance gave his team a realistic chance to come back and tie it off Royals closer Joakim Soria in the ninth.

While the game wasn't exactly what I was hoping it would be, unsung hero Moseley saved the Yankee bullpen from being overworked and saved me from heatstroke and a really bad sunburn.  Over the course of a long summer of baseball, you learn to appreciate the little things.  Thank you, Dustin Moseley.

Praise for a Former Seattle Mariner

I usually refuse to talk or write about steroids in baseball, mainly because I find it extremely depressing.  Thinking about how many of the players I grew up watching, imitating and idolizing were cheating always makes me feel like the victim of a con man; naive, gullible and used.  In addition to the players I know were using (Roger Clemens, Manny Ramirez, Barry Bonds, etc.), there are the ones I've always suspected.  It seems every statistic from the 1990s or early 2000s has to be scrutinized and questioned, with nothing taken at face value.

I have tickets to Saturday afternoon's Yankee game against Kansas City, which may end up being the game in which known PED-user Alex Rodriguez hit's his 600th home run (he's currently at 599).  Knowing that I might be at Yankee Stadium to witness history in person has forced me to think about what A-Rod's accomplishment actually "means."  I know that, when Rodriguez breaks the record, Yankee fans in the stadium and many baseball fans across the globe will lavish him with praise, all too willing to forget his blatant violations of the rules of baseball and unabashedly put his name alongside those of Aaron, Ruth, Mays and Griffey Jr. (let's not even get into Bonds and Sosa . . .)

The name in the above 600 home run club list that sticks out, of course, is Griffey.  While Aaron, Ruth and Mays are unquestioned baseball icons and Bonds and Sosa are unquestioned pastime pariahs, Griffey is somewhat of a question mark.  Most baseball fans and experts believe that he was clean throughout his career, which likely attributed to his body's breakdown in the early 2000s, which robbed him of countless career home runs.  Looking at Griffey's season-by-season statistics on Baseball Reference always facinates me; after averaging exactly 40 homers per season from 1991-2000 (including 1995, when he hit only 17 due to injury and 1994, when the strike shortened season limited him to 40 home runs in just 111 games), Junior averaged just over 19 long balls per year from 2001 through his retirement earlier in 2010.

Griffey Jr.'s untainted swing truly was a work of art.

Griffey finished his career with 630 career home runs.  If he was indeed clean, and we assume that steroids would have helped his power numbers and longevity throughout his career (as they undoubtedly did for Bonds and Sosa), how many home runs could a tainted Griffey have hit?  We've seen A-Rod transform from a 45-50 home run per season guy into a 30 homer per season guy since he was punished for violating baseball's drug policy.  If steroids could have increased Griffey's annual home run average from 2001-2010 from 19 to about 35, that another 160 long balls added to his career total.  That puts Junior at close to 800 career home runs, putting him over Bonds for the "Tainted Home Run King" title - not to mention the fact that steroids in the 1990s could have had him routinely hitting 60 homers each year.

But, as far as we know, Griffey isn't tainted, and as a result he doesn't have close to 800 home runs.  But what he does have (until proven otherwise) is his pride and dignity, something that Bonds, Sosa and, yes, A-Rod will never be able to get back.  When Rodriguez joins the 600 home run club in the near future, whether or not I'm there in person to witness it, I'll respectfully applaud and acknowledge that, even taking into account his PED use, Alex Rodriguez is one of the best hitters of my generation.  But rather than spending all my time praising A-Rod's 600 milestone, I'll save most of my admiration for Ken Griffey Jr., the man who legitimately and honestly challenged the records held by Hank Aaron, Babe Ruth and Willie Mays.  Griffey may have come up short in the end, but in my mind he's more of a home run king than Rodriguez or Bonds will ever be.

Learning to Love the Wave

Every time I tell people about how much I hate "The Wave," the expression on their face is exactly the same.  It's the same as the look in Bob Cratchit's eyes after Scrooge tells him that he has to work on Christmas in Charles Dickens's A Christmas Carol.  For a split second their eyes are filled with anger, but their rage quickly dissipates only to be replaced with a look of confused pity.  I know they're wondering what combination of horrible Wave-related incidents led me to so aggressively hate this classic American sporting tradition, praying that some day I will regain the ability to love and appreciate the joy they themselves have found in deliriously popping out of their seats like a prairie dog.  In response, I always rattle off my go-to set of Bah-Humbugs: I pay good money to watch these games, not the backside of the guy in front of me!  The game's the main event here; don't get distracted by the crowd-orchestrated freak show slowly revolving around the stadium!  While we're mindlessly recreating natural phenomena, why stop with The Wave?  Let's get some guys in dark shirts to walk in front of people wearing light shirts and call it The Eclipse while we're at it!

I spent Tuesday evening at an admittedly boring Yankee game versus the Los Angeles Angeles.  I went with a group of friends and we purchased tickets at the last minute off of StubHub, so the only affordable block of seats we could find were in section 434B, the absolute last section in left field.  With the Yankees down 8-2 in the late innings and showing few signs of life, my Wave-sense (the ability to sense someone trying tO start The Wave anywhere in a stadium) began tingling.  I looked to my left and saw, in THE ast seat of our row adjacent to the last aisle in the stadium, a Japanese tourist in a Hideki Matsui jersey trying to start The Wave.  At the top of his lungs he was counting to three - in Japanese, no less - trying to convince section 434B to start The Wave and propel it around the upper deck.  He tried a handful of times, while I gave him the dirtiest oF dirty looks after each iteration, and when each of his attempts failed to make it to the end of our section, let alone across Yankee Stadium, it appeared that he was ready to give up.  I relaxed once again, slouching into my seat ready to resume my enjoyment of America's pastime without distraction.

It was then that something amazing happened.  When the Japanese man finally sat down, dejected and frustrated, the fans sitting around him encouraged him to keep trying.  First a young kid and his parents pleaded for the Japanese guy to keep trying.  Then two overly-moussed gentlemen who looked like they had stopped by the stadium on their way to a Brooklyn nightclub got in on the act.  Before I knew what was happening, most of our section was helping the guy in the Matsui jersey start The Wave.  Their enthusiasm and noise radiated across the upper deck, and finally an attempted Wave made it across section 434B.  The next attempt traveled four or five section over before it broke, and then, amazingly, one began with enough momentum that it made it all the way across the stadium, not ending until the last human prairie dog popped out of his seat in section 405 in right field.

And as I watched it all unfold, sitting in the section where The Wave had started, I couldn't help but smile.

Just like when Scrooge realized that it was the joy of family, not money, that powered Bob Cratchit's love of Christmas, for the first time in my life I understood why people love The Wave.  After a quarter-century of wondering how fans could ruin a perfectly good baseball game with a nonsensical group demonstration, I get it now.  Some people wait an entire year or more to get to a professional baseball game, work hard to save up enough money to buy their family or friends tickets up in section 434B, and end up having to watch their hometown heroes get hammered.  Without the wave, all they would have had to remember Tuesday night would be their ticket stub and giant sweat stain on their backs.  Once The Wave made it across the upper deck and into Section 405, though, everything changed for those people.  When their friends asked them how their trip to the stadium was the next morning, I'm sure they immediately launched into a story about how, after working together with a bunch of people that they otherwise never would have had a reason to talk to, they helped originate a successful Wave.  No, they didn't get to see a playoff game or a historic home run or even a Yankee win.  But they did create a memory that they could keep long after their ticket stub fades and their Tide (no pun intended) laundry detergent takes care of the sweat.

I'm never going to be the guy who brings a whistle into a stadium or arena and cheerfully attempts to persuade his neighbors to start The Wave.  But after witnessing firsthand how it can transform an otherwise uneventful regular season weekday baseball game into a fan bonding experience, I've gained a level of appreciation for it.  From now on, I'm officially retiring all of my anti-Wave Bah-Humbugs, and the next time it rolls through my section I think the least I can do is jump out of my seat, throw my arms into the air and join the freak show.

Converting the Skeptics

As I've mentioned in this space before, I've always been pretty critical of the WNBA, though earlier this year I spent an afternoon watching some WNBA action on TV and enjoyed it way more than I expected to.  As I know all too well, however, watching games on TV is way different from seeing them live; while many are far superior in person (NHL hockey), others I actually prefer watching from my living room (NFL football).  While I had been to a couple of New York Liberty games at Madison Square Garden during seasons past through work, I had never gone and tried to simply enjoy a game as a basketball fan.  I had the opportunity to do just that this past weekend, and I have to admit that the game transformed an otherwise lazy (and extremely hot and humid) Sunday into a fun afternoon.

Because nothing is too good for the loyal readers of Caught Looking, I decided to go one step further than simply attend a WNBA game.  With a lot of help from an inside source, I secured tickets for three of my most judgmental buddies to join me at the game.  Virtually every time I see these guys, they greet me with a disparaging comment about the WNBA.  When I emailed them to see if they wanted to see the Liberty battle the Indiana Fever, one of them responded that it had always been his dream to "get drunk and run on the court during a WNBA game."  Clearly, this group isn't the most tolerant or open-minded; anything better than an "it sucked" from them following the game could be considered an impressive achievement.

Rather than bore you with all the details, let me get to the point; the game was a lot of fun.  While we all agreed that it wasn't as fast-paced as NBA or men's NCAA basketball, everyone was impressed by how talented the players were, particular as shooters.  My buddies marveled at the fact that neither team missed a free throw until the fourth quarter, and both teams were shooting over 50% from beyond the arc for the bulk of the game.  The contest was highlighted by a particularly impressive individual performance by New York's Cappie Pondexter, which shifted the conversation from "How well would we do if we played in a WNBA game?" to "Could some of these women hold their own against men's college players?"  During the fourth quarter of the tightly contested game, with the lead changing hands on almost every possession and the passionate (albeit pretty small) crowd on it's feet, one of my initially skeptical friends admitted that "people would watch this if they knew more about it."

And I think that's where the WNBA is right now.  The games are fun, the players are (mostly) very good and the fan-friendly environment is welcoming and affordable.  The league's success is going to continue to be dependent on whether or not management can convince people to give the product a chance.  I don't know how many die-hard fans or season ticket holders the league can realistically attract - there's a big difference between occasionally going to a game and following the league religiously - but there should be enough open-minded and intrigued people out there to justify the WNBA's existence (assuming the league stays small and relatively low key, rather than trying to compete with larger men's sports).  To the extent that I can do my part to spread the WNBA gospel and encourage people to go to games, I will.  If four male twenty-somethings can openly enjoy a few hours watching the WNBA, you should be willing to give it a chance, too.

This Time It Counts! But Should It?

When I was younger and spent my summers at a camp in upstate New York, one of my favorite nights of the entire eight-week experience was the second Tuesday of July.  After dinner, any camper who was a baseball fan got to go to the assembly hall and watch the Major League Baseball All Star Game projected on a giant screen.  As the ultimate sports dork even fifteen years ago, I used to make my own scorecard out of a piece of looseleaf paper (normally reserved for writing letters home) and meticulously note each at bat, defensive replacement, pinch hitter and relief pitcher.  I'd look at the scorecard days after the game had passed, marveling at how David Justice had played CF for a few innings or how Randy Johnson was used in an eighth inning set-up role.  It was fun to see the game's biggest stars play out of position, generating situations and match-ups that could only exist at the Midsummer Classic.

That's all changed, now that the game "counts."  The National League won the All Star Game last night for the first time since 1996, largely because Phillies manager Charlie Manuel coached the exhibition like he would an important regular season contest or playoff game.  He filled his bullpen with relief pitchers who are used to throwing pressure-packed innings late in ballgames, and had a few situational lefties at his disposal to battle the AL's biggest bats.  He carried a number of top defensive players, and had Marlon Byrd and Michael Bourn partrolling the outfield when it mattered most.  He selected a utility player to round out his roster so that he'd be prepared if he needed a spare corner outfielder or infielder.  It was smart.  It was savvy.  It was kind of boring.

Baseball's All Star Game is a supposedly an exhibition engineered for the fans' entertainment.  This makes it alright when the "fans" (in quotation marks, because no one that votes in Yadier Molina as an All Star Game starter can be considered an actual baseball fan) make mistakes when voting for starting lineups; let the people see who they want to see, and use the bench to recognize the other players who truly deserve to be All Stars.  This provides justification for the "every team must have an All Star" rule; fans of every team will be tuning in to watch, so each team should be represented by at least one player (even if that player is hitting .255 with one HR at the break).  This is why it makes sense to let everyone play, and absolves AL manager Joe Girardi from sending up Adrian Beltre, John Buck and Ian Kinsler while down two runs in the bottom of the ninth when Evan Longoria, Joe Mauer and Robinson Cano had started the game in those slots.

As we know, though, the game is no longer just an exhibition.  Since 2003, the game has been used to determine the always-important home field advantage in the World Series, which has turned the contest into nothing more than a giant question mark.  Are managers supposed to let everyone play, or keep their starters in if the game is close in order to try and win?  Shouldn't the best players be elected starters rather than the fan picks?  Or should the best players actually all be on the bench, since the bench players are the ones playing in the critical late innings anyway?  Does it make any sense for players from teams with absolutely no World Series aspirations to determine the fate of those that do?  Bob Costas summarized the situation perfectly just this past Monday:

"I have no problem if they want to include a Baltimore Oriole or Pittsburgh Pirate, but if you're then going to say that a bloop single by that Baltimore Oriole or Pittsburgh Pirate — in an exhibition game, in the least typical game all year — could decide or influence the most important game played all season long, the seventh game of a World Series, this defies all logic."

Last night's game perfectly showed the flaw in the "This Time It Counts!" philosophy.  Jor Girardi, for the most part, managed the game like a typical All Star Game and lost, meaning that if his Yankees make the World Series they'll be playing Game One in someplace like Atlanta or Los Angeles or St. Louis.  Charlie Manuel combined old-school All Star managerial techniques with actual baseball strategy and won, though as it currently stands his Phillies won't even be in the playoffs, let alone playing in late October.  Marlon Byrd saved the game for the NL with a key defensive play; his team is eleven games under .500 and in fourth place.  John Buck failure deliver in a key situation in the ninth crushed the AL's chances; his team is under .500 and also in fourth place.  Alex Rodriguez of the first place Yankees ended the game on the bench, his .304 career batting average in 597 home runs going to waste.  How does any of this make sense in a game that will dictate who gets the last at bat in Game Seven of the World Series?

Major League Baseball made the game count in order to generate increased interest in the exhibition, but instead created a contest where situatioal relievers and role players decide the game.  In overreacting to the 2002 tie, Commissioner Bud Selig and MLB executives created an uncomfortable situation where the managers are expected to simultaneously try to win and let everyone play.  As a die-hard National League baseball fan, I appreciated Charlie Manuel's winning strategy and I'm glad the NL finally won (with Brian McCann of the Braves winning the MVP, no less).  But when I think back to the kid who used to love staring at the All Star Game scorecard, I can't help but long for the days when the Midsummer Classic didn't count for anything at all.

Coming in 2011: Dingerpalooza!

What's in a name?  For Major League Baseball's Home Run Derby, maybe everything.  Merriam-Webster dictionary defines a derby as "a race or contest open to all comers or to a specified category of contestants," and the given example is a "bicycle derby," whatever that is.  Like it's name implies, the Home Run Derby is generally extremely boring.  Even the special Derby balls (see right) are incredibly lame.  I still watch it every year knowing I'll be disappointed.  In reality, I tune in for the same reason you'd show up to watch your buddy do stand-up comedy at an open mic night; you feel obligated to show some support, have nothing better to do, and know that you'll be able to make fun of it at work the next day.  Here's the thing about the Home Run Derby, though; it could be awesome.  After a major overhaul, I think the Home Run Derby could become the highlight of the MLB All Star experience, without adding additional time to the already-long event.  Without further ado, I give you . . . Dingerpalooza!

First, a few generic rules that will govern the entire event:

• Dingerpalooza is a team event, AL versus NL.  Baseball's league rivalry is part of what makes it great, and that should extend to the home run event in addition to the All Star Game itself (no offense to the longstanding and passionate Hanley Ramirez / David Ortiz rivalry that was put to the test last night).
• I'm sorry, but the children in the outfield have to go.  If I wanted to see a bunch of scrawny kids running around awkwardly dropping fly balls, I'd get in a time machine, go back to 1997, and watch "ninth-grade me" play center field for Jericho High School's JV squad.  Instead, players who aren't hitting in the Dingerpalooza will man the outfield and try to rob opponent home runs.  I know the players would never agree to this, but bear with me.
• Hitters can't take more than two pitches in a row.  Said differently, hitters would have to swing at a minimum of every third pitch.  If I wanted to see someone stand uncomfortably in the batters box with a bat on his shoulder while pitches glide right down the middle of the strike zone, I'd get in a time machine, go back to 1997, and, well, you get the point.
• Participants have to be on the All Star rosters and are chosen at the discretion of the Managers.  If your Manager asks you to participate and you refuse, you don't play in the All Star Game either.  Simple as that.  Dingerpalooza is for the fans, and they should get to see the top hitters in the sport compete (sorry, Chris Young, but if anything I'd rather see the other Chris Young instead of you).
• Fans love long home runs, and we now have the technology to instantaneously measure (or at least approximately measure) home run distance.  Let's give bonus points for longer homeruns; homers of 400+ feet will be worth one extra point, and bombs of 450+ feet will be worth two bonus points. 
• Just like a baseball game, Dingerpalooza will be divided into nine innings.  Each inning will have a different "theme" that will govern who can participate and how points will be earned, and a given player can be chosen to represent his league once.  Here are my nine proposed innings / events, and who I would like to see represent each league in each one:

1. 1. Speed Kills: Instead of the traditional 10-out structure, the players would get a "speed round" of 90 seconds to hit as many homers as they can, regardless of outs made. Hanley Ramirez, Florida and Vernon Wells, Toronto.
2. 2. Help Your Own Cause: Pitchers only. Tim Hudson, Atlanta and C.C. Sabathia, New York.
3. 3. Size Doesn't Matter: Participants must be no more than 6' tall and 200 pounds. Brandon Phillips, Cincinnati and Dustin Pedroia, Boston.
4. 4. Going The Other Way: Only opposite field home runs count, with pulled homers treated like outs. David Wright, New York and Evan Longoria, Tampa Bay.
5. 5. Dead Pull: Only home runs hit within a specified distance from the foul pole count; everything else is an out. Joey Votto, Cincinnati and Vladimir Guerrero, Texas.
6. 6. Best of the West: Traditional Derby format, but participants must be from the AL / NL West.  Each home run counts for two points (before adding any distance bonus points). Adrian Gonzalez, San Diego and Josh Hamilton, Texas.
7. 7. Essentials of the Central: Traditional Derby format, but participants must be from the AL / NL Central.  Each home run counts for two points (before adding any distance bonus points).  This one probably needs a better name, but I'm too lazy to think of one. Matt Holliday, St. Louis and Miguel Cabrera, Detroit.
8. 8. Beasts of the East: Traditional Derby format, but participants must be from the AL / NL East.  Again, each home run counts for two points (before adding any distance bonus points). Ryan Howard, Philadelphia and Alex Rodriguez, New York.
9. 9. Sultans of Swat: Anyone can fill this slot, but better send your best; all home runs are worth three points before distance bonuses. Albert Pujols, St. Louis and David Ortiz, Boston.

I think this new format would renew interest in the Derby.  Who wouldn't want to see a pair of pitchers go head to head?  Wouldn't it be cool to find out which little guys can pack a punch?  Who's the top opposite field power hitter out there?  Not only would this format be more intriguing, but it involves an element of strategy for which baseball is notorious.  Obviously the NL wants Ryan Howard in there somewhere, but how should he be used?  Should he represent the NL East in the 8th inning, or be used in the 4th for his opposite field power?  Making the last rounds, and long home runs, worth more also guarantees that no league is ever "out of it" no matter how slowly they start, ensuring fan interest until the end of the event.  Lastly, top stars might be more willing to participate if they knew they'd only have to go the equivalent of one round in the current Derby format.  No disrespect to Corey Hart or Nick Swisher, but I think fans would rather see David Wright and Alex Rodriguez step to the plate in their place.

Will this ever happen?  Not in a million years, but it's fun to dream.  Let me know if you have additional suggestions or ideas.  For now I have to run; I have a friend's open mic night to attend.

Too Hard To Say Goodbye

I finally reached my boiling point as a Knicks fan this week.  Since I moved back to New York in early 2008, I've witnessed nothing but awful Knicks basketball as a result of Isiah Thomas's reign of terror.  The last two seasons featured countless double-digit losses, lopsided trades and squandered draft picks.  There was always a silver-lining, though; the Summer of 2010.  Donnie Walsh was supposed to rescue the franchise by clearing up enough cap space to sign two max free agents before the 2010-11 season, ensuring the Knicks would be featuring some combination of LeBron James, Dwyane Wade and Chris Bosh this fall.

Well, as we know now that didn't happen.  The big rewards for Walsh's admittedly shrewed dealings turned out to be Amar'e Stoudemire and Raymond Felton, fan favorite David Lee was shipped off to Golden State for three bench players, and the Knicks all but ensured themselves another half-decade of mediocrity.  Before this summer's free agent period, I promised myself and anyone who would listen that if the Knicks weren't rescued by a monster free-agent class this summer, I would finally renounce my fan-ship and pick another NBA team.  Even loyalist Bill Simmons declared this "kosher" in this Rules for Being a True Fan column, stating that a fan could switch teams if "the owner of your favorite team treated his fans so egregiously over the years that you couldn't take it anymore -- you would rather not follow them at all then support a franchise with this owner in charge."  To me, the Dolans had crossed this threshold long ago, and I had grounds to terminate my relationship with the team.

Only one problem: I couldn't do it.

As badly as I want to forget the Knicks and start fresh with a different franchise (The Warriors would be a perfect choice: they're not good yet so it wouldn't be considered bandwagoning, they have my former favorite Knick David Lee on the roster, and they play in the Bay Area where I'll be living starting this fall), I can't bring myself to abandon them.  To me, teams are like family; no matter how badly they treat you, you don't give up on them.  Even when they continually disappoint you to the point where you doubt if they can be saved, you never give up hope.  You find yourself optimistically looking forward to the next season, convincing yourself that the team really has a chance.

Maybe Anthony Randolph will emerge as a top-tier power forward in Mike D'Antoni's system.  Landry Fields went to Stanford; he's probably a smart player who could thrive in the NBA.  Danilo Gallinari is the second coming of Dirk Nowitzki; he just needs time to develop.

A few days ago I imagined myself spending time this weekend reading up on the Golden State Warriors roster and scouring their schedule for good games to attend at the Oracle Arena this season.  Instead, I spent part of this evening watching an encore presentation of the Knicks Las Vegas Summer League game versus Denver, talking myself into Andy Rautins and Marcus Landry becoming solid NBA rotation guys.  Giving up on the Knicks was way harder than I thought it would be, so I'm in it for the long haul (and, looking at the 2010-11 roster so far, it might be a really long haul).  There will always be that little piece of me that thinks the team is about to turn the corner, and that little piece is stronger than the bulk of me that knows that they won't.

LeBron's Decision, My Reaction

I've spent most of my first week back in the States talking about LeBron James, and I don't want to do it anymore.  I woke up this morning in a bad mood, knowing that I have at least a weekend of "what do you think about LeBron?" questions to answer and unhappy fellow Knicks fans to console.  My friends and family know that I work in professional sports, launched this blog to write about sports, and spend the bulk of my free time following sports; in the first twelve hours since "The Decision, brought to you by the University of Phoenix and Bing," dozens of people have approached me in person or in writing asking for my thoughts.  What do I think of the final chapter for LeBronathon 2010, you ask?

I'm disappointed. Of course, as a Knicks fan, I'm disappointed that I won't find the streets of New York City flooded with #6 "James" jerseys this summer.  I'm disappointed that I sacrificed the last two cold winters in Manhattan watching countless Knicks "contests" (if you've watched, too, you know why the quotation marks are there) featuring the likes of Earl Barron, Larry Hughes, Jordan Hill and Al Harrington, all with the hopes of landing a killer roster headlined by LeBron in 2010.  I'm disappointed that a team I grew up despising, the Miami Heat, is the beneficiary of three twenty-something year-old buddies' desires to play together, as if they were assembling the roster for a 92nd Street YMCA intramural team.

I'm surprised.  After hearing the rumors for two years since the USA won gold at the Beijing Olympics, I'm surprised that Miami was actually able to land James, Wade and Bosh.  I'm surprised that Wade, a player I actually liked and respected, wanted his team to gut its roster so that he could flank himself with two other top stars, rather than try to build a well-rounded roster of which he could be the unquestioned leader.  I'm surprised that LeBron was so willing to accept the role of Robin to Wade's Batman, joining a team where Wade is top-dog and a city where #3 is a beloved icon.  I'm surprised that people still attach the "superstar" moniker to Chris Bosh's name, when any sports fan knows that a true NBA superstar would never accept a role as third fiddle over the chance to be a team alpha dog.

I'm confused.  I'm confused to hear that these three stars, and tons of professional NBA analysts, see Miami as an NBA favorite after watching well-rounded clubs like Los Angeles, Boston and Orlando succeed over the past three seasons.  I'm confused to learn that LeBron James, a man who has been groomed for basketball greatness for the past decade, doesn't see the difference between winning an NBA title as the leader of a strong supporting cast (like he attempted to do in Cleveland) and winning an NBA title by stacking your team with other NBA All Stars - and seemingly doesn't have any interest in pursuing the latter.  I'm confused as to why God likes Mario Chalmers so much, and why he hates Michael Beasley.

I'm worried.  I'm worried that the Knicks have at least another half-decade of futility ahead of them, and that the 2010-11 roster might be even less impressive than the 2009-10 one was.  I'm worried that this announcement is going to extend the trend of top-tier athletes stacking the deck in order to play together, creating premeditated scenarios whereby they can collectively try and guarantee themselves a championship.  I'm worried that sports fans are going to perceive the NBA as a joke, a league run and controlled by overpaid kids who lack respect for true competition, great rivalries and organic roster building.  I'm worried that many NBA owners are going to be very upset this season, and even more incentivized to lead the league into a lockout before next fall. 

I'm curious.  My grandfather was the biggest Miami Heat fan I knew, and I'm curious about how he would have felt about last night's announcement; would he have been thrilled to see his team's roster feature three of the sport's best players, or ashamed to call himself a fan of a team that so brazenly rejects the traditional notions of "team basketball?"  I'm curious to see how good the Heat will be this season, and whether their lack of team depth will end up haunting them.  I'm curious to see how the Cavaliers, and especially the city of Cleveland, will recover from LeBron's defection.  I'm curious to see the public reactions to Dan Gilbert's open letter to Cavs fans, which will undoubtedly range from supportive to shocked.

Most of all, though, I'm relieved.  I'm relieved that this spectacle is finally (sort of) over, just like I've been every time Brett Favre makes one of his patented "earth-shattering" announcements.  I'm relieved that next season when I go to a Knicks game, I can cheer on the guys wearing blue and orange with the pride of knowing that they're doing the best they can with what they have, even if their best is losing by double-digits.  I'm relieved that sports news outlets can go back to reporting actual sports news, rather than merely broadcasting rumors as if they were facts.  Last, I'm relieved to learn that baseball, my first love, isn't the only league with a completely screwed up competitive structure, and that the New York Yankees, New York Rangers and Dallas Cowboys aren't the only high-priced teams that I can now hate.

Best and Worst of the World Cup

Since I've returned from South Africa, many people have been asking me about the best and worst parts of my experience.  While the trip was fantastic overall, there were definitely specific events that stuck out, either for being particularly great or particularly frustrating. With the World Cup coming to a close this Sunday, I wanted to take an opportunity to chronicle these moments before Americans stop paying attention to soccer until 2014.

VENUE
Best: While Green Point Stadium in Cape Town was modern and conveniently located near the waterfront, Soccer City in Johannesburg was incredible.  The unique clay pot facade was great during the day and even more impressive at night (when the lights glowing inside made the stadium look like it was filled with fire), and the sheer size of the venue made Soccer City the most "World Cup worthy."

Worst: Rustenberg, hands down.  My friends and I approximated that the USA has at least 100-150 stadiums nicer than Royal Bafokeng Stadium in Rustenberg.  I just kept thinking back to a trip I took to Camp Randall Stadium in Madison, Wisconsin (home of the University of Wisconsin Badgers football team) this past fall; that venue was way more impressive and modern than Royal Bafokeng, and Camp Randall doesn't hold a candle to a place like the new Meadowlands Stadium or FedEx Field (or Soccer City, for that matter).  The fact that Rustenberg hosted World Cup games was kind of a joke, and it was particularly unfortunate that the USA had to play there twice (against England and Ghana, though I was only in attendance for the latter).

SPORTS CITY
Best: Cape Town had a great downtown, a fun waterfront area, and convenient transportation between the city center and the suburbs.  Fans could easily take the train into the city, grab food or drinks at tons of area restaurants and bars, and then easily walk to Green Point Stadium for the games.  Cape Town's Fan Fest was also within walking distance of the main part of the city, which was rare for this World Cup.
Worst: Rustenberg.  Again, I can't believe this was a World Cup host city.  I wasn't a huge fan of Pretoria, either, and Bloemfontein was more or less a farm town, but Rustenberg had absolutely nothing to offer fans.  The dilapidated stadium wasn't even located conveniently; we had to use the Park and Ride to get to it.

AFRICAN CULTURAL ELEMENT

Best: The yellow South African "Bafana Bafana" jerseys.  We saw them everywhere; native South Africans wore them with pride, and it was great to see how excited the people were not only about their team, but also about being the World Cup hosts.  The bright yellow jerseys made it easy to spot the locals, all of whom were friendly, helpful and knowledgable about their soccer.

Worst: When I first heard that FIFA wasn't going to ban vuvuzelas from World Cup games, I was glad; I didn't want soccer's organizers to rob South Africa of a piece of its culture.  After two weeks in South Africa, though, I can honestly say that I hate those horns.  They weren't too bad at the games; soccer matches are supposed to be loud, so I give the constant buzz inside the stadiums a pass.  I had people blowing vuvuzelas within inches of my ears while at restaurants, public restrooms and at gas stations, though, which was particularly annoying and made my blood boil after hearing it for two straight weeks.

MOMENT
Best: Obviously, this was the game winning goal against Algeria by Landon Donovan.  The eruption of the crowd after the goal was unlike anything else I've been a part of, and it's certainly a sports moment that I'll never forget.  Getting to run down to the edge of the field and greet the USA team, complete with getting to rub Jozy Altidore's head as he dove into the crowd, was the icing on the cake.
Worst: Slovenia's second goal of the first half, putting the USA in an early 2-0 hole in my personal first USA game of the World Cup.  Though the USA would come back and tie the game 2-2 (and should have won 3-2 if not for a bad call), at the time of the 2-0 deficit I was devastated.  I saw all hopes of the USA advancing to the Round of 16 flying out the window, and was already thinking about how unexcited I was about the prospect of attending a meaningless USA versus Algeria game.  While the deficit made the comeback especially sweet, that first half was the low point emotionally for me - even lower than the loss versus Ghana.

GAME
Best: While the USA win over Algeria was phenomenal in the end, the first 90 minutes of the contest were actually very frustrating.  My favorite game from start to finish was Germany's second round victory over England in Bloemfontein.  It was a warm day (I actually felt comfortable in a t-shirt the entire game, which is rare for the winter in South Africa) with the sun shining, it was high scoring (Germany won 4-1, though it should to be 4-2), and both teams played at a fast pace.  I wasn't expecting to be so entertained by soccer the afternoon after the USA's elimination at the hands of Ghana, but our final game was probably my favorite from start to finish.
Worst: USA's loss to Ghana.  I already talked about how much I disliked Rustenberg and Royal Bafokeng Stadium, but it's worth mentioning that the game was rough, too.  Ghana scored early to frustrate everyone, and even when the USA tied the game on Landon Donovan's penalty kick, it always felt as if Ghana had all the momentum.  After Ghana scored in the overtime period to take a 2-1 lead, and followed that up with faking injury after injury to waste time, the game became especially frustrating.  It was definitely a tough pill to swallow, both for USA fans and fans of good, clean soccer.

This (likely) concludes my World Cup-related posts for the foreseeable future.  I hope to make it to an MLS game later this summer, which will of course be post-worthy, but other than that we'll take an indefinite break from soccer starting now.  Next up, expect my thoughts on tomorrow night's LeBron James live press conference by the end of this week, and something about the MLB All Star Game early next week.

World Cup Pictures

Now that I'm back in the USA, I wanted to post some pictures of the various South African stadiums I visited while at the World Cup.  I have tons of other pictures that I can make available upon request, but these are the ones I thought would be most relevant to the loyal Caught Looking audience.  Enjoy!

Soccer City Stadium, Johannesburg: Argentina vs. South Korea
 

Outside Soccer City Stadium

Closeup of Soccer City's "clay pot" facade

 Giant flag unfurled during South Korean national anthem

View of the action from our second-row seats

Ellis Park Stadium, Johannesburg: USA vs. Slovenia

 Corner of Ellis Park Stadium, a converted rugby venue

Views from our seats in the USA section (corner of the lower deck)

Soccer City Stadium, Johannesburg: Brazil vs. Ivory Coast

 Views from our seats in the second deck

Loftus Versfeld Stadium, Pretoria: USA vs. Algeria

Views from our seats in the USA section (corner of the lower deck)

Green Point Stadium, Cape Town: Netherlands vs. Cameroon

Views from our seats in the upper deck

Royal Bafokeng Stadium, Rustenberg: USA vs. Ghana

 

Views from our seats in the USA section (behind the net in the lower deck)
 

Free State Stadium, Bloemfontein: Germany vs. England

   Outside of Free State Stadium on the walk from the parking lot

 

Views from our seats in the upper deck