Results tagged ‘ Tony in Hitchin ’

Tuesday Sunshine 7/29/08

Hello there,

Let’s see what Tony Bartlett has on his mind this fine Tuesday morning.  Get your lists ready!

This weekend’s Hall of Fame induction ceremony made me think about greatness. Since I’m job-hunting – endless interviews, some of which I want to end halfway through because I know I’m wasting my time and that of the interviewer – I’ve had to focus upon things that I’m good at and some that I’m not, but any Hall of Fame-related debate takes the thought process to a whole new level.

 

I’m not talking about the Pete Rose/Joe Jackson/Steroid Era type of debates, either: it’s more of what defines greatness.

 

For a couple years I have been searching for a particular episode of Frasier on DVD. The episode, entitled Three Valentines, features probably the funniest six minutes I’ve ever seen on TV. Eventually, in a “light bulb moment,” I tapped the appropriate words into a search engine and found the episode on YouTube.

 

Frasier invariably made me laugh, just as Cheers always would. Both are among my favorite TV shows, and they are to me great shows. Is one greater than the other? Well, I don’t think it matters, because they’re both great. Not were – are.

 

It doesn’t matter to me whether a player reaches the Hall of Fame with 96% of the vote or 76% of the vote: if he’s in, he’s in, and the votes of 20-odd members of the BBWAA should not determine whether a player is considered greater than any other. If a player gets in on his first ballot that’s noteworthy, for sure, but beyond that do we need to know any more?

 

I make lists. I’ve always made lists. Name any topic you like and I’ve probably not got a list for it; no, my lists are far less helpful. I don’t obsess over these lists, but every now and then I’ll update them, or go through my notebook and find something I scribbled down one wet Tuesday afternoon and then lose three hours as I add new entries to some of them.

 

My lists aren’t numbered. The lunacy of making a list of greatest/favorite books – it’s lunacy because these lists serve no purpose – would only heightened by wasting hours, days, trying to decide whether I like If This Is A Man/The Truce more than The Secret History, whether A Prayer For Owen Meany makes me smile more than Republican Party Reptile. These are near-impossible, pointless decisions: why rank them when they all belong in the same class, which is enough?

 

(I am resisting the oh-so-strong temptation to rail once more against Power Rankings, a journalistic plague that continues to torment me.)

 

One of my favorite writers, Joe Posnanski maintains a terrific blog. It’s easy to find if you’re so inclined, and well worth the effort. He posted an article recently about greatness, detailing the number of great seasons players had produced, and as usual it was a thought-provoking piece.

 

I posted a message asking whether these great seasons should be considered against the length of a players’ career. Is a player who produced ten great seasons in a 15-year career “greater” than a player who also had ten great seasons but in a 20-year career? There was something in my question about Sandy Koufax and Pete Rose – one who retired too early, the other staying on too long. I don’t know the answer to the question I posed…and maybe there isn’t one.

-Tony Bartlett

Have a great rest of your day!

Tuesday Sunshine 7/15/08

Hello Baseball Fans,

*Thud*  What was that!?  Oh, just another bomb from Hammy…some of those moon shots he hit in last night’s Homerun Contest are just now beginning to return to the earth.

It’s Tuesday, so it’s time for Tony Bartlett aka Tony in Hitchin to take over the mic and rock the house…erm, well kinda, you know take over the blog.  Today’s installment is informative, as well as entertaining.  So, on to the show we go.

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Why is this column entitled Tuesday Sunshine? It’s a fair question, and since we’re in the midst of a brief period without meaningful baseball – sorry, but claiming that the All-Star Game counts does not make it meaningful – I thought I’d share the story of the name’s origins.

 

When Johnny invited me to write this column I said that searching for the right title would prove to be a fruitless exercise; instead, one of us would experience what I described as “a eureka! moment” and that we should wait for inspiration to arrive.

 

The first and obvious detail is that this column appears on a Tuesday. Second, it’s the summer, and here in the UK we do get to see the sun from time to time – reports of near-constant rain this side of the Atlantic are grossly exaggerated, I assure you. Third, despite the frequency with which I pour scorn over the numerous idiocies carried out by writers, organisations and the powers-that-be, I tend to maintain a sunny disposition. And fourth, and maybe most importantly, it is the title of a song by a favorite band from my youth, a band of whom too few people ever heard, a band that could and should have been the next big thing but, instead, faded too quickly.


That band is The Questions. Scottish, they signed with Paul Weller’s Respond record label and released their first single in 1983, a glorious track called Price You Pay, to which it was impossible not to dance, and a track equalled in brilliance only by the b-side, a cover version of Rod Temperton’s Grooveline. Paul Weller was a hero of mine – I was and remain a huge fan of The Jam – so The Questions’ association with the iconic Weller confirmed my belief that they were cool and genial. They released a series of devastatingly wonderful records, which were played on the radio for a week and then nowhere other than on my stereo system. I had to buy a new turntable recently, having discovered my collection of 45s at the back of a wardrobe, a purchase that resulted in a weekend being lost, gloriously.

 

In the summer of 1983 all that mattered to me were my favourite bands (The Style Council, The Questions, Tracie) and my closest friends, Jim and Dave. My memory tells me that the sun came out in April and shone constantly until late September. When Tuesday Sunshine, The Questions’ third or fourth single, came out it summed up perfectly what those few months meant to me.

 

On Saturday mornings we’d meet at a café in my hometown. The café, Milligans, had tables outside from where we’d watch the world pass by, thinking ourselves ten times cooler than we were – a myth that photos from back then effortlessly dispel – while smoking too many cigarettes, and waiting for Sarah or Paula to bring more coffee. Jim claimed to know Sarah, vaguely, but Paula was my crush that whole summer – stories for another time, maybe.

 

As my birthday approached Jim and I struck out for the coast, loading tents, cigarettes and cassettes into holdalls and heading for Great Yarmouth. We planned to stay for two weeks or as long as our money lasted, which turned out to be four days. But the third day is one that we still talk about, and featured a moment of near-fame witnessed by hundreds of complete strangers and, I sometimes imagine, talked about by them to this day at dinner parties.

 

For reasons that escaped us we’d decided to play miniature golf. The course was packed, it being the height of summer, but we coolly awaited our turn. Halfway through our round we came to the windmill hole where a backlog had built up, it being a particularly tricky obstacle, foxing everyone who tried to get around it. And like everyone else’s, my ball became lodged under the windmill, leaving me an impossible second shot. A few kicked their ball to the side and carried on, or dragged their ball back and tried again, but I was not to be satisfied with either approach.

 

I lay down on my stomach in front of the windmill, gripped my club at the wrong end and played a pool shot. My little white ball disappeared into the hole for a birdie two without so much as touching the sides, much to the amazement of Jim and everyone else, and after a few seconds a round of applause broke out. I acknowledged the crowd in much the same way as Tiger Woods does after sinking a tricky putt: outwardly cool but inwardly amazed at my own genius. If you’d seen it you’d be talking about it still.

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So, there you have it, the origin of Tuesday Sunshine.  I hope you were taking notes as there will be a quiz at the end of the season. hehe

Enjoy the All-Star Game tonight and I predict the NL wins by a score of 8-5.

-Johnny Archive

-The bulk of today’s content, including Tuesday Sunshine, provided by Tony Bartlett

Tuesday Sunshine 7/08/08

Hello everyone!

 

It’s Tuesday and that means it’s time to turn the blog over to Tony in Hitchin.  Enjoy his latest installment…

 

 

I read an entertaining article on the Sports Illustrated website recently about the recruiting of high school football players. The article referenced Bootlegger’s Boy, Barry Switzer’s autobiography, which I read many years ago. It was a well-written article full of anecdotes and historical references, succinctly detailing how the NCAA has compelled colleges to alter their recruiting techniques over the years as well as how technological advances have forced the NCAA to frequently update its rules.

 

For a Brit the world of recruiting is a strange one. We have nothing like it here in the UK, at least not to any significant degree, since college sports is not a big deal outside of the Boat Race and the Varsity Match (rugby union) both of which are competed for annually by Cambridge and Oxford. There are numerous competitions between colleges and universities but for the most part interest in them is only local. A Brit makes his or her way to the professional ranks by altogether different means.

 

But it wasn’t so much the article itself that came as a surprise; what surprised me was that there was an interesting article on the Sports Illustrated site. Occasionally I’ll enjoy a few lines from Peter King’s Monday Morning QB column – read that sentence carefully and you’ll see it’s not quite as flattering as it might at first appear – but each week there seem to be fewer reasons to click on any story or link that appears on the site.

 

When I was young – okay, younger – the latest issue of SI was a treasure rarely found. One newsagent in my hometown would get one copy monthly, and not every month, so before I had the good sense to order it I would go in, hunt around for it and invariably exit disappointed. I’m sure the shop’s owner and the other customers thought that I was sneaking a look at the girlie mags and, although I was past that stage, thinking back now it would have been a more understandable explanation for my behavior.

 

But when I did manage to get hold of the latest copy I’d pour over every word, every story, learning about the new and exciting worlds of major league baseball, the NFL and the NHL, SI being my only passport to these worlds. (And yes, I enjoyed the swimsuit issue as much as the next guy.) SI was a name that meant something special to me: I learnt more about sports from reading SI than via any other medium, and the quality of the writing meant that I’d willingly read about sports in which I had little interest – the NBA, athletics, horse racing.

 

Nowadays things are different. It’s a smaller, faster-moving world than it was back then, one that seems increasingly structured for those of us with the time only for instant gratification. To many the idea of sitting down and reading a magazine, of letting the world pass by and taking in the work of a skilled writer talking about a subject in which we’re interested is…well…I guess “quaint” is the word. The need to provide fresh content every five minutes has diluted the product, almost irreparably, and I wish the powers-that-be at SI hadn’t succumbed to the perceived demands of the modern reader. Shorter, headline-driven articles seem to be norm as so many people demand their news in more easily digestible bite-size chunks.

 

There are two things that upset me about the SI site. The first is the amount of baseless speculation in which many of its writers seem to indulge; so-and-so could win such-and-such if this and that happens, and will struggle if the other happens. So many of these articles read as “if it rains, the grass will get wet, but if it doesn’t rain the grass should stay dry”: in depth stuff.

 

But worse than that – oh, so much worse – is the site’s increased insistence on subjecting us to its latest Power Rankings. Power Rankings are the worst idea anyone anywhere has ever had in the history of the world, and the height of journalistic laziness, and the very opposite of what SI once stood for. And I don’t care if other sites have their own Power Rankings: just because they do it doesn’t mean that SI has to compete.

 

The most bizarre aspect of all this is that it’s SI itself that’s proving my point. The step that they took recently to reprint articles from years past is a fabulous one. These articles take me back to my youth and beyond, filling in the many gaps in my knowledge, correcting the memory lapses that the aging process has allowed to develop, revealing anecdotes about stars of the past of whom I know less than I did before reading the articles.

 

Read the headlines on the SI site if you must, but scroll down to the Vault section and you’ll take a glorious and rewarding trip down memory lane.

 

-Tony in Hitchin

Tuesday Tony Strikes Again!

Yesterday I read a tiny article about the future of fantasy baseball and what the next developments might be. The one major innovation that the author proposed was an obvious one: in-game roster management. I don’t say “an obvious one” to be disparaging: it’s simply a potential option that many of us will have considered at some point, I’m sure.

 

Oh, we’ve all been there. Having thrown 7 innings of 1-run ball with a WHIP of 1.14, five K’s and with a 2-run lead, your pitch-and-ditch flier for the day looks like a move of pure genius. But Dusty Baker or Charlie Manuel or Cito Gaston sends your man back out there, while you stare at the TV screen wondering what on earth could possess him to do so. And you watch in horror as the next four batters safely reach base, the last of whom scampers home on a wild pitch as the relievers fail to strand the inherited runners. Ten minutes ago it looked so good; now you’re consoling yourself with the fact that the five K’s are “nice” and that’s not much of a silver lining.

 

On Sunday night in my H2H league I trailed by six K’s with Ryan Dempster starting for me in the late ESPN game and Octavio Dotel amongst the relievers on my roster, plus I trailed in wins by 5-4. I held a miniscule lead in batting average and was a good way behind in slugging, with Aramis Ramirez on my roster and Carlos Quentin on my opponent’s. As the game began I was losing by a score of 4-5-1.

 

By the end of the eighth inning the score had changed to 5-3-2 in my favour, assuming the win for Dempster which he’d all but secured and now being tied in K’s. I wanted Dempster to sit out the ninth inning, but felt confident that Piniella wouldn’t leave him out there beyond the first hint of trouble. Given the option I would have benched Dempster for the ninth inning, just in case, but that’s probably why I’m writing this column and Sweet Lou manages the Cubbies.

 

Whilst the idea has numerous potential problems – site traffic, delays in moves being processed, the live scoring feature that many sites offer becoming increasingly unreliable – it’s certainly an intriguing option. It would favor active, attentive owners and so for that reason it gets an initial thumbs-up from me, but I fear that it might just overly benefit the truly obsessive owner.

 

In every league there’s “that guy,” the owner who seems to spend every waking moment tweaking his team, making moves, sending out trade offers, engaging in league-wide banter. Every league needs that guy, even if he’s almost guaranteed to unwittingly upset some owners.

 

And I have to say, I’d much rather be in a league with that guy than those from whom you never hear, owners who still have Marcus Giles as their starting second baseman (as is the case in that same H2H league mentioned above), and who allow trade offers to sit there untouched until they lapse. Unless there are good reasons for not being attentive such as vacations, family or work issues – and that’s attentive rather than active, because there is a huge difference – I don’t want to be in a league with those people next year.

 

The nature of many fantasy leagues is such that we rarely get to know our fellow owners. In many cases we are a name on a screen and little more. In a great many cases those with whom we compete know nothing about us: our sex, age, religious beliefs, family situation, employment status etc are unknown. And that’s just fine with me, because I will judge you only on how you play the game and how you treat the rest of the league. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll chat happily for hours with fellow owners – heck, I have no secrets – and enjoy the banter. But it’s not for everybody, of course.

 

A fantasy league is only as good as the people in it. I’m in nine leagues this year – nine! – which is far too many and the result of returning to some leagues and accepting invites to some new ones. I’m in the top three of a third of these leagues (leading one 5×5 league by 21 points as of Monday morning), mid-table in a third and struggling in a third. But the leagues that I’m enjoying most are not necessarily those in which I’m doing best: the most enjoyable leagues are the more active ones, those where owners are attentive, where trade talks are frequent, where roster moves are praised or good-naturedly ridiculed, where the message boards are a-buzz with comments and notices.

 

Fantasy baseball is supposed to be fun, as well as being a challenge of course, a chance to test our skills against the like-minded. If you’re in a league with good people, somehow your place in the standing can seem to be of secondary importance. I know that I’d rather come tenth in an active, competitive league, knowing that I’ve given it my best shot and been beaten by owners who made better decisions than I did, than come first in one where few others seem to be trying.

 

-Tony in Hitchin

Tony in Hitchin Takes Over On Tuesday

The All Star Game recently became more prominent in our thinking with MLB (and MLB.com amongst others) promoting it with their usual enthusiasm. Little grinds my gears more than the All Star Game, and I’m not even talking about the lunacy of having home field advantage for the World Series being determined by its outcome.

 

We’re all being encouraged to vote. At election time we sometimes hear the old joke: vote early and vote often…and it strikes me that this is precisely what MLB wants us all to do when it comes to the All Star Game. 25 votes each? The only reason for this is so that some players will get more than a million votes, the seven figures being somehow important in our subconscious.

 

In theory the idea of voting for favorite players and fans being able to see them on a national stage in an event that is supposed to celebrate the game of baseball is a terrific one: I’m all for diplomacy and, as they frequently demonstrate, the great and good of the baseball world including the media don’t always know best. So yes, let the fans have their say.

 

Except…the fans are dumb. Yes, dumb. I’m not dumb and nor are you but we’re brighter than most people, and everyone gets the same number of votes.

 

Okay, maybe not dumb – blind might be a more accurate description. Too many fans look for all the players on their favourite team and blindly vote for them. The All Star Game has become a popularity contest and has little to do with comparative talent, it seems. Jason Varitek as catcher for the AL? Er, no, that is so wrong, so very, very wrong. And all teams are at fault, here; all teams encourage their fans to vote for their “hometown heroes.” I understand the reasons why this happens, but it’s wrong: this is not American Idol.

 

But hang on – look at it another way; Jason Varitek might be the right choice. That is, if a catcher were being chosen for his catching skills, rather than his hitting. Varitek is a good catcher, maybe even a very good one, and far too often the importance of the role played by a catcher is underestimated. Varitek was rightly praised when Jon Lester improbably threw a no-hitter recently, and I believe that too many of us don’t appreciate how vital the catcher’s role is. (Just ask Curt Schilling, who lost no-hitters by shaking-off Varitek, thinking he knew better – shocker!)

 

But Varitek isn’t being voted in because of his catching skills: he’s being voted in because he plays for the Red Sox. Dustin Pedroia? Nice player, defensively well above average and more than useful as a hitter; but the AL’s 2B should be Ian Kinsler. It’ll be a travesty if Pedroia gets in, and not the only one.

 

But the blindness of fans is not my biggest gripe: what really annoys me is that all teams have to be represented. Seth Everett is interviewed about this rule every year and he invariably cites my Royals in his answer, saying that “little Johnny in Kansas City wants to see someone from his team in the game or he won’t have a reason to watch.” I love Seth but I think he’s wrong on this one.

 

Little Johnny watches whichever Royal gets in making errors and striking out every day: why would Johnny tune in especially to see his favorite player doing it on a wider stage, once, as a pitch-hitter in the eighth inning? I think Little Johnny would be better off seeing the very best players, from both leagues, players he might see only once or twice a season otherwise.

 

Do you remember Ken Harvey? A big 1B, he went to the University of Nebraska and then played in 271 games for my Royals between 2001 and 2005, hitting 27 HR and 126 RBI with a .274 lifetime BA.

 

Yes, that Ken Harvey…who played in the 2004 All Star Game. Really? Okay, he had a decent first half in 2004 but no way did he deserve to be an All Star. Yet, because the AL All Star team had to include one Royal, Harvey got the nod, as the best of a bad bunch. Good for him…and not good for the more deserving player who got bumped.

 

And since, wrongly in my opinion, writers and broadcasters often refer to players as “the three time All Star,” for Harvey to be included in the class of All Star players is ridiculous. I’m sure Harvey is a lovely guy who played hard every day, but an All Star he was not.

 

“Hang on, Tony,” I hear you cry, “what if we end up with the Red Sox versus the Cubs in the All Star Game? That would be a disaster.” Of course it would be a disaster, so the every-team-must-be-represented rule should not be removed in isolation.

 

“So, what should MLB do, Tony?”

 

I’m glad you asked. I think the writers (maybe along with the managers and players) should vote for the starters, selecting as much as half of each roster. Let them vote for 15 players who (in an AL park) could be the nine starters, four starting pitchers and two closers. Do I trust the writers more than the fans? Yes, I’m afraid that I do.

 

But it would be wrong not to let the fans vote. So let the fans vote players into the other 15 roster spots – the rest of the pitching staff and all of the reserves, most of whom will get to play.

 

MLB won’t introduce something like this until the current process is proven to be flawed. We know it’s flawed but MLB hasn’t yet been sufficiently embarrassed to make any kind of change.

-Tony in Hitchin

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