The following thoughts have been bouncing around in my head for a couple of years. They have been formed and sculpted with help, direct and indirect, from David Sigler, Jennifer Ladino, and Patty Cady, among others, like French philosopher de Certeau.
Where is the most expensive property in a city? Usually it is near water or, in a city like New York, famous landmarks or parks, like Central Park. Beyond that, it is higher up. A penthouse apartment in a building that is prime real estate can cost more than a ranch. A Russian billionaire's daughter paid $88M for a two story Penthouse with views of Central Park. You can read more here. De Certeau wrote about the walker and the watcher. The everyday people of the world, in his case, the people in New York City, are the walkers. The people who own the penthouse apartments or have offices in the highest high-rises (again, de Certeau was writing about an office in the former World Trade Center towers) are the watchers. We pay premiums for the view. The Smith Tower in Seattle houses just one residence as of right now. The pyramid at the top of the tower is a 3 story penthouse and arguably the most expensive residence in Seattle.
We don't just spend money to see, but also be seen. The Smith Tower is one of the more recognizable buildings in Seattle. Living at the top of it carries recognition in and of itself. It is like renting a limo. Personally, I think town cars are more comfortable, and, while they do attract some attention, they don't attract as much as a limo. Limos have tinted windows. Those of us outside them can't see who is inside. But we see the limo. The person/people who rented the limo get the attention without getting the attention. That is the nature of the watcher--they are seen, but not seen. We see the penthouses and know that someone lives there. We see the Beverly Hills mansions (or parts of them from the road, beyond the gates) but we don't see the owners. Chances are, they can see us, though, if they desire. The riders in the limo can see us if they care to look out the window.
The bottom line is that the see and be seen but not seen usually commands sweeping views. To achieve those views often requires height. The Smith Tower penthouse is located on floors 36-38. The rules of supply and demand apply here. There are only so many buildings with so many views. The wealthy can afford these buildings and these views. The working class may be able to visit the public viewing deck of the Smith Tower on the 35th floor, but without somehow being invited to visit the artist and her family that lives in the Penthouse, they will never see the exact same view. We will never set foot in the $88M New York penthouse that overlooks Central Park. We can sit in Central Park and look up, as can anyone else. We are separated from the wealthy and the views by the security and exclusivity that comes with that wealth.
But this is reversed in sports. The cheapest seats are the highest up. They have views of the city beyond the ball park. They have views of the entire field. They are the best chances to come away from with a souvenir, whether it is a foul ball or a home run. Take, for example, Pafko at the Wall, the story of the Shot Heard Round the World--the game winning homer by Bobby Thomson in the 1951 National League Playoff Series. The story revolves around the home run ball, caught by a poor child, Cotter Martin, who had sneaked into the ball game. It was the poor who took home possibly the ultimate memento for a New York Giants fan just before the team moved across the country.
There is an element of class difference in the story, though. While Cotter gets the ball, the rich, the famous, and the leader are sitting in the lower seats with a supposedly better view of the game. Frank Sinatra, Jackie Gleason, Toots Shor, and J. Edgar Hoover are also watching the game. When the ball goes over the wall, Cotter gets it and takes off running for the safety of home. Sinatra et al., however, have garbage showered on them during the celebration. The lower class comes away with an experience and an important memento, while the rich/ruling upper class comes away with garbage.
Even today the cheap seats are the furthest away, the highest up. While the most expensive are the lowest in the stadium. President Bush has permanent box seats in the front row, right next to the home dugout in Rangers Ballpark in Arlington. Unlike in a limo, we can see former President Bush, but we're not there to see him, so he goes largely unnoticed. We came to watch the players on the field. He came to watch the players on the field, not be seen. However, there is a difference here from other sports and places. Hollywood is all about image and being seen. People go to Lakers games, sometimes to watch the Lakers, sometimes to see who is in the crowd. New York Knicks games aren't exactly the same, but they're not completely different either. Jack Nicholson is a courtside fixture in LA, while Spike Lee is in New York. They get on TV for being at the game. To be sure other celebrities are there and get on television simply for being there, but Nicholson and Lee are the fixtures courtside. Their motivation probably isn't to simply be seen. Spike Lee is famous for yelling at referees and players alike. Reggie Miller, for example. At courtside, he gets to almost participate in the game. Some celebrities do participate with the referees. It's brief, but you may notice that Jack actually is between the Oklahoma City bench and the scoring table. The opposing players have to walk past him to check into the game. Honestly, outside of LA, I've never seen a seating arrangement like that.
But in the grand scheme of the game, the audience doesn't directly impact individual games. However, as a democratic voting class we are all, in a way, Marx's proletariat. Our work (buying tickets, watching games on TV) supports our teams and our players. Our approval or disapproval influences roster moves and performance. While it is true that the athletes' performance also influences these moves, the public does have a certain play in it. Last season, Kansas City Chiefs fans started attending home games in black until Quarterback Matt Cassel was benched. When he was injured, the home fans cheered (I, myself, offered to by everyone in the sports bar a drink if it was career ending). We have opinions of and support for our favorite players. We have derision for those we don't like whether on our team or someone else's. We get to voice our opinions in blogs like this one or in radio call in shows. The owners, or at least the general managers, pay attention to us because we are the money source. While it is true that when teams are winning, the bandwagon and fair-weather fans fill stadiums, this isn't always true. The Tampa Bay Rays won the division crown in 2010. They also finished 22nd out of the 30 MLB teams in average attendance (according to baseball-reference.com). The San Antonio Spurs have proven that you don't have to have popularity to win championships and that winning championships won't make people watch you. The Spurs have been the team of the decade from 1999 to 2009 with championships in 99, 03, 05, and 07. However, those finals were also some of the lowest in television ratings. Of course they are popular in San Antonio. San Antonio doesn't have any other major league sports. The sports life in the town revolves around Tim Duncan and company. The point is, that we do have opinions on our sports teams and the opinions of the fans do matter.
And that is the problem. Sports is another juxtaposition of Marxism in that we care more about our sports and entertainment than we do in those who we select to rule us. Ask your average sports fan to name as many teams as they can and I'll bet you 10-1 odds that most people you find (outside of politics) will be able to name more pro and college teams than they will be able to name senators and representatives, probably even their own. One of the trick to ruling is if you can keep the proletariat entertained (distracted) then you can do whatever you want as a ruler. If you can keep them entertained and uneducated, then you can rule completely at will.
I picked up the paper today and across the top of the page was the booming teaser about Alex Rodriguez's suspension/appeal and Johnny Manziel's trouble with the NCAA for taking money for an autograph (a big no-no for college athletes). What was the main headline? Don't remember. What was the main story in the politics section? Didn't even look. Did you? Can you remember either? Kudos if you can. One of my main concerns in writing about politics and distraction is that I'm projecting my feelings on the rest of the populace. Looking at the popularity of keeping an eye on whatever celebrities are doing (especially when they aren't really doing anything), I don't think I'm the only one not really paying attention to politics.
But that is one of the things that sports do. The Sports Wife once told me (and still does, quite often) that if I spent as much time on my Master's studies as I do on sports statistics and articles, then I'd be done with both my TESL and literature degrees and probably done with the PhD's as well. Now, I am kind of a stat head, but I've found that I'm at the lower end of the stat fanatic spectrum. I know some of the weird trivia. I know some of the record holders and league leaders in the major sports. Again, in applying this to politics, and the decisions that really affect our lives, I don't know nearly as much as I probably should to make informed decisions about my votes. It is easy in presidential elections, they're fairly open with their ideas. Whether they actually follow through on those ideas/promises is a matter of debate. Doing some research on essentially 2 guys every 4 years isn't all that difficult. But paying attention to the daily operations of our government is a) difficult and b) frightening. The more I do learn about politics and the U.S. government, the more I want to know about sports. Our congress has just attempted for the 40th time to repeal Obamacare. They have also let the student loans protection lapse. The definition of insanity is trying the same thing over and over and expecting different results. 40 times would count as over and over, I would think. My loans are coming due shortly. I've watched my interest rates. When congress in their in-fighting allowed the student loan protections to lapse, my loans went from 4.5% to 6.8% interest. 2.3% may not seem like much, but when you owe $100,000+ in loans, 2.3% is substantial. That got my attention because it finally affected my bottom line. It was like Safeco's change to flexible pricing last summer. Suddenly, ticket prices that had been the same no matter who the Mariners were playing started jumping and dropping based on the other team. Back when I was a Yankees fan, this affected my ballpark experience because, suddenly, they were the most expensive tickets.
We police our players more closely than our politicians as well. I mentioned that Johnny Football is in trouble for accepting money for autographs. Ohio State University is on probation for some of their team trading game memorabilia for tattoos. Other schools are in trouble for recruiting violations. And then there is the clusterfuck that is Penn State. But the NCAA comes down hard on these offenders. Penn State is crippled for 5 years (4 remaining). Southern Methodist University football got the 2-year death penalty for repeat offenses in the 80s. Conversely, our politicians on either side of the aisle have started even denying corruption. When they have been accused of wrong-doings, especially during an election, they question the timing of the accusation. They don't even bother denying the corruption, they attack their accusers for sitting on the evidence until it could hurt them more!
The idiocy we see in both places is what unites them, unfortunately. The 40 times congress has taken a vote to repeal Obamacare compares with Rodriguez's thinking that by appealing his suspension, he'll a) keep playing (a loophole that needs to be dealt with) and b) possibly have the suspension overturned. Only one player has had a suspension overturned in MLB, Ryan Braun. Turns out it was on a technicality that has been closed...and Braun is currently serving a season ending suspension for the very same offense as Rodriguez. It is turning out that our sports players are receiving the justice that they need to receive to keep the game pure--to a point that they are starting to police their own; there have been reports of pitchers headhunting known "juicers." What would we say if politicians started policing themselves? I doubt any of us would take it seriously, for one. And what is more important to our everyday lives, the purity of college and professional sports, or the purity of a political office? And that is why the more I learn about politics, the less I want to learn about politics.
Friday, August 9, 2013
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
One of the Greatest Feelings
I just watched Mariano Rivera enter his final All Star Game and pitch a 1-2-3 8th. Everyone thought that Rivera would pitch the ninth for the save--that which he does best. Citi Field, home of the Mets, played Enter Sandman (which I've written about before in Spine Tingling Moments). One of the greatest pleasures I've ever had in sports is seeing one of my sports heroes live. I saw Mariano close in 2006 in old Yankee Stadium against the Texas Rangers. I can't describe the feeling as a Mariano fan hearing Enter Sandman and seeing the bullpen door open and the greatest closer in the over 100 year history of the game run toward the mound. I was nearly heartbroken last year thinking that he might end his career with an injury to his knee. He has come back this year as though it never happened. He has also made no doubt about this being his final year. Even as a Yankees fan, I don't think they will make the playoffs without a miracle or epic collapse of other teams. It would be fitting, though. Mariano would finish his career with the same number of post-season saves as the number he wears--42. Mariano is the last 42 in the Major League. The number has been retired by every team for Jackie Robinson. Mariano was grandfathered in since he already wore the number when it was retired.
But back to seeing him play live. I've never seen my favorite teams win championships in person. I never saw Michael Jordan or Scottie Pippen play in person. I never saw Derrick Thomas or Lawrence Taylor play in person. One of my greatest sports memories, and something I will remember until my mind fades and I call everyone Billy, is seeing that bullpen door open to BUM ba da DA DUM. At the end of this season, my last sports hero will retire. I don't know if I will ever have another one. Puig has had an amazing season so far. Yoenis Cespedes, a player who I thought would be a phenom base on the handful of rookie cards I have, just obliterated the Home Run Derby last night. I admired Brian Urlacher, who retired this NFL offseason, and I like Tamba Hali, but I don't look up to them like I do Rivera, Jordan, Pippen, Thomas, and Taylor. To say the least, it's going to take a fairly epic showing to muscle into a list with those five men.
Of those five, Mariano is also the only one who is squeaky clean. Jordan had his gambling and his over the top competitiveness. Pippen was recently charged with assault for a fight outside a nightclub and had various issues on the court in the twilight of his career. Thomas died from a blood clot due to his own drunk driving, leaving behind children from six different mothers. And Lawrence Taylor, well, just Google "Lawrence Taylor legal issues." Be prepared. The only sports hero I've seen play in person, is the only sports hero who hasn't let me down. Of course, he's blown saves. Of course, he's been beaten in the game. But he has never appeared on a BioGenesis list or any other steroid list. He's never been arrested or had any off the field problems. He's been constantly graceful on-camera and humble to every interviewer. He even said that if he had chosen his music, it wouldn't have been Enter Sandman. He listens to Christian music.
It is increasingly rare to see athletes who are as graceful in life as they are in their sport. In this age of 24 hour sports networks where we find out who is going to jail before the ink from their fingerprints is even dry, a sports hero who has never had his fingers dipped is equally rare. It could be that the negatives get all the hype (see my bitter previous post). It could be that we are becoming a nation of cynics. We've been disappointed with our Jordans, Rodriguezes, Thomases, Taylors, Hernandezes. We've delved into every part of their lives, again, thanks to the 24 hour sports networks and 24 hour news networks that jump all over anything negative on any celebrity, sports or otherwise. To keep your name out of the news while you are in the spotlight is becoming impossible.
Pause: Mariano was just awarded the ASG MVP. Selig mentioned his behavior off the filed. Mariano's family is with him. He just won a sports car. Chevrolet is donating millions in his name to youth baseball programs in a city of his choice. Mariano seemed absolutely surprised the he is being recognized at all. He thanked God, and then the fans. In case you haven't heard, everywhere he's played, he's been sent out with gifts. He threw out the first pitch for an opposing team. Think about that. First pitches are honors. We have our soldiers do them. We have celebrities. We have presidents and leaders. In a game where he would pitch against them, the New York Mets had Mariano throw out the ceremonial first pitch. Tell me when that has happened before. Google it. Go to baseball-reference.com. I'll wait.
Didn't think you'd find anyone. I'm sitting here, typing, with tears in my eyes because I was able to watch my last heroes come into a game for 16 pitches and throw a 1-2-3 8th inning. And because he is someone I can still look up to.
In my closet is a t-shirt. I bought it outside Safeco Field. It has never been worn. It is waiting for an autograph it will probably never get. I would like to frame it an hang it in my eventual man cave. The t-shirt is Yankee blue. On the left breast is the NY of the Yankees. On the back is Rivera and 42.
But back to seeing him play live. I've never seen my favorite teams win championships in person. I never saw Michael Jordan or Scottie Pippen play in person. I never saw Derrick Thomas or Lawrence Taylor play in person. One of my greatest sports memories, and something I will remember until my mind fades and I call everyone Billy, is seeing that bullpen door open to BUM ba da DA DUM. At the end of this season, my last sports hero will retire. I don't know if I will ever have another one. Puig has had an amazing season so far. Yoenis Cespedes, a player who I thought would be a phenom base on the handful of rookie cards I have, just obliterated the Home Run Derby last night. I admired Brian Urlacher, who retired this NFL offseason, and I like Tamba Hali, but I don't look up to them like I do Rivera, Jordan, Pippen, Thomas, and Taylor. To say the least, it's going to take a fairly epic showing to muscle into a list with those five men.
Of those five, Mariano is also the only one who is squeaky clean. Jordan had his gambling and his over the top competitiveness. Pippen was recently charged with assault for a fight outside a nightclub and had various issues on the court in the twilight of his career. Thomas died from a blood clot due to his own drunk driving, leaving behind children from six different mothers. And Lawrence Taylor, well, just Google "Lawrence Taylor legal issues." Be prepared. The only sports hero I've seen play in person, is the only sports hero who hasn't let me down. Of course, he's blown saves. Of course, he's been beaten in the game. But he has never appeared on a BioGenesis list or any other steroid list. He's never been arrested or had any off the field problems. He's been constantly graceful on-camera and humble to every interviewer. He even said that if he had chosen his music, it wouldn't have been Enter Sandman. He listens to Christian music.
It is increasingly rare to see athletes who are as graceful in life as they are in their sport. In this age of 24 hour sports networks where we find out who is going to jail before the ink from their fingerprints is even dry, a sports hero who has never had his fingers dipped is equally rare. It could be that the negatives get all the hype (see my bitter previous post). It could be that we are becoming a nation of cynics. We've been disappointed with our Jordans, Rodriguezes, Thomases, Taylors, Hernandezes. We've delved into every part of their lives, again, thanks to the 24 hour sports networks and 24 hour news networks that jump all over anything negative on any celebrity, sports or otherwise. To keep your name out of the news while you are in the spotlight is becoming impossible.
Pause: Mariano was just awarded the ASG MVP. Selig mentioned his behavior off the filed. Mariano's family is with him. He just won a sports car. Chevrolet is donating millions in his name to youth baseball programs in a city of his choice. Mariano seemed absolutely surprised the he is being recognized at all. He thanked God, and then the fans. In case you haven't heard, everywhere he's played, he's been sent out with gifts. He threw out the first pitch for an opposing team. Think about that. First pitches are honors. We have our soldiers do them. We have celebrities. We have presidents and leaders. In a game where he would pitch against them, the New York Mets had Mariano throw out the ceremonial first pitch. Tell me when that has happened before. Google it. Go to baseball-reference.com. I'll wait.
Didn't think you'd find anyone. I'm sitting here, typing, with tears in my eyes because I was able to watch my last heroes come into a game for 16 pitches and throw a 1-2-3 8th inning. And because he is someone I can still look up to.
In my closet is a t-shirt. I bought it outside Safeco Field. It has never been worn. It is waiting for an autograph it will probably never get. I would like to frame it an hang it in my eventual man cave. The t-shirt is Yankee blue. On the left breast is the NY of the Yankees. On the back is Rivera and 42.
Thursday, July 4, 2013
Anger, Negativity, Media, and Victor Borge
I'm angry.
It's making me feel old.
I can't truly escape this crotchetiness.
I'm frustrated with the way the country is being run and not run. I'm frustrated with the politics being more important than the issues and progress. I'm frustrated that our congressional leaders have a 9% approval rating. I'm even more frustrated that they've earned it.
But I can't get away. I can't turn it off.
It used to be I could turn on sports and at least get away. But I'm angry at sports. Not only are our heroes letting us down again, they are also being over-covered thanks to, apparently nothing else better for the media to do.
I could turn on SportsCenter. Homer Bailey threw the first no-hitter of the season this week. But first, I have to wait through the Hernandez murder investigation. I have to sit through all the coverage of the signing of a third string quarterback who has as sub-.500 completion percentage. I have to sit through the latest steroid scandal. I have to sit through speculation of where Dwight Howard may sign...WEEKS FROM NOW WHEN FREE AGENTS CAN ACTUALLY SIGN.
Steroid scandal notwithstanding, there is some great stuff going on in baseball. Max Scherzer has 13 wins and no losses. The last person to go 13-0 before the fourth of July was Roger Clemens in 1984. This rookie, Puig, is hitting lights out (until he got injured today). The Pirates have the best record in the MLB! I've written blog posts about how historically bad that franchise has been for the last 20 years!
There are great things happening! The problem is that we have to wade through all the crap that is thrown at us just to find them.
Maybe the media should start paying attention to the good in the world instead of barraging us with the bad. Take a minute and open a tab. Go to CNN.com. On the main page, how many headlines are anything close to positive? I just checked it out. When I visited the news site, there were 61 headlines/videos. 15 were not negative. That doesn't mean positive. Of those, 4 were on food, 2 were on how to hang the flag, and 3 were on insipid celebrities. I read the news less and less. I don't watch the news anymore. While I was on the CNN website, I couldn't help myself and had to check a headline on Westboro Baptist.
Friends on Facebook from both Right and Left post "news" stories. We have this need to seek out what we hate. I had to check the latest on Westboro. We seek out what and who don't agree with us. Something I tell my students is that the news reports the negative because the positive isn't news. A plane landing isn't new because thousands do it every day. The unusual is the one that doesn't. However, are we killing ourselves? Anger is good in moderation. Nearly anything is good in moderation, but not being able to escape that which makes us angry can't be good for us.
I raged tonight. I got angry at the news, at SportsCenter, at Facebook, at my insipid iPhone games, at my equally insipid Facebook games. I tried to read a book and couldn't focus. I tried to just sit out on the deck and enjoy the scenery from the house that I am sitting. Finally, I turned to YouTube. I rediscovered Victor Borge. I laughed. I watched his performances on Dean Martin and the Muppet Show. I watched the 5 most surprising Britain's Got Talent shows (Susan Boyle was #3). I felt better. But, somehow, eventually, things like Chong Smokes Fox News and Obama Anti-Christ crept onto the options. And don't even bother reading YouTube comments (or comments anywhere else, for that matter). What has happened to common decency? Does hiding behind a keyboard and computer screen free us to be dicks to each other?
The only thing that I've really enjoyed lately is immersing myself in Mass Effect 3. I want to see how the trilogy turns out. DON'T TELL ME! But even then, I enjoy the game and the escape that it provides, but I also know that there are other things that I need to be doing. I cleaned house today (my apartment and the house I'm house sitting). I went grocery shopping and made dinner. I can't escape into Mass Effect 24/7, although I did sink one of my weekend days into it, since then 2 hours or less, and only after I got my grading done.
The problem with all of this is that while the media covers the negative, there is a reason they cover it. We watch it. We click on it. We read it. Google, YouTube, Amazon, Facebook, they all track what we pay attention to--what we talk about. We ourselves can't help but look at the negative, seek out the negative, talk about the negative. And therein lies our challenge. Tomorrow is the Fourth of July. I don't know what I'm doing because I don't know if I'm still house sitting or not. But I will tell you one thing. I am not going to be on Facebook. I'm not going to be on CNN.com. I'm not going to be reading the negative. I'm not going to talk about the negative. I'm not going to be negative as much as I can possibly help it. I can't control those around me. I can't control you. Most of the time, I have a hard time even controlling me. But tomorrow, I'm not going to be angry. Not because it is the Fourth. Because it is tomorrow. And tomorrow has to be a better day. Friday will be another tomorrow and another better day. I'm going to go as long as I can without paying any attention to the negative. Don't get me wrong, this isn't a sticking my head in the sand and trying to pretend that I'm not sitting in a hand basket and wondering where we're headed. I know that I'm up to my ears in student debt. I know that, thanks to a do-nothing congress, the interest rates on a lot of student loan debt just doubled. I know that the government is watching us. I know that other governments are being overthrown. I know that man feel that parts of our own government are trying to take away our rights. I also know that all of that made me feel powerless in the first place and that led to my rage. I don't need it all 24/7. I don't need to be connected all the time. Tomorrow, I do go up to my parents for a barbecue. I'm not taking my laptop. I'm tempted to not take my phone (the only reason that I will is because my wife is abroad and we only have contact sporadically, so I could miss the one window for the week). Tomorrow, I'm unplugging until I have to grade papers.
Think about what makes you angry. Ask yourself if you are seeking it out. Ask yourself if you can do anything about it. Ask yourself if it matters that you are thinking about it right now. That's what I'm doing.
Now if you'll excuse me, there are still plenty of Victor Borge videos on YouTube.
It's making me feel old.
I can't truly escape this crotchetiness.
I'm frustrated with the way the country is being run and not run. I'm frustrated with the politics being more important than the issues and progress. I'm frustrated that our congressional leaders have a 9% approval rating. I'm even more frustrated that they've earned it.
But I can't get away. I can't turn it off.
It used to be I could turn on sports and at least get away. But I'm angry at sports. Not only are our heroes letting us down again, they are also being over-covered thanks to, apparently nothing else better for the media to do.
I could turn on SportsCenter. Homer Bailey threw the first no-hitter of the season this week. But first, I have to wait through the Hernandez murder investigation. I have to sit through all the coverage of the signing of a third string quarterback who has as sub-.500 completion percentage. I have to sit through the latest steroid scandal. I have to sit through speculation of where Dwight Howard may sign...WEEKS FROM NOW WHEN FREE AGENTS CAN ACTUALLY SIGN.
Steroid scandal notwithstanding, there is some great stuff going on in baseball. Max Scherzer has 13 wins and no losses. The last person to go 13-0 before the fourth of July was Roger Clemens in 1984. This rookie, Puig, is hitting lights out (until he got injured today). The Pirates have the best record in the MLB! I've written blog posts about how historically bad that franchise has been for the last 20 years!
There are great things happening! The problem is that we have to wade through all the crap that is thrown at us just to find them.
Maybe the media should start paying attention to the good in the world instead of barraging us with the bad. Take a minute and open a tab. Go to CNN.com. On the main page, how many headlines are anything close to positive? I just checked it out. When I visited the news site, there were 61 headlines/videos. 15 were not negative. That doesn't mean positive. Of those, 4 were on food, 2 were on how to hang the flag, and 3 were on insipid celebrities. I read the news less and less. I don't watch the news anymore. While I was on the CNN website, I couldn't help myself and had to check a headline on Westboro Baptist.
Friends on Facebook from both Right and Left post "news" stories. We have this need to seek out what we hate. I had to check the latest on Westboro. We seek out what and who don't agree with us. Something I tell my students is that the news reports the negative because the positive isn't news. A plane landing isn't new because thousands do it every day. The unusual is the one that doesn't. However, are we killing ourselves? Anger is good in moderation. Nearly anything is good in moderation, but not being able to escape that which makes us angry can't be good for us.
I raged tonight. I got angry at the news, at SportsCenter, at Facebook, at my insipid iPhone games, at my equally insipid Facebook games. I tried to read a book and couldn't focus. I tried to just sit out on the deck and enjoy the scenery from the house that I am sitting. Finally, I turned to YouTube. I rediscovered Victor Borge. I laughed. I watched his performances on Dean Martin and the Muppet Show. I watched the 5 most surprising Britain's Got Talent shows (Susan Boyle was #3). I felt better. But, somehow, eventually, things like Chong Smokes Fox News and Obama Anti-Christ crept onto the options. And don't even bother reading YouTube comments (or comments anywhere else, for that matter). What has happened to common decency? Does hiding behind a keyboard and computer screen free us to be dicks to each other?
The only thing that I've really enjoyed lately is immersing myself in Mass Effect 3. I want to see how the trilogy turns out. DON'T TELL ME! But even then, I enjoy the game and the escape that it provides, but I also know that there are other things that I need to be doing. I cleaned house today (my apartment and the house I'm house sitting). I went grocery shopping and made dinner. I can't escape into Mass Effect 24/7, although I did sink one of my weekend days into it, since then 2 hours or less, and only after I got my grading done.
The problem with all of this is that while the media covers the negative, there is a reason they cover it. We watch it. We click on it. We read it. Google, YouTube, Amazon, Facebook, they all track what we pay attention to--what we talk about. We ourselves can't help but look at the negative, seek out the negative, talk about the negative. And therein lies our challenge. Tomorrow is the Fourth of July. I don't know what I'm doing because I don't know if I'm still house sitting or not. But I will tell you one thing. I am not going to be on Facebook. I'm not going to be on CNN.com. I'm not going to be reading the negative. I'm not going to talk about the negative. I'm not going to be negative as much as I can possibly help it. I can't control those around me. I can't control you. Most of the time, I have a hard time even controlling me. But tomorrow, I'm not going to be angry. Not because it is the Fourth. Because it is tomorrow. And tomorrow has to be a better day. Friday will be another tomorrow and another better day. I'm going to go as long as I can without paying any attention to the negative. Don't get me wrong, this isn't a sticking my head in the sand and trying to pretend that I'm not sitting in a hand basket and wondering where we're headed. I know that I'm up to my ears in student debt. I know that, thanks to a do-nothing congress, the interest rates on a lot of student loan debt just doubled. I know that the government is watching us. I know that other governments are being overthrown. I know that man feel that parts of our own government are trying to take away our rights. I also know that all of that made me feel powerless in the first place and that led to my rage. I don't need it all 24/7. I don't need to be connected all the time. Tomorrow, I do go up to my parents for a barbecue. I'm not taking my laptop. I'm tempted to not take my phone (the only reason that I will is because my wife is abroad and we only have contact sporadically, so I could miss the one window for the week). Tomorrow, I'm unplugging until I have to grade papers.
Think about what makes you angry. Ask yourself if you are seeking it out. Ask yourself if you can do anything about it. Ask yourself if it matters that you are thinking about it right now. That's what I'm doing.
Now if you'll excuse me, there are still plenty of Victor Borge videos on YouTube.
Saturday, January 26, 2013
Indian Leg Wrestling
My experience with Indian leg wrestling started with my in-laws before they were my in-laws. The Indian leg wrestling of my pre-in-law in-laws started with an explanation, then a demonstration, that soon became a tradition.
At the beginning of every school year, my in-laws, Bob and Kim, creative writing professors at the University of Idaho, host a party for the students and faculty of the English MFA program. It is a chance to meet the new Master's students, for them to meet each other, and catch up with friends from previous school years. They host it at their home on Moscow Mountain overlooking the Palouse area of northern Idaho and eastern Washington. There, under the September stars, a sport was explained and a tradition grew.
At one of these such parties, Kim was explaining Indian leg wrestling to one of her students. Part of Kim's ancestry is Native American and she had heard of/seen Indian leg wrestling. The group she was explaining it to wanted a demonstration. So, Kim went and grabbed a blanket from inside and brought it out to the deck. She lay down on her back and raised her right leg perpendicular to her body. On the count of three, with a swing at each number, she brought her leg down. This was a demonstration of the technique of the sport. When actually demonstrated, two people would be laying on their backs with their heads at opposite ends of each other. They would grasp inside hands (usually the right hand when wrestling right-legged) and swing their inside leg. At the count of three, they would bring the opposing legs together, each trying to flip, turn, or spin the other. Matches rarely go for more than a few seconds. Kim demonstrated with one of her students before the onlookers. Soon, the deck was crowded (well, more crowded than it had already been) with onlookers and contestants watching as match after match were performed. Indian leg wrestling would become a staple of the MFA parties from then on.
I attended my first MFA party as an honorary MFA. I was getting my Master's in literature, just an MA; apparently my arts aren't fine. My fiancee had just left for California to pursue her own MFA at Claremont Graduate University near L.A. I had just started the aforementioned MA and was a teaching assistant at U of I. I had heard of the legendary Indian leg wrestling from Chase, a friend and neighbor who was also an MFA student. He had attended the previous year's party and enjoyed the wrestling. When they had leg wrestled that year, Chase had been an observer in the shadows as one student dominated most of the the matches. Chase stepped out of the shadows and won his match. I had listened to the story over drinks leading up to the day of the party.
The night of the actual party I arrived late, having to work beforehand. Most of the food was gone and the party was in full swing. But I hadn't missed what I was most interested in witnessing. Everyone was talking and milling around, sipping at wines and beers, sodas and juices. I met some friends. Talked about our summers, our plans for the school year. Fielded questions about my missing fiancee. I missed her terribly. I was glad I was invited to the party. The prospect of being alone in my apartment with my cat to keep me company did not appeal in the slightest. The chaotic snippets of conversations wrapped around me like a warm blanket. The sips of wine and a bottle of beer helped to blunt my social awkwardness. I was downright talkative! I chatted with other TA's. I met the new MFAs. Greeted professors from previous years.
Then. Kim brought out The Blanket. It was time for Indian leg wrestling. I leaned against the railing of the deck and watched Kim's perfected-from-years-of-repetition explanation of the sport. I watched Kim flip an MFA student. I watched Kim flip Bob. I watched another MFA student, named Jordan, flip Bob and fellow student after fellow student after fellow student. I was ready to try. I took my shoes off. I lay down on my back, looking up at the clear sky and the stars in the evening. Jordan lay down next to me, hip to hip. We joined hands. ONE shouted the crowd, led by Kim. We raised our right legs and swung them down. TWO! Raise and swing. THREE! Raise and snap down. I'm flipping! I do an awkward somersault as Jordan's leg collides with mine with the meaty thunk of our calves hitting. Jordan's leg pushes mine back over my shoulders until my back is lifted off the deck and my toes touch the wood of the decking. My first loss. It had looked easy. My legs were the strongest and the most in-shape part of my anatomy! But Jordan had flipped me. Amid the applause, I got up and retook my place against the railing of the deck. The next challengers took our places on The Blanket.
After a few more matches (and a little study), I challenged Jordan again.
ONE! Legs up swinging.
TWO! Back up, back down.
THREE! I remembered my karate lessons. I remembered the ax kick. The kick where you balance on one leg while you bring your other down to strike your target with your heel. I remember to raise my leg and release it, sending it down in a weird horizontal ax kick.
The meaty smack of our calves.
The satisfaction of feeling my leg proceeding forward on its downward trajectory as Jordan resists, then flips. My first win.
The rest of the night I would win and lose. I would always re-challenge those who had beaten me. I would face Jordan again and win. Over the course of the night, I would keep track of my record and note that no one would beat me in 2 of 3 matches. I had found something. I had found a sport I enjoyed. I had also found something that, looking back, maybe I was a little to competitive at. I didn't get upset or angry at my losses. I wouldn't taunt after my wins. But, maybe I was taking it more seriously than those around me.
I had started my Master's studies in literature. I was intimidated by those around me. I didn't understand the theory involved in literature. I hadn't read all the classics. I would listen to my classmates, many of whom were standing around this very deck, and I would feel lost and behind and confused. On top of that, I felt as though I had lost my best friend and true love to a school in California. I had endured one cancer surgery and, though I didn't know it at the time, was heading toward another, more serious one.
But I had found something that I could do better than the classmates who unintentionally intimidated me in the classroom. I had found something, from my fiancee's family, that I could excel at. When I left the party that night to head back to my-empty-save-for-the-cat apartment, I felt better about life than I had when I arrived. I felt a certain pride in myself. Even if it was in something that no one else took as seriously.
The next year, I would again never lose best two of three. I was rebounding from the serious cancer surgery--lymphadenectomy. My fiancee had returned from Claremont and was starting her Master's in anthropology at the U of I. But after the surgery I had withdrawn. I had left everything on her. She worked. She cleaned the apartment. She took care of me. I withdrew. I had spent nearly the entire summer playing video games because in them, my character didn't have cancer. Or scars that caused the right side of their face to sag. But in that withdrawal, I had left my true love and best friend to do everything on her own.
After the party and the Indian leg wrestling, I rebounded. I went back to work (actually at 4 jobs) and back to school. I helped clean the apartment (still not as well as Jordan did/does). It wasn't the Indian leg wrestling or the party that made me rebound, but it did remind me that I'm good at something other than immersing myself in make believe worlds to avoid this one.
At the beginning of this school year, we headed up to the MFA party. Now, we were married. Jordan and I were greeted and congratulated by those who hadn't made it to the reception. Our wedding pictures displayed inside on the baby grand. We made our way through the potluck buffet. We made our way through the wine/beer buffet. We greeted now old friends, professors, and met new friends and professors.
I was chomping at the bit for Indian leg wrestling. I was sure I was taking it more seriously than anyone else. But it was still all in fun. Some of the other students were getting into it as well. They would tease each other and cheer each other on. Especially when someone would get on a roll. I didn't challenge anyone and everyone as I had in the previous two years. I would sit off in the dark, at my now usual spot at the railing. I enjoyed watching everyone else have a good time. I'd hop down and challenge a few people, especially when someone would get on a roll.
It was my best showing yet. Toward the middle of the evening, I was flipped. Other challengers smelled blood. Suddenly I was challenged from everywhere in the crowd. I could be beaten!! (These were what they were saying!) Nat, one of Bob's poetry students, ended my perfect streak of the night. But I wasn't flipped again. There were glancing blows (when our legs wouldn't quite connect, so there wouldn't be a real wrestle), there were collisions that would tie and fail (striking heel to heel doesn't give enough of a lock but hurts like the dickens). There were friendly wagers (often turned down) like when Warren (another long haired individual) and I wrestled someone (it may have been me) suggested the loser has to cut his hair and give it to the winner.
Then, I decided I would retire. I had taken it seriously enough for long enough. I didn't mean for it to end the wrestling for the night. I'm not sure if it was my announcement that really ended the wrestling or if it was just coincidence that Kim put The Blanket away after my last best-of-three. I announced that it would be my last match, best of three. Everyone agreed that it should be against Nat, the only one to flip me on the night.
I defended my title and retired with it.
But I find myself thinking about it. I find myself looking forward to the MFA party of next year, even though, barring academic disaster, I will no longer be a student at the University of Idaho. I may not even be in the area. But I want to go. I want to wrestle again. I don't want to take it as seriously as I had. But I am obsessed with numbers and records. I keep track of how many red lights I get stopped at out of how many intersections with traffic lights I drive through. I look at team records and percentages. I want to Indian leg wrestle next year without having the numbers in my head. Without having to do best of three to make sure that I still come out on top.
But can I? Will it even matter? Will I even be there? Can I just sit in the shadows at my spot on the railing and watch everyone else and only occasionally hop down for a go? I love the sport. I'm still good at it. I still have yet to face my brother-in-law who is weightlifting (squats, what else?) with me. Can I turn off the competitor and just play?
At the beginning of every school year, my in-laws, Bob and Kim, creative writing professors at the University of Idaho, host a party for the students and faculty of the English MFA program. It is a chance to meet the new Master's students, for them to meet each other, and catch up with friends from previous school years. They host it at their home on Moscow Mountain overlooking the Palouse area of northern Idaho and eastern Washington. There, under the September stars, a sport was explained and a tradition grew.
At one of these such parties, Kim was explaining Indian leg wrestling to one of her students. Part of Kim's ancestry is Native American and she had heard of/seen Indian leg wrestling. The group she was explaining it to wanted a demonstration. So, Kim went and grabbed a blanket from inside and brought it out to the deck. She lay down on her back and raised her right leg perpendicular to her body. On the count of three, with a swing at each number, she brought her leg down. This was a demonstration of the technique of the sport. When actually demonstrated, two people would be laying on their backs with their heads at opposite ends of each other. They would grasp inside hands (usually the right hand when wrestling right-legged) and swing their inside leg. At the count of three, they would bring the opposing legs together, each trying to flip, turn, or spin the other. Matches rarely go for more than a few seconds. Kim demonstrated with one of her students before the onlookers. Soon, the deck was crowded (well, more crowded than it had already been) with onlookers and contestants watching as match after match were performed. Indian leg wrestling would become a staple of the MFA parties from then on.
I attended my first MFA party as an honorary MFA. I was getting my Master's in literature, just an MA; apparently my arts aren't fine. My fiancee had just left for California to pursue her own MFA at Claremont Graduate University near L.A. I had just started the aforementioned MA and was a teaching assistant at U of I. I had heard of the legendary Indian leg wrestling from Chase, a friend and neighbor who was also an MFA student. He had attended the previous year's party and enjoyed the wrestling. When they had leg wrestled that year, Chase had been an observer in the shadows as one student dominated most of the the matches. Chase stepped out of the shadows and won his match. I had listened to the story over drinks leading up to the day of the party.
The night of the actual party I arrived late, having to work beforehand. Most of the food was gone and the party was in full swing. But I hadn't missed what I was most interested in witnessing. Everyone was talking and milling around, sipping at wines and beers, sodas and juices. I met some friends. Talked about our summers, our plans for the school year. Fielded questions about my missing fiancee. I missed her terribly. I was glad I was invited to the party. The prospect of being alone in my apartment with my cat to keep me company did not appeal in the slightest. The chaotic snippets of conversations wrapped around me like a warm blanket. The sips of wine and a bottle of beer helped to blunt my social awkwardness. I was downright talkative! I chatted with other TA's. I met the new MFAs. Greeted professors from previous years.
Then. Kim brought out The Blanket. It was time for Indian leg wrestling. I leaned against the railing of the deck and watched Kim's perfected-from-years-of-repetition explanation of the sport. I watched Kim flip an MFA student. I watched Kim flip Bob. I watched another MFA student, named Jordan, flip Bob and fellow student after fellow student after fellow student. I was ready to try. I took my shoes off. I lay down on my back, looking up at the clear sky and the stars in the evening. Jordan lay down next to me, hip to hip. We joined hands. ONE shouted the crowd, led by Kim. We raised our right legs and swung them down. TWO! Raise and swing. THREE! Raise and snap down. I'm flipping! I do an awkward somersault as Jordan's leg collides with mine with the meaty thunk of our calves hitting. Jordan's leg pushes mine back over my shoulders until my back is lifted off the deck and my toes touch the wood of the decking. My first loss. It had looked easy. My legs were the strongest and the most in-shape part of my anatomy! But Jordan had flipped me. Amid the applause, I got up and retook my place against the railing of the deck. The next challengers took our places on The Blanket.
After a few more matches (and a little study), I challenged Jordan again.
ONE! Legs up swinging.
TWO! Back up, back down.
THREE! I remembered my karate lessons. I remembered the ax kick. The kick where you balance on one leg while you bring your other down to strike your target with your heel. I remember to raise my leg and release it, sending it down in a weird horizontal ax kick.
The meaty smack of our calves.
The satisfaction of feeling my leg proceeding forward on its downward trajectory as Jordan resists, then flips. My first win.
The rest of the night I would win and lose. I would always re-challenge those who had beaten me. I would face Jordan again and win. Over the course of the night, I would keep track of my record and note that no one would beat me in 2 of 3 matches. I had found something. I had found a sport I enjoyed. I had also found something that, looking back, maybe I was a little to competitive at. I didn't get upset or angry at my losses. I wouldn't taunt after my wins. But, maybe I was taking it more seriously than those around me.
I had started my Master's studies in literature. I was intimidated by those around me. I didn't understand the theory involved in literature. I hadn't read all the classics. I would listen to my classmates, many of whom were standing around this very deck, and I would feel lost and behind and confused. On top of that, I felt as though I had lost my best friend and true love to a school in California. I had endured one cancer surgery and, though I didn't know it at the time, was heading toward another, more serious one.
But I had found something that I could do better than the classmates who unintentionally intimidated me in the classroom. I had found something, from my fiancee's family, that I could excel at. When I left the party that night to head back to my-empty-save-for-the-cat apartment, I felt better about life than I had when I arrived. I felt a certain pride in myself. Even if it was in something that no one else took as seriously.
The next year, I would again never lose best two of three. I was rebounding from the serious cancer surgery--lymphadenectomy. My fiancee had returned from Claremont and was starting her Master's in anthropology at the U of I. But after the surgery I had withdrawn. I had left everything on her. She worked. She cleaned the apartment. She took care of me. I withdrew. I had spent nearly the entire summer playing video games because in them, my character didn't have cancer. Or scars that caused the right side of their face to sag. But in that withdrawal, I had left my true love and best friend to do everything on her own.
After the party and the Indian leg wrestling, I rebounded. I went back to work (actually at 4 jobs) and back to school. I helped clean the apartment (still not as well as Jordan did/does). It wasn't the Indian leg wrestling or the party that made me rebound, but it did remind me that I'm good at something other than immersing myself in make believe worlds to avoid this one.
At the beginning of this school year, we headed up to the MFA party. Now, we were married. Jordan and I were greeted and congratulated by those who hadn't made it to the reception. Our wedding pictures displayed inside on the baby grand. We made our way through the potluck buffet. We made our way through the wine/beer buffet. We greeted now old friends, professors, and met new friends and professors.
I was chomping at the bit for Indian leg wrestling. I was sure I was taking it more seriously than anyone else. But it was still all in fun. Some of the other students were getting into it as well. They would tease each other and cheer each other on. Especially when someone would get on a roll. I didn't challenge anyone and everyone as I had in the previous two years. I would sit off in the dark, at my now usual spot at the railing. I enjoyed watching everyone else have a good time. I'd hop down and challenge a few people, especially when someone would get on a roll.
It was my best showing yet. Toward the middle of the evening, I was flipped. Other challengers smelled blood. Suddenly I was challenged from everywhere in the crowd. I could be beaten!! (These were what they were saying!) Nat, one of Bob's poetry students, ended my perfect streak of the night. But I wasn't flipped again. There were glancing blows (when our legs wouldn't quite connect, so there wouldn't be a real wrestle), there were collisions that would tie and fail (striking heel to heel doesn't give enough of a lock but hurts like the dickens). There were friendly wagers (often turned down) like when Warren (another long haired individual) and I wrestled someone (it may have been me) suggested the loser has to cut his hair and give it to the winner.
Then, I decided I would retire. I had taken it seriously enough for long enough. I didn't mean for it to end the wrestling for the night. I'm not sure if it was my announcement that really ended the wrestling or if it was just coincidence that Kim put The Blanket away after my last best-of-three. I announced that it would be my last match, best of three. Everyone agreed that it should be against Nat, the only one to flip me on the night.
I defended my title and retired with it.
But I find myself thinking about it. I find myself looking forward to the MFA party of next year, even though, barring academic disaster, I will no longer be a student at the University of Idaho. I may not even be in the area. But I want to go. I want to wrestle again. I don't want to take it as seriously as I had. But I am obsessed with numbers and records. I keep track of how many red lights I get stopped at out of how many intersections with traffic lights I drive through. I look at team records and percentages. I want to Indian leg wrestle next year without having the numbers in my head. Without having to do best of three to make sure that I still come out on top.
But can I? Will it even matter? Will I even be there? Can I just sit in the shadows at my spot on the railing and watch everyone else and only occasionally hop down for a go? I love the sport. I'm still good at it. I still have yet to face my brother-in-law who is weightlifting (squats, what else?) with me. Can I turn off the competitor and just play?
Monday, September 24, 2012
The NFL with Substitute Teachers
So, during the NFL off-season, a lockout started. With last season's NFL lockout and then the NBA lockout and now it looks like a new NHL lockout looming, this one was relatively minor and didn't make headlines much. Then the preseason started. And the little lockout wasn't really the focus. Then week 1 started the regular season. It was a bit hairy, but they pulled through. They did better than anyone thought they would. Maybe it will be okay. Then week 2 got worse. "It seems like the coaches and players were pushing to see how far they could get away with things. Now they know and they're keeping it there. Now week 3 is in the books and all hell is starting to break loose. For those of you who don't know, the regular NFL refs are locked out. That means the muscled Ed Hochuli (seen to the right) and company keeping law and order over the rough and tumble gridiron.Now the previous (regular) refs weren't perfect; no one is. The picture of Hochuli is actually from an old ESPN story about his apology for blowing a call that cost a game. It happens. But Hochuli and company maintained control of the games. They made calls with decisiveness and quickness that maintained order, a modicum of fairness and, most of all, the pace of the game. The replacement officials don't do any of that. There are grievously blown calls (at least they blow them both ways) and not enough discipline during the extra-curricular shoving matches.
Where did they get these refs? They could have probably just brought up DI (I'm not going to bother with the FCS BCS BS) referees who know the rules. There are rules changes form college to the pros, but they aren't much to remember if you study. Pass interference in college is up to the spot of the foul, maximum 15 yards and a first down. The pros is spot of the foul (no limit) and first down. So if your QB is an arm with a life support attached, you could probably get a 80 yard penalty. There are some other rules, like a player can get back up and run if he isn't down by contact (touched while down) in the pros. Once you're down, you're down, in college.
But these officials aren't from the DI college ranks. For one the bigger conferences (Big 10, Pac 12, SEC) treat their officials DAMN well. They wouldn't want to lose the gigs for a temp position at the NFL. And most of said conferences (and the other biggies) told their officials if they left, they wouldn't have jobs to come back to. So these officials are borrowed from the Arena league (lots of different rules and nowhere near as much pressure...if you're asking "What's Arena League"...exactly) or as far down as DIII. When the Sports Wife asked what is DIII, the Sports Bro-In-Law explained that that's where you find Bob's Really Good College and the like. These guys aren't ready for this kind of pressure on this stage. They are substitute teachers and the NFL players and coaches know it. The NFL is making money hand over fist off of fines for complaining about the refs. It doesn't matter that the players and coaches are absolutely correct in their complaints. They're still getting fined. Take a minute and open another tab in your browser. In the google bar type "replacement officials complaints." Look at some of the links/headlines that pop up. Fox and Del Rio from Denver have already been fined. Belichick, Shanahan, Harbaugh, and probably some of the Green Bay Packers after tonight, will all be fined this week.
The NFL has been preaching an awful lot lately about caring about player safety. (With a class-action lawsuit from 3000 former players, I'd be preaching, too). But hits that go uncalled, penalties unenforced, and arguments that should be diverted aren't being controlled by these officials. Frustration boils over and leads to more vicious hits and more fights. If the NFL truly cared about player safety, they'd settle the issue with the original refs and get the game back to the way it should be. We're three weeks into the regular season and now it is starting to affect the outcome of games. Now that it is doing this, it will probably start getting the owners' attention. It shouldn't have to come to that. Roger Goodell should have settled this issue earlier. The replacement officials are starting to lower the quality of your product. The question is will it hurt the demand for it? Or will we continue to complain into our beers and blogospheres while we watch?
Sunday, September 2, 2012
What to do (or not to do) with King Felix
In a recent Sports Illustrated blurb, Joe Sheenan looked at the case for Felix Hernandez. ("The Case for Felix Hernandez, Aug 27, 2012). The piece ran just 12 days after King Felix finally achieved the elusive Perfect Game. Sheenan makes the case that Seattle should trade its long time ace for various reasons. 1). He deserves to be on a winning team after playing for the perennial cellar-dwelling Mariners. 2). He is at his peak and they can get some offensive players for him right now. Sheenan points out recent transactions such as the trade that gave the Texas Rangers their contender team when they traded Mark Teixeira. Sheenan also cites the Mariners' anemic offense as the center of their woes.
The difficulty in responding to this is to try to separate the fan part of my mind from the analytic part. I am tempted to rattle off an angry e-mail to SI because Sheenan has the audacity to suggest Seattle trade its heart and soul (undisputed heart and soul after the Ichiro trade)? I'm I being a "homer?" I can see the point that Sheenan makes. Hernandez would fetch quite a prize right now given that yesterday was his first loss since JUNE. The Yankees would probably trade handsomely for Hernandez just so they wouldn't have to face him (Felix is 2-1 with an ERA of 2.35 against the Yankees this season and is holding the vaunted Yankee lineup to a piddling .213 average with 17 strikeouts). What's more, he has ERA's of 0.00 and 0.53 against the hated Red Sox and Rays, respectively. The problem is with the Yankees riddled with injuries and still trying to make a post-season run, they don't have any established players to trade. The Mariners could probably get their entire farm system, though.
Of course, there are other teams to trade with. Boston just jettisoned stars with more money tied up in contracts than the GDP of some nations. But should they trade King Felix at all?
Seattle does have a desperate need of offense. They haven't had a feared offense since the 116-game winning season (which, by the way, was a team that didn't have certain players named Griffey, Rodriguez, or Johnson). It is true that last season, the Mariners had a horrendous streak of offensive ineptitude when they lost 14 games in a row. Many of those games were great pitching battles with scores like 1-0 or 2-0. Seattle couldn't get any runs. They couldn't string together hits.
But last season is not this season. The Mariners may still be heading toward another sub-.500 finish (or maybe they aren't--this late in the season, they're only 5 games under .500 and, technically, have a chance to make the playoffs, it's one-tenth of one percent). But this season, they aren't stringing together double-digit losing streaks. This season, they are winning games 1-0 and 2-1 (today's score against the Angels? 2-1 Mariners). They're starting to get more hitters. While this year's team doesn't have the batting averages found with the 2001 116-wins team, they are showing improvement. And they're young. That is the kicker. Jesus Montero is in his first full season. John Jaso is in his third full season and is has a higher batting average than he's had before. There are four regular position players over 30 on the team. The oldest of the position players is 34 (a tie between sometimes-starters Chone Figgins and Miguel Olivo). At 26, Felix is older than every one of the regular outfielders. This isn't a bad team, it is an inexperienced team. With experience comes higher batting averages. With experience comes offense.
The Mariners have a front end pitching staff that has been fearsome this season. Felix is at 13 wins and is carrying an ERA 60 points lower than his career 2.51 vs 3.15. Their #2 starter, Jason Vargas also has 13 wins and 116 strikeouts. Felix Hernandez and Jason Vargas give the Mariners a core to start building around, a task already underway. The team is improving. Their division got a lot harder this season with Los Angeles re-tooling to take a shot at powerhouse Texas (which also added new talent). Add them to a surging Oakland team and the AL West no longer looks like the league's forgotten division. And Seattle is starting to compete. Seattle is already within two wins of last season's total with a month yet to go. Seattle has used this season to add new talent as well. It is another season of rebuilding, but with the pitching and the flashes of potential, the Mariners show signs of life.
Sheenan points to offense being the key to filling seats. And the fact that the Mariners are 26th in attendance seems to support that. But trading Felix isn't going to help that statistic, but make it worse. Seattle has a good farm system and is growing some great up and coming pitchers. Felix is still signed for two more years, giving them time to bring the new pitchers up to shore up the later rotations. With Trayvon Robinson and Eric Thames adding life, speed, and hitting to the outfield (and both in their first two seasons), the Mariners are working on that weak offense. With the additions of Montero from the Yankees, Jaso from the Rays adding to their DH and catching corps, the team is coming along.
Trading Hernandez wouldn't just alienate the Seattle faithful, it would be restarting the progress they've already made. Seattle is one of the best defensive teams in the majors. With a young team, the expectation would be to have more errors in the field. Seattle has the fewest, 8 fewer than the next team, the White Sox. The Mariners also lead the league in fielding percentage. They are tied with Baltimore for second in putouts. With the offense improving, it is the last piece a puzzle that will take the AL by surprise next season, much the same way Baltimore has this year.
And it will all revolve around keeping the Ace. Seattle needs Felix.
The difficulty in responding to this is to try to separate the fan part of my mind from the analytic part. I am tempted to rattle off an angry e-mail to SI because Sheenan has the audacity to suggest Seattle trade its heart and soul (undisputed heart and soul after the Ichiro trade)? I'm I being a "homer?" I can see the point that Sheenan makes. Hernandez would fetch quite a prize right now given that yesterday was his first loss since JUNE. The Yankees would probably trade handsomely for Hernandez just so they wouldn't have to face him (Felix is 2-1 with an ERA of 2.35 against the Yankees this season and is holding the vaunted Yankee lineup to a piddling .213 average with 17 strikeouts). What's more, he has ERA's of 0.00 and 0.53 against the hated Red Sox and Rays, respectively. The problem is with the Yankees riddled with injuries and still trying to make a post-season run, they don't have any established players to trade. The Mariners could probably get their entire farm system, though.
Of course, there are other teams to trade with. Boston just jettisoned stars with more money tied up in contracts than the GDP of some nations. But should they trade King Felix at all?
Seattle does have a desperate need of offense. They haven't had a feared offense since the 116-game winning season (which, by the way, was a team that didn't have certain players named Griffey, Rodriguez, or Johnson). It is true that last season, the Mariners had a horrendous streak of offensive ineptitude when they lost 14 games in a row. Many of those games were great pitching battles with scores like 1-0 or 2-0. Seattle couldn't get any runs. They couldn't string together hits.
But last season is not this season. The Mariners may still be heading toward another sub-.500 finish (or maybe they aren't--this late in the season, they're only 5 games under .500 and, technically, have a chance to make the playoffs, it's one-tenth of one percent). But this season, they aren't stringing together double-digit losing streaks. This season, they are winning games 1-0 and 2-1 (today's score against the Angels? 2-1 Mariners). They're starting to get more hitters. While this year's team doesn't have the batting averages found with the 2001 116-wins team, they are showing improvement. And they're young. That is the kicker. Jesus Montero is in his first full season. John Jaso is in his third full season and is has a higher batting average than he's had before. There are four regular position players over 30 on the team. The oldest of the position players is 34 (a tie between sometimes-starters Chone Figgins and Miguel Olivo). At 26, Felix is older than every one of the regular outfielders. This isn't a bad team, it is an inexperienced team. With experience comes higher batting averages. With experience comes offense.
The Mariners have a front end pitching staff that has been fearsome this season. Felix is at 13 wins and is carrying an ERA 60 points lower than his career 2.51 vs 3.15. Their #2 starter, Jason Vargas also has 13 wins and 116 strikeouts. Felix Hernandez and Jason Vargas give the Mariners a core to start building around, a task already underway. The team is improving. Their division got a lot harder this season with Los Angeles re-tooling to take a shot at powerhouse Texas (which also added new talent). Add them to a surging Oakland team and the AL West no longer looks like the league's forgotten division. And Seattle is starting to compete. Seattle is already within two wins of last season's total with a month yet to go. Seattle has used this season to add new talent as well. It is another season of rebuilding, but with the pitching and the flashes of potential, the Mariners show signs of life.
Sheenan points to offense being the key to filling seats. And the fact that the Mariners are 26th in attendance seems to support that. But trading Felix isn't going to help that statistic, but make it worse. Seattle has a good farm system and is growing some great up and coming pitchers. Felix is still signed for two more years, giving them time to bring the new pitchers up to shore up the later rotations. With Trayvon Robinson and Eric Thames adding life, speed, and hitting to the outfield (and both in their first two seasons), the Mariners are working on that weak offense. With the additions of Montero from the Yankees, Jaso from the Rays adding to their DH and catching corps, the team is coming along.
Trading Hernandez wouldn't just alienate the Seattle faithful, it would be restarting the progress they've already made. Seattle is one of the best defensive teams in the majors. With a young team, the expectation would be to have more errors in the field. Seattle has the fewest, 8 fewer than the next team, the White Sox. The Mariners also lead the league in fielding percentage. They are tied with Baltimore for second in putouts. With the offense improving, it is the last piece a puzzle that will take the AL by surprise next season, much the same way Baltimore has this year.
And it will all revolve around keeping the Ace. Seattle needs Felix.
Friday, July 27, 2012
Yankees Mariners Trade
On July 23rd an interesting series of events occurred.
First, I got married to my best friend, the former Sports Fiancee. She is now The Sports Wife. We had an awesome ceremony and wedding day that revolved around two of our favorite things--baseball and food. We got married at Pike Place Market in Seattle, in front of the fish throwers (who photobombed the wedding pictures). Then, we were off in pedal cabs (Greener Cab Company in Seattle is a great way to get around the downtown area, I recommend it for anyone heading to the Emerald City). We headed to Safeco Field, bride and bridesmaids with baseball bats, groom and groomsmen with gloves. We took pictures outside the field. We faked a game of baseball for the camera, we posed with our accouterments, we hammed it up. The New Sports Wife threw her bat instead of a bouquet. We had a drink at Pyramid microbrewery across the street. I went to get our tickets. We headed to Crab Pot to bash things with mallets and eat them (the Sports Wife started things off with her bat, of course).
After a brief nap, we all headed back to Safeco for the game. We heard on our way to the gate that Ichiro was traded to the Yankees. I brushed it off. I heard this rumor or something similar every time I approached a baseball field. The Yankees have a flotilla of outfielders, why would they take Ichiro? My groomsman, Bob the Pennsylvania-to-Denver Transplant, and I ran to get another ticket for a friend joining us. We ran back around the building to the rest of the wedding party (we got there early enough that only the main ticket office was open and we were going to get in at the Center Field Gate, which is the first one Safeco opens).
When we got back to our group, The Sports Wife looked at me, nearly with tears in her eyes. It wasn't a rumor. Ichiro was traded. I whipped out my phone to check the trade myself. Why would the Yankees take Ichiro? Why would the Mariners trade Ichiro? What could the Yankees have offered in exchange? Jeter?!? No. The Yankees sent the Mariners two pitching prospects, who would report to AAA Tacoma, and cash. I've written blogs defending the Yankees. I've looked at baseball as a business and a game where trades happen all the time, players move and re-move. But this time, they took my new wife's favorite. They took one of MY favorites.
Since deciding to visit Seattle as often as we can and go to a Mariners game equally often (with the exception of our February trips), I've grown familiar with the Mariner line-up. I can rattle off almost as many Mariners as Yankees these days. I can tell you who plays where and can usually get the starting pitcher (I may need to look at the previous night's/game's pitcher to see where we are in the rotation, but I have to do that with the Yankees, too). I can watch the Mariners every game on Root Sports. I have to wait until some channel (usually ESPN) airs the Yankees in my area.
Ichiro has been there the longest.
I cheer for the Mariners. Every game I've gone to, with the exception of three, I've cheered for the Mariners. Those three were last year when the Yankees were in town and Mariano was approaching the saves record. I've rocked out when they sent in League (last year's closer). I've screamed "BARTENDER, CLOSE MY TAB!" when they've sent in Wilhelmsen (this year's closer). I've headbanged to "Smells like Teen Spirit" as they introduced the starting lineup for the Mariners and to "We're not Gonna Take It" when they need a 9th inning rally. Holy Crap, I've rooted for the Mariners more times this year than I have for the Yankees!
I felt like the Yankees ruined our wedding day.
It had to be July 23rd. Why? Because the Yankees were coming to town and it would be the ideal time to make the switch? Because it would give Seattle a rip-the-BandAid-so-it-will-feel-better-sooner moment to say goodbye? Because the trade deadline was a week away? Why did it have to be our wedding day? We were still in our wedding clothes. We still had our bats and gloves.
The Mariners traded Ichiro to the Yankees for cash, Mitchell, Farquhar...and me.
Monday, I did a lot of things for the first time. I said "I do" in front of four friends, a photographer, an officiant, and total strangers. I got goosed by my best man as I peered through the hole in the glove sculpture in front of Safeco. I went to bed a married man. I rooted against the Yankees. The Sports Wife had a sign that said she married a Yankees fan, so it MUST be true love. But I wasn't a Yankees fan that night. Or the next. Or the next day. I rooted for the Mariners as Millwood lost, Hernandez won (and beaned three), and Luetge let a one-run lead slip away in the eighth. I bought a Felix Hernandez rookie card instead of a Jeter.
I put away my beloved Joe DiMaggio jersey and didn't wear it this trip. It didn't feel right. I couldn't support the Yankees as they took away Seattle's most beloved player. I did the research. The trade made sense. One of the Yankees speedy outfielders in that flotilla went on the DL for the rest of the season shortly before the trade. A handful of the other outfield flotilla members are approaching, or already are, 40. Ichiro is in the last year of his contract, so the Mariners could trade him and actually get something in return instead of losing him to free agency. The Mariners also get two young players for an old one (Ichiro is 38, but is still fast, stealing a base against his former team as soon as he got on base). Ichiro benefited in going from a last place team to a first place one. The Yankees shored up a sudden weak point with a strong veteran. Having Ichiro's speed when he's on base leads to more fastballs (which are easier to hit further if you know they're coming) for other Yankees because a fastball is the best way to throw a runner out when attempting a steal. Everyone benefits...except the fans. Except The Sports Wife who cried during the Wednesday afternoon game when Ichiro batted lead-off for the Yankees and got a standing ovation, to which he tipped his cap and bowed. And what about the lady in the front row of right field who brings the Ichi-meter to every game? It had a heart on it Wednesday. It still tracked his hits through the games. What did she do tonight? The Mariners played the Royals--without Ichiro on either team.
So this is how it feels when a team trades away the most beloved player. Not a player who finished his contract and moved on (like another player who wore 51, Bernie Williams), but a beloved player traded...gone...to the team that they were playing that night. So this is how it feels to watch a sports legend in a city go. This sucks. I wouldn't have to feel this if I keep rooting for the Yankees. We can usually tell who's going to stay and who's going to go. We don't get attached to them (although I did like Bernie and I'm not anxious to see Mariano or Derek retire). The Yankees always trade up. They don't rebuild.
This is how it feels for a team to make the move to rebuild and look to the future. The Sports Wife is extra critical of Carlos Peguero, who had to step into Ichiro's shoes. "He's not as fast." "What's with the batting average? I thought he was supposed to bring some offense." "Ichiro would have had that one, this guy doesn't need to be here." I have to wonder how many other Seattle fans are taking their frustrations out on the new guy. Heaven help Mitchell and/or Farquhar if they don't produce.
It feels different rooting for a team that doesn't just win. It is more exciting. When the Yankees would lose, I'd be frustrated and check what it meant in the standings. When the Mariners win it is sad, half expected, and dims the lights on the hope of a comeback from 16.5 games back. But we root for the team all the same. They are the underdogs. We know their faces. We give them nicknames (The Sports Wife and her bridesmaids think Ackley is "one sexy slice of man-pie."... I'm not even sure what that really means. They all yell Jesuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuus when Jesus Montero comes up to bat (something I started when we went to the Giants-Mariners games in June). We know that Wilhelmsen is "Bartender" because he comes in for closing time.
I feel connected to these players. The Yankees are in the far away land of New York. They are celebrities and the talk of the town. Their fans are rabid and, at times, stuck-up and rude. I see and listen to them sometimes and wonder if that is what I sounded like when I defended them. No one is going to fault me for being a Mariners fan. The Mariners don't win enough or have a deep rivalry or deeper pocketbook.
Root for one team that always wins, but everyone hates. Root for another team that no one hates, but often loses. Ichiro requested a trade that worked out for almost everyone. For the fans, that remains to be seen.
First, I got married to my best friend, the former Sports Fiancee. She is now The Sports Wife. We had an awesome ceremony and wedding day that revolved around two of our favorite things--baseball and food. We got married at Pike Place Market in Seattle, in front of the fish throwers (who photobombed the wedding pictures). Then, we were off in pedal cabs (Greener Cab Company in Seattle is a great way to get around the downtown area, I recommend it for anyone heading to the Emerald City). We headed to Safeco Field, bride and bridesmaids with baseball bats, groom and groomsmen with gloves. We took pictures outside the field. We faked a game of baseball for the camera, we posed with our accouterments, we hammed it up. The New Sports Wife threw her bat instead of a bouquet. We had a drink at Pyramid microbrewery across the street. I went to get our tickets. We headed to Crab Pot to bash things with mallets and eat them (the Sports Wife started things off with her bat, of course).
After a brief nap, we all headed back to Safeco for the game. We heard on our way to the gate that Ichiro was traded to the Yankees. I brushed it off. I heard this rumor or something similar every time I approached a baseball field. The Yankees have a flotilla of outfielders, why would they take Ichiro? My groomsman, Bob the Pennsylvania-to-Denver Transplant, and I ran to get another ticket for a friend joining us. We ran back around the building to the rest of the wedding party (we got there early enough that only the main ticket office was open and we were going to get in at the Center Field Gate, which is the first one Safeco opens).
When we got back to our group, The Sports Wife looked at me, nearly with tears in her eyes. It wasn't a rumor. Ichiro was traded. I whipped out my phone to check the trade myself. Why would the Yankees take Ichiro? Why would the Mariners trade Ichiro? What could the Yankees have offered in exchange? Jeter?!? No. The Yankees sent the Mariners two pitching prospects, who would report to AAA Tacoma, and cash. I've written blogs defending the Yankees. I've looked at baseball as a business and a game where trades happen all the time, players move and re-move. But this time, they took my new wife's favorite. They took one of MY favorites.
Since deciding to visit Seattle as often as we can and go to a Mariners game equally often (with the exception of our February trips), I've grown familiar with the Mariner line-up. I can rattle off almost as many Mariners as Yankees these days. I can tell you who plays where and can usually get the starting pitcher (I may need to look at the previous night's/game's pitcher to see where we are in the rotation, but I have to do that with the Yankees, too). I can watch the Mariners every game on Root Sports. I have to wait until some channel (usually ESPN) airs the Yankees in my area.
Ichiro has been there the longest.
I cheer for the Mariners. Every game I've gone to, with the exception of three, I've cheered for the Mariners. Those three were last year when the Yankees were in town and Mariano was approaching the saves record. I've rocked out when they sent in League (last year's closer). I've screamed "BARTENDER, CLOSE MY TAB!" when they've sent in Wilhelmsen (this year's closer). I've headbanged to "Smells like Teen Spirit" as they introduced the starting lineup for the Mariners and to "We're not Gonna Take It" when they need a 9th inning rally. Holy Crap, I've rooted for the Mariners more times this year than I have for the Yankees!
I felt like the Yankees ruined our wedding day.
It had to be July 23rd. Why? Because the Yankees were coming to town and it would be the ideal time to make the switch? Because it would give Seattle a rip-the-BandAid-so-it-will-feel-better-sooner moment to say goodbye? Because the trade deadline was a week away? Why did it have to be our wedding day? We were still in our wedding clothes. We still had our bats and gloves.
The Mariners traded Ichiro to the Yankees for cash, Mitchell, Farquhar...and me.
Monday, I did a lot of things for the first time. I said "I do" in front of four friends, a photographer, an officiant, and total strangers. I got goosed by my best man as I peered through the hole in the glove sculpture in front of Safeco. I went to bed a married man. I rooted against the Yankees. The Sports Wife had a sign that said she married a Yankees fan, so it MUST be true love. But I wasn't a Yankees fan that night. Or the next. Or the next day. I rooted for the Mariners as Millwood lost, Hernandez won (and beaned three), and Luetge let a one-run lead slip away in the eighth. I bought a Felix Hernandez rookie card instead of a Jeter.
I put away my beloved Joe DiMaggio jersey and didn't wear it this trip. It didn't feel right. I couldn't support the Yankees as they took away Seattle's most beloved player. I did the research. The trade made sense. One of the Yankees speedy outfielders in that flotilla went on the DL for the rest of the season shortly before the trade. A handful of the other outfield flotilla members are approaching, or already are, 40. Ichiro is in the last year of his contract, so the Mariners could trade him and actually get something in return instead of losing him to free agency. The Mariners also get two young players for an old one (Ichiro is 38, but is still fast, stealing a base against his former team as soon as he got on base). Ichiro benefited in going from a last place team to a first place one. The Yankees shored up a sudden weak point with a strong veteran. Having Ichiro's speed when he's on base leads to more fastballs (which are easier to hit further if you know they're coming) for other Yankees because a fastball is the best way to throw a runner out when attempting a steal. Everyone benefits...except the fans. Except The Sports Wife who cried during the Wednesday afternoon game when Ichiro batted lead-off for the Yankees and got a standing ovation, to which he tipped his cap and bowed. And what about the lady in the front row of right field who brings the Ichi-meter to every game? It had a heart on it Wednesday. It still tracked his hits through the games. What did she do tonight? The Mariners played the Royals--without Ichiro on either team.
So this is how it feels when a team trades away the most beloved player. Not a player who finished his contract and moved on (like another player who wore 51, Bernie Williams), but a beloved player traded...gone...to the team that they were playing that night. So this is how it feels to watch a sports legend in a city go. This sucks. I wouldn't have to feel this if I keep rooting for the Yankees. We can usually tell who's going to stay and who's going to go. We don't get attached to them (although I did like Bernie and I'm not anxious to see Mariano or Derek retire). The Yankees always trade up. They don't rebuild.
This is how it feels for a team to make the move to rebuild and look to the future. The Sports Wife is extra critical of Carlos Peguero, who had to step into Ichiro's shoes. "He's not as fast." "What's with the batting average? I thought he was supposed to bring some offense." "Ichiro would have had that one, this guy doesn't need to be here." I have to wonder how many other Seattle fans are taking their frustrations out on the new guy. Heaven help Mitchell and/or Farquhar if they don't produce.
It feels different rooting for a team that doesn't just win. It is more exciting. When the Yankees would lose, I'd be frustrated and check what it meant in the standings. When the Mariners win it is sad, half expected, and dims the lights on the hope of a comeback from 16.5 games back. But we root for the team all the same. They are the underdogs. We know their faces. We give them nicknames (The Sports Wife and her bridesmaids think Ackley is "one sexy slice of man-pie."... I'm not even sure what that really means. They all yell Jesuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuus when Jesus Montero comes up to bat (something I started when we went to the Giants-Mariners games in June). We know that Wilhelmsen is "Bartender" because he comes in for closing time.
I feel connected to these players. The Yankees are in the far away land of New York. They are celebrities and the talk of the town. Their fans are rabid and, at times, stuck-up and rude. I see and listen to them sometimes and wonder if that is what I sounded like when I defended them. No one is going to fault me for being a Mariners fan. The Mariners don't win enough or have a deep rivalry or deeper pocketbook.
Root for one team that always wins, but everyone hates. Root for another team that no one hates, but often loses. Ichiro requested a trade that worked out for almost everyone. For the fans, that remains to be seen.
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