12.17.2020 – is it time for me?

is it time for me?
baseball updates their records
you can look it up

I have long held that the secret to understanding Ernest Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea is baseball.

The Old Man has a special regard for Joe DiMaggio because Joe’s father was also a fisherman.

As a side note, Joe’s dad, Giuseppe DiMaggio was classified as a enemy alien during World War 2 and his fishing boat was seized and he was banned from the San Francisco harbor.

Joe DiMaggio’s Dad?

Marilyn Monroe’s Father-in-law?

Oh geeee whiz.

I also like how the Old Man talks about other teams in the American big leagues.

The Old Man says, “I fear both the Tigers of Detroit and the Indians of Cleveland.”

Somehow in the way Mr. Hemingway gets the conversation down on paper, I get the feeling that the Old Man pictured the Indians of Cleveland as Indians from-the-wild-west Indians.

Maybe that is just me.

Winston Churchill tells the story that while in Chicago on a lecture tour of the United States, one his meetings was broken up when an Indian in full dress stood up to yell at Churchill.

Mr. Churchill related how security went after the Indian who got away by diving through a plate glass window and running off down the streets of Chicago.

I had hard time understanding why an Indian in full dress, which to me meant an outfit out of a John Ford movie, would be in Chicago, heckling Winston Churchill.

It sure was a vivid word picture for me though.

An Indian in Indian Dress yelling at Winston Churchill, diving through a plate glass window like the cowardly lion, and running down the streets of Chicago with Chicago PD, guns blazing, in pursuit.

It was a long time before I figured out that Mr. Churchill was on a lecture tour, which included Grand Rapids, Michigan and an overnight stay at the Pantlind Hotel, and speaking on the topic of keeping India in the British Empire.

The Indian in full dress was a man from India in black tie.

The word picture is still pretty good at that.

So baseball is a theme that runs through The Old Man and the Sea.

At the end of the story, the Old Man ends up with nothing but bones.

Bones of the fish.

Imagine if you will the outlines of the bones of the fish.

The bold spine.

The thin faint ribs.

In my odd way, I can make the jump from a bony skeleton of a fish to the way the tiny print looks in the Official Baseball Encyclopedia.

When all is said in done all that remains of baseball are the faint outlines, the bones of a career, in the records.

I used to love baseball.

I came THIS CLOSE to taking a job with the National Baseball Hall of Fame,

The only thing that kept me from moving to Cooperstown was that another guy was offered the job.

At the end of my interview, the guy who interviewed me said he couldn’t offer me the job but he was penciling me into the lineup.

So I have that.

It was the strike of 1994-1995 that ended my love for the game.

I was shocked at the greed of players and owners.

I was disappointed mostly that when the 1994 season did not finish due to the strike, they still gave out awards for MVP, Cy Young and all the golden gloves based on the games played.

There had been no season, how could their be an MVP?

I don’t know why but that really bothered me.

Then the next season started late.

As Wikipedia says, “During the first days of the 1995 season, some fans remained irate at both players and owners.”

That was me.

Irate.

Still am I guess.

I have a fascination for the old game, the game before the strike but nothing like it was.

I think it was Mitch Albom who suggested that what could have been done was make the 1994 and 1995 seasons, one long season.

I think I could have handled that.

As it was, seeing 94 and 95 as separate seasons broke the string of records.

And it was the records to me that mattered.

They were the spine and bones of the game.

And this was messing with the backbone.

The records meant something.

To an extent they still do or at least they did.

At least through to the steroids era.

I have a hard time relating to the home run records of Bobby Bonds and Mark McGwire.

I hate to say it but I am clueless to about half the abbreviations now prevalent in baseball writing.

WAR?

And something called Walk UP Music?

Oh brother.

But the old records and the old names and the old games?

I still find fascinating!

The announcement by Major League Baseball yesterday stirred up a lot of feelings for me.

MLB stated that they were going to recognize the Negro Leagues as an official major baseball league.

The Negro League records will be made part of the official MLB Records.

Not sure why but I also thought they were but I guess I was wrong.

Sometimes I cannot figure MLB out.

I certainly understand and appreciate their Jackie Robinson campaign.

I have a son named Jackie Robinson Hoffman.

I pushed for another son to be named Moses Fleetwood Walker Hoffman.

Moses Fleetwood Walker played baseball at the University of Michigan.

But when Mr. Walker walked out on the field as a player for the Toledo Blue Stockings in a game against the Chicago Cubs, Cap Anson, the Cubs Manager yelled, “GET THE N***** OFF THE FIELD.”

This was in 1884.

It wasn’t until 1947 that another black player got on the field.

My kids voted for the name Ellington over Moses.

Jackie Robinson should be celebrated and remembered.

Maybe more than a lot of players.

But for me, its for a reason that never should have happened.

When Robin Yount reached the same age Jackie Robinson was when Mr. Robinson was rookie of the year, Mr. Yount had been playing for 14 years.

I have a hard time getting my arms around MLB celebrating that it took them 63 years to figure out they had it wrong.

The decision for the color line was a decision made by MLB.

No one forced them to do it.

ANYWAY ….

In spite of all considerations, I cannot think of anything on a sports level that had brought me such internal satisfaction.

Someone somewhere for some reason after way too long time made the right decision.

What does this mean?

There were seven accepted major leagues.

National League
American League
Federal League
American Association
Players League
Union Association
National Association

The record books also included under other headings or tab, Minor Leagues, Negro Leagues, KBO, Japan, Cuban, & Winter Baseball.

As off yesterday, the Negro Leagues considered a major league.

The tab between leagues has been removed.

If you look at the records for a player with time in the Federal League, you will see games played in the league along with that players other major league games:

Here is the record of Joe Tinker of Tinkers to Evers to Chance fame.

Notice the two years he played in the Federal League appear along with his other MLB appearances.

Here is the OLD Major League, as of yesterday, record of Satchel Paige.

NOW here is Mr. Paige’s records from Negro League appearances.

I am thinking that going forward, this record and the first record will now make up the official records.

The records in the books.

Who knows what may change.

I understand as Wikipedia puts it, “The true statistical achievements of Negro league players may be impossible to know as the Negro leagues did not compile complete statistics or game summaries.”

But I still look forward to looking up Josh Gibson when the next Baseball Encyclopedia is released.

However long this took to happen, it took too long.

But it is here now and it makes me happy.

I think of something Bill Veeck wrote about Satchel Paige.

In 1947, Jackie Robinson broke the color line in the National Leage.

In 1948, Larry Doby became the first black player in the American League when Veeck signed him to play for the Cleveland Indians.

Veeck writes in his book, Veeck as in Wreck, “The day after I signed Doby I got a wire from him [Satchel Paige] saying, “IS IT TIME FOR ME TO COME?”

Paige was around 42 years old.

Paige had been playing since 1927.

Playing and waiting for 21 years.

Now it is time.

Time for Mr. Paige to come into the record books.

9.12.2020 – most reckless action

most reckless action
perpetuated in the name
of college football

Christine Brennan of USA TODAY, a writer I like and not just because she is a Michigan Fan, wrote today in her article, I love college football but just can’t watch amid COVID-19 concerns, In what has to be the riskiest roll of the dice in the history of college sports, 76 universities, many of them in the South and Southwest, are embarking on the most reckless action ever perpetuated on college campuses in the name of athletics, pressing on with their quest to play football in the middle of a pandemic.

Ms. Brennan states, “The worst thing you’ll be able to say about those schools is that they were too cautious about the health of their student-athletes.

What’s the worst thing you’ll be able to say about the schools that allowed football and other sports to continue? That answer will come in a few months.

But at the moment, what we do know is that the dozens of schools playing football have no idea if by allowing fall sports to be played, they will bring illness, hospitalization and even death to their campuses and communities. They can’t know what they will unleash. They’re just guessing and hoping.”

For longer than there has been a pandemic I have been suffering from a near-terminal case of Harbaugh.

I even talked my Doctor (a Notre Dame Grad but here in the south, what you going to do) to put ‘Suffers from Harbaugh’ on my official Medical Record.

That being said, I like Jimmy “I lost the Brown Jug” (in case he thinks I forgot about Rickey Foggie and Lou Hotlz’s one year with the Golden Gophers) Harbaugh.

And I understand, if not Jimmy then … who?

I don’t think His Evilness Urban Myer will come out of retirement but I would … well …

So I resigned to being good but not great.

And the only real goals left for me as a Michigan fan is to be 1) The first team to 1,000 wins (sometime now in 2024) and 2) not let Ohio State pass us in all time wins in the Michigan – Ohio State series … in my lifetime (58-51-6) so they got to grind out a few wins in the next 8 years.

So what do I have to say?

I agree with Ms. Brennan.

Michigan Football was here before I was born and will be here after I die someday.

I feel the pandemic is real.

I feel we can take time to pause and be safe.

I can wait.

And, as Coach Schembechlor said, “Those who remain will be Champions.”

7.8.2020 – positivity?

positivity?
that train has run out of gas
stark reality now

Last Friday, ESPN sportscaster Paul Finebaum spoke bluntly about college football’s chances to be played this fall.

Finebaum’s comments appeared in an article written by Scott Fowler of Charlotte Observer

I think the likelihood of college football is slipping away by the day. … It’s remarkable to think from holiday to holiday — Memorial Day to the Fourth of July — what has happened.

I would say on Memorial Day it was a slam dunk. It was going to happen. There could be some complications. As we hit the next big holiday of the year, which is the last holiday before Labor Day, it seems like everything has gone the wrong way.

And when I say that, it’s not even the complications within the sport, which are massive … It’s just the (COVID-19) spikes around the country are happening at probably the worst possible time to safely execute college football.

Almost all of the confidence has gone out the window. …

It could get better, but I don’t see how it can get better before the decisions have to be made.

So that’s why I think the positivity train — it has run out of gas.

You’re going to start hearing some stark reality now.

The article and comments were about College football.

I think you can apply those comments to everything everywhere at this time.

Almost all of the confidence has gone out the window.

So that’s why I think the positivity train — it has run out of gas.

You’re going to start hearing some stark reality now.

5.3.2020 – be joyful in hope

be joyful in hope
and patient in affliction
faithful in prayer

Joyful?

Trying.

Patient?

Trying.

Faithful?

Trying.

Affliction?

More than I can count.

More than I want to think about.

Prayer?

Sometimes I feel like I am praying every minute.

Prayers of petition.

Our Daily Bread.

Prayers of Praise.

Thinking of Christopher Wren’s carving in St. Paul’s Church in London that reads, LECTOR SI MONUMENTUM REQUIRIS CIRCUMSPICE or Reader, if you seek his monument – look around you.

Look around and can I not praise God.

Prayers of Blessing and Adoration?

How can I not?

Prayers of Thanksgiving?

Don’t have to be a rocket scientist to understand I got it pretty good in this world and I am thankful.

Prayers of Intercession?

Intercession?

Constantly.

For others and for myself.

Hope?

Lots of hope.

Lots of hopes.

As Red says in Shawshank Redemption, Hope? Let me tell you something, my friend. Hope is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane. It’s got no use on the inside. You’d better get used to that idea.

But what do I hope for?

If I rub the lamp and a Genie pops out and I get one wish and it has to be something just for me.

No world peace or end of hunger or end of green house gases.

Something just for me.

Gosh.

Could I sleep through the night again?

I can hope.

Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.
Romans 12:12 NIV

4.7.2020 – no baseball today

no baseball today
missing player in right field
he played the game

According to Major League Baseball guidelines for field dimensions for professional baseball, “The rulebook states that parks constructed by professional teams after June 1, 1958, must have a minimum distance of 325 feet between home plate and the nearest fence, stand or other obstruction on the right- and left-field foul lines, and 400 feet between home plate and the nearest fence, stand or other obstruction in center field.”

Notice that these guidelines only list a ‘minimum distance’ between home plate and the nearest fence.

The University of Florida, Institute of Food and Agricultural Sciences released in 2001, a guide baseball field layouts including field dimensions, construction tips, and materials necessary for building a baseball field.

This guide lists ‘recommended placement of outfield fences’ by level of play.

Again, these are just ‘recommendations’.

No where, in any rule book, is the maximum distance or depth of an outfield listed, defined or manadated.

For me, I accept that an outfield wall or fence is just an arbitrary barrier that limits but not defines the field of play.

If a batter playing in Detroit’s Comerica Park, hits a ball into the first row of the bleachers, it is a home run.

If the same batter hit a ball 2 miles away and it landed in the Detroit River, it would be a home run.

The ball would not be declared ‘out of bounds.’

The lines of a baseball field extend to infinity.

Defined only right and left foul lines extending out from homeplate.

These means, to me anyway, that anywhere you stand, anywhere in the world, you are standing in someones outfield.

(I admit this not an original thought for me but one I stole from WP Kinsella. What bugs me is that I can’t find the quote. I am pretty sure it is in Iowa Baseball Confederacy but I can’t find it)

If I am standing in someone’s outfield, there is a good chance I am in someone’s rightfield.

If I am rightfield, there is a good chance I standing near the man who played right field for the Detroit Tigers for 24 years.

If I was, I would be happy just to be there.

That would be enough.

To share right field for a play or two with Al Kaline.

I wouldn’t mind if he said hello.

I wouldn’t expect it though.

Not that Al wouldn’t say hello.

But if there was a game on, that is where his focus would be.

Man meets myth.

This time Man wins.

Al Kaline.

If you know what I mean, you know what I mean.

If you don’t know, that’s okay.

Suffice it to say, there is no joy in Mudville.