Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Chicken Little, Part One: You Better, You Better, You Best
Well, dearest readers, it really has been too long. But blimey--a fellow gets a little busy for a week and the whole world collapses! In any case, a thousand apologies for my prolonged disappearance.
After giving up on my desire to recap Giants Idol (by the way, does anyone know who won?) and Barry Bonds' recent star-making turn as Paula Abdul, I began today determined to write a salty salute to Kirk Rueter. Alas, fate has intervened, and Woody's eulogy--deserved though it may be--will have to wait for another day..
No, today's topic is out of my hands. Like a genetic disorder, like a guilty verdict, it's been handed down, and I have little choice but to accept it. All I can do, as a lover of baseball and as a supporter of my dear San Francisco Giants, is try to cope with it and understand it for what it is.
I'm referring, of course, to today's Barry Bonds and Steroids maelstrom, touched off by the appearance of an excerpt from the forthcoming Bonds doping tell-all, Game of Shadows. What follows is Part One of a multi-part discussion of Bonds' legacy and the issue of steroids in baseball.
A brief aside before I plunge into this: someone ought to point out that there are at least a couple of reasons not to take all of the evidence discussed today at face-value, and since no one else is interrogating, I guess it falls to me. Please take heed that these questions are rhetorical, and that I pose them merely out of curiosity. The rest of this posting is written under the assumption that the evidence presented today is real--so feel free to skip ahead to the next paragraph. But for you Smoking Gun enthusiasts: 1) Are we really dealing with credible sources here? Is there any reason to believe convicted criminals like Victor Conte and Greg Anderson, or shady biochemists who are basically the sports world equivalent of psychologists to the stars (you know, the ones that prescribe morphine for overtiredness)? 2) Isn't there something a little odd about sealed grand jury testimonies getting leaked to the press here? And about mysterious wiretaps suddenly becoming public knowledge? Is J. Edgar Hoover strutting around in pumps and a corset, pulling the strings here? Did Deep Throat want one more chance to shun the limelight?
OK, enough. Let's get serious. For argument's sake, let's assume that at least most of the evidence linking Bonds to steroid usage is true. What does this mean for Bonds' legacy? What are the implications for baseball in general?
Contrary to what self-aggrandizing talking asses like Skip Bayless (who, I might note, falls just short of being the Anti-Christ thanks to a big goose-egg in the "brains" column) might have you think, not much. Not if you are objective enough to consider all the facts, and self-reliant enough not to have the media make your arguments for you.
How can I say such a thing, you ask?
Let me begin by recounting a treasured quote. I was in high school--probably a sophomore, maybe a junior--and Poet Laureate Derek Walcott was a guest speaker. After reading several poems and discussing his craft, Mr. Walcott opened the floor for questions. A brash and often argumentative student (though not an unlikable one--hope you're well, KC) raised his hand and asked what made the poems of Derek Walcott, Poet Laureate, better than his. And Walcott's immortal response? "Poetry is not a democracy: it's a hierarchy. Dante is better than me; and I am better than you."
I'm sure you appreciate the parallel. Though he doubtless meant for it to be applied to things far loftier and more significant than professional sports, Thomas Jefferson did supply a pretty good description of baseball when he coined the phrase "an aristocracy of talent." Just look at the salaries players make (but throw out young stars pre-arbitration, faded former stars, and Eric Milton). Baseball--and indeed all professional sports--has always been predicated on the existence of a meritocracy. The best young players make it through all sorts of elimination rounds (high school and collegiate basebal, minor leagues, etc.), find their way to the majors, and then separate themselves into any number of talent-based strata. Duh, right?
Here's the point: Every so often, a player comes along and dominates a sport to such a degree that his (or her--Annika, take a bow) performance lands completely off the charts of the usual meritocracy matrix. Over the swingset. When Babe Ruth hit more homers than any other team in the American League back in his historic 1927 season, there was simply no way to place his accomplishments in context. Ruth was in a class by himself--hell, he went to school alone.
We'll never see another Babe Ruth. His immense talent, introduced into a sport still in its infancy and capable of a complete overhaul (i.e. replacing speed and carefully-placed hitting with power), is a combination that simply cannot happen anymore: the pro sports have already refined themselves to a point where no new innovation can have such utterly revolutionary effects. Nevertheless, in the past 80 years or so we've seen a small handful of athletes who have approached Ruth's level of dominance over his peers. Wayne Gretzky became synonymous with hockey, and played at a level that must have seemed utterly impossible to his peers. Michael Jordan stood out from an extremely talented era as a man head and shoulders above the rest.
And Barry Bonds has made every single other player in baseball look human, while he himself has elevated his game to a place we haven't seen since The Babe. (Phew--many thanks if you're still with me!) I'm going to resist the urge to crunch numbers here, and just tell you to heed the advice of the Ol' Perfessor, Casey Stengel, and go look it up. Go have a look at Barry's on-base percentage totals or his slugging-percentage totals, and compare them to his competition. We're talking gaps big enough for David Wells to hide in here--gaps that haven't been seen since Ruth.
The point isn't that Barry Bonds is a great player. It isn't even that he's the best player in baseball. The issue at hand is that Barry Bonds is way, way, way, way, way, way, WAY better than his peers--better to the extent that you simply can't write him off as some pill-popping monstrousity who has cheated baseball and its fans. And here's where I have to ask you to use a little common sense.
In an insular community such as that of the professional athlete (paralelled in insularity only by the higher-paid members of the Screen Actor's Guild and members of NAMBLA), don't you think that one player's professional secrets will soon become everyone's? Did Olympic high-jumpers take long to flop along with Dick Fosbury? Did NBA (and ABA) players resist the allure of the Sky-Hook once Kareem dropped a few on them? Did miniature revolutions in strength training and conditioning take long to trickle down from one athlete to another in any sport? Can it be that other baseball players, witnessing Barry's ridiculous feats, have resisted the temptation to follow in his footsteps?
Of course not. We all know that other big-name players like Jason Giambi, Gary Sheffield, and Rafael Palmeiro, as well as small fries like Ryan Franklin, Jorge Piedra, and Alex Sanchez, have been sampling the wares of Mother Nature's not-quite-right-in-the-head sister. But what's odd is that so many of us stop there. I guess I can understand that many people are probably unwilling to look too deeply into all of this, because it does seem to besmirch the game we all love so well. But since I plan on dispelling--or at any rate, lessening--any such besmirchment in the second half of this piece, let's all hold hands and ask together: "What about the Silent Majority?" (Yes, a Richard Nixon reference in a piece about tarnished legacies was too much to pass up.)
Come on, think about it. What are the chances that steroid use was confined to the "1%" tossed about like pixie dust by Emperor Bud? If you really think about it, it becomes clear that you have to dispense with the "Barry is on drugs and it gives him an unfair advantage over everybody else" model, and reorient yourself to a new "Barry is on drugs and so are a lot of other players--and he still makes them look like a bunch of Darwin Award winners" method of understanding. And even if the first model is accurate (and I think that's about as likely as O.J. Simpson making a comeback as a CutCo salesman--but this being America, I'll leave the door open in both cases), steroids alone are nowhere near enough of a crutch to account for how Barry has toyed with the game during his career. He's just too good to explain it all away with such a shortsighted explanation.
And with that, dearest readers, I must bid you good night for the evening. Hours have gone by and I've only begun to unfold my full argument--but you'll have to wait until I make my really compelling points until next time. In the meantime, Go Giants--I promise I'll get back to some on-the-field discussions one of these days. See you soon!
After giving up on my desire to recap Giants Idol (by the way, does anyone know who won?) and Barry Bonds' recent star-making turn as Paula Abdul, I began today determined to write a salty salute to Kirk Rueter. Alas, fate has intervened, and Woody's eulogy--deserved though it may be--will have to wait for another day..
No, today's topic is out of my hands. Like a genetic disorder, like a guilty verdict, it's been handed down, and I have little choice but to accept it. All I can do, as a lover of baseball and as a supporter of my dear San Francisco Giants, is try to cope with it and understand it for what it is.
I'm referring, of course, to today's Barry Bonds and Steroids maelstrom, touched off by the appearance of an excerpt from the forthcoming Bonds doping tell-all, Game of Shadows. What follows is Part One of a multi-part discussion of Bonds' legacy and the issue of steroids in baseball.
A brief aside before I plunge into this: someone ought to point out that there are at least a couple of reasons not to take all of the evidence discussed today at face-value, and since no one else is interrogating, I guess it falls to me. Please take heed that these questions are rhetorical, and that I pose them merely out of curiosity. The rest of this posting is written under the assumption that the evidence presented today is real--so feel free to skip ahead to the next paragraph. But for you Smoking Gun enthusiasts: 1) Are we really dealing with credible sources here? Is there any reason to believe convicted criminals like Victor Conte and Greg Anderson, or shady biochemists who are basically the sports world equivalent of psychologists to the stars (you know, the ones that prescribe morphine for overtiredness)? 2) Isn't there something a little odd about sealed grand jury testimonies getting leaked to the press here? And about mysterious wiretaps suddenly becoming public knowledge? Is J. Edgar Hoover strutting around in pumps and a corset, pulling the strings here? Did Deep Throat want one more chance to shun the limelight?
OK, enough. Let's get serious. For argument's sake, let's assume that at least most of the evidence linking Bonds to steroid usage is true. What does this mean for Bonds' legacy? What are the implications for baseball in general?
Contrary to what self-aggrandizing talking asses like Skip Bayless (who, I might note, falls just short of being the Anti-Christ thanks to a big goose-egg in the "brains" column) might have you think, not much. Not if you are objective enough to consider all the facts, and self-reliant enough not to have the media make your arguments for you.
How can I say such a thing, you ask?
Let me begin by recounting a treasured quote. I was in high school--probably a sophomore, maybe a junior--and Poet Laureate Derek Walcott was a guest speaker. After reading several poems and discussing his craft, Mr. Walcott opened the floor for questions. A brash and often argumentative student (though not an unlikable one--hope you're well, KC) raised his hand and asked what made the poems of Derek Walcott, Poet Laureate, better than his. And Walcott's immortal response? "Poetry is not a democracy: it's a hierarchy. Dante is better than me; and I am better than you."
I'm sure you appreciate the parallel. Though he doubtless meant for it to be applied to things far loftier and more significant than professional sports, Thomas Jefferson did supply a pretty good description of baseball when he coined the phrase "an aristocracy of talent." Just look at the salaries players make (but throw out young stars pre-arbitration, faded former stars, and Eric Milton). Baseball--and indeed all professional sports--has always been predicated on the existence of a meritocracy. The best young players make it through all sorts of elimination rounds (high school and collegiate basebal, minor leagues, etc.), find their way to the majors, and then separate themselves into any number of talent-based strata. Duh, right?
Here's the point: Every so often, a player comes along and dominates a sport to such a degree that his (or her--Annika, take a bow) performance lands completely off the charts of the usual meritocracy matrix. Over the swingset. When Babe Ruth hit more homers than any other team in the American League back in his historic 1927 season, there was simply no way to place his accomplishments in context. Ruth was in a class by himself--hell, he went to school alone.
We'll never see another Babe Ruth. His immense talent, introduced into a sport still in its infancy and capable of a complete overhaul (i.e. replacing speed and carefully-placed hitting with power), is a combination that simply cannot happen anymore: the pro sports have already refined themselves to a point where no new innovation can have such utterly revolutionary effects. Nevertheless, in the past 80 years or so we've seen a small handful of athletes who have approached Ruth's level of dominance over his peers. Wayne Gretzky became synonymous with hockey, and played at a level that must have seemed utterly impossible to his peers. Michael Jordan stood out from an extremely talented era as a man head and shoulders above the rest.
And Barry Bonds has made every single other player in baseball look human, while he himself has elevated his game to a place we haven't seen since The Babe. (Phew--many thanks if you're still with me!) I'm going to resist the urge to crunch numbers here, and just tell you to heed the advice of the Ol' Perfessor, Casey Stengel, and go look it up. Go have a look at Barry's on-base percentage totals or his slugging-percentage totals, and compare them to his competition. We're talking gaps big enough for David Wells to hide in here--gaps that haven't been seen since Ruth.
The point isn't that Barry Bonds is a great player. It isn't even that he's the best player in baseball. The issue at hand is that Barry Bonds is way, way, way, way, way, way, WAY better than his peers--better to the extent that you simply can't write him off as some pill-popping monstrousity who has cheated baseball and its fans. And here's where I have to ask you to use a little common sense.
In an insular community such as that of the professional athlete (paralelled in insularity only by the higher-paid members of the Screen Actor's Guild and members of NAMBLA), don't you think that one player's professional secrets will soon become everyone's? Did Olympic high-jumpers take long to flop along with Dick Fosbury? Did NBA (and ABA) players resist the allure of the Sky-Hook once Kareem dropped a few on them? Did miniature revolutions in strength training and conditioning take long to trickle down from one athlete to another in any sport? Can it be that other baseball players, witnessing Barry's ridiculous feats, have resisted the temptation to follow in his footsteps?
Of course not. We all know that other big-name players like Jason Giambi, Gary Sheffield, and Rafael Palmeiro, as well as small fries like Ryan Franklin, Jorge Piedra, and Alex Sanchez, have been sampling the wares of Mother Nature's not-quite-right-in-the-head sister. But what's odd is that so many of us stop there. I guess I can understand that many people are probably unwilling to look too deeply into all of this, because it does seem to besmirch the game we all love so well. But since I plan on dispelling--or at any rate, lessening--any such besmirchment in the second half of this piece, let's all hold hands and ask together: "What about the Silent Majority?" (Yes, a Richard Nixon reference in a piece about tarnished legacies was too much to pass up.)
Come on, think about it. What are the chances that steroid use was confined to the "1%" tossed about like pixie dust by Emperor Bud? If you really think about it, it becomes clear that you have to dispense with the "Barry is on drugs and it gives him an unfair advantage over everybody else" model, and reorient yourself to a new "Barry is on drugs and so are a lot of other players--and he still makes them look like a bunch of Darwin Award winners" method of understanding. And even if the first model is accurate (and I think that's about as likely as O.J. Simpson making a comeback as a CutCo salesman--but this being America, I'll leave the door open in both cases), steroids alone are nowhere near enough of a crutch to account for how Barry has toyed with the game during his career. He's just too good to explain it all away with such a shortsighted explanation.
And with that, dearest readers, I must bid you good night for the evening. Hours have gone by and I've only begun to unfold my full argument--but you'll have to wait until I make my really compelling points until next time. In the meantime, Go Giants--I promise I'll get back to some on-the-field discussions one of these days. See you soon!
Monday, February 27, 2006
Reality Check
I received an e-mail from my good friend Boob yesterday afternoon. It carried the subject heading "Bonds?" and contained a link to a recent Fox Sports News article about Our Hero's latest bit of Barry-Being-Barry (BBB for hereafter and evermore--and don't think I won't have a million occasions to use it).
I'm referring, of course, to Barry Bonds' stonewall refusal to be interviewed one-on-one by any member of the media not signing a waiver allowing for footage of said media member to be used in Barry's upcoming reality show.
Now hold it right there. "Barry Bonds" and "reality show" in the same sentence? Barry? Reality? And never the twain shall meet! Honestly, is there anyone less in touch with reality? I can relate more to Flava Flav than I can to Barry Bonds. (I mean, hey: I like clocks, too.)
Before I go any further, I ought to get one thing firmly established, since Barry will undoubtedly be a primary topic here at Ruben Rounds Third in the coming weeks and months: I adore Barry Bonds, the ballplayer. Anyone who can't appreciate his magnificent, once-every-couple-generations talent doesn't fully understand the game of baseball. And there's no room for discussion on this. Rest assured that I will back this claim up when Bonds passes Ruth and a whole bunch of ignoramuses start tossing words like "tarnish" around--but this is a lengthy subject for another entry.
Barry Bonds the man, however, is a figure I care less for. I'm not a Bonds hater, and I'm not someone who can easily dismiss someone so complex. However, I find a lot of his behavior to be rather irritating, and as much as I cherish watching him play, I sometimes wish he could just disappear between games. I bet he does as well.
So with my admiration for Bonds' skills as a ballplayer and my ambivalence (and, I like to think, objectivity) concerning his abilities as a member of the human race thus established, allow me now to get back to the topic at hand.
This waiver business--what in God's name is he thinking? Protecting privacy is one thing, and I respect Bonds' right to clear a little elbow room before the Giants post-game locker room turns into Woodstock on uppers. But this really is a new twist on what's become an incredibly tired old story.
In some respects, you have to give the guy credit for his ingenuity. Where former New England linebacker Zeke Mowat just dropped trou and implored a female reporter to liberate Pat the Patriot, where Kenny Rogers (the pitcher, not the Rib-Roaster) willfully mistook a camera for a basketball and then recoiled in shock when he couldn't perform his killer crossover, where Randy Johnson finally offered an ugly attitude to match his unpretty face, Bonds has outdone them all. Not only has Bonds extricated himself from one-on-one interviews for the foreseeable future: he's done it all under the auspices of a business transaction, managing to serve both his personal and financial interests all with the wave of a, err, waiver.
Ingenuity aside, however, what planet is this man from? Talk about a needlessly stand-offish move! If Barry was thinking that going the "I need to protect the interests of my TV show" route was somehow better than just declining to be interviewed, he sorely miscalculated. This is getting reminiscent of Michael Jackson's attempts to prove his normalcy by dangling Blanket off a hotel balcony. Seriously--how much crazier can Bonds get?
And another thing: while it remains to be seen whether Bonds will actually buy himself a little privacy with this ridiculousness, it does seem that his efforts on the business side of things will end up a total failure. Even ESPN--the company producing and hosting his "reality" show--has said that their reporters will sign no such waivers.
Of course, waiver or no, the real question is this: Who in the world is going to watch this show? I certainly hope I don't, though I have this sinking feeling that I'll get drawn in somehow and will end up rubbernecking my way through the season. I'm curious if anyone really does plan on watching this show. Otherwise, it would appear that this latest round of BBB ultimately signifies nothing.
I'm referring, of course, to Barry Bonds' stonewall refusal to be interviewed one-on-one by any member of the media not signing a waiver allowing for footage of said media member to be used in Barry's upcoming reality show.
Now hold it right there. "Barry Bonds" and "reality show" in the same sentence? Barry? Reality? And never the twain shall meet! Honestly, is there anyone less in touch with reality? I can relate more to Flava Flav than I can to Barry Bonds. (I mean, hey: I like clocks, too.)
Before I go any further, I ought to get one thing firmly established, since Barry will undoubtedly be a primary topic here at Ruben Rounds Third in the coming weeks and months: I adore Barry Bonds, the ballplayer. Anyone who can't appreciate his magnificent, once-every-couple-generations talent doesn't fully understand the game of baseball. And there's no room for discussion on this. Rest assured that I will back this claim up when Bonds passes Ruth and a whole bunch of ignoramuses start tossing words like "tarnish" around--but this is a lengthy subject for another entry.
Barry Bonds the man, however, is a figure I care less for. I'm not a Bonds hater, and I'm not someone who can easily dismiss someone so complex. However, I find a lot of his behavior to be rather irritating, and as much as I cherish watching him play, I sometimes wish he could just disappear between games. I bet he does as well.
So with my admiration for Bonds' skills as a ballplayer and my ambivalence (and, I like to think, objectivity) concerning his abilities as a member of the human race thus established, allow me now to get back to the topic at hand.
This waiver business--what in God's name is he thinking? Protecting privacy is one thing, and I respect Bonds' right to clear a little elbow room before the Giants post-game locker room turns into Woodstock on uppers. But this really is a new twist on what's become an incredibly tired old story.
In some respects, you have to give the guy credit for his ingenuity. Where former New England linebacker Zeke Mowat just dropped trou and implored a female reporter to liberate Pat the Patriot, where Kenny Rogers (the pitcher, not the Rib-Roaster) willfully mistook a camera for a basketball and then recoiled in shock when he couldn't perform his killer crossover, where Randy Johnson finally offered an ugly attitude to match his unpretty face, Bonds has outdone them all. Not only has Bonds extricated himself from one-on-one interviews for the foreseeable future: he's done it all under the auspices of a business transaction, managing to serve both his personal and financial interests all with the wave of a, err, waiver.
Ingenuity aside, however, what planet is this man from? Talk about a needlessly stand-offish move! If Barry was thinking that going the "I need to protect the interests of my TV show" route was somehow better than just declining to be interviewed, he sorely miscalculated. This is getting reminiscent of Michael Jackson's attempts to prove his normalcy by dangling Blanket off a hotel balcony. Seriously--how much crazier can Bonds get?
And another thing: while it remains to be seen whether Bonds will actually buy himself a little privacy with this ridiculousness, it does seem that his efforts on the business side of things will end up a total failure. Even ESPN--the company producing and hosting his "reality" show--has said that their reporters will sign no such waivers.
Of course, waiver or no, the real question is this: Who in the world is going to watch this show? I certainly hope I don't, though I have this sinking feeling that I'll get drawn in somehow and will end up rubbernecking my way through the season. I'm curious if anyone really does plan on watching this show. Otherwise, it would appear that this latest round of BBB ultimately signifies nothing.
A Moment Like This
Since some of my readers (like, four out of seven) are not in the Bay Area, I thought it wise that I quote verbatim this next passage from today's San Francisco Chronicle. In case you missed it:
"Tuesday should be a hoot. Mark Sweeney has organized an "American Idol" musical competition for about a dozen [Giants] prospects in their first big-league camp, plus Matt Cain. [Ray] Durham and Jeff Fassero will be two of the judges (the third is up in the air), while [Omar] Vizquel and comedian Rob Schneider will host. The prospects will perform atop the Giants dugout before their practice begins."
Umm, that Rob Schneider?
Maybe Scott "Herman" Munter will do the Monster Mash...
"Tuesday should be a hoot. Mark Sweeney has organized an "American Idol" musical competition for about a dozen [Giants] prospects in their first big-league camp, plus Matt Cain. [Ray] Durham and Jeff Fassero will be two of the judges (the third is up in the air), while [Omar] Vizquel and comedian Rob Schneider will host. The prospects will perform atop the Giants dugout before their practice begins."
Umm, that Rob Schneider?
Maybe Scott "Herman" Munter will do the Monster Mash...
Saturday, February 25, 2006
You had me at hello
Recently, Rich Draper announced on the Giants' official MLB.Com gloss factory that Armando Benitez is a big fan of country music in general and of former Mr. Renee Zellweger, Kenny Chesney, in particular. Am I the only one who's tickled to death by this? Benitez was quoted as saying that "[country music] is like real life" and that he especially likes "when they talk about the past." Talk about a giggle-inducing image: intimdating closer sitting in a bar after giving up a game-winning homer in the postseason, crying his eyes out to "Tear In My Beer." (Yeah, I would've guessed Rod Beck, too.)
So what can we say about Armando Benitez? What can we expect from him this season? The truth is, it's a cloudy crystal ball indeed. At 33, Benitez is old enough where we can start expecting a decline in his stuff. This decline might have been present last year, but with so much of the season lost completely to or at least impacted greatly by injury, 2005 doesn't give us much to go on.
Neither, unfortunately, does 2004, a year in which Benitez dominated the National League to a surreal degree. A look at some of Benitez's more peripheral stats from 2004 shows clearly that this was an anomalous year for him. Usually prone to walking at least 4 batters per nine innings, Benitez somehow managed to harness his control to the tune of 2.6 bb/9 in 2004. This sudden increase in control allowed Benitez to shave three full pitches off his average per-inning total from 2003's 17.7 to 2004's 14.7. (The number climbed back to 17.7 last year.) Benitez also gave up just 36 hits in 69 2/3 innings, for a batting-average-against of a ridiculous .152. And while greater control was surely a major factor, it's also important to remember that Benitez spent 2004 pitching in front of one of the best defenses in baseball, and worked half his games in what just might be the best pitcher's park in the majors.
About the only thing that didn't go right in Benitez's monster 47 saves/1.29 ERA career year in 2004 was that his strikeout rate dropped below one per inning for the first time in his career. Back in the late '90s, when Benitez pitched for the New York Mets, he routinely posted k/9 rates of 11 or better, reaching an absurd 14.77 strikeouts per nine innings in 1999. The pitcher Benitez was in those days--fastball in the high 90s, ability to induce acid reflux in the on-deck circle--is sadly no more, even though he still managed to post his best year in many respects in 2004.
Who, then, is the Benitez of 2006? One thing I feel pretty decent about--he's not an above-normal health risk. Although he missed 96 games to a horrific hamstring injury last year, Benitez does not seem to show the signs of a Matt Mantei-type closer who can't stay healthy. I'm not saying he can't get hurt--just that he doesn't seem to be a noteworthy risk for it.
Assuming we get a full season out of Benitez, I'm looking at this season as something of a return to form for Benitez. He may not have his world-beating 98-99 mph gas anymore, but he hit 96 on the gun a few times down the stretch, and I think that with proper conditioning, he'll be around 95-96 consistently. (And speaking of conditioning, word is that Stan Conte has reevaluated last spring's strategy to baby Benitez's legs in light of the big fella's subsequent hamstring tear, and is currently going Full Metal Jacket on Armando in camp this year.) This year we should see a healthier and stronger Benitez, a pitcher who generates better drive with his legs: and this might even mean that he can get back up over a strikeout per nine innings, an important factor when you consider how important whiffs are for a team with a very good shot of having the worst outfield defense in the majors.
Another bit of good news for Giants fans is that Benitez has apparently been working on a sinker that breaks away from righties to complement his other sinker that breaks in on them. Adding a new wrinkle like this is a good way to keep hitters on their toes, and if Benitez can add another out pitch (even if it's just to induce groundballs) to go with his still-potent fastball and devastating splitter, he might just reclaim his status as one of the league's elite closers.
Even with the loss of Scott Eyre and the wine-into-water alchemy of trading LaTroy Hawkins for Steve Kline, the Giants look to have a pretty strong bullpen in 2006. They have a pretty good mix of veterans and unsung youngsters (two of whom, Jack Taschner and Scott Munter, should feature very prominently indeed). Best of all, they've got a number of guys with very, very good stuff. If the Giants can get enough innings out of their starters to minimize Felipe Alou's tendencies to destroy relief pitchers (Jim Brower and Matt Herges, please report to the Hart Building to receive your Congressional Medals of Honor), it's a good bet that the Giants can hold leads better this year than they did last year. And if Benitez enters the game with a lead in the 9th--or even the 8th, as he's shown the ability to do--I think we can all look forward to a good deal more 9 inning victories than last year.
So what can we say about Armando Benitez? What can we expect from him this season? The truth is, it's a cloudy crystal ball indeed. At 33, Benitez is old enough where we can start expecting a decline in his stuff. This decline might have been present last year, but with so much of the season lost completely to or at least impacted greatly by injury, 2005 doesn't give us much to go on.
Neither, unfortunately, does 2004, a year in which Benitez dominated the National League to a surreal degree. A look at some of Benitez's more peripheral stats from 2004 shows clearly that this was an anomalous year for him. Usually prone to walking at least 4 batters per nine innings, Benitez somehow managed to harness his control to the tune of 2.6 bb/9 in 2004. This sudden increase in control allowed Benitez to shave three full pitches off his average per-inning total from 2003's 17.7 to 2004's 14.7. (The number climbed back to 17.7 last year.) Benitez also gave up just 36 hits in 69 2/3 innings, for a batting-average-against of a ridiculous .152. And while greater control was surely a major factor, it's also important to remember that Benitez spent 2004 pitching in front of one of the best defenses in baseball, and worked half his games in what just might be the best pitcher's park in the majors.
About the only thing that didn't go right in Benitez's monster 47 saves/1.29 ERA career year in 2004 was that his strikeout rate dropped below one per inning for the first time in his career. Back in the late '90s, when Benitez pitched for the New York Mets, he routinely posted k/9 rates of 11 or better, reaching an absurd 14.77 strikeouts per nine innings in 1999. The pitcher Benitez was in those days--fastball in the high 90s, ability to induce acid reflux in the on-deck circle--is sadly no more, even though he still managed to post his best year in many respects in 2004.
Who, then, is the Benitez of 2006? One thing I feel pretty decent about--he's not an above-normal health risk. Although he missed 96 games to a horrific hamstring injury last year, Benitez does not seem to show the signs of a Matt Mantei-type closer who can't stay healthy. I'm not saying he can't get hurt--just that he doesn't seem to be a noteworthy risk for it.
Assuming we get a full season out of Benitez, I'm looking at this season as something of a return to form for Benitez. He may not have his world-beating 98-99 mph gas anymore, but he hit 96 on the gun a few times down the stretch, and I think that with proper conditioning, he'll be around 95-96 consistently. (And speaking of conditioning, word is that Stan Conte has reevaluated last spring's strategy to baby Benitez's legs in light of the big fella's subsequent hamstring tear, and is currently going Full Metal Jacket on Armando in camp this year.) This year we should see a healthier and stronger Benitez, a pitcher who generates better drive with his legs: and this might even mean that he can get back up over a strikeout per nine innings, an important factor when you consider how important whiffs are for a team with a very good shot of having the worst outfield defense in the majors.
Another bit of good news for Giants fans is that Benitez has apparently been working on a sinker that breaks away from righties to complement his other sinker that breaks in on them. Adding a new wrinkle like this is a good way to keep hitters on their toes, and if Benitez can add another out pitch (even if it's just to induce groundballs) to go with his still-potent fastball and devastating splitter, he might just reclaim his status as one of the league's elite closers.
Even with the loss of Scott Eyre and the wine-into-water alchemy of trading LaTroy Hawkins for Steve Kline, the Giants look to have a pretty strong bullpen in 2006. They have a pretty good mix of veterans and unsung youngsters (two of whom, Jack Taschner and Scott Munter, should feature very prominently indeed). Best of all, they've got a number of guys with very, very good stuff. If the Giants can get enough innings out of their starters to minimize Felipe Alou's tendencies to destroy relief pitchers (Jim Brower and Matt Herges, please report to the Hart Building to receive your Congressional Medals of Honor), it's a good bet that the Giants can hold leads better this year than they did last year. And if Benitez enters the game with a lead in the 9th--or even the 8th, as he's shown the ability to do--I think we can all look forward to a good deal more 9 inning victories than last year.
Friday, February 24, 2006
Matt Morris, Giant faithful; Giant faithful, Matt Morris
Day two of live pitcher-on-batter action in Scottsdale, and today's two most prominent hurlers--new beard in town Matt Morris and erstwhile mound flattener Armando Benitez--should make for an interesting conversation here at RRT. Below are some thoughts on Matt Morris: I'll get to Benitez tomorrow.
MATT MORRIS
In the event that they aren't aware--and my guess is, a few of them aren't--I think I ought to inform Bay Area fans that many of the nation's better baseball minds not currently within intoxication range of a Buena Vista Irish Coffee think that the signing of former Cardinal Matt Morris is a pretty poor deal for the Giants. Organization spin doctors have leaned heavily on Morris' five-year averages, and have pointed most often to his impressive win/loss totals to establish their new 9 million dollar man as a "top-tier starter." They've pointed out that he's averaged 15 wins over the past five seasons, and they've circled in orange ink that he's posted the sixth-highest winning percentage (.637) amongst NL moundsmen since 2001.
What they haven't mentioned is that Matt Morris got a big jump on those five-year averages by going 22-8 in 2001 and 17-9 in 2002, and that he's struggled since then with shoulder injuries that have made him a completely different pitcher from those glory days. Back then, Morris was a power pitcher who routinely hit 95 with his fastball and featured a devastating curveball. Now, he's older, wiser, and considerably more reliant on craft and finesse than on raw stuff. Morris now throws in the low 90s--respectable, but not overpowering--and has lost some of the bite on what was once one of the league's best yakkers.
Giants execs and beat writers also haven't seen fit to point out the readily apparent fact that Morris' gaudy winning percentages have been due in large part to the fact that he's been batting ninth in one of the most consistently devastating lineups in baseball over the past five years. It's one thing to say that he was 15-10 in 2004; it's quite another to note that he gave up 35 longballs (more than a homer per start) and posted an ERA of 4.72--his first ever above the league average (4.30). And as far as last year's seeming resurgence goes, it's worth noting that Morris began the season 10-2 with a 3.10 ERA, and then struggled to a 4-7 record and 5.57 ERA in the second half.
These factors alone are troublesome, but combined with the money Morris is owed over the next three years--about $27 million--they raise some serious warning flags. Simply put, the Giants seem to have paid top dollar based on an aggregate Morris, a statistical misrepresentation created by combining the Morris of the last two or three years with the entirely different Morris of 2001-2. While his contract wasn't completely out of whack with the deals other pitchers have been getting over the past two seasons (you can thank Omar Minaya's Kris Benson deal for that), it still seems like a big mistake to pay a 31-year old pitcher $9 million a year in the misguided belief that he is a top-of-the-rotation sort of guy.
However, the naysaying of experts like Christina Karl (Baseball Prospectus' best writer and a very sharp baseball mind), who wagered that the Morris signing would be the worst free agent pitcher deal of the 2005 offseason, seems more than a little misguided. Warning signs may abound, but there's still a lot to like about Matt Morris and his potential to help the Giants capture the NL West this year.
One of the big reasons Morris' 2004 was such a comparative disaster (run support-inflated 15-10 record notwithstanding) was his sudden infatuation with giving up the gopher ball. Last year, Morris' HR Allowed total sank from 35 back to a more reasonable 22, and it's likely that he'll give up even fewer taters next year in PacBell/SBC/AT&T Park. Morris is also a serious control artist who rarely gives himself unnecessary headaches by putting people on via the walk. Last year, he allowed just 37 walks in 192 2/3 innings over 31 starts. Morris' excellent control allows him to cut down on the number of pitches he throws per start, get ahead of batters, and, ultimately, rack up very solid innings totals. Barring injury, he's a lock for 190+ innings in 2006 (and possibly as many as 210 or more), a fact which is hugely important considering that the Giants ought to limit Matt Cain to a maximum of 175 innings no matter how well he pitches. (Think the 217 innings Morris threw as a 22-year old rookie in 1997 had anything to do with him blowing out his elbow and needing Tommy John surgery the following year? You betcha.)
And Morris does bring some intangibles that are beyond the measure of statistical analysis. He's a bulldog who wants the ball every fifth day, and a tenacious competitor who hates losing. While the words "gamer" and "winner" are more than a little overused in the baseball lexicon, it is indisputable that Morris' no-nonsense, hard-work-and-determination-first presence will help fill a serious void in the Giants rotation, the kind of void that a talented and likable headcase like Brett Tomko could never have filled. I think Morris will help everyone else on the Giants staff, pushing Jason Schmidt to be better and more competitive, and setting a very positive example for youngsters like Cain and Noah Lowry. His presence alone will set a tone for the rest of the Giants pitchers, and there's a good chance he can be a productive 14-16 game winner in his own right. It will be interesting to see if Morris' Jekyll and then Hyde year last year was more a result of injury and fatigue (coming back from off-season shoulder surgery in 2004), or whether it was a case of the league re-adjusting to him as a pitcher after he himself had re-fashioned himself as a finesse guy. Suffice to say that the Giants have invested a lot of money in the hopes that it's the former.
Discussing how Barry Bonds nearly took his head off with a line drive back through the box yesterday during batting practice, Morris joked "I could've snagged it with my teeth, but I didn't want to embarrass him." I'm sure he meant his beard, but in any case, at least the guy's got a sense of humor. Personally, I'm glad to have him aboard--even acknowledging the fact that we're paying him more than what he's worth. I've always liked watching Morris pitch, always enjoyed the gutsiness it takes to come out for a 10th inning to finish some business (something I remember him doing on more than one occasion), always enjoyed the attitude of a pitcher who works with composure and acts with enthusiasm and emotion. I don't think the Morris deal is going to be a problem right away, and I'm expecting a very solid season from him this year. Welcome to the ballclub, Mr. Morris.
MATT MORRIS
In the event that they aren't aware--and my guess is, a few of them aren't--I think I ought to inform Bay Area fans that many of the nation's better baseball minds not currently within intoxication range of a Buena Vista Irish Coffee think that the signing of former Cardinal Matt Morris is a pretty poor deal for the Giants. Organization spin doctors have leaned heavily on Morris' five-year averages, and have pointed most often to his impressive win/loss totals to establish their new 9 million dollar man as a "top-tier starter." They've pointed out that he's averaged 15 wins over the past five seasons, and they've circled in orange ink that he's posted the sixth-highest winning percentage (.637) amongst NL moundsmen since 2001.
What they haven't mentioned is that Matt Morris got a big jump on those five-year averages by going 22-8 in 2001 and 17-9 in 2002, and that he's struggled since then with shoulder injuries that have made him a completely different pitcher from those glory days. Back then, Morris was a power pitcher who routinely hit 95 with his fastball and featured a devastating curveball. Now, he's older, wiser, and considerably more reliant on craft and finesse than on raw stuff. Morris now throws in the low 90s--respectable, but not overpowering--and has lost some of the bite on what was once one of the league's best yakkers.
Giants execs and beat writers also haven't seen fit to point out the readily apparent fact that Morris' gaudy winning percentages have been due in large part to the fact that he's been batting ninth in one of the most consistently devastating lineups in baseball over the past five years. It's one thing to say that he was 15-10 in 2004; it's quite another to note that he gave up 35 longballs (more than a homer per start) and posted an ERA of 4.72--his first ever above the league average (4.30). And as far as last year's seeming resurgence goes, it's worth noting that Morris began the season 10-2 with a 3.10 ERA, and then struggled to a 4-7 record and 5.57 ERA in the second half.
These factors alone are troublesome, but combined with the money Morris is owed over the next three years--about $27 million--they raise some serious warning flags. Simply put, the Giants seem to have paid top dollar based on an aggregate Morris, a statistical misrepresentation created by combining the Morris of the last two or three years with the entirely different Morris of 2001-2. While his contract wasn't completely out of whack with the deals other pitchers have been getting over the past two seasons (you can thank Omar Minaya's Kris Benson deal for that), it still seems like a big mistake to pay a 31-year old pitcher $9 million a year in the misguided belief that he is a top-of-the-rotation sort of guy.
However, the naysaying of experts like Christina Karl (Baseball Prospectus' best writer and a very sharp baseball mind), who wagered that the Morris signing would be the worst free agent pitcher deal of the 2005 offseason, seems more than a little misguided. Warning signs may abound, but there's still a lot to like about Matt Morris and his potential to help the Giants capture the NL West this year.
One of the big reasons Morris' 2004 was such a comparative disaster (run support-inflated 15-10 record notwithstanding) was his sudden infatuation with giving up the gopher ball. Last year, Morris' HR Allowed total sank from 35 back to a more reasonable 22, and it's likely that he'll give up even fewer taters next year in PacBell/SBC/AT&T Park. Morris is also a serious control artist who rarely gives himself unnecessary headaches by putting people on via the walk. Last year, he allowed just 37 walks in 192 2/3 innings over 31 starts. Morris' excellent control allows him to cut down on the number of pitches he throws per start, get ahead of batters, and, ultimately, rack up very solid innings totals. Barring injury, he's a lock for 190+ innings in 2006 (and possibly as many as 210 or more), a fact which is hugely important considering that the Giants ought to limit Matt Cain to a maximum of 175 innings no matter how well he pitches. (Think the 217 innings Morris threw as a 22-year old rookie in 1997 had anything to do with him blowing out his elbow and needing Tommy John surgery the following year? You betcha.)
And Morris does bring some intangibles that are beyond the measure of statistical analysis. He's a bulldog who wants the ball every fifth day, and a tenacious competitor who hates losing. While the words "gamer" and "winner" are more than a little overused in the baseball lexicon, it is indisputable that Morris' no-nonsense, hard-work-and-determination-first presence will help fill a serious void in the Giants rotation, the kind of void that a talented and likable headcase like Brett Tomko could never have filled. I think Morris will help everyone else on the Giants staff, pushing Jason Schmidt to be better and more competitive, and setting a very positive example for youngsters like Cain and Noah Lowry. His presence alone will set a tone for the rest of the Giants pitchers, and there's a good chance he can be a productive 14-16 game winner in his own right. It will be interesting to see if Morris' Jekyll and then Hyde year last year was more a result of injury and fatigue (coming back from off-season shoulder surgery in 2004), or whether it was a case of the league re-adjusting to him as a pitcher after he himself had re-fashioned himself as a finesse guy. Suffice to say that the Giants have invested a lot of money in the hopes that it's the former.
Discussing how Barry Bonds nearly took his head off with a line drive back through the box yesterday during batting practice, Morris joked "I could've snagged it with my teeth, but I didn't want to embarrass him." I'm sure he meant his beard, but in any case, at least the guy's got a sense of humor. Personally, I'm glad to have him aboard--even acknowledging the fact that we're paying him more than what he's worth. I've always liked watching Morris pitch, always enjoyed the gutsiness it takes to come out for a 10th inning to finish some business (something I remember him doing on more than one occasion), always enjoyed the attitude of a pitcher who works with composure and acts with enthusiasm and emotion. I don't think the Morris deal is going to be a problem right away, and I'm expecting a very solid season from him this year. Welcome to the ballclub, Mr. Morris.
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Friends, Romanians, paisanos de Giants Nation--allow me to introduce myself. Or better yet, like a nervous late-bloomer on a first date, allow me to confess what's wrong with me in the hopes of getting the hard part out of the way first. I am a San Francisco Giants fanatic, a dyed-in-the-woolen uniforms disciple, a devotee of the orange and black whose life is hijacked every spring and taken on the wildest of rides until the leaves change back East and someone in Los Angeles remembers that seasons exist. (Sound familiar?)
And lest I get too much further carried off by prose with all the grace of LIvan Hernandez legging out a triple, let me put a stop to this needless introduction. Thank you for reading, and for visiting this new corner of Giants Nation. I hope my enthusiasm for the Giants--and my desire to be completely objective and candid, team passion notwithstanding--will make this an interesting spot for after the game. I'll offer up whatever insights I might have on the 2006 season, and I hope others will contribute as well. This is shaping up to be the last hurrah for the Old Guard, so let's see if we can't finally get Scott Spiezio to grab some pine and lay the ghosts of 2002 to rest. Hum baby, here we go again!
And lest I get too much further carried off by prose with all the grace of LIvan Hernandez legging out a triple, let me put a stop to this needless introduction. Thank you for reading, and for visiting this new corner of Giants Nation. I hope my enthusiasm for the Giants--and my desire to be completely objective and candid, team passion notwithstanding--will make this an interesting spot for after the game. I'll offer up whatever insights I might have on the 2006 season, and I hope others will contribute as well. This is shaping up to be the last hurrah for the Old Guard, so let's see if we can't finally get Scott Spiezio to grab some pine and lay the ghosts of 2002 to rest. Hum baby, here we go again!
