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Currently at Toronto Pearson: 13. High today: 20.
When I was a kid, my favourite baseball player was George Bell. I liked how he hit--I liked his stance, and I liked how he would try to dunk balls to the opposite field with two strikes--but probably mostly I liked him because he was an ornery bastard. (My friend JL's favourite player was Lloyd Moseby. JL was the founding, and probably only, president of my highschool's Jazz and Blues Society. It's all about style. Lloyd Moseby was jazz; George Bell was punk rock.) George Bell fought with the umpires. He fought with his manager--he sat down on the outfield grass and refused to play in a spring training game after his MVP season because Jimy Williams wanted to move him from left field to DH. He fought with opposing pitchers--after Bruce Kison hit him with a pitch, he charged the mound and threw a flying drop-kick on him. (Kison's day ended with Ernie Whitt hitting a grand slam off him and barking at him all the way around the bases. And, you know, that would be the only regular-season game I specifically remember from the year the Jays won their first division championship, apart from the clincher and Phil Niekro's shutout the next day that kept them from 100 wins.) He fought with the fans--when he was struggling and getting booed in 1988, he said the fans could kiss his purple butt. (I could swear he prefaced that by saying something about how they're a bunch of losers who have to go to work every day, but all the internet remembers is "kiss my purple butt".) I keep thinking lately about how I loved George Bell, but Jose Bautista annoys me with his constant carping at the umpires. Of course, they didn't have Pitch F/X in George Bell's day, so you could believe that all the strike calls he complained about were actually wrong. With Bautista, everyone can see on their computer screens that the calls he gets mad about are right, or at least borderline, more often than not. And then there's Brett Lawrie, not really apologizing for throwing his batting helmet and hitting the home plate umpire after being called out on strikes--I mean, he said he didn't mean to hit him, and I guess he said he was sorry, but he also said that he has to play with that kind of intensity and, basically, he'd do it again. (And that was while his suspension appeal was still pending. If I were hearing his appeal, I think I might like to tell him that, actually, we're going to suspend you indefinitely until you agree that you will not do that again.) I hear Brett Lawrie saying that and I think, wow, what a jackass. And then I think, if George Bell had said something like that, I would've thought it was awesome. Why is that? Yeah, I was a lot younger when George Bell was an ornery bastard, and maybe that's all there is to it. I'm not so sure, though.
Consider: Yahoo (and maybe everyone else) has run a bunch of articles this season about the deteriorating relationship between the players and the umpires. A lot of the articles have it that it's more the umpires' fault than the players', and maybe the biggest contributor to that is the umpires' resistance to more video review. (While I hate video review, as an umpire, I'd want to say, go ahead, have all the video review you want. It's like that moment as a TA when I realized that not being the final arbiter of my students' grades was a good thing for me. You think you deserve an A? Hey, maybe you do; by all means, take it up with the prof.) But a lot of it is also that the umpires are thought to be too full of themselves, especially given their perceived incompetence. So, a week or two ago, an umpire wouldn't let Russell Martin throw new balls out to the pitcher, because he likes to throw them out himself. He told Martin that he needed to earn the privilege of throwing out new balls. And we know about this now because Martin was moved to complain about it to the media after the game. Now, myself, I think that's pretty funny. That, as opposed to Cole Hamels hitting Bryce Harper just because he's 19 and good, is old-time baseball. (No, wait a minute. Hitting Bryce Harper because he's 19 and good is old-time baseball. Telling the media that you did it because it's old-time baseball is not old-time baseball; it is stupid and lame. (What you should tell the media when they ask you if you hit Bryce Harper on purpose is: "I'm not answering that. That's a clown question, bro." (Is Bryce Harper a jackass for saying that? I dunno, but I do like how he coolly and good-naturedly continues on after that. Also, I like Mormons. (Who knows how long it would've been until I learned that Bryce Harper is a Mormon unless some clown had asked him if he would take advantage of the Canadian drinking age while he was in town.)))) But the Yahoo columnist holds it up as another example of how baseball needs to rein in the raging egos of the umpires. (How much of this piling on the umpires the last few years is basically "get your government hands off my strike zone"? A lot, I betcha.) Anyway, I bring up this business about umpires because, as a kid, while I missed Ron Luciano's comedy umpiring act--for instance, he would make out calls by shooting players with his finger--by a few years, I was just in time for his series of books about it. They were awesome. They were hilarious. They made baseball sound like it was crackling with wit, like it was full of characters, none more than Ron Luciano himself. If Luciano were around these days, the first time he cocked his gun at a baserunner, you'd have to think that the media would be calling for his head--especially given that, among other things, Ron Luciano holds the distinction of being the only umpire to eject a manager in both games of a doubleheader; who does this guy think he is anyway?--major league baseball would probably have to suspend him ... and I'm afraid I'd think he was a jackass. Why is that?
You might say: why is that, especially, in the age of Jackass and all the rest, when jackasses are, apparently, glorified for being jackasses? My hunch is that the answer lies in the question--when you were a jackass in 1988, you weren't just another of the crowd of jackasses that seemed to be taking over the world. Well, I dunno, that's one hunch.
Today I chased Jo(e) around the backyard until s/he climbed about four feet up the fence and wriggled through. (Would you think worse of me if I told you that I tapped Jo(e) on the nose with my boot? I did not kick Jo(e), mind you. Just a little tap. I wanted to give Jo(e) something to think about before coming in the yard again, but I'm afraid I may have just taught Jo(e) that I am a weak opponent. Anyway, this prompted me to ponder the gulf between those who think I'm crazy for not just killing the damned thing, and those who would report me to the Humane Society and the Toronto Star if they saw me physically assaulting Jo(e).) At this point I'm going to have to declare keeping Jo(e) out of the backyard a hopeless (expensive, time-consuming) endeavour. Yesterday there were actually two groundhogs out there for the first time. And yet, somehow, they haven't eaten all my squash to the ground--yet. The clover seems to be keeping them occupied--so far.
Another tip for the novice gardener: plant enough of any given kind of plant that you won't mind losing a few. Planting only one honeydew melon last year was foolish. Planting only two eggplants this year was dangerous, but apparently the groundhogs don't like them (although they do seem to have taken bites out of them, like they take bites out of my pepper plants now and then to remind themselves that they don't really like pepper plants). Today I stepped on one of my pepper plants--sometimes I do something like that and think I'm my own worst enemy, but then I think, no, Jo(e) is my way worse enemy--but I have enough of them that it won't bug me for the rest of the year.
( Whaddaya suppose this is? )
When I was a kid, my favourite baseball player was George Bell. I liked how he hit--I liked his stance, and I liked how he would try to dunk balls to the opposite field with two strikes--but probably mostly I liked him because he was an ornery bastard. (My friend JL's favourite player was Lloyd Moseby. JL was the founding, and probably only, president of my highschool's Jazz and Blues Society. It's all about style. Lloyd Moseby was jazz; George Bell was punk rock.) George Bell fought with the umpires. He fought with his manager--he sat down on the outfield grass and refused to play in a spring training game after his MVP season because Jimy Williams wanted to move him from left field to DH. He fought with opposing pitchers--after Bruce Kison hit him with a pitch, he charged the mound and threw a flying drop-kick on him. (Kison's day ended with Ernie Whitt hitting a grand slam off him and barking at him all the way around the bases. And, you know, that would be the only regular-season game I specifically remember from the year the Jays won their first division championship, apart from the clincher and Phil Niekro's shutout the next day that kept them from 100 wins.) He fought with the fans--when he was struggling and getting booed in 1988, he said the fans could kiss his purple butt. (I could swear he prefaced that by saying something about how they're a bunch of losers who have to go to work every day, but all the internet remembers is "kiss my purple butt".) I keep thinking lately about how I loved George Bell, but Jose Bautista annoys me with his constant carping at the umpires. Of course, they didn't have Pitch F/X in George Bell's day, so you could believe that all the strike calls he complained about were actually wrong. With Bautista, everyone can see on their computer screens that the calls he gets mad about are right, or at least borderline, more often than not. And then there's Brett Lawrie, not really apologizing for throwing his batting helmet and hitting the home plate umpire after being called out on strikes--I mean, he said he didn't mean to hit him, and I guess he said he was sorry, but he also said that he has to play with that kind of intensity and, basically, he'd do it again. (And that was while his suspension appeal was still pending. If I were hearing his appeal, I think I might like to tell him that, actually, we're going to suspend you indefinitely until you agree that you will not do that again.) I hear Brett Lawrie saying that and I think, wow, what a jackass. And then I think, if George Bell had said something like that, I would've thought it was awesome. Why is that? Yeah, I was a lot younger when George Bell was an ornery bastard, and maybe that's all there is to it. I'm not so sure, though.
Consider: Yahoo (and maybe everyone else) has run a bunch of articles this season about the deteriorating relationship between the players and the umpires. A lot of the articles have it that it's more the umpires' fault than the players', and maybe the biggest contributor to that is the umpires' resistance to more video review. (While I hate video review, as an umpire, I'd want to say, go ahead, have all the video review you want. It's like that moment as a TA when I realized that not being the final arbiter of my students' grades was a good thing for me. You think you deserve an A? Hey, maybe you do; by all means, take it up with the prof.) But a lot of it is also that the umpires are thought to be too full of themselves, especially given their perceived incompetence. So, a week or two ago, an umpire wouldn't let Russell Martin throw new balls out to the pitcher, because he likes to throw them out himself. He told Martin that he needed to earn the privilege of throwing out new balls. And we know about this now because Martin was moved to complain about it to the media after the game. Now, myself, I think that's pretty funny. That, as opposed to Cole Hamels hitting Bryce Harper just because he's 19 and good, is old-time baseball. (No, wait a minute. Hitting Bryce Harper because he's 19 and good is old-time baseball. Telling the media that you did it because it's old-time baseball is not old-time baseball; it is stupid and lame. (What you should tell the media when they ask you if you hit Bryce Harper on purpose is: "I'm not answering that. That's a clown question, bro." (Is Bryce Harper a jackass for saying that? I dunno, but I do like how he coolly and good-naturedly continues on after that. Also, I like Mormons. (Who knows how long it would've been until I learned that Bryce Harper is a Mormon unless some clown had asked him if he would take advantage of the Canadian drinking age while he was in town.)))) But the Yahoo columnist holds it up as another example of how baseball needs to rein in the raging egos of the umpires. (How much of this piling on the umpires the last few years is basically "get your government hands off my strike zone"? A lot, I betcha.) Anyway, I bring up this business about umpires because, as a kid, while I missed Ron Luciano's comedy umpiring act--for instance, he would make out calls by shooting players with his finger--by a few years, I was just in time for his series of books about it. They were awesome. They were hilarious. They made baseball sound like it was crackling with wit, like it was full of characters, none more than Ron Luciano himself. If Luciano were around these days, the first time he cocked his gun at a baserunner, you'd have to think that the media would be calling for his head--especially given that, among other things, Ron Luciano holds the distinction of being the only umpire to eject a manager in both games of a doubleheader; who does this guy think he is anyway?--major league baseball would probably have to suspend him ... and I'm afraid I'd think he was a jackass. Why is that?
You might say: why is that, especially, in the age of Jackass and all the rest, when jackasses are, apparently, glorified for being jackasses? My hunch is that the answer lies in the question--when you were a jackass in 1988, you weren't just another of the crowd of jackasses that seemed to be taking over the world. Well, I dunno, that's one hunch.
Today I chased Jo(e) around the backyard until s/he climbed about four feet up the fence and wriggled through. (Would you think worse of me if I told you that I tapped Jo(e) on the nose with my boot? I did not kick Jo(e), mind you. Just a little tap. I wanted to give Jo(e) something to think about before coming in the yard again, but I'm afraid I may have just taught Jo(e) that I am a weak opponent. Anyway, this prompted me to ponder the gulf between those who think I'm crazy for not just killing the damned thing, and those who would report me to the Humane Society and the Toronto Star if they saw me physically assaulting Jo(e).) At this point I'm going to have to declare keeping Jo(e) out of the backyard a hopeless (expensive, time-consuming) endeavour. Yesterday there were actually two groundhogs out there for the first time. And yet, somehow, they haven't eaten all my squash to the ground--yet. The clover seems to be keeping them occupied--so far.
Another tip for the novice gardener: plant enough of any given kind of plant that you won't mind losing a few. Planting only one honeydew melon last year was foolish. Planting only two eggplants this year was dangerous, but apparently the groundhogs don't like them (although they do seem to have taken bites out of them, like they take bites out of my pepper plants now and then to remind themselves that they don't really like pepper plants). Today I stepped on one of my pepper plants--sometimes I do something like that and think I'm my own worst enemy, but then I think, no, Jo(e) is my way worse enemy--but I have enough of them that it won't bug me for the rest of the year.
( Whaddaya suppose this is? )
