At the close of the 1949 season, the Cleveland Browns were due to face the San Francisco 49ers in the final game ever played by the soon-to-become-defunct All-America Football Conference teams. The annual league championship rested on the outcome.
Otto Graham, the Browns’ renowned quarterback, would be leading his team’s attack on that fateful day. Unfortunately, due to injuries suffered earlier in the season, both his knees were being literally held together with bailing wire and scotch tape. Little effort would thus be required to render him utterly powerless, and haulable off on a stretcher, by means of over-aggressive joint-twisting tackles.
Buck Shaw, the 49ers’ head coach, sternly warned his players before the game that anyone intentionally further crippling Graham would be off the squad from that day forward. While bringing him down was required action as always, unfair destruction could not be the prime motive.
The coach’s compelling point was that winning the game as a result of wiping out Graham would produce a hollow victory. He wanted to preserve the dignity of conquering the Cleveland legions with Otto at the forefront.
As things turned out, quarterback Graham played the full game and led his team to the league title. Nevertheless, the story stands as a monumental tribute to the sportsmanship of Buck Shaw. It’s a shame such qualities are not more paramount in football.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
EVEN PRO FOOTBALL HAS ITS FLAWS
This article forms a sister piece to the one published earlier which focused on modern baseball’s observed shortcomings, at least from our private point of view. Although our list of gripes about football is somewhat shorter, we feel that certain rule and announcing amendments merit consideration.
The football played on American fields prior to the advent of the forward pass would be barely recognizable today. Back then the game featured nothing but raw, bonecrushing, man-to-man contact, with bloody faces, players wearing head bandages resembling war wounded, and unhappily, fatal injuries. Changes soon became mandatory so as to prevent wholesale mayhem.
By necessity, therefore, the roughness element has been curtailed on a very gradual basis over the century and a quarter-plus of gridiron combat. Not only are players now equipped with more protective field attire, but rules have become somewhat over-restrictive. Dozens upon dozens of blocking, tackling, and other tactics have been outlawed to a constantly increasing degree. Avoidance, well at least major reduction, of serious injury stands paramount today.
Despite additional safeguards being written into grid law with the start of each new season, football is still a mighty rugged game, and hopefully will always remain so. Player casualties can never be totally eliminated, no matter how hard the rule makers try.
Keeping that last point firmly in mind, we feel compelled to ask the question just where does optimum player protection end and the road to virtual sissification begin? Have the field officials become overcharged with penalty assessment duties which seem to be approaching a stage of overkill? Although we strongly endorse legislation against meddling with face masks, roughing the kicker, and other subhuman acts, we can’t quite grasp the need for these ever-increasing limitations on basic blocking and tackling methods. There are moments when watching our space age contests that we tend to wince at flags thrown for what seem like reasonably legitimate means of knocking opponents off their feet.
At the risk of sounding a bit on the exaggerated side, could we possibly be heading toward the day when all a defensive player had to do in stopping an enemy ball carrier was touch him with two hands below the waist? Furthermore, might blocking be limited to merely getting into an opponent’s way, forcing him to take a circuitous route in pursuit of the man he seeks to bring down?
We all realize, of course, that not every player performing on every field every Saturday or Sunday throughout every season has been endowed with the gentlemanliness attributed to an English aristocrat. There’s a pretty fair sized band of fellows with inbred cravings to blow those guys wearing opposite color jerseys to kingdom come. Moreover, they often tend to get by with their excessive roughness without being caught. Obviously, no rule restrictions will ever be adequate to keep such rage in check, and the sissification process we’ve been observing lately won’t help.
Our second subject of concern deals with sudden death overtime, whose provision was written into the rules before the 1958 season. At the time, this writer stood among the loudest applauders of the change. As many football players could be heard to say prior to such enactment, finishing a game with a tie score is like kissing your sister.
Said marked improvement notwithstanding, we’re not exactly thrilled with the rules applied to the overtime period. In our opinion, the game’s extended result is way too reliant upon which team wins the coin toss following the fourth quarter close. This accords them the chance to gain possession right off, with the opportunity to execute a quick score, while the opposition holds no retaliatory option.
We would prefer to see an overtime session not to be considered complete until each opponent has been allowed at least one possession. Causing the game to proceed even longer for this reason should certainly pose no hardship. Meanwhile, the fairness level would be raised to a point where we believe greater satisfaction may be achieved.
Another rule which has remained in effect from the very beginning is that a regulation game must end after sixty minutes of play while the clock is officially running. Football strategy as we know it today thus requires effective time utilization, especially as the fourth quarter is nearing its end. Last instant field goals or touchdown runs can be witnessed on many current era occasions, resulting in extremely thrilling cliffhanger finishes.
Nevertheless, we have often wondered if the clock should really be such a vital controlling element. Might it not be at least as equitable to base a game’s action span on a specified number of plays executed within each quarter instead?
As in baseball, with its nine unclocked innings, plus extras if needed to settle ties, would undue harm result from eliminating time control as an essential element?
Final quarter game-stalling tactics by the team ahead would continue to prevail. On the other hand, a trailing opponent frantically seeking a last-minute score could no longer rely upon incomplete pass plays or stepping out of bounds to stop the outmoded clock. We’d clearly be in line for a number of key strategy alterations. A few abuses might arise as well, but with such matters resolvable through rules enactment, none of which would put the game any further under the sissification umbrella, as defined earlier herein.
On the other hand, such a break from entrenched tradition would admittedly call for careful review before taking a step of such magnitude. A thousand or more objections, logical or simply manufactured to preserve the past, are likely to be raised. Our sole intent on this point has been to lay open the question of play quantities vs. the all-powerful clock as a topic for conjecture.
Moving further on, we wish to register the same gripe addressed to baseball earlier, regarding the never-abating flow of meaningless statistics generated from game to game by the boys sitting near the press box with their computers. Their sworn task is to keep the announcers forever supplied with chatting points between plays.
It’s a well-known fact that new records are being set every year, a few of which do warrant public mention. However, this doesn’t give due license to dwell upon yardage gained, pass completion percentage, number of sacks, and the like from every conceivable angle week after week. We urge cutting out these boring stat concoctions, so the announcing crew may focus more pointedly upon the game at hand, not just the latest comparison with inconsequential past history.
Our final disgruntlement deals further with the two or sometimes three man crews up in the box, supplemented by pretty ladies down on the field offering closer exposure. We have no objection to the girls and their color-providing efforts. What we grit our teeth over is the men, who all too frequently seem to consider themselves as reincarnations of Abbott and Costello or the Marx Brothers. Once again, Lads, please restrict your descriptive dialogue to the purely physical aspects of the game before you. In addition to knocking off the senseless stats, quit trying to prove how immensely funny you are.
That’s it, Folks, for the game of football. You may or may not agree with our feelings. Just remember, the door is always open for argument.
The football played on American fields prior to the advent of the forward pass would be barely recognizable today. Back then the game featured nothing but raw, bonecrushing, man-to-man contact, with bloody faces, players wearing head bandages resembling war wounded, and unhappily, fatal injuries. Changes soon became mandatory so as to prevent wholesale mayhem.
By necessity, therefore, the roughness element has been curtailed on a very gradual basis over the century and a quarter-plus of gridiron combat. Not only are players now equipped with more protective field attire, but rules have become somewhat over-restrictive. Dozens upon dozens of blocking, tackling, and other tactics have been outlawed to a constantly increasing degree. Avoidance, well at least major reduction, of serious injury stands paramount today.
Despite additional safeguards being written into grid law with the start of each new season, football is still a mighty rugged game, and hopefully will always remain so. Player casualties can never be totally eliminated, no matter how hard the rule makers try.
Keeping that last point firmly in mind, we feel compelled to ask the question just where does optimum player protection end and the road to virtual sissification begin? Have the field officials become overcharged with penalty assessment duties which seem to be approaching a stage of overkill? Although we strongly endorse legislation against meddling with face masks, roughing the kicker, and other subhuman acts, we can’t quite grasp the need for these ever-increasing limitations on basic blocking and tackling methods. There are moments when watching our space age contests that we tend to wince at flags thrown for what seem like reasonably legitimate means of knocking opponents off their feet.
At the risk of sounding a bit on the exaggerated side, could we possibly be heading toward the day when all a defensive player had to do in stopping an enemy ball carrier was touch him with two hands below the waist? Furthermore, might blocking be limited to merely getting into an opponent’s way, forcing him to take a circuitous route in pursuit of the man he seeks to bring down?
We all realize, of course, that not every player performing on every field every Saturday or Sunday throughout every season has been endowed with the gentlemanliness attributed to an English aristocrat. There’s a pretty fair sized band of fellows with inbred cravings to blow those guys wearing opposite color jerseys to kingdom come. Moreover, they often tend to get by with their excessive roughness without being caught. Obviously, no rule restrictions will ever be adequate to keep such rage in check, and the sissification process we’ve been observing lately won’t help.
Our second subject of concern deals with sudden death overtime, whose provision was written into the rules before the 1958 season. At the time, this writer stood among the loudest applauders of the change. As many football players could be heard to say prior to such enactment, finishing a game with a tie score is like kissing your sister.
Said marked improvement notwithstanding, we’re not exactly thrilled with the rules applied to the overtime period. In our opinion, the game’s extended result is way too reliant upon which team wins the coin toss following the fourth quarter close. This accords them the chance to gain possession right off, with the opportunity to execute a quick score, while the opposition holds no retaliatory option.
We would prefer to see an overtime session not to be considered complete until each opponent has been allowed at least one possession. Causing the game to proceed even longer for this reason should certainly pose no hardship. Meanwhile, the fairness level would be raised to a point where we believe greater satisfaction may be achieved.
Another rule which has remained in effect from the very beginning is that a regulation game must end after sixty minutes of play while the clock is officially running. Football strategy as we know it today thus requires effective time utilization, especially as the fourth quarter is nearing its end. Last instant field goals or touchdown runs can be witnessed on many current era occasions, resulting in extremely thrilling cliffhanger finishes.
Nevertheless, we have often wondered if the clock should really be such a vital controlling element. Might it not be at least as equitable to base a game’s action span on a specified number of plays executed within each quarter instead?
As in baseball, with its nine unclocked innings, plus extras if needed to settle ties, would undue harm result from eliminating time control as an essential element?
Final quarter game-stalling tactics by the team ahead would continue to prevail. On the other hand, a trailing opponent frantically seeking a last-minute score could no longer rely upon incomplete pass plays or stepping out of bounds to stop the outmoded clock. We’d clearly be in line for a number of key strategy alterations. A few abuses might arise as well, but with such matters resolvable through rules enactment, none of which would put the game any further under the sissification umbrella, as defined earlier herein.
On the other hand, such a break from entrenched tradition would admittedly call for careful review before taking a step of such magnitude. A thousand or more objections, logical or simply manufactured to preserve the past, are likely to be raised. Our sole intent on this point has been to lay open the question of play quantities vs. the all-powerful clock as a topic for conjecture.
Moving further on, we wish to register the same gripe addressed to baseball earlier, regarding the never-abating flow of meaningless statistics generated from game to game by the boys sitting near the press box with their computers. Their sworn task is to keep the announcers forever supplied with chatting points between plays.
It’s a well-known fact that new records are being set every year, a few of which do warrant public mention. However, this doesn’t give due license to dwell upon yardage gained, pass completion percentage, number of sacks, and the like from every conceivable angle week after week. We urge cutting out these boring stat concoctions, so the announcing crew may focus more pointedly upon the game at hand, not just the latest comparison with inconsequential past history.
Our final disgruntlement deals further with the two or sometimes three man crews up in the box, supplemented by pretty ladies down on the field offering closer exposure. We have no objection to the girls and their color-providing efforts. What we grit our teeth over is the men, who all too frequently seem to consider themselves as reincarnations of Abbott and Costello or the Marx Brothers. Once again, Lads, please restrict your descriptive dialogue to the purely physical aspects of the game before you. In addition to knocking off the senseless stats, quit trying to prove how immensely funny you are.
That’s it, Folks, for the game of football. You may or may not agree with our feelings. Just remember, the door is always open for argument.
Monday, May 11, 2009
BASEBALL'S FIRST 100 YEARS -- THE FABLE AND THE CHASTITY
Once or twice in the proverbial blue moon, a person finds himself rummaging through hoary old attic or closet contents, with an occasional surprise discovery. “Gosh, I’d forgotten about this” is the usual impromptu comment.
A fairly recent such nosing-about venture caused this writer to uncover the June 1939 issue of Baseball Magazine. At the time, this highly revered copy was nothing short of a museum piece, hence still worth holding onto 70 years later.
What was so special about this particular issue? Well, it commemorated the game’s supposed 100th anniversary. The front cover picture featured Major General Abner Doubleday, who had purportedly “invented” baseball exactly one century earlier.
Any present-day fan up on his diamond lore now realizes that perhaps the General did participate in a few games during those early days, but numerous competent researchers have long proven his originative accomplishments to be sheer folly. His so-called contribution to the sport holds no more validity than does comedian Bob Newhart’s still memorable monologue skit about a game company executive telling Mr. Doubleday over the phone that nobody would ever be interested in playing baseball.
It does seem strange, however, that the Doubleday myth had persisted as long as a full century. Apparently, everyone even remotely concerned with baseball back then blithely accepted the romantic fable with never the need (or maybe the audacity) to question the historical “facts”.
Nevertheless, throughout our earth’s 25,000-plus daily whirlarounds since 1939, our society has progressed from a state of extreme naïvity to a sophistication degree perhaps a thousand times over. No longer are we the least bit inclined to accept inadequately-documented tales.
The real baseball story, in fact, is that, like Topsy of literary fame, it “jist growed” from as far back as the 1830s or thereabouts.
Still, that particular element makes up only part of our subject matter here. Back in June 1939, the avid Baseball Magazine reader wasn’t simply naïve, but ready and willing to accept as well a duly antiseptic-laced historical account of the game’s stated 100-year official existence.
We certainly don’t wish to detract from the niceties of our national pastime in this commemorative edition, since it contained a great many nostalgic articles and past era player photos. We hold no regrets over having kept the magazine tucked away for posterity.
On the other hand, thanks to the whitewashing process, the editors made sure to portray the game as having been pure as the driven snow all along. Accordingly, the reader saw no mention whatsoever of George Herman Ruth’s unsavory off-the-field activities, Grover Cleveland Alexander’s passion for the hard stuff, or any similarly distasteful matters. The former days’ Hollywood film industry censors had nothing on this magazine’s publishers. Not only did they scrub the Babe and Old Pete with Dutch cleanser, but even failed to offer the slightest reference to the Black Sox scandal of 1919, when the World Series was sold out to gambling barons.
About all we can add at this stage is that, should a comparably decontaminated baseball lore publication go to press today, we readers as a collective body would promptly toss it into the nearest waste basket. Nobody would dare attempt to convince us that the likes of Ruth, Alexander, et al bore angel’s wings and the 1919 Series went off squeaky clean from start to finish.
Perhaps the moral to this theme is that we seem to have made some significant advances over the past seven decades, from a state of blind belief to one literally oozing a taste for realism.
A fairly recent such nosing-about venture caused this writer to uncover the June 1939 issue of Baseball Magazine. At the time, this highly revered copy was nothing short of a museum piece, hence still worth holding onto 70 years later.
What was so special about this particular issue? Well, it commemorated the game’s supposed 100th anniversary. The front cover picture featured Major General Abner Doubleday, who had purportedly “invented” baseball exactly one century earlier.
Any present-day fan up on his diamond lore now realizes that perhaps the General did participate in a few games during those early days, but numerous competent researchers have long proven his originative accomplishments to be sheer folly. His so-called contribution to the sport holds no more validity than does comedian Bob Newhart’s still memorable monologue skit about a game company executive telling Mr. Doubleday over the phone that nobody would ever be interested in playing baseball.
It does seem strange, however, that the Doubleday myth had persisted as long as a full century. Apparently, everyone even remotely concerned with baseball back then blithely accepted the romantic fable with never the need (or maybe the audacity) to question the historical “facts”.
Nevertheless, throughout our earth’s 25,000-plus daily whirlarounds since 1939, our society has progressed from a state of extreme naïvity to a sophistication degree perhaps a thousand times over. No longer are we the least bit inclined to accept inadequately-documented tales.
The real baseball story, in fact, is that, like Topsy of literary fame, it “jist growed” from as far back as the 1830s or thereabouts.
Still, that particular element makes up only part of our subject matter here. Back in June 1939, the avid Baseball Magazine reader wasn’t simply naïve, but ready and willing to accept as well a duly antiseptic-laced historical account of the game’s stated 100-year official existence.
We certainly don’t wish to detract from the niceties of our national pastime in this commemorative edition, since it contained a great many nostalgic articles and past era player photos. We hold no regrets over having kept the magazine tucked away for posterity.
On the other hand, thanks to the whitewashing process, the editors made sure to portray the game as having been pure as the driven snow all along. Accordingly, the reader saw no mention whatsoever of George Herman Ruth’s unsavory off-the-field activities, Grover Cleveland Alexander’s passion for the hard stuff, or any similarly distasteful matters. The former days’ Hollywood film industry censors had nothing on this magazine’s publishers. Not only did they scrub the Babe and Old Pete with Dutch cleanser, but even failed to offer the slightest reference to the Black Sox scandal of 1919, when the World Series was sold out to gambling barons.
About all we can add at this stage is that, should a comparably decontaminated baseball lore publication go to press today, we readers as a collective body would promptly toss it into the nearest waste basket. Nobody would dare attempt to convince us that the likes of Ruth, Alexander, et al bore angel’s wings and the 1919 Series went off squeaky clean from start to finish.
Perhaps the moral to this theme is that we seem to have made some significant advances over the past seven decades, from a state of blind belief to one literally oozing a taste for realism.
THINGS WE'VE GROWN TO DISLIKE ABOUT BASEBALL
A Handful of Key Pet Peeves
By virtue of having followed major league baseball since early childhood, and studied its history in extreme depth from time immemorial, this writer has developed an undying love for the game. Unhappily, however, said devotion chiefly applies to how things used to be. Over recent years, a number of complaints have been engendered regarding certain practices, rules, and attitudes which we deem rather less than fully acceptable. The intent of this piece is to present them in our best highly opinionated style.
We readily recall when there were two simply-organized leagues, consisting of eight clubs each, all bounded on the west by St. Louis. Baseball was indeed a game back then, far removed from today’s multi-million dollar business atmosphere which predominates the present scene. It isn’t just the glory of winning any longer, but the bucks to be gained at every level, from executive mogul down to player. Although this apparently recession/depression-proof industry continues to provide summers filled with sheer excitement, way too much of its former flavor seems to have faded away.
Perhaps we’re just old-fashioned, tradition-bound, ultra-conservative, or whatever, but can’t help having reached a rather advanced stage of upsettedness over how the whole scheme is being administered. As a consequence, we’re taking issue with several don’t likes, then offering recommendations for change where pertinent, essentially harking back, we admit to say, the “good old days”.
In order of relative significance, what we judge to be the game’s modern-age bad points and their proposed rectification, if feasible, follow below. However, a few of the topics we’re raising herein aren’t likely to be implementable. Why not? Simply because they’d have the effect of reducing club revenues, the reasons for which will be obvious to the reader. Still, we prefer to think of baseball’s true merits and its fairness, not merely the big bucks that are being striven for every day.
SCHEDULING
This writer is a longstanding steadfast advocate of assuring a completely level playing field from all aspects, season-by-season, for each participating team. We fail to see such feature in existence under present rules and circumstances.
Years ago, a regular season consisted of 154 games, whereby a club would face every opponent within its league exactly 22 times. On this premise, the odds were fully equal. Today instead, with each circuit broken down into the three divisions, the greatest part of each team’s schedule includes confrontations with its sectional rivals, supplemented by limited encounters elsewhere. We thus hear much talk about relatively “tough” vs. “weak” intraleague opposition. Is this what a person might call a level overall playing field?
There are currently 14 American and 16 National League franchises. We would propose to correct this non-understandable lopsidedness by returning the Milwaukee Braves to the junior circuit from whence it initially sprung, thus restoring complete balance. With every club then required to play 11 games with each opponent within its league, we’d easily and painlessly return to the 154 season total.
Corollary to the above steps would be elimination of those senseless interleague games held in June and July, scheduled merely to attract additional fans. We see no value, other than greed-motivated profitability enhancement, in such continuance, while remaining quite aware that the club owners would scream to high heaven at the mere suggestion of such a “radical” idea.
Technically speaking, these moves could negate the need for post-season playoffs to determine who the World Series rivals are to be, by virtue of simple reversion to former eras, with the winningest teams in each league up against one another.
The above thoughts notwithstanding, we really aren’t that dead set against playoffs each year, as lead-ups to the World Series. Some such practice might well remain under consideration, maybe on a round-robin basis between the four, six, or even eight leading teams from each circuit. This would certainly help satisfy the dollar-mongers who rule the roost, by retaining a bit of the spice which keeps the fans in nail-biting frenzy. You see, we aren’t that old-fashioned and outmoded.
DESIGNATED HITTERS
Countless adjectives immediately come to mind at the very mention of this American League park rule, which began in 1973. Our word list includes stupid, ridiculous, silly, nonsensical, and idiotic for openers, and could likely carry for a mile or so.
Why in God’s name should pitchers be turned into virtual eunuchs when it comes to wielding a bat? Way back when, a hurler who couldn’t hold his own at the plate, or even in another field position when it wasn’t his turn on the mound, would be relegated to the minors with little delay.
We certainly don’t expect our modern-day pitchers to have the hitting talents of a Ruth or the base-circling heroics of a Cobb. The sole need would be for him to take his regular turn at bat and do a reasonably fair job in reaching first base safely from time to time. Sure, his presence at the plate would often constitute a weak spot in the lineup, but with the same handicap applicable to the opposing team as well. Here again, we’re seeking another level playing field situation.
A further deplorable element regarding today’s moundsmen, about which we grudgingly feel that little can be done, is the degree to which they are coddled. You’d swear sometimes that they were made of fragile crystal. We quickly become annoyed upon hearing an announcer’s semi-depressed tone when stating that “Glotzenheimer has thrown almost 100 pitches in this game so far”, meaning he must be relieved soon, or else his arm might fall off.
Undoubtedly, there are testimonials on file from competent physicians to the effect that a pitcher’s efficiency declines significantly after 100 per-game throws, over and above the countless others during the pre-action and between-innings warm-up tosses. Nevertheless, we recall the time when going the full nine added up to a masterful feat, bringing on a sense of true accomplishment as a hurler trudged to the dugout after retiring opponent number 27 in a glorious finish. We sorely miss that now-obsolescent feature. Is there anything so really wrong in allowing a fellow to go the route, just so long as he doesn’t get into too much trouble?
MAPLE BATS
Our blood nearly reaches a boiling point whenever a bat breaks as the ball is hit, followed by a huge, sharp-edged hunk of wood hurling onto the field or elsewhere. This is pretty dangerous business, and all due to using that infernal maple instead of the traditional ash. Earlier this season, a behind-the-plate umpire was actually struck in the head by such a piece of flying lumber.
Without question, maple bats ought to be permanently outlawed before somebody, including maybe a fan, gets blinded, maimed, or even killed by wooden shrapnel. Ash has been in use for ages, and has proven to be far safer.
CHALLENGES AND REPLAYS
How many times have we witnessed a close infield play where the out vs. safe condition is clearly obvious, but with the umpire dead wrong in his call? What can be more disgusting to watch, as the arbiter stands silently and authoritatively, endowed with papal-like infallibility, with no recourse for his error? An onto-the-field charge by a violently protesting manager amounts to an utter waste of effort.
For heaven’s sake, football has effectively adopted a means whereby a coach may challenge a close play call, with resultant need for a relook at the result from alternate camera angles inside a special enclosed viewing booth. In every such case, a potential decision reversal lies in the offing. How long must we continue enduring downright umpire inaccuracy, with no provision for remedy whatsoever? Are we too proud to copycat what the gridiron boys do?
BALLS AND STRIKES
Since we’re already on the subject of umpires, we firmly believe that the heavily padded fellow hunching down behind the catcher has become virtually redundant. Electronic gadgetry is frequently displayed on the TV screen, to indicate precisely where a pitched ball has crossed the plate in relation to the strike zone. Talk about infallibility -- we seem to have it right at our fingertips. Even in a non-televised game, we should be able to put this system into full effect, with maybe a touch more of technology.
We thus envision balls and strikes being determined automatically, rather than by umpires who are known to define the crucial zone perimeter in their own respectively varying terms. Every hitter and pitcher has an awareness of which men apply either “tight” or “liberal” judgment in such regard, and make personal adjustments accordingly. What good lies in perpetuating such inconsistent thinking, when modern technology has provided more workable methods? Once again, we must cite our lack of sentimental ties with the past.
USE OF STEROIDS
The present-day game faces no problem more ticklish than this. We actually find ourselves at both ends of the spectrum from an opinionated viewpoint.
In principle, we feel that a player is entitled to enhance his strength and performance prowess by whatever means he considers appropriate, even if the end results will surely wreak irreparable body damage. That’s for him to decide upon personally. The world doesn’t seem to care if he smokes heavily or drinks to excess when off the field, so why worry over other means of self-destruction?
On the other hand, how can a practice as dangerous as this be condoned, when growing kids stand to be induced to follow suit, and thus better their chances of attaining big league status too? Steroids, therefore, loom as unduly harmful to the country’s athletic youth. How dare we allow their use to continue without the severest of restrictions?
Only one answer seems appropriate here, and that is out-and-out policing and control. It may become necessary to go so far as to extract frequently periodic urine specimens from every player on a surprise basis, following any given game. A person found guilty of steroid use by such means alone would have to be unceremoniously bounced out of baseball, either permanently or at least for an extended period. No other shortcut method looks suitable if we’re going to protect our growing generation.
FREE AGENCY
This is a more or less bonus feature added, because the situation cited can’t be deemed all bad, just a mite deplorable.
We still retain an old-fashioned opinion that an individual player ought to hold continuing loyalty to his current team, provided he’s being treated fairly. Jumping to any other club should lie pretty far down on his to do list, and be carried out only after careful soul-searching.
Perhaps this is totally impractical thinking within our present day and age, but we can’t help holding a dislike for franchise hopping, solely in search of a higher pay check.
Nevertheless, there’s little sense in ignoring the fact that the cause of all this came from club owners’ greed and the virtual slavery contracts the leagues once imposed on players. Whereas the industrial sweatshop days eventually gave way to the organized labor movement, comparable conditions have come to fruition within the baseball universe. Who can blame the franchise jumper, when he’s simply exercising the rights brought about in defiance of those Simon Legree-type moguls?
Consequently, we see no druthers other than to grit our teeth as star performers continuously flit between cities at their legal option, once free agent status goes into effect. Let the owners stew in the mess they created themselves, and endure the added out-of-pocket expense.
PERSONNEL COMPLEMENT EXPLOSION
It’s quite easy to hark back to the era when any given ball club had only a field manager, a coach at first, another at third, a trainer, and a bat boy. Over the past several decades, however, the staff complement has expanded to a point of what appears to be near absurdity.
Today there are pitching coaches, hitting coaches, infield coaches, outfield coaches, bullpen coaches, bench coaches, and God know what else. Our question is whether or not we really need all this vice-presidential baggage.
Ok, we’ll concede to the pitching, hitting, and fielding experts as justifiable, by virtue of said titles. However, what’s the point in paying a fellow to sit out in the bullpen every afternoon or evening and watch relievers warm up? Do his duties involve any more than answering the phone from the dugout, and accordingly informing a couple of the boys to get off their duffs and start tossing a few? Actually, we’d like to know.
As for the bench coach, the only task we can dream up is for him to assign seating places to players when they aren’t on the field. To us, this seems somewhat tantamount to hiring a person to arrange appointments for a one-chair barber shop. Again, are there valid reasons? In any event, this does help create jobs, and that’s what we seem to need these days.
On a related score, why must there be three jovially-voiced announcers to cover every televised game? One fellow used to be enough years ago. Two actually makes some sense, due to provision for additional technical know-how, citing the presence of Joe Morgan along with Jon Miller, for example. Good Lord, though, why should a third guy be required? How soon will the crew sizes be bumped up to four?
STATS, STATS, AND MORE STATS
An unfortunate outshoot of this personnel overexpansion trend is that those announcing gentry are further supported by various technicians and (perhaps worst by far) on-scene statisticians.
As the announcer trios regale the viewing audience with the glorious field events taking place before everyone’s eyes, the stats boys sit nearby with their computers, and continually drum up what often amounts to the game of baseball’s most useless information, merely for its sake.
Will we never cease to be kept apprised of such unimportant matters as Tommy Smithsmythe’s just having hit a double, thus tying the existing record for most two-baggers on a Sunday afternoon in August when the temperature exceeds 70 degrees Fahrenheit? Yes, we’re exaggerating our point, but much of the tripe we get fed game after game sounds almost that ridiculous. Why not have the lads pack up their computers and go someplace to hack?
HALL OF FAME
Although we do deem it most fitting that players be honored annually by means of organized admission to Cooperstown’s hallowed chambers, certain strong feelings persist. We’ve always believed that a chap’s performance on the field ought to be the sole criterion for selection. Whether or not he held up supermarkets, ran internet scams, or frequented brothels after his active days were over should bear no consequence.
There have been debatable cases, but mostly pertinent to playing era activities. Pete Rose’s gambling, albeit on games other than his team’s own, has kept him blackballed. Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens, and possibly Alex Rodriguez appear in line for similar fate, due to steroid use untruthfulness. Buck Weaver and Joe Jackson, guilty only of failure to report proposed bribes in the 1919 World Series scandal, remain on the never-never-never list.
Despite his widely-known carousing and womanizing, Babe Ruth was promptly ushered into Cooperstown as a charter member upon its inauguration. Nobody cared about Ty Cobb’s having assaulted a crippled grandstand occupant, Pete Alexander’s chronic drunkenness, not to mention Paul Waner’s, even while on the playing field. There does seem to be a fairly fine line between selectivity on one hand and perpetual rejection on the other.
We’ll close this particular bit, however, by citing an extreme situation where exclusion was perfectly justifiable, no matter how great the fellow performed on the field. Hal Chase, considered by many to be the best defensive first baseman the game ever had, was openly guilty of betting against his own teams (and there were several). His finally being banned, undoubtedly far too late, appears to be grossly insufficient punishment. As far as we’re concerned, he should have been sent before a firing squad. There are limits of corruption, and he surpassed them probably more than anyone else before or since. We hope so, anyway.
BOTTOM OF THE NINTH
Very well then, Fellow Ardent Fans, as Popeye used to say in the Sunday morning comic strips of yesteryear, “Them’s me sediments”. We’d enjoy seeing baseball scaled back somewhat to earlier, more conservative practices, and an increased sense of overall fairness implemented.
By virtue of having followed major league baseball since early childhood, and studied its history in extreme depth from time immemorial, this writer has developed an undying love for the game. Unhappily, however, said devotion chiefly applies to how things used to be. Over recent years, a number of complaints have been engendered regarding certain practices, rules, and attitudes which we deem rather less than fully acceptable. The intent of this piece is to present them in our best highly opinionated style.
We readily recall when there were two simply-organized leagues, consisting of eight clubs each, all bounded on the west by St. Louis. Baseball was indeed a game back then, far removed from today’s multi-million dollar business atmosphere which predominates the present scene. It isn’t just the glory of winning any longer, but the bucks to be gained at every level, from executive mogul down to player. Although this apparently recession/depression-proof industry continues to provide summers filled with sheer excitement, way too much of its former flavor seems to have faded away.
Perhaps we’re just old-fashioned, tradition-bound, ultra-conservative, or whatever, but can’t help having reached a rather advanced stage of upsettedness over how the whole scheme is being administered. As a consequence, we’re taking issue with several don’t likes, then offering recommendations for change where pertinent, essentially harking back, we admit to say, the “good old days”.
In order of relative significance, what we judge to be the game’s modern-age bad points and their proposed rectification, if feasible, follow below. However, a few of the topics we’re raising herein aren’t likely to be implementable. Why not? Simply because they’d have the effect of reducing club revenues, the reasons for which will be obvious to the reader. Still, we prefer to think of baseball’s true merits and its fairness, not merely the big bucks that are being striven for every day.
SCHEDULING
This writer is a longstanding steadfast advocate of assuring a completely level playing field from all aspects, season-by-season, for each participating team. We fail to see such feature in existence under present rules and circumstances.
Years ago, a regular season consisted of 154 games, whereby a club would face every opponent within its league exactly 22 times. On this premise, the odds were fully equal. Today instead, with each circuit broken down into the three divisions, the greatest part of each team’s schedule includes confrontations with its sectional rivals, supplemented by limited encounters elsewhere. We thus hear much talk about relatively “tough” vs. “weak” intraleague opposition. Is this what a person might call a level overall playing field?
There are currently 14 American and 16 National League franchises. We would propose to correct this non-understandable lopsidedness by returning the Milwaukee Braves to the junior circuit from whence it initially sprung, thus restoring complete balance. With every club then required to play 11 games with each opponent within its league, we’d easily and painlessly return to the 154 season total.
Corollary to the above steps would be elimination of those senseless interleague games held in June and July, scheduled merely to attract additional fans. We see no value, other than greed-motivated profitability enhancement, in such continuance, while remaining quite aware that the club owners would scream to high heaven at the mere suggestion of such a “radical” idea.
Technically speaking, these moves could negate the need for post-season playoffs to determine who the World Series rivals are to be, by virtue of simple reversion to former eras, with the winningest teams in each league up against one another.
The above thoughts notwithstanding, we really aren’t that dead set against playoffs each year, as lead-ups to the World Series. Some such practice might well remain under consideration, maybe on a round-robin basis between the four, six, or even eight leading teams from each circuit. This would certainly help satisfy the dollar-mongers who rule the roost, by retaining a bit of the spice which keeps the fans in nail-biting frenzy. You see, we aren’t that old-fashioned and outmoded.
DESIGNATED HITTERS
Countless adjectives immediately come to mind at the very mention of this American League park rule, which began in 1973. Our word list includes stupid, ridiculous, silly, nonsensical, and idiotic for openers, and could likely carry for a mile or so.
Why in God’s name should pitchers be turned into virtual eunuchs when it comes to wielding a bat? Way back when, a hurler who couldn’t hold his own at the plate, or even in another field position when it wasn’t his turn on the mound, would be relegated to the minors with little delay.
We certainly don’t expect our modern-day pitchers to have the hitting talents of a Ruth or the base-circling heroics of a Cobb. The sole need would be for him to take his regular turn at bat and do a reasonably fair job in reaching first base safely from time to time. Sure, his presence at the plate would often constitute a weak spot in the lineup, but with the same handicap applicable to the opposing team as well. Here again, we’re seeking another level playing field situation.
A further deplorable element regarding today’s moundsmen, about which we grudgingly feel that little can be done, is the degree to which they are coddled. You’d swear sometimes that they were made of fragile crystal. We quickly become annoyed upon hearing an announcer’s semi-depressed tone when stating that “Glotzenheimer has thrown almost 100 pitches in this game so far”, meaning he must be relieved soon, or else his arm might fall off.
Undoubtedly, there are testimonials on file from competent physicians to the effect that a pitcher’s efficiency declines significantly after 100 per-game throws, over and above the countless others during the pre-action and between-innings warm-up tosses. Nevertheless, we recall the time when going the full nine added up to a masterful feat, bringing on a sense of true accomplishment as a hurler trudged to the dugout after retiring opponent number 27 in a glorious finish. We sorely miss that now-obsolescent feature. Is there anything so really wrong in allowing a fellow to go the route, just so long as he doesn’t get into too much trouble?
MAPLE BATS
Our blood nearly reaches a boiling point whenever a bat breaks as the ball is hit, followed by a huge, sharp-edged hunk of wood hurling onto the field or elsewhere. This is pretty dangerous business, and all due to using that infernal maple instead of the traditional ash. Earlier this season, a behind-the-plate umpire was actually struck in the head by such a piece of flying lumber.
Without question, maple bats ought to be permanently outlawed before somebody, including maybe a fan, gets blinded, maimed, or even killed by wooden shrapnel. Ash has been in use for ages, and has proven to be far safer.
CHALLENGES AND REPLAYS
How many times have we witnessed a close infield play where the out vs. safe condition is clearly obvious, but with the umpire dead wrong in his call? What can be more disgusting to watch, as the arbiter stands silently and authoritatively, endowed with papal-like infallibility, with no recourse for his error? An onto-the-field charge by a violently protesting manager amounts to an utter waste of effort.
For heaven’s sake, football has effectively adopted a means whereby a coach may challenge a close play call, with resultant need for a relook at the result from alternate camera angles inside a special enclosed viewing booth. In every such case, a potential decision reversal lies in the offing. How long must we continue enduring downright umpire inaccuracy, with no provision for remedy whatsoever? Are we too proud to copycat what the gridiron boys do?
BALLS AND STRIKES
Since we’re already on the subject of umpires, we firmly believe that the heavily padded fellow hunching down behind the catcher has become virtually redundant. Electronic gadgetry is frequently displayed on the TV screen, to indicate precisely where a pitched ball has crossed the plate in relation to the strike zone. Talk about infallibility -- we seem to have it right at our fingertips. Even in a non-televised game, we should be able to put this system into full effect, with maybe a touch more of technology.
We thus envision balls and strikes being determined automatically, rather than by umpires who are known to define the crucial zone perimeter in their own respectively varying terms. Every hitter and pitcher has an awareness of which men apply either “tight” or “liberal” judgment in such regard, and make personal adjustments accordingly. What good lies in perpetuating such inconsistent thinking, when modern technology has provided more workable methods? Once again, we must cite our lack of sentimental ties with the past.
USE OF STEROIDS
The present-day game faces no problem more ticklish than this. We actually find ourselves at both ends of the spectrum from an opinionated viewpoint.
In principle, we feel that a player is entitled to enhance his strength and performance prowess by whatever means he considers appropriate, even if the end results will surely wreak irreparable body damage. That’s for him to decide upon personally. The world doesn’t seem to care if he smokes heavily or drinks to excess when off the field, so why worry over other means of self-destruction?
On the other hand, how can a practice as dangerous as this be condoned, when growing kids stand to be induced to follow suit, and thus better their chances of attaining big league status too? Steroids, therefore, loom as unduly harmful to the country’s athletic youth. How dare we allow their use to continue without the severest of restrictions?
Only one answer seems appropriate here, and that is out-and-out policing and control. It may become necessary to go so far as to extract frequently periodic urine specimens from every player on a surprise basis, following any given game. A person found guilty of steroid use by such means alone would have to be unceremoniously bounced out of baseball, either permanently or at least for an extended period. No other shortcut method looks suitable if we’re going to protect our growing generation.
FREE AGENCY
This is a more or less bonus feature added, because the situation cited can’t be deemed all bad, just a mite deplorable.
We still retain an old-fashioned opinion that an individual player ought to hold continuing loyalty to his current team, provided he’s being treated fairly. Jumping to any other club should lie pretty far down on his to do list, and be carried out only after careful soul-searching.
Perhaps this is totally impractical thinking within our present day and age, but we can’t help holding a dislike for franchise hopping, solely in search of a higher pay check.
Nevertheless, there’s little sense in ignoring the fact that the cause of all this came from club owners’ greed and the virtual slavery contracts the leagues once imposed on players. Whereas the industrial sweatshop days eventually gave way to the organized labor movement, comparable conditions have come to fruition within the baseball universe. Who can blame the franchise jumper, when he’s simply exercising the rights brought about in defiance of those Simon Legree-type moguls?
Consequently, we see no druthers other than to grit our teeth as star performers continuously flit between cities at their legal option, once free agent status goes into effect. Let the owners stew in the mess they created themselves, and endure the added out-of-pocket expense.
PERSONNEL COMPLEMENT EXPLOSION
It’s quite easy to hark back to the era when any given ball club had only a field manager, a coach at first, another at third, a trainer, and a bat boy. Over the past several decades, however, the staff complement has expanded to a point of what appears to be near absurdity.
Today there are pitching coaches, hitting coaches, infield coaches, outfield coaches, bullpen coaches, bench coaches, and God know what else. Our question is whether or not we really need all this vice-presidential baggage.
Ok, we’ll concede to the pitching, hitting, and fielding experts as justifiable, by virtue of said titles. However, what’s the point in paying a fellow to sit out in the bullpen every afternoon or evening and watch relievers warm up? Do his duties involve any more than answering the phone from the dugout, and accordingly informing a couple of the boys to get off their duffs and start tossing a few? Actually, we’d like to know.
As for the bench coach, the only task we can dream up is for him to assign seating places to players when they aren’t on the field. To us, this seems somewhat tantamount to hiring a person to arrange appointments for a one-chair barber shop. Again, are there valid reasons? In any event, this does help create jobs, and that’s what we seem to need these days.
On a related score, why must there be three jovially-voiced announcers to cover every televised game? One fellow used to be enough years ago. Two actually makes some sense, due to provision for additional technical know-how, citing the presence of Joe Morgan along with Jon Miller, for example. Good Lord, though, why should a third guy be required? How soon will the crew sizes be bumped up to four?
STATS, STATS, AND MORE STATS
An unfortunate outshoot of this personnel overexpansion trend is that those announcing gentry are further supported by various technicians and (perhaps worst by far) on-scene statisticians.
As the announcer trios regale the viewing audience with the glorious field events taking place before everyone’s eyes, the stats boys sit nearby with their computers, and continually drum up what often amounts to the game of baseball’s most useless information, merely for its sake.
Will we never cease to be kept apprised of such unimportant matters as Tommy Smithsmythe’s just having hit a double, thus tying the existing record for most two-baggers on a Sunday afternoon in August when the temperature exceeds 70 degrees Fahrenheit? Yes, we’re exaggerating our point, but much of the tripe we get fed game after game sounds almost that ridiculous. Why not have the lads pack up their computers and go someplace to hack?
HALL OF FAME
Although we do deem it most fitting that players be honored annually by means of organized admission to Cooperstown’s hallowed chambers, certain strong feelings persist. We’ve always believed that a chap’s performance on the field ought to be the sole criterion for selection. Whether or not he held up supermarkets, ran internet scams, or frequented brothels after his active days were over should bear no consequence.
There have been debatable cases, but mostly pertinent to playing era activities. Pete Rose’s gambling, albeit on games other than his team’s own, has kept him blackballed. Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens, and possibly Alex Rodriguez appear in line for similar fate, due to steroid use untruthfulness. Buck Weaver and Joe Jackson, guilty only of failure to report proposed bribes in the 1919 World Series scandal, remain on the never-never-never list.
Despite his widely-known carousing and womanizing, Babe Ruth was promptly ushered into Cooperstown as a charter member upon its inauguration. Nobody cared about Ty Cobb’s having assaulted a crippled grandstand occupant, Pete Alexander’s chronic drunkenness, not to mention Paul Waner’s, even while on the playing field. There does seem to be a fairly fine line between selectivity on one hand and perpetual rejection on the other.
We’ll close this particular bit, however, by citing an extreme situation where exclusion was perfectly justifiable, no matter how great the fellow performed on the field. Hal Chase, considered by many to be the best defensive first baseman the game ever had, was openly guilty of betting against his own teams (and there were several). His finally being banned, undoubtedly far too late, appears to be grossly insufficient punishment. As far as we’re concerned, he should have been sent before a firing squad. There are limits of corruption, and he surpassed them probably more than anyone else before or since. We hope so, anyway.
BOTTOM OF THE NINTH
Very well then, Fellow Ardent Fans, as Popeye used to say in the Sunday morning comic strips of yesteryear, “Them’s me sediments”. We’d enjoy seeing baseball scaled back somewhat to earlier, more conservative practices, and an increased sense of overall fairness implemented.
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