I Am Guapo

A travesty. A mockery. A sham.

I've never been one to rant and rave about the inadequacies of the Baseball Hall of Fame - on the contrary, I think the voters generally do a fairly good job - but the release of the writer's ballot for the 2008 election has driven me to the brink of madness. Specifically, I am angered - nay, enraged! - by the absence of two players, both pitchers, who might not have stood a chance in Hell of receiving a plaque in Cooperstown, but were almost certainly assured of being the newest inductees into the Bizarro Hall of Fame.

Rich Garces. Mike Morgan. Highway robbery.

What's that, you say? Garces only appeared in 287 games in ten seasons? Owned a career record of 23-10? Saved a grand total of seven games? I will reply to you, and my reply will be this: "Pfffft!" For three seasons, from 1999 to 2001, Garces was the greatest 300+ pound Venezuelan setup man the game of baseball has ever seen. This is such indisputable fact that I refuse to even provide statistical evidence to support my case. The greatness of the man they still lovingly call El Guapo cannot be represented by mere numbers any more than the destructive force of a hurricane can be explained by wind speed alone. That, and his nickname (one of the best in history) is El Guapo.

And Mike Morgan? Mike "I'm 45 games below .500 for my career" Morgan? The guy who, with Mike Moore, might have been the best bad pitcher in baseball in the 1980s? Hell yeah, Mike Morgan. The Bizarro Hall of Fame was created to honor guys like Morgan, who broke in with the Cleveland Spiders in the 1890s, barnstormed in Siberia with Satchel Paige in the 1930s, and finally won a World Series ring with Arizona in 2001 (at least one of those things is true). For him to be left off the ballot...it really has to make him question what he was playing for all those years. (That's how much the Bizarro Hall means to these guys. Seriously.)

Alas, Garces and Morgan are but the tip of the proverbial iceberg. In all, 26 players who were otherwise eligible (ten major league seasons and retired for at least five years) were judged unworthy of an appearance on the ballot. So let me take this opportunity to say "fare thee well" to Luis Alicea, Alex Arias, Andy Benes, Mike Benjamin, Dennis Cook, Delino DeShields, Darrin Fletcher, Chris Haney, Dave Hollins, Bobby J. Jones, Tom Lampkin, Darren Lewis, Mike Magnante, Dave Mlicki, Hipolito Pichardo, Armando Reynoso, Henry Rodriguez, Lee Stevens, Greg Swindell, Mike Trombley, John Valentin, Randy Velarde, Ed Vosberg, and Mark Wohlers. You may be gone, but you will never be forgotten. And I mean "never" in the same sense as it was used in Titanic, when Rose told Jack, "I'll never let go" - right before she let him go. So basically, I'll probably never think of these guys again.

So without Garces and Morgan (and Pichardo, who could have easily emerged as a dark horse candidate had he ended up on the ballot - once, when I was in baseball, I worked with a guy who would randomly call out his name when under extreme duress) in the running, the race for the Bizarro Hall of Fame Class of 2008 is wide open. There are 25 players on the writer's ballot, but fourteen of those - the ones who appeared on the ballot previously - are relatively safe. I'm almost 100% positive that no player has ever been listed, received greater than the 5% necessary to remain on the ballot, then been held without a vote in the second year. It just doesn't happen.

That leaves eleven first-timers with a chance at either real or Bizarro immortality. Several players can expect to receive a healthy percentage of votes toward the former, including Tim Raines, David Justice, Chuck Knoblauch, Chuck Finley and Robb Nen (now watch: at least two of those guys will get less than 5% and be removed from the 2009 ballot).

One player likely to garner a handful of courtesy votes is Rod Beck, the burly reliever who died in June at the age of 38. Beck retired in 2004 and would have become eligible in 2010, but unless I'm mistaken, it is an unofficial policy of the BBWAA to expedite the voting process and add recently retired players who lose their lives to the next possible ballot. The "five year" rule is there, as I see it, for two reasons: to allow some historical perspective to set in on a given career and to assure that the player will not appear on the ballot, then come out of retirement at a later date. In the case of Beck (and Daryl Kile, who died in 2002 and picked up seven votes on the 2003 ballot), the second reason is obviously moot, and the position he played renders the first reason pointless - with closers like Rich Gossage and Lee Smith on the outside looking in, someone like Rod Beck is not likely to be considered Hall of Fame material by the voters. That said, a few writers will throw a courtesy vote his way, and nobody will have a problem with it.

That leaves five players with a very real shot of going vote-less and becoming the latest members of the Bizarro Hall: Brady Anderson, Shawon Dunston, Travis Fryman, Jose Rijo, and Todd Stottlemyre. The most interesting case, in my mind, is Rijo, a dominant righty for Cincinnati in the early 1990s who battled serious arm trouble and went six years between major league appearances later in the decade (he didn't pitch between July 18, 1995 and August 17, 2001). Because he was retired for the required five seasons, Rijo was listed on the 2001 ballot and received a single vote. Considering he did little to bolster his case (aside from being a great inspirational tale) during a two season comeback in 2001-02, there is a good chance he goes without a vote this time around.

As for the others...

Anderson - Last year's shunning of Mark McGwire was a statement; do the writers punish Brady by banding together and refusing him the honor of even one vote?

Dunston - Probably has the best chance of this crew to get a few votes.

Fryman - I love the idea of two, unrelated Frymans in the Bizarro Hall of Fame (Woodie was a pitcher from 1966-83). Travis was solid but never spectacular; the fact that he played so many years in the obscurity of Detroit (when the Tigers were not good) doesn't help his case.

Stottlemyre - Doesn't matter that he told the mayor of Philadelphia to kiss his ass - he was a depressingly average major league pitcher (career ERA+: 100).

The real Hall of Famers and voting results will be released in January. Until then, I can continue hoping that someone from the BBWAA or the Hall comes along and says, "Oops, we forgot to include one player. Rich Garces - our mistake. Feel free to not vote for him." Oh, to dream.

Patriots Address Possible Karma Deficiency, Activate Troy Brown

The Good
The New England Patriots activated wide receiver Troy Brown from the physically unable to perform (PUP) list on Tuesday.

The Bad
Linebacker Rosevelt Colvin was placed on injured reserve, ending his season.

The Weird
Of the four players moved by the Patriots on Tuesday, three were named Brown: Troy was activated from the PUP list, linebacker Chad was signed, and defensive lineman Kareem was waived.

The Verdict
With the addition of Troy Brown, the Patriots now have seven wide receivers listed on the roster (by my count, he's no better than fifth on the depth chart). Considering the player he's replacing (Kareem Brown), I would not be at all surprised to see Belichick use him on the defensive front seven before the end of the season. If there's one thing the NFL needs, it's more 5'10", 196 pound defensive linemen.

Wake Me Up When Things Begin To Make Sense

I first heard the news of Sean Taylor's death early this morning, when Fox's Steve Czaban started off the seven o'clock hour with a lengthy discussion of the tragic circumstances. Of all the people that possibly could have passed along this terrible information, I was glad it was Czaban: he's a local Washington guy, a Redskins fan who was able to offer a more personal note than most other commentators could have.

All day at work, I tried to think of something to write about this situation - like Joe Kennedy's passing last week, I felt a special connection with Taylor because he was the father of a young child - but came up short at every turn. Not surprisingly, there seemed to be no words that could make sense out of this. In the end, after reading through everything that Awful Announcing and various other blogs across the Internet had to say, Czaban's co-host Scott Linn probably summed it up best:

"This sucks."

It might not be quite a strong enough statement, but it's a good start. Because this whole scenario most definitely DOES suck.

Reverse Survivor: What We Thought Might Happen, Actually Did Happen

For weeks now, I've been talking about a loophole in the Reverse Survivor process: if Idaho, which beat FCS entrant Cal Poly on September 8 for its only win, finished the regular season without a victory over an FBS opponent, there would be no way they could avoid being named a Reverse Survivor winner for 2007 (albeit on a technicality).

So what has happened in the last two weeks? Utah State beat New Mexico State on the road to avoid a winless season and removed themselves from the running, then went into Idaho and beat the Vandals handily in the season finale for both teams. Congratulations, Idaho: you are the first official Reverse Survivor champion! (Last week, I declared Florida International the "unofficial" winner; in retrospect, I have no idea why I did this. Just too many questions surrounding their candidacy to make such an early call.)

This means that next week's North Texas-Florida International showdown carries a new level of importance: if FIU loses, they will join Idaho at the bottom of the college football heap. If they win, it will quite possibly be the biggest victory in the history of the program.

Good luck to both sides.

(A tangentially related aside: in mid-January, I will once again be ranking the teams, firing up the ol' Xbox, and simulating a 128 team college football playoff. There should be some changes to the format - maybe an actual bracket or two - which will hopefully be detailed in an upcoming explanatory post. Just wanted to throw it out there now, though, for anyone who has enjoyed this series and might be sad to see it end.)

Lou Holtz Knows How To Motivate People

Believe it or not, while Lou Holtz has been giving "pep talks" all season, the one he scripted for Kansas last night was the first one I watched. Heard about them, sure, but never actually tuned in to ESPN when Holtz was on or checked YouTube for older material.

This was a mistake. I'll leave it to Awful Announcing to explain the beauty of the Holtz:

From November 16 - God damn he is good. I wish he sat outside of my office and when I began to doze off he'd just jump in and hit me with an acronym or something. "Do you know what Awful stands for?!?! It stands for Always Working Feverishly Until Lunch! Let's go."

From November 23 - These seriously get better and better every single week. I'm telling you ESPN you really have something here. You could just nix the NBA pregame show and have Lou give Pep talks for every team in every sport.

A positive review from AA? For an ESPN-related feature? That's really all you need to know.

Having missed most of Holtz's talks, I resolved to hit up YouTube and check out some past performances. Check them out, along with any interesting quotes, below.

Pep Talk Recipient: Michigan

Best Quote: "Remember the Good Lord put eyes in the front of your head rather than in the back, so you can see where you're going rather than where you've been."

Best Quote #2: "When things go wrong, the only friends you have in this world are those you eat with, sleep with, bleed with, pray with, and cry with. That's your family, and your teammates."

Best Quote #3: "Twenty years from now, you're gonna get laid off your job. The bank's gonna refuse to extend the mortgage on your home. Your car breaks down on the way home, and when you finally get home, your four children tell ya your wife just ran off with a drummer. You're not even gonna flinch - you're gonna say, 'I met the challenge at Oregon, I'll meet the challenge here.'"

Game Result: Michigan loses to Oregon, 39-7



Pep Talk Recipient: Penn State

Best Quote: "There'll be 108,000 people in the stands, but remember this: they're unarmed. And they're going to remain in the stands, they'll have absolutely no impact on this game whatsoever."

Best Quote #2: "And remember this: Michigan is a rather arrogant group. They probably do a crossword puzzle with a pen because they think they've never made a mistake. They made a mistake when they scheduled Penn State."

Game Result: Penn State loses to Michigan, 14-9



Pep Talk Recipient: South Florida

Best Quote: "Now we're a lot like the bumblebee. Everybody said the bumblebee can't fly - by all aeronautic it can't because it's body's too big and it's wingspan's too short. But fortunately, the bumblebee can't read so it flies all over."

Game Result: South Florida beats West Virginia, 21-13



Pep Talk Recipient: LSU

Best Quote: "We're better than every team in the stadium on every Saturday. We will win the national championship."

Game Result: LSU loses to Kentucky, 43-37



Pep Talk Recipient: Nebraska

Best Quote: "I also believe we can solve any problem if enough people care. We solved sexism, racism - we can solve problems with Nebraska football if enough people care."

Game Result: Nebraska loses to Texas, 28-25



Pep Talk Recipient: Notre Dame

Best Quote: "You wanna be happy for a day, eat a steak. You wanna be happy for three days, buy a car. You wanna be happy for a week, take a cruise. You wanna be happy for a cruise, win a lottery. But if you wanna be happy for a lifetime, win a championship for Notre Dame."

Best Quote #2: "Pride stands for Personal Responsibility In Daily Excellence."

Game Result: Notre Dame beats Duke, 28-7



This isn't a complete list - I couldn't get the ESPN videos to embed properly, so the Kansas talk from the other night is missing; this makes me sad - but I think it helps capture the essence of Holtz the Motivator. Who cares if he's only 2-4 in these speeches?

I Try Very Hard To Make Sense Of Things Sometimes, And It Rarely Works

Today being the day after Thanksgiving, I didn't have school, which meant I got to stay at home and play with my son before heading off to my second job in the afternoon. I read him a story, an ABCs book with a Red Sox player for every letter.

I knew I was lucky to have the chance to spend time with him, just the two of us. Sometimes, I forget how lucky.


Joe Kennedy passed away early this morning. We will hear about his death because he was a major league baseball player, a man of some import and fame who, in the grand scheme of things, was reasonably successful at his chosen profession. Truth be told, that's all I knew about him before today.

Now I realize that he was 28 years old, with a wife and a young son. Just like me.

Most observers will look at the picture above and see a baseball player. All I can see, however, is a father who can't read to his little boy anymore. And it breaks my heart.

Visual Crack: The Ladies Never Looked At Joe Montana That Way

This was everywhere on Monday, but its unbelievable goodness requires me to post it here as well. You know a guy is dominant when even the sideline reporter, who I believe is supposed to remain objective, can't help but fawn over him during the post-game interview.

My favorite line: "How do you seemingly score at will?" That's one of those quotes with a meaning that just can't be fully conveyed through the written word alone. You really have to hear it to appreciate it.



(Chest bump to The Big Lead and Awful Announcing)

Reverse Survivor: Hail To The Victor(y-less)

When Reverse Survivor began almost ten weeks ago, there were 52 college football FBS teams without a victory in 2007 - 52 teams with the simple dream of one day playing well enough to score more points than the other team and walk off the field with a number greater than zero in the win column.

My dream was slightly different. More than anything else, I hoped for the ultimate goal of Reverse Survivor to be fulfilled, for one team to dip below the rest and find itself this year's only winless program. I had seen enough of dominance, of greatness, in the world of sports - I desired only mediocrity, only imperfection.

Weeks passed. Teams won games and fell off the radar. Some recovered from a slow start to post somewhat respectable records. Most won once, twice, maybe three times, but struggled to rise much higher. One constant, however, seemed to be the performance of the winless wonders. Every week, a team that had gone so far without a victory managed to pull it together and dominate the opposition, the frustration of their situation serving as the fuel that would drive them to a successful outcome.

At one point, there were five teams still standing. Then North Texas won. Then Colorado State. Then Marshall. As of last week, two teams remained: Utah State and Florida International.

Both teams had an interesting subplot surrounding their winless bid. At 0-10, the Aggies were steaming toward the season finale against archrival (I just made that up) Idaho, with a record of 1-9. Ordinarily, such a terrible matchup would have little redeaming value, but the Vandals' schedule introduced some intrigue into the mix: the team's only win of the season came in its second game of the year, a 20-13 defeat of Cal Poly (an FCS squad). This is a big deal because while Idaho has not been officially eligible for the Reverse Survivor competition since September 8, they were unique among all FBS schools in that they did not hold a win against an FBS program this season. If Utah State lost out, the November 24 meeting between the two schools would have been for all the marbles, with the winner earning the ultimate prize: the knowledge that it had not gone an entire football season without beating someone in its own division.

Florida International fascinates me for another reason. In 2005, the Golden Panthers (I think I referred to them as the Golden Eagles previously - that's that whole, "trusting my memory" thing coming back to bite me in the ass again) finished off the season with a flourish, winning four of their last five and seemingly setting a positive tone for 2006. Unfortunately, they started off 0-6 heading into a rivalry game against Miami on October 14. A huge brawl that resulted in player suspensions for both sides effectively ended any chance at competitiveness FIU had for 2006: the team's first six losses had been by a total of 39 points; the final six, a total of 159 points. Entering Saturday's game against Florida Atlantic, the program had lost 21 consecutive games.

Last year, Florida International shared the title of the worst team in Division 1-A with Duke. The Blue Devils avoided the same fate this year, getting a late defensive stop to beat Northwestern on September 15; the Golden Panthers were not so lucky. With Utah State taking advantage of three fourth quarter touchdowns to beat New Mexico State 35-17 on Saturday, FIU is unofficially the winner of the 2007 Reverse Survivor competition for college football.

(The only chance FIU has at either sharing the crown or avoiding it altogether? If they win one of those final two games and Utah State beats Idaho, leaving the Vandals without an FBS win. The first requirement for Reverse Survivor is being winless for the season; it only makes sense, in the event of a tie, to look first to wins within the division.)

That's the bad news. The good news? They still have two chances to avoid back-to-back seasons without a win, welcoming Florida Atlantic and North Texas in the next two weeks. Neither game will be easy: both the Owls and Mean Green have offenses capable of posting big point totals. If FIU can take advantage of the porous opposing defenses, however, they stand a reasonably good chance of walking away with a win this season.

Honorable Mention: FCS Teams Without A 2007 Win
Indiana State (0-11, Gateway) - season complete
Southern Utah (0-11, Great West) - season complete
LaSalle (0-10, Metro Atlantic Athletic) - season complete
North Carolina A&T (0-11, Mid-Eastern Athletic) - season complete; second consecutive winless season and 27 straight losses for the Aggies
Stephen F. Austin (0-11 Southland) - season complete
Texas Southern (0-10, Southwestern Athletic) - one game remaining: Saturday, November 24 at Houston

My Tattoos Tell A Story

(This is very long, very drawn out, and it probably sucks worse than anything else you've read today. Enjoy!)

When I was about seventeen, I fell in love for the first time. Not Love-love, of course, but that stupid seventeen-year-old love, the one where you're sure that the person you're with is the person you're going to spend forever and ever and ever with. You feel this way even though you don't know her favorite color or what she wants to be when she grows up or her best subject in school. It is the completely brainless, mostly innocent brand of "love" that we all experienced when we were that age.

Her name was Tausha and she was almost a year younger than me - sixteen when we met, the Liesl to my Rolfe. She was very pretty, tall and thin with long brown hair and a cute face. We worked together at the same McDonald's franchisee that eventually put me through college, rarely crossing paths because she usually worked the morning shift with her mother and I came on later in the day. Somehow, the opening manager, Kristin, decided that we should go out on a date.

I still remember that first date. She was way overdressed in a very nice skirt, I brought my twelve-year-old sister, and we went to the mall, where I proceeded to "accidentally" bump my arm into her's every so often in an "I like you" display that was probably better suited to one of my sister's classmates than a high school junior. Casanova I was not.

As you might have guessed by now, it didn't work out. We dated for some totally inconsequential amount of time (I've always called it seven weeks, but it might have been less) before she decided I wasn't the guy for her and ended it. Almost immediately, she took up with one of the guys we worked with, an assistant manager named Doug who I had considered a friend. It turned out they had been fucking around behind my back for a couple of weeks before we broke up: one Sunday, for instance, I sat at home and read the second half of "The Stand" (the unabridged version) while waiting for her call. In the meantime, she was over at Doug's house doing God knows what.

Learning about these indiscretions did not put me in a good frame of mind. I seem to remember threatening to take his head off with the Louisville Slugger my brother had bought me when I was twelve. I still carried the bat in my car. False bravado. I wasn't a bad ass. I was seventeen and embarassed. Besides, Doug was a black belt in karate - he probably could have taken that Darryl Strawberry model and rammed it down my throat sideways.

Time passed. Tausha moved away, then moved back, started working at McDonald's again, started dating me again (for about twelve hours), told me she had cheated on me not only with Doug but with another guy she knew, started fucking a kid we worked with (no, that wasn't awkward...not at all) - and I still wanted her. Pride? What pride? I was a man obsessed, not so much with the person (my mother still refers to her as "the airhead", an assessment that might not have been too far off the mark) as with the idea of her. I wanted a girlfriend, she was the only girl in recent memory who had shown any interest in me, and I didn't want to let that go without a fight.

Looking back, I do not like the person I was at that time in my life.

Tausha eventually moved with her new boyfriend all the way up to Penobscot, Maine. After a few weeks, she called the police up there and told them that he had threatened her, or hit her, or something along those lines. In the end, it was probably just a lie or ill-advised cry for attention. I ended up getting in my car at eleven o'clock at night, tearing ass up I-95 at 80 MPH and rolling into Penobscot at three in the morning, armor fully shined and ready to rescue the damsel in distress.

Once there, unfortunately, I had no idea what to do. The police obviously hadn't taken the threats seriously, since they weren't at the house - and since I didn't know exactly what house it was, I didn't know where to find them. This was not one of my finer ideas.

I found a pay phone and called the police to see if they had any useful information. They were no help. For lack of a better option, I began wandering up and down the street, totally lost. Finally, I spied a house with a light on and two people sitting in the kitchen. Come to find out they had just arrived home from work and were settling in after a long day. I went up to the door, explained my situation, and - believe it or not - they pointed out the correct house. Good thing I'm not a crazed stalker or axe murderer or something. Come to think of it, good thing they weren't crazy.

I knocked on the door. The boyfriend answered. He was surprised to see me. I quietly exulted in his confusion and budding anger. He went to get Tausha. I sat on the steps and waited.

Half an hour later, we were in my car, heading south. I was exhausted but content; victory was mine! Tausha hadn't wanted to leave but was told by her boyfriend's father that since I had come all the way up there after her, she was leaving with me. To my addled brain, that was good enough.

For awhile, anyway. It was later in the day that I finally realized we were done, that I neither had nor wanted a chance with her. What happened, you ask, to drive this point home? Simple, really: she didn't thank me for driving all that way to pick her up in her hour of need. Somehow, that's all it took to make me realize that she didn't care about me and that I was, in fact, an idiot. It had only taken a year, but I could finally begin to like myself again, at least a little.

Somewhere along in there, I decided it would be a good idea to get a tattoo.

A coworker who had experienced a real relationship, real love and real heartbreak had had something done on her ankle in the aftermath of that bad breakup, and I was fascinated by the idea. Not my ankle, specifically, but the thought of it. A permanent reminder of a dark time in my life. Yeah, that's it. That's what I want. Awesome.

Being eighteen by this point but still just as stupid, I eschewed any research and just went with a place that somebody recommended: Mystic Dragon in Dover. My friend Jason went with me and helped me pick out the perfect design to show how I was feeling at the time:


One hour and $125 later, that sweet tat was on my left bicep. It sits high enough that I can hide it easily with a T-shirt (my mother-in-law knew me for four years before she found out about it), which is good because I absolutely hate it. Everything about it. I hate the design - a heart wrapped in barbed wire? Really? That was the best I could do? I hate the symbolism - not Tausha (I try not to hate people; it's one of the lessons I learned from Buck O'Neil), but the reminder of how mindlessly immature I was back then. It's nice to have a tattoo that means something, but come on - commemoration of a seven-week relationship? Fuck that.

For years, it was embarassing when people found out I had a tattoo, mainly because I've never seemed like the tattoo type and then I had to lift up my sleeve and show off that piece of crap. It's amazing how quickly someone can lose all respect for you.

Partly for that reason, I talked about getting another tattoo done for years. Unfortunately, it was never that easy. While I was in college, my money always went to other things (and besides, I wanted any new ink to mean something). My first job out of college paid $100 a week, which eventually turned into about $250 a week when it became a full-time gig in 2004. By that time, of course, my wife, Vicki, and I were planning on getting married, which meant that every spare cent was now going to bills or savings. We talked about tattoos from time to time, but never with any seriousness. It was always a hypothetical.

Shortly after we got married in September 2004, Vicki and I decided to have a baby. After several unsuccessful months and a few rounds of Clomid (horrible, horrible drug that fucked mercilessly with her hormones; she could be having a normal conversation with someone, then be in tears before anyone knew what happened), we went to a fertility doctor. His recommendation, after telling us all the ways they were going to help, all the methods they were going to consider? Start considering gastric bypass surgery, because Vicki's BMI was too high to go on any further and he doubted she could lose a substantial amount of weight through dieting and exercise alone.

We left the office, Vicki in tears and me in shock, cursing the name of the kindly Dr. Glatstein (who really didn't seem like a bad guy, but who also didn't fully prepare us for the severity of our situation) and vowing to prove that fucker wrong and do everything we could to make a baby on our own terms. Fuck him. On the way home, we stopped at a red light and Snow Patrol's "Chasing Cars" came on the radio:

If I lay here,
If I just lay here,
Would you lie with me and
Just forget the world?

Never before has a song so perfectly summed up what I was feeling at the exact moment I was feeling it. It was like my life had its own personal soundtrack for a few minutes. This might sound strange, but I could actually picture it as a movie scene: our car, sitting there at a red light...Vicki's head resting on my shoulder, tears streaming down her face...the light changing to green, cars honking behind us, as we just lost touch with the world for a few moments...the camera pulling back, showing the light changing from green back to yellow, people leaning out their car windows and yelling while our's doesn't move an inch...

And...scene.

We started the Atkins Diet by the end of the week. Vicki was a woman obsessed - her goal was to be pregnant by the time her cousin got married in September 2007 (this was all happening around September 2006, so she was counting on getting knocked up with about six months).

Before we knew it, the pounds were melting off. I lost 25 (who cares if I've experienced periodic chest and gastrointestinal pain since; it couldn't possibly be related to the fact that I ingested enough fat to take down a horse, could it?), Vicki lost 30 and we were both feeling pretty good.

Then one day in November, Vicki wasn't feeling particularly great. Her mother casually suggested, over lunch, that she might be pregnant, which of course got her all excited and sent her charging off to the drug store after work for a pregnancy test. She came home, went into the bathroom - and did the test wrong.

Bear in mind, this is a woman who has wanted to be pregnant since she was twenty-years-old and had probably taken upwards of fifty pregnancy tests. She generally knows what she's doing in these situations. This time, however, she didn't get enough urine on the little strip (I know: too much information) and it didn't work right. So she did what any rational person who had irrationally purchased only one pregnancy test would do: she peed on it a little more and hoped for the best.

Picture it: Nashua, 2006. November. I was sitting on the couch in our living room, probably typing something on the computer, when I heard a strangled cry from the bathroom: "Bri?!" She was half-crying, clearly trying to control herself. "You have to go get another test. I did this one wrong and it says positive. You have to go get another test. Go. Now."

And so I did. I went down the street to Walgreen's, picked up a box of two tests (see that logic? Self-taught, never had lessons) and returned as quickly as possible. Vicki went back into the bathroom, managed to do one correctly, and shortly confirmed the good news: she was with child. We were going to be parents. Not willing to accept the good news blindly, I made her take the second test as well. Then two more that I went out and bought. They all said the same thing: Hello, Mommy and Daddy.

Don't ask me to remember the next few months, because I don't. Somehow there was a lot of blogging involved, a lot of doctor's visits, a lot of stress. That's almost all I've got for memories. My brain was and is fried. At one point, the ladies I work with (men were outnumbered something like 19-2 in my program at one point; this year, we added a new guy! 18-3, baby!) threw us a surprise shower (well, it was supposed to be a surprise for me - Vicki knew about it in advance but accidentally allowed it to be leaked during a phone call with our friend Colleen; nobody knew that I knew, though) and I tried to thank everyone for everything they had done - the outpouring of gifts was just mind-blowing - but no words came out. I had planned to be eloquent and kind; instead I sounded like I had been drinking. Maybe I should've been. (That's it! The Pregnancy Drinking Game! If your significant other asks for a foot rub, drink twice. If she cries when you say hello, drink once. I'm probably going to hell.)

Joey was born about a month later, in mid-July. By that time, I had decided that I would take the plunge and commemorate his birth by finally getting another tattoo. We had looked around the Internet a bit and found a design we both liked, a nice-looking Celtic cross design with some open space in the middle for his initials and date of birth.

When Joey was two weeks old, Vicki and her mother took him to New York for a family gathering. I stayed home and went with my friend Allison to her go-to place: Precision Body Arts in Nashua. The artist, Nick, took the picture I had found and redrew it, putting the information I wanted in the middle on banners. It looked great. It still looks great, in my opinion:



If you ever go to Precision, I highly recommend Nick. He doesn't talk much, but his work is excellent.

Unlike my first tattoo, this is one I'm all too proud to show off. It's on my Facebook. It's on my Ballhype page. I'm surprised I hadn't put it somewhere on my blog already. Part of the infatuation is that it's new - it was done near the end of July - but there is also the fact that the symbolism behind this is so much more powerful than the barbed wire heart. For starters, those initials and numbers represent one of the two or three greatest days of my life, the day I finally got to meet the little guy who had been kicking the shit out of my wife's internal organs for nine months. It was one of those days where everything else melted away into the background and became unimportant. I didn't care about blogging. I didn't care about the Red Sox. Nothing else mattered besides this new addition to our family and I'm proud of the fact that we figured out a classy way to represent his arrival.

Also important: the cross itself. Despite holding a degree in religious studies, I am what some would call a lapsed Catholic. I made my First Communion in third grade (a year late) but was never confirmed and had to jump through hoops before being allowed to marry in the church. I don't know as much as I should about world religion (or any one religion, for that matter - although I can speak at length about Jewish baseball players). Two things I do believe in, however, are God and karma. I believe that there is a Supreme Maker who put on a hard hat and designed all of this in the beginning, then turned us loose to see what we would do. Is he involved in our everyday lives? Can't say. At the very least, though, I think he's there, watching over us and loving us unconditionally in spite of our faults. That's comforting, I think.

And karma...maybe I watch too much My Name Is Earl (previous seasons, of course; the current season is a humorless disappointment), but I've come to believe that things happen for a reason. Less than a year before Tausha unceremoniously dumped me twice, mainly because she had never really liked me and only started dating me because she didn't want to be alone, I had briefly dated a girl named Amber and unceremoniously dumped her, mainly because I had never really liked her in that way and only started dating her because I didn't want to be alone. What goes around, comes around. Everything happens for a reason.

More recently and maybe more to the point: I work closely with one kid in particular. A lot of my coworkers are intimidated by him and don't feel they could work well with him. Is it some sort of fate, some sort of karma, that I happened to begin working that job at almost the same time this child arrived? Where would he be without me? Where would I be without him? Things like that can be explained away easily by coincidence, I suppose. Sometimes, I just think there's too much coincidence to be coincidence.

The final piece of importance on the cross are the Celtic knots (forgive me if that's not the official name for them; it just seems to make sense). I'm not as up-to-date on my Irish history as I should be, but that piece of my heritage is still very important to me. With all the Moynahans, McMahons, and Sheridans in my family, it has to be.

So the cross was a good choice. I'm proud to have it and will show just about anyone at a moment's notice, assuming I'm wearing a short-sleeve shirt. I can't wait until Joey is old enough to care. I hope he realizes that it is a physical representation of how important he is to me.

After the Joey tattoo, I wasn't planning on getting another for quite awhile - probably not until we had another baby. Considering Vicki took three months off and only got paid for about two, our financial situation didn't really allow for unnecessary expenditures. Fortunately, my brother is working on a mid-life crisis at the moment and decided to have some work of his own done.

When Tim was in high school, he had major back surgery to correct a curvature of his spine caused by scoliosis. I can still remember the days after the surgery, watching him hobble around with a little pair of grabbers that he used for picking stuff up off the floor. He couldn't bend over at all. It was during the winter, and I also vividly recall going across the street to get the mail - I was about eight - and not being able to get back because the road was practically a solid sheet of ice and I just knew that I would be hit by a car if I tried crossing. No idea how long I was over there, with him yelling at me from the doorway to just suck it up and cross already, but I'm willing to bet it was hours. Alright, it was probably five minutes.

Anyway, the surgery left Tim with two metal rods supporting the spine and a lengthy scar down the middle of his back. A few years ago, he had a small dagger tattooed on his right shoulder blade, with the blade pointing toward the scar. I thought it was cool because it fit my main criteria for getting inked: it meant something to him personally. If you haven't figured it out already, that's really the most important thing for me.

Not long after I got the cross done, Tim decided he wanted to add another one himself, this time on the left shoulder. He went to Tattoo Junkies in Portsmouth, where the artist, Erik, worked to create a custom piece of Brian Boru, who I believe was the last great king of Ireland or something like that. Tim was a little worried for a while, with some excess peeling and whatnot, but I think it turned nicely in the end. Very well done. So well done, in fact, that he decided to have Erik work on something else: another custom design of "O'Manachain", the name from which most versions of Moynahan (Monaghan, Monahan, etc.) are derived. He had it done on his right shoulder, incorporating the dagger, in October.

I wasn't 100% in love with the design, but when my family got together for my birthday in late October, Tim mentioned that if I was interested, he would pay for me to get the same one. A fraternal bond, if you will. Largely for that reason, I decided to go for it, adding tattoo number three last weekend:



Again, the celebration of Irish ancestry is pretty cool (I think that's the family crest that was incorporated into the "O" and the "M"), but the deciding factor was definitely the family connection. Although my brother and I have been close for a long time, we're still eight years apart, which means there is a substantial generation gap between us. Even now, three weeks past my 28th birthday, he still considers me his little brother (or, as he likes to say, his "little" brother - ironic because I'm three inches taller and 100 pounds heavier than him). This shared tattoo, in a strange way, somehow helps narrow that distance. There are only two people in the world with that exact tattoo (well, almost exact: his "anachain" lettering is blue), and we're brothers.

And that's the story of my tattoos.

The Beard Of Kevin Youkilis: A Retrospective

Unfortunate news out of Boston today: as of tomorrow evening, Red Sox first baseman Kevin Youkilis' goatee (lovingly spoken of in this space as "The Beard of Kevin Youkilis"), will be no more. The Gold Glove winner is shaving off Major League Baseball's best facial hair in exchange for a $5,000 donation to his new charity from Gillette.

I suppose that's a good reason. But The Beard? The Beard will be missed.

(Note: Go to that Ump Bump link above and hold the mouse over the picture. A better description you will never see.)

Photos: Yooooooooukkkkk, Beard Board

Mike Williams Is The Greatest Reliever Of All Time

In 2002, after three seasons as a reliable closer on terrible teams, Mike Williams enjoyed a very, very good season for the Pittsburgh Pirates. The last man out of a bullpen that included such immortal and alliterative names as Scott Sauerbeck and Brian Boehringer, the veteran righthander from Virginia posted a 2.93 ERA and 46 saves in 59 appearances - with the middle number becoming that much more impressive when one considers that Pittsburgh won only 72 games that year.

The most impressive thing about Williams' 2002, however, involves that final number off his stat line: 59 appearances. The actual number of games isn't exceptionally noteworthy - I have no hard data on this, but I would be willing to bet that more than 1,000 relievers have appeared in 59 or more games in a season - but this is: of those 59 games, Williams completed...all 59.

More than 500 relievers in baseball history have finished 49 or more games in one season, have entered the game and not left until the final out was recorded. Mike Williams is the only one who was never taken off the mound before his work was done. Every single game he entered in 2002, he finished, an oddball statistic that is both virtually meaningless and utterly remarkable.

Four other pitchers came close to matching Williams' odd feat; all failed to finish just a single game: Dan Plesac (51 of 52 in 1989), Duane Ward (70 of 71 in 1993), Lee Smith (51 of 52 in 1995) and Rick Aguilera (51 of 52 in 1995).

Five Reasons Why Dustin Pedroia Should Be Rookie Of The Year

Last week, Jordi from The Serious Tip issued a challenge to yours truly: name five reasons why Dustin Pedroia deserves to win the American League Rookie of the Year Award, which will be issued early this week. And so I will.

Jordi is a Florida resident who follows the Devil Rays (I need time to adjust to the new nickname), so he gave five reasons in favor of Delmon Young over at his place. Not included on his list: Young made it through the entire season without tossing a bat at any on-field personnel. That has to count for something, right?

5. My Wife Says "Dusty" Deserves To Win: One thing I've learned over the years is that you never argue with the Missus. It's not the most logical argument, and it doesn't really rely on any useful information whatsoever, but that's beside the point. If Mrs. OMDQ said it, it must be true.

4. Toughness: When I worked for the Nashua Pride in 2003, we acquired a player named Raul Rodarte from the Mexican League for the stretch run. Raul wasn't exceptionally strong, but he could hit like nobody's business, and after five games was batting something like .417. Then he broke the hamate bone in his right hand and missed the rest of the year.

Guess what news came out in the last few days? Pedroia broke the hamate bone in one of his hands - in early September. He played at least the final month of the regular season and all of the playoffs - posting a .345 average in the ALCS and homering to lead off the World Series, mind you - with a bone that was shattered so badly, it crumbled when the doctor removed it. Crumbled. Talk about exceptional toughness and devotion to the team.

3. Alright - To The Stats!: Pedroia's rough September in 2006 and difficult start in 2007 have been well-documented. He stunk pretty badly for the first two months of his major league career - which makes it all the more remarkable that he finished the season with a .317 batting average, eight homeruns and 50 runs batted in.

The most important Pedroia stat, in my opinion, is 12.4-1: his at-bats per strikeout, the second-best number in the American League. The infrequency with which Pedroia struck out was completely at odds with his big swing (ever want to see the definition of "swinging from the heels"? Watch Dustin Pedroia take a few hacks) and allowed Terry Francona to pair him with the selective Kevin Youkilis at the top of the lineup.

2. D-Fence!: The defining moment of the Red Sox 2007 season may well have come on September 1, when Pedroia made a diving stop and throw late in the game to preserve Clay Buchholz's no-hitter. He got the runner by a step and very clearly shouted "Fuck yeah!" as millions of New Englanders developed a new appreciation for his intensity.

Most of Pedroia's defensive numbers are unremarkable, but two things stand out: fielding percentage (.990, T-5th) and zone rating (.833, 6th). This indicates that while Pedroia doesn't handle a lot of chances in the field or turn a lot of double plays, he is very good at making the plays on the balls one would typically expect him to reach. And if there's one thing you can't overstate, it's the importance of solid up-the-middle defense.

1. This One's For David: David Eckstein, the Chief Lord King of the Major League Baseball Gritty Little People, never won the Rookie of the Year Award, finishing fourth in 2001 behind a number of players who had seasons that were arguably better. As the best rookie member of the MLBGLP Club since Eckstein, this is the best chance for the voters to right that wrong and give the award to the new leader of the diminutive ones: Dustin Pedroia, who is listed at 5'9" but probably stands no taller than 5'6 3/4".

Reverse Survivor: Yes, That Certainly Was A "No Doubt About It" Victory

From the unofficial 2006 Reverse Survivor:

So what does 2007 hold in store for these two programs [Duke and Florida International]? Well, for starters, probably not another winless campaign. Florida International, as already mentioned, was not as bad as its record would tend to indicate this year; sometimes 0-12 is not that far from 6-6. The main question mark should be the offense, which only scored ten touchdowns in 2006 and averaged just over 53 yards on the ground. The defense isn’t great either, but its 33 touchdowns allowed can be improved upon next season.

Wow. I was very, very wrong. FIU has been wildly uncompetitive this season, with only one game decided by less than two touchdowns (a 27-24 loss to Arkansas State on November 3). The ground game is better, averaging over 100 yards per game, but scoring (only nine touchdowns in nine games) and defense (forty touchdowns allowed, with three games against decent offensive teams remaining). Sometimes 0-12 is very far from 6-6.

The Golden Eagles were idle this week. Three games remain on the schedule, all at home, against teams that are good offensively but have won a combined eight games in 2007.

That leaves Utah State as the only other winless FBS team in action on Saturday. The Aggies did not have a good day, essentially serving as a human sacrifice for #19 Boise State. The Broncos dominated from start to finish, taking a 31-0 halftime lead en route to a 52-0 destruction. My favorite thing about this game was the lead (lede?) to the AP game recap:

No. 19 Boise State got the no-doubt-about-it victory it needed to make a late run up the BCS standings.

Something tells me that beating up on a team that was 0-9 coming into the game is not exactly going to let the world know that Boise State means business.

Boise State will have another chance to make a late season run up the rankings next week, when it welcomes Idaho to the blue field. A loss for the Vandals will keep hope alive for the Game of the Century that was mentioned last week: Idaho vs. Utah State.

Florida International (0-9, Sun Belt)

• November 17 vs. Louisiana-Lafayette (2-8)
• November 24 vs. Florida Atlantic (5-4)
• December 1 vs. North Texas (1-8)

Utah State (0-9, Western Athletic)

• November 17 @ New Mexico State (4-7)
• November 24 @ Idaho (1-9)

FCS Teams Without A 2007 Win

• Indiana State (0-11, Gateway)
• Southern Utah (0-10, Great West)
• LaSalle (0-9, Metro Atlantic Athletic)
• North Carolina A&T (0-10, Mid-Eastern Athletic)
• Stephen F. Austin (0-10, Southland)
• Texas Southern (0-9, Southwestern Athletic)

Will The Veterans Committee Actually Elect Someone This Time Around?

Yesterday marked the release of the 2007 Executive/Umpire/Manager ballot for the Baseball Hall of Fame Veterans Committee. Twenty men in all three categories are up for consideration. Information on the voting process (which seems to have been made deliberately complicated so as to avoid serious scrutiny. Either that or I'm really tired) can be found here.

I don't have a ton of time at the moment, so this will just be a quick and dirty breakdown on the chances of those twenty candidates. If I get a chance before the results are made public in early December, I'll try to do a more detailed analysis. For now, however...

Buzzie Bavasi (executive): No
Barney Dreyfuss (executive): No
John Fetzer (executive): No
Doug Harvey (umpire): Yes
Whitey Herzog (manager): No
Bob Howsam (executive): No
Davey Johnson (manager): No
Ewing Kauffman (executive): No
Bowie Kuhn (commissioner): Hell no
Billy Martin (manager): Yes
Gene Mauch (manager): Only if he pulls within one vote of 75%, then gets 10 consecutive no's
John McHale (executive): No
Marvin Miller (executive): Yes
Danny Murtaugh (manager): No
Hank O'Day (umpire): No
Walter O'Malley (executive): No
Gabe Paul (executive): No
Cy Rigler (umpire): No
Billy Southworth (manager): No
Dick Williams (manager): No

By my count, that's three yes votes: Harvey, Martin and Miller. Harvey was one of the finest umpires in baseball over a thirty-year period, Martin put up with George Steinbrenner, and Miller convinced the players that they could stand up to the owners and win.

It should be interesting to look at the careers of these twenty men. I've heard of most, but have little knowledge of their lifetime accomplishments. Like I said - if there's time, expect a better breakdown. If not...just root for the three named above. They have as good a chance as any.

I'm Not A Betting Man, But I Probably Should Have Bet On Oregon. Or Maybe Kansas.

Prior to the start of the college football season, I ran down Bodog's preseason National Championship odds over at Awful Announcing. The top two teams? USC at 5/2 and Michigan at 7/1. Whoops.

With the regular season nearing its conclusion and the top tier of teams starting to separate itself from the pack, I thought it might be interesting to revisit those odds and see which preseason longshots still have the potential to pay off on bets that were made at that time. Oh, to have laid $100 on Kansas!

School	August Odds	November Odds
Ohio State	28/1	6/5
LSU	8/1	8/5
Oregon	80/1	7/2
Oklahoma	10/1	5/1
Kansas	100/1	8/1
West Virginia	12/1	9/1
Missouri	40/1	30/1
Arizona State	100/1	40/1
Boston College	150/1	80/1
Georgia	40/1	150/1

The odds on one of the other 109 FBS teams winning the BCS championship are currently 9:1. Most don't have a chance in hell, of course (go Florida International!), but I'd like to think that Hawaii (125/1) could still make some magic happen.

School	August Odds
USC	5/2
Michigan	7/1
Florida	8/1
Texas	10/1
Louisville	20/1
Virginia Tech	22/1
Florida State	28/1
Wisconsin	28/1
Miami (FL)	30/1
Penn State	30/1
Rutgers	35/1
Nebraska	40/1
Notre Dame	40/1
UCLA	40/1
Tennessee	45/1
Arkansas	50/1
California	50/1
Texas A&M	50/1
Field	50/1
Auburn	70/1
South Carolina	75/1
South Florida	75/1
Alabama	80/1
Clemson	80/1
Mississippi	80/1
Iowa	90/1
Boise State	100/1
Michigan State	100/1
Minnesota	100/1
Northwestern	100/1
Southern Mississippi	100/1
TCU	100/1
Hawaii	125/1
Washington State	125/1
Air Force	150/1
Brigham Young	150/1
Kentucky	150/1
Navy	150/1
Washington	150/1
Virginia	150/1
Army	180/1
Colorado	180/1
Texas Tech	180/1
Georgia Tech	200/1
Illinois	200/1
Indiana	200/1
Oklahoma State	200/1
Oregon State	200/1
Wake Forest	200/1
Arizona	250/1
Kansas State	250/1
Maryland	250/1
North Carolina State	250/1
Pittsburgh	250/1
Purdue	350/1

Visual Crack: Proof That David Caruso Needs Acting Lessons

For some unknown reason, my mother absolutely loves CSI: Miami. Every time we visit for a weekend, I end up watching at least two episodes and wishing that David Caruso was a better actor and Emily Proctor didn't feel compelled to whisper half her lines. We all have dreams, I guess.



(I can't decide if Lozo is awesome or terrible for posting a link to this clip. Little bit of both, I suppose.)

Don't Change, First Team On Fox - Don't Ever Change

Between here and Awful Announcing, I have criticized more than my fair share of media members. One thing that doesn't happen often enough, unfortunately, is recognition of those same men and women for a job well done.

Let's fix that.

Early Monday morning, First Team On Fox host Steve Czaban spoke briefly about NBC's ongoing "Ends of the Earth" series, which features TODAY show personalities such as Matt Lauer and Al Roker checking in from points around the world as a hands-on way of "exploring climate change on our planet". The idea was universally derided by the First Teamers, who pointed out that NBC was using a lot of jet fuel and other resources in the name of originality, but it was Czaban who delivered the global warming-related point that made me laugh out loud:

"I'm gonna let my humidifier and dehumidifier run at the same time, just to see who wins. It'll be the Patriots-Colts of humidity."

I love that - "the Patriots-Colts of humidity" - even if it makes almost no sense whatsoever.

Hopefully the local radio station doesn't look at the recent shifts within Sporting News Radio - from what I can tell, Tim Brando now has Dave Smith's afternoon drive time slot, with Smith moving to the mornings - and decide to make programming changes. I tried to give Smith the benefit of the doubt, but his faults as a radio host far outweigh his positive attributes (so why was it almost disappointing to hear Brando's voice on Monday afternoon? I must like being angry). Slotting him in as a First Team replacement would be a major mistake.

Visual Crack: Imagine How Good He'll Be After The Resurrection

The most amazing fantasy football outburst I have ever seen took place on Sunday, when one of my brother's friends started Drew Brees (35-49, 445 yards, 3 TDs), Clinton Portis (36 carries, 196 yards, TD) and Adrian Peterson (30 carries, NFL-record 296 yards, 3 TDs). You know you've had a good day when your team posts the second highest one-week point total in league history...without even bothering to starta kicker.

I have my own reasons for loving Adrian Peterson: somehow, he ended up on my team in the Channel Four News Team league this season. I couldn't find his actual total points, but I'm pretty sure Purple Jesus is carrying Brady's F*ck Trophy right now.



(A tip o' the cap to The Postmen for the above video of Adrian Peterson unofficially ending the Norv Turner Era in San Diego.)

Happy Birthday: November 5 - 11

(Baseball birthdays found here have been compiled from the “Frivolities” section at Baseball-Reference.com. All other birthdays were taken from Wikipedia.)

If you have anyone else you’d care to recognize or mention, leave their name in the comments.

November 5
Bill Walton (basketball) - 1952
Dana Jacobsen (First Take hostess) - 1971

November 6
Walter Johnson (baseball) - 1886
Thandie Newton (actress) - 1972
Pat Tillman (football) - 1976
Lamar Odom (basketball) - 1979
Ana Ivanovic (tennis) - 1987

November 7
The Only Nolan (baseball) - 1857
Jim Kaat (baseball) - 1938

November 8
Bucky Harris (baseball) - 1896
Jerry Remy (baseball) - 1952
Parker Posey (actress) - 1968

November 9
Bob Gibson (baseball) - 1935
Adam Dunn (baseball) - 1979
Joel Zumaya (baseball) - 1984

November 10
Birdie Tebbetts (baseball) - 1912
Linda Cohn (sports reporter) - 1959
Merkin Valdez (baseball) - 1981

November 11
Rabbit Maranville (baseball) - 1891
Pie Traynor (baseball) - 1898
Kurt Vonnegut (writer) - 1922
Demi Moore (actress) - 1962

Reverse Survivor: A Tale Of Two Cities

Two RS games on Saturday: two very different games, two very similar outcomes.

Florida International took a 16-10 lead into the fourth quarter against Arkansas State, only to watch the Indians score two late rushing touchdowns and take a 24-16 lead. With the pressure on, FIU's offense came through, tying the game on a touchdown and two-point conversion in the final minute. Special teams? Not so much - a 60-yard return on the ensuing kickoff set up a game-winning field goal with two seconds left to give Arkansas State the 27-24 win.

Meanwhile, halfway across the country in Fresno, things weren't quite so tight. Fresno State jumped out to a 31-7 halftime lead on Utah State and never looked back, holding on for the 38-27 victory. Two Bulldogs, Clifton Smith and Ryan Mathews, ran for 100 yards in the game.

The final game opponents for both teams, North Texas and Idaho, still have just one win apiece, leaving the door open for two of the most mediocre late season matchups the world has ever seen.

Florida International (0-9, Sun Belt)
November 17 vs. Louisiana-Lafayette (1-8)
November 24 vs. Florida Atlantic (4-4)
December 1 vs. North Texas (1-7)

Utah State (0-9, Western Athletic)
November 10 vs. Boise State (8-1)
November 17 @ New Mexico State (4-6)
November 24 @ Idaho (1-9)

FCS Teams Without A 2007 Win
Indiana State (0-10, Gateway)
Southern Utah (0-9, Great West)
LaSalle (0-8, Metro Atlantic Athletic)
North Carolina A&T (0-10, Mid-Eastern Athletic)
Stephen F. Austin (0-9, Southland)
Texas Southern (0-9, Southwestern Athletic)

What's In A Bandwagon?

Last week, one of my brother's friends wrote a blog post called "True Fans vs. Bandwagon Fans", in which he discussed some of the differences between the two categories, in particular his distaste for the latter.

Until recently, Q's point is one with which I would have readily agreed (which is ironic, since he's a Blue Jays fan). Like many "true" Red Sox fans, I had become frustrated with the influx of so-called Pink Hats, wannabes who saw a good team and pulled themselves onto the bandwagon. "How dare they love MY team," I thought more than once. "Don't they know there are rules to be followed, dues to be paid? This isn't RIGHT."

Reading that post, however, got me thinking: isn't there a chance that this point of view is insanely hypocritical? In an attempt to figure things out, I headed to Baseball-Reference.com and looked up the attendance figures for the Boston Red Sox for the early 1960s:

1961: 850,589 (6th of 10 teams)
1962: 733,080 (7th of 10)
1963: 942,642 (4th of 10)
1964: 883,276 (5th of 10)
1965: 652,201 (7th of 10)
1966: 811,172 (8th of 10)

In these years, the teams were terrible (win totals of 76, 76, 76, 72, 62, 72), there was no Ted Williams (he retired after the 1960 season) and Carl Yastrzemski had not yet shown signs that he would one day be a first ballot Hall of Famer. Throw in a dynastic Celtics team that ranks among the best of all-time and an explanation for those poor numbers starts to take shape.

Now, the hypocrisy - take a look at the figures for the 1967 season, when the Impossible Dream gripped New England:

1967: 1,727,832 (1st of 10)

Interesting, isn't it? Williams retires and the team sucks for six seasons, with the overall attendance reflecting the organization's decline. One great, "magical" season, however, and suddenly they're setting attendance records and giving people like Bill Simmons' father a lifetime worth of stories to tell. How is that not a bandwagon? More importantly, how is it any different from what happened three or four years ago?

I really don't think it is. The thing is, 1967 has achieved such mythical status in Red Sox culture that we tell ourselves that it was more than a bandwagon - it was a calling. Bostonians didn't choose to follow this team - they were compelled to do so. Yastrzemski, Conigliaro, Lonborg weren't mere mortals - they were gods among men.

Funny thing - forty years from now, it'll be the "pink hats" and other bandwagon jumpers who consider themselves "true" fans and treat any newcomers as unwelcome interlopers.