Are You Frickin' Kidding Me?

I spotted a disturbing Murray Chass/NY Times piece in Google News today, after someone told me they had heard a rumor about the Giants trying to trade for Manny. No truth there from what I found, but "Unsigned Bonds Awaits Further Review" floats another unpleasant idea: with both Barry Bonds and J.D. Drew floating in contract limbo for the past few weeks (thank God) and the Giants looking like they're seriously considering the idea of killing Bonds's contract after the amphetamine news of last week reared its ugly head, Chass thinks the Red Sox should go after Bonds if he suddenly finds himself unemployed, giving the Sox to move Manny back to his original position in right field and (presumably) adding another explosive bat to the lineup.

As you can probably tell from the title of this post, I think that's a less-than-stellar idea. It comes down to two reasons:

1. On a purely technical level, the last time Manny played right field was five years ago, for a grand total of seven games. The last time he did so on a regular basis was in 2000, in Cleveland. Ignoring the difficulties of playing right field in Boston - remember the scary Wily Mo experiments last year? - it requires a lot of running and that's not really the Man-Ram's style. Bad idea right off.
2. Then we get to the real heart of the problem: it's Barry Bonds. Sure, he's put up some of the most impressive offensive statistics ever, but guess whose name shows up next to the definition when you look up "clubhouse cancer"? This is a guy who just threw his teammate under the bus as a defense for drug use. Can you imagine what it would be like in Boston, with the home run record chase, Bonds's reputation of hating everyone and everything AND the dreaded Boston sports media all working in the same sphere? The universe would probably fold in on itself.

Hopefully I'm just overreacting to write a post and this passing thought at the head of an article will remain nothing more than a passing thought. RSN has dodged too many bullets over the past few years to have the biggest bomb of them all come to town.

Are you the Key Master???

Some of you may remember our friend DC's first post back in November, when he ranted and raved about Wonderboy becoming the starting second baseman next year. Now he's back with another episode of "DC: Mad as Hell but Still Rational (with less of an emphasis on the rational part)," with some thoughts on this year's Hall of Fame balloting. Enjoy.

Let me start off by telling you two things: First, this is one of my favorite days of the sports year. Now that the players that I grew up watching as a kid are getting on the Hall of Fame ballot, I no longer have to rely on stories about the players who are and are not getting in. Instead, I know the stories, I saw them and I remember them. Finally, my childhood heroes and villains are having their greatness judged before my very eyes and I love it.

Second, I am and always have been a Cal Ripken guy. I loved watching him, I idolized him… hell, I wanted to BE him. He was the one player who I would route for regardless. The one time I got to see him play live, I sat in beloved Fenway and openly routed for him to hit bombs off of my boy Timmy Knuckles. The time I got to shake his hand at a book signing was one of the most surreal moments I’ve ever had. My little league glove, which I still use today: a Cal Ripken, Jr. model. I played short stop because of him. When I sprained my throwing wrist in little league a day before the playoffs, I taped up, moved to 2nd so I could make the throw and played on. Why? Because that’s what Cal would have done. He (along with Tony Gwynn) stood for everything that is good in professional sports and that is why today should be one of the best days in the history of Cooperstown.

Unfortunately, sports writers have decided that they are the gatekeepers of morality and grabbed all the headlines in the process. They have decided to crucify one of the larger than life figures of my childhood simply because he is the first ALLEGED steroid user to find his name on the ballot. The media has decided that Mark McGwire cheated, despite having no proof other than a bottle of Androstenetrione (a legal supplement) in his locker and some muscle growth. Imagine that! A guy who mixes supplements with legendary weight room workouts got bigger and stronger?! Alert the Nobel Prize people - we may have solved the country’s obesity epidemic!

The crazy thing is that not only have sports writers decided this guy was a cheater, they also fooled themselves into thinking he was a bad player. Let’s review for a second: 12 all star teams, 1 gold glove, 3 silver slugger awards, the rookie record for home runs, the single season home run record (Barry who?) and you stat heads out there (Eric) a .993 career fielding percentage, .394 OBP, 1414 RBI, 1317 walks and 583 home runs.

But more importantly, the guy ruled the baseball world twice in his career (shouldn’t this be a stat?). The most obvious time was when 1998 when he, with the help of Cal Ripken, revived the struggling world of professional baseball, still reeling from the strike. He gave us one of those “I remember where I was when…” moments when he hit #62. The second time was 1988-1992 in Oakland, when every kid had 2 favorite teams: their team and the Oakland A’s. Who didn’t love Stewart staring people down (before we realized he has a voice like Sherrie Lewis), Ricky’s lime green batting gloves, and most of all The Bash Brothers? How many times did you hurt your wrists doing the forearm bash after hitting a whiffle ball across your backyard? 25? 50? 1,000,000? For most kids, Mark McGwire was baseball and today these sport writers climbed up on their high horses, mounted that pedestal and humped all of us into submission. I feel violated. The Hall of Fame is full of drunks (hey Mickey), racists (how you doing Ty…errr, Mr. Cobb), and cheaters (can I borrow your emery board Gaylord Perry), but the media has drawn the line at the guy who never once tested positive for anything. How sad and embarrassing for them. But the saddest thing of all is that these same writers are all set to vote in Barry Bonds once he finally makes my day and retires.