SB Nation User Blog: ptbarnum

Don't understand Beane's moves? Good.

ptbarnum — Thu, 24 Dec 2009 05:35:16 -0000

So, you can't figure out what Billy Beane is trying to do. That means he isn't confiding in you, and that's a good thing.

If you can't figure out what he's doing, the other GM's can't, either. That's a good thing.

If the A's are 26th in payroll spending while they are near-last in revenue, that's a good thing. Committing to ridiculous future expenditures while assuming ever-rising revenues is a stupid thing. In Vegas, it is known as "betting on the come," the sucker's strategy. Just think if you were a Mets fan, or a Dodgers fan, or a Mariners fan, or a Cubs fan, or...name 20 other teams.

If the A's occasionally veer off-course in their rebuilding (2009) in an effort to be competitve, all while stockpiling big-time right-handed "wap-a-pap" hitting talent, that's a good thing.

Being an A's fan is a good, constantly entertaining, thing. Grazie, Billy.

I Thought I Would Be Finished With Baseball When The A's Folded, But...

ptbarnum — Wed, 12 Oct 2005 04:08:05 -0000

...I've actually enjoyed the playoffs. Watching teams I detest work each other over is peculiarly relaxing. My emotions have been completely disengaged and I can appreciate the special team we seem to be building. The A's can beat any of these teams (and have, in the cases of the White Sox and Angels). May the gods of baseball grant the A's some breaks next year!

...Arte Moreno seems to be following in the footsteps of Steinbrenner. The trained seals who pass for announcers on Fox TV mentioned Moreno (St. Arte?) was determined to get power (Konerko? Piazza?) out of the free agent market. Go, Arte, go! How did Colon perform last year? Was Cabrera any better than Eckstein? What about Finley? Okay, I'll give him Vlad Guerrero. But doesn't the Yankee experience of the last five years mean anything? Incidentally, is Moreno a racist for preferring Cabrera to Eckstein?

...Smallball has become the new political correctness. The Angels and White Sox dispatched the Red Sox and the Yankees by out-muscling them. Even tonight, the difference was a homerun by Garret Anderson. Yet the announcers keep yapping about "small ball." Most of the steals and bunts I've seen have ended in embarrassing outs. Why are these people being paid as "analysts?" They obviously are not watching the games they are broadcasting.

...Speaking of watching the same game, I want to congratulate Billy Beane for not retaining Ken Macha. No manager who has supervised three straight meltdowns, as Macha had, should be retained. Wrong message to the players and the fans. (Bobby Cox has a job only because the Mets and the Phillies are utterly incompetent.) I have always enjoyed Beane's moves because I've felt Beane has been watching the same game I have. Mistakes have been made, sure, but he corrects them, NOW!, and moves on. Let's hope he gets a manager willing to bench Eric Chavez early in the season That's the only way Mr. Chavez will be able to extricate his head from his ass. (Incidentally, I am a great admirer of Eric Chavez, but the boy does need help.)

...Angels in five. I detest the Angels, but the White Sox are mediocre, as we well know. This cult developing around Scioscia (which began in 1988, thanks Tony LaRussa!) is amazing and annoying. Scioscia is to baseball what Jim Cramer is to stocks. He's right about half the time and, yet, he is extolled endlessly. When you got the horses, you win. When you don't, you don't. Check the records of the legendary managers. LaRussa, the credentialed hero of George Will, couldn't win without the best players. Torre. Stengel. Berra. Connie Mack. Jack McKeon won the World Series just two years ago, yet he's an unemployed geezer idiot today. Small ball and Mike Scioscia. I think I'm going to be sick. But there's no cure until the A's win the World Series.

Takin' One For The Team, and Other Pronouncements...

ptbarnum — Fri, 12 Aug 2005 04:19:25 -0000

At today's game, I faced a crucial decision during the seventh-inning stretch. I outlined the situation for my brother-in-law who was seated next to me.

"The A's are down 4-zip and are facing three innings of the vaunted Angels' bullpen," I said. "It is a strong probability that the A's are cooked. If I remain here any longer, I might be trapped in 880 traffic all the way back to San Jose."

"That's true," my brother-in-law said.

"So there are actually two benefits to my leaving right now. One is getting home in less than three hours."

"Of course," he said. "And the other?"

"Since I have decided the A's can't win, it is an ABSOLUTE certainty that, if I do leave now, Reverse Mojo will come into play and the team will pull out a miraculously improbable win."

"So what the hell are you waiting for? Get outta here!"

As I passed through the exit door, the crowd started screaming as Jay Payton homered. And before I could get on the freeway, Eric Chavez tied the game. Simply by leaving early, I'm proud to say I contributed to the victory today.

George Costanza takes one for the team.

In Praise of Section 214
Today at the Coliseum, I renewed my devotion to Section 214 on the Plaza Level. For those of you without a stadium map handy, it is one of the sections just below the Westside restaurant. I recommend it heartily for connoisseurs of daytime A's baseball.

True, during the day, Section 214 could easily be mistaken for Geezerville, given the abundance of post-youth A's fans up there. But, since I am well and proudly on my way to geezerdom myself, why should I care? The benefits of 214 are many.

First, there is the view. Section 214 affords a panoramic view of the playing field yet, because of the downward line of sight, Mt. Davis does not dominate the vista. Second, the ambiance is exceedingly fair. The upper half of the section is shaded. You are often surrounded by visiting-team fans who are jocular when the A's are losing, contrite and mute when the A's are ahead.

I can see, hear, and be entertained by the boisterous warriors in the leftfield bleachers without actually having my brain rattled by the drums. (Incidentally, was that you, Saint, playing the conga drum at today's game? You guys are starting to look like the Ricky Ricardo orchestra out there. All you need are the frilly, puffy-sleeved shirts!)

In 214, I am mere steps away from penthouse-like seating in the Westside restaurant, a bar where the service is reasonably quick because the bartenders work for tips, and an uncrowded mens' room with well-spaced urinals. I know it is more communal to stand, bladder near bursting, in five-deep lines just to pour your heart and soul into a giant stainless-steel horse trough, but I can live without certain experiences.

On the Plaza Level, I am never going to be mugged by a savage foul ball. The few fouls that do reach upstairs are civilized and eminently avoidable. And, of course, the Plaza Level egress is much faster than the other levels.

Boring, maybe, but Section 214 is part of my baseball nirvana.

Jay Payton!
Suppose Beane had actually gotten Adam Dunn in trade. Could Dunn have given the A's any more than Jay Payton has? The Payton deal is starting to feel a lot like the Jermaine Dye trade. Stupefyin'

Lesson One: Never Give Up On A Wonderful Player
How many times have I watched Eric Chavez go down flailing in an important at-bat? Plenty. How many times have I said to myself as Chavez steps to the plate, "Eric, this is a moment for glory. Seize it!" only to watch him pull an outside pitch into a double play? Too many times. Yet, today, Mr. Chavez came through. Another exhibit in the compelling case for this season.

Lesson Two: Read Lesson One
Jason Kendall embarrassed himself a couple times today. On a Bobby Crosby squibber to the pitcher, he was picked off third base. Then he lay down a sacrifice bunt that was thumped harder than any single he has hit this year and got the lead runner nailed at second. So what does he do in the ninth? He wins the damn game even before Bill King figured out what was happening!

Never give up on a wonderful player!

The A's Confirm Their Excellence In A Loss

ptbarnum — Thu, 04 Aug 2005 04:12:20 -0000

I must admit, I have been a little dubious of the A's recent success. (Please, forgive me. I'm a stock market guy, so I always believe disaster is right around the corner.)

In an odd way, I am more encouraged by tonight's 4-3 loss to the Twins than I have been by the six-game winning streak they just completed. Why? Because they reminded me of the 1984 Detroit Tigers.

I realize I'm a bit older than most of the folks who comment here, so let me reminisce a moment. The `84 Tigers started the season winning 35 of their first 40 games. It was quite a story at the time. They also won 104 games and the World Series that year with Jack Morris, Kirk Gibson (the accursed Kirk Gibson), Lance Parrish, Chet Lemon, Alan Trammell, Lou Whitaker, Willie Hernandez, Darrell Evans, et al.

The problem was, after their 35-5 start, the Tigers only played .500 baseball thereafter. Of course, they were so far ahead, they practically fell asleep and still finished 15 games ahead of the Blue Jays.

But they had their doubters. In fact, in one regular-season televised game I watched, the announcers were playing up the fact that the Tigers seemed very beatable lately, and, of course, we all remember what happened to the 1954 Indians. (That was the last time the Giants actually rose above expectations.)

At that televised moment, the Tigers were in the field. The hitter (no, I can't remember who; that's not the point) rocketed a line drive to the right centerfield wall. It was an easy double. The only question was, could the hitter turn it into a triple?

Of course, the Tigers weren't listening to the commentary.

Chet Lemon, the centerfielder, pounced on the ball like a wildcat. He dug the ball out of the warning track dirt, whirled and threw instinctively to where he knew Lou Whitaker would be standing. Receiving the Lemon's throw in mid-right field, Whitaker fired the ball (almost without looking!) to the precise spot he knew Alan Tramell would be standing.

And that was straddling second base. Trammell took Whitaker's perfect relay without lifting his glove from second base. The runner, who had been gliding towards second base with at least a double, saw that he would be dead meat and stumbled back to first.

Right then, I knew the Tigers were the best team. And tonight, I got that feeling about the A's.

Yeah, sure, Calero and Duchscherer gave up the last two runs but, c'mon, how often is Michael Cuddyer, a guy with 8 total homeruns, going to hit two homeruns to beat anybody? The A's have always been creamed by anomalies in the Twinkiedome.

The telling moments for me were the top of the 8th inning and the bottom of the 9th. After losing the lead in the bottom of the seventh, Swisher smashes a double immediately. Ellis places a terrific bunt (his second in two nights!) and almost beats it out! Swisher moves to third, and Jason Kendall expertly lifts a sacrifice fly to right. Badda bing! Game tied.

In the bottom of the ninth, Morneau walks (never good) and Lew Ford lines a rope to right. Swisher might have misplayed the fly but he recovered and pounced on the ricochet like a wildcat. Bam! Relay to Ellis. Bam! Relay to Kendall who tags Morneau a millisecond too late. Game over.

No joy in Mudville but, folks, I'm here to tell ya. The A's now look more like the '84 Tigers than any other team I've witnessed this year.

Before We Get Our Knickers In A Self-Righteous Twist About Steroids...

ptbarnum — Tue, 02 Aug 2005 05:38:25 -0000

Okay, I'm happy Rafael Palmeiro was busted. Anyone who blatantly lies in a public forum like the U.S. Congress should be flogged. I speak metaphorically, of course. (If the liars in question are actual members of Congress, however, I speak literally.)

Palmeiro's ass-covering, avoiding-jail-for-perjury comments are especially annoying. In Congress, he said, with a Clintonesque jab of the finger, "I have never taken steroids. Not a single time." (I'm paraphrasing a bit.) He did not say, "I did not intentionally take steroids," as his lawyer is counseling him now.

So, Rafael, you have nobody to blame but yourself. Enjoy the sweet smell of success.

But beyond the conniving, hypocritical individuals involved, is there really a problem here, within the context of professional baseball? Yes, non-prescription use of steroids has been illegal since the 1990 Federal Anabolic Steroids Control Act. But steroids were not banned in professional baseball at the time all these juice-ballers were taking the stuff.

My question is, given the obvious nonchalance of major league baseball toward steroid use, why shouldn't the players take steroids? Given the rewards and the performance pressure on major league players, why shouldn't they seek an edge? If you come out of the Dominican Republic, for instance, and you know your entire family will prosper or perish based on your success in baseball, and you know your success in baseball is dependent on, maybe, one hit more per week than the other guy, why resist steroids?

The competitive skills and drive that we applaud are exactly what led these guys to juice. If you are born and bred as a thoroughbred competitor, and you know, because of age, you suddenly can't keep up or stay healthy for a season, why wouldn't you juice? Because of a U.S. Federal statute? If you are from the Dominican Republic, or Venezuela, or even Canada or the good old US of A, why would you care about federal statutes? Professional baseball didn't.

Were baseball players right to ignore U.S. federal law? Not technically. But if you exceed 65 mph of I-880, you are breaking a federal statute. If you borrow an Ambien from your spouse, you are in violation of federal drug laws. I can assure you, virtually every U.S. citizen is in violation of some federal law, statute, regulation or prohibition. The Federal Code, including the tax code, runs in excess of 20,000 pages.

So, within the context of professional baseball, what's the big deal? Yes, you could say that it was not right for baseball to ignore fedral law, but it did. Why? Because it could. Baseball obviously regarded itself as exempt from federal law. If it is exempt from federal anti-trust laws, why should federal drug laws have any more importance? Bud Selig has not jeopardized his livelihood for ignoring federal law. Why should the players pay the price?

My advice for fans who are outraged by the "cheating" is simple. Let it go. Let baseball clean up the problem and sort out the various "Hall of Fame" credentials of the miscreants. The Steroid Era is like the era of big ball parks and high pitchers' mounds. It's gone. Enjoy the game for what it is now.

Besides, who did the players cheat? Each other? Any of the players could have blown the whistle, but, until the self-promoting galoot Jose Canseco, none did. The integrity of the game? Take a look at the competitive disparities of baseball and talk to me about integrity. The glorious history of baseball? This is the history that kept black players out of pro baseball from 1889 to 1947.

Shit happens, folks. After all, if Willie Mays doesn't mind that Barry Bonds beat his records using steroids, why should we?

Don't sacrifice the poetry while VORPing

ptbarnum — Tue, 14 Jun 2005 07:04:09 -0000

The obsession of this wonderful meeting place is starting to get to me. I work with numbers and probabilities every day in the stock market. So here's a probability for all of you to consider.

I'll wager no one who reads Athletics Nation, or writes for it, gained a love for baseball by reading OBP, WHIP, or VORP statistics. (How ugly those acronyms sound!) It was the instinctual beauty and poetry, the physical challenge and competition, the mythology and music of the game. (And, no, I am not refering to the late old sot Harry Caray singing "Take Me Out To the Ball Game.")

I knew the mythology of Mantle long before I knew his batting average. I was shocked by the impossibly verdant symmetry of a baseball field long before I knew the exact distance between the pitcher's mound and homeplate.

I don't want my lyricism to induce projectile vomiting, however, so here's the case in point: Eric Chavez.

Eric Chavez may never be "The Man" so many desire, but he is the Master Poet of the Oakland Athletics. Frankly, I don't care how much he makes to play baseball. That is between Lew Wolfe and Eric.

I'm just grateful I have had the chance to witness his remarkable artistry. I watch him uncoil on a pitch that is low and away, then follow the quick arc of the baseball into the left-center bleachers and I am dumbfounded by the experience.

Sure, you might be saying, "It's about damn time!" but Pythagoras would have been cheering. Sure, in April and May, Eric Chavez'performance stunk like week-old fish. But you know what? Yeats actually wrote some piss-poor poetry. Picasso actually bagged some sketches. Even Faulkner and Joyce produced some pretty crappy novels. If you think Chavez was in a perplexing slump, read Finnegans Wake. That's the literary equivalent of a six-season slump.

And the heart of the poet? Last year, I was in the Westside restaurant watching a game. (I can't remember the opposing team or the batter. Forgive me, I'm 54.) The A's were in the field, and the hitter sent a foul ball way, way up the chute, headed for the stands on the third-base side of the park. It was obviously foul, even the radio announcers said it was foul. Everyone on the field conceded.

Only one guy did not give up on the ball. He broke from his position and sprinted like a mad man toward the home team dugout. In pursuing the ball, his momentum was so great he had to slide to decelerate and balance himself to catch the ball. But his foot caught the cement lip of the dugout entrance and he crashed dangerously.

Oh yeah. And he caught the goddamn ball!

Busted his butt, risked his career, to pull in an impossible foul ball out. If he had allowed the ball to drop, no one would have thought any more about it.

You know who that guy was, of course. The heartless, gutless, inept third baseman many people want to dump for...whom?

I don't know much, but I do know this: Brooks Robinson never saw the day he could make the plays Eric Chavez makes on a regular basis.

And Pythagoras never once cheered a Brooks Robinson plate appearance.