Scott Boras Smokes Crack

Scott Boras, baseball super-agent for Alex Rodriguez, Barry Zito, and the soon to be free agent Carlos Zambrano, has a new idea that could have only come from the mind of someone using powerful and deadly mind expanding drugs. Some might say it’s strange for someone so rich and influential to be under the influence of such substances, but ever since Ed Muskie got all whacked out on Ibogaine in 1972, anything is possible in America if there is enough corruption involved. New York scribe Bob Klapisch describes the idea in depth: Expand the World Series to nine games, with two of the 1st nine games in presumably neutral grounds and warm-weather cities to enhance the stature of the game. This will give high-profile business types yet another glory-hole to suck-off their high level clientele.

First off, this plan is complete and total lunacy. Baseball is supposedly already planning on extending the playoff format to seven-game series in the division and championship series. Throw in an extra two games in a warm weather city will push World Series games deeper into November, which will make fantastic television when the Red Sox, Yankees, Cubs, (and if God is kind) the White Sox and O’s will be playing in the snow. Second thing, unless the games are played in outer-space, can there really be a neutral ground in baseball? A site like Florida has the Marlins and future powerhouse D-Rays, Texas has the Rangers, and even though no one in California takes baseball seriously, it’s still got three five teams in state. If the Braves play the Tigers in Miami, who is going to have more fans in attendance—the team that plays a few hundred miles away, or a team that plays in the city that’s the US equivalent of Port-au-Prince?

Believed to be your average Haitian.
And do you know what’s worse outside of this general insanity? It’s that the doddering old nincompoop Bud Selig is actually taking the time to humor him. In case everyone didn’t already know, the labor-vs.-management struggle that in many ways has been the history of professional baseball, makes the mass genocide between the Hutus and the Tutsis look like a skirmish between the Hatfields and the McCoys by comparison. This is the guy who has been drastically driving up the price of free agents for years, now has the ear of the principal negotiator for ownership? Bart Giamatti would be rolling in his grave.

Maybe Boras has his motives. Maybe he thinks that by expanding the stature of the Series it’ll make baseball more popular, his players higher in demand, and ere go, himself more rich. Maybe by playing a game always in Florida, teams can just transport a 600 pound (and by that time, client) Miguel Cabrera via semi-truck instead of a much more dangerous private jet. That’s an Aalyiah tragedy waiting to happen. But more realistically, Boras is smoking crack. Tina Turner said that crack was for poor people, but is there really any other explanation, here? Crack makes the mind feel crazy things—paranoia, mania, and fanatically greedy. All these were in play when he came up with this blasphemous idea. Lay off the crack Scotty, and our game will be just fine.

"Remember kids, don't smoke crack."

UPDATE: There are five California baseball teams: LA, San Fran, Anahiem, San Diego, and Oakland/Freemont. Thanks to Ben, Rob I., and the people who e-mailed.

Leo Mazzone Didn’t Help Much, Did He?

Executive Vice President Mike Flanagan terminated Orioles manager Sam Perlozzo on Monday, thus effectively ending a baseball career that has notable only by being hilariously entrenched in ignominious failure. Perlozzo, it seems, brought only two things to the table as O’s manager: Being almost entirely bereft of tactical baseball know-how, and having pitching scion Leo Mazzone be his best friend. In fact, some people with no familiarity with the situation whatsoever claim that Perlozzo was hired solely to recruit the venerable pitching coach that was thought to be the architect of the Atlanta Braves fourteen year NL East dynasty, and was perceived at one time to be the finest assistant coach in all of professional baseball.

Some of you might forget, but there was an out-and-out scrum for Mazzone’s services when he chose not to renew his contract with the Braves. Stat-geeks (and I use it as a term of endearment) wrote formulas on how the coach would help any staff he went to. Sports pundits across the nation offered their opinion on why their hometown nine should splurge on Mazzone. Brian Cashman offered to fellate him, and Theo Epstien actually did. Regardless, Mazzone, in the ultimate “I’m Keith Hernandez” moment, ended up taking the O’s job, and proceeded to accomplish nearly nothing of note, making him equal to almost every pitching coach in the major leagues.

If you were John Smoltz this would be a lot easier.

Take a look at the 2006 Orioles pitching performance. This thing is basically the statistical baseball equivalent of a triage unit in a war zone, or every other day in Detroit. From the "sundry guys" listed, I counted one ERA under five, and that’s not counting the rounded-up Kurt Birkins. The 2007 squad looks only marginally better, with general regressions from former pitching prodigies Chris Ray, Daniel Cabrera, Danys Baez. We'll have to wait until the end of the season to know for sure, but the only player who has markedly improved is staff ace Erik Bedard, who is the 2nd coming of Mike Mussina in terms of both performance and future payday with the Yankees.

Look on the bright side... they could have got Manny.

Now, it is possible that things were so bad in “Balmer” that Mazzone’s presence was the only thing from letting the entire situation turn into total chaos. But that’s the kind of flawed thinking that got generally reasonable people thanking their lucky stars for LeBron James after the NBA finals had the worst TV ratings in their history. Are we supposed to be so naïve to believe that after years of taking the pitching dregs of the world and turning them into effective starters and relievers, Leo-Maz lost the magic touch? Hardly. The fact is, Mazzone had the good fortune of having three 1st ballot Hall of Fame pitchers play for the Braves, and their presence just so happened to coincide directly with his own tenure as pitching coach starting in 1991. The shrewd acquisitions Jon Schuerholz made, and the wise bullpen usage from Bobby Cox resulted in pitchers having an Atlanta resurgence, not some helpful tidbits from a rocking so-called sage. Giving pitching coaches in general that kind of pull is the kind of madness that lets guys like Rick Peterson make outrageous statements like “I can fix Victor Zambrano in an hour.”

If this picture doesn’t make you smile, you don’t have a soul.

Since the only reason the vaunted coach ever came to the O’s at all was because of Perlozzo, Mazzone will probably ask to be released at the end of this year, as this current incarnation of the Orioles is almost undoubtedly his Vietnam. Then the next Brett Favre/Roger Clemens-style attention fest will begin anew, maybe with your own hometown scribe giving the coach a mulligan. It is the O's after all. Just be sure to remember that just because a team has a great rotation, it doesn't mean there was a great pitching coach behind it. As for Leo-- next time watch who your friends are, buddy. You used to have a good reputation.

Elijah Dukes Just Kicked Your Daddie's [Ass]

A masterful tidbit comes from the generally incorrigible Jon Heyman’s “Daily Scoop” yesterday:

And there's another more outrageous story going around about how one young Devil Ray peeked his head into the Twins' family room at the Metrodome after a recent victory at Minnesota and shouted into a room full of kids. "We just kicked your daddies' [ass]."

This is outstanding on so many levels it can hardly even be conveyed. First off, Heyman is too serious and SI a publication too venerable to ever write the word “ass” in one of their columns. Routinely posting pictures of hot women in nothing but body paint is ok, but expletives? Dr. Z would be rolling in his grave.

Regardless of anything, it is absolutely Elijah Dukes who went in and said this. Unverified, you say? Hearsay? Libel? Madness?? That’s what the Internt's for. After threatening to kill his wife and her kids, he’s probably not averse to getting in the sandbox with the tykes, and due to his immaturity and anger issues, it makes too much sense not to be true. What’s apparent is that the D-Rays are slowly but surely becoming the most hilarious team in the league.

Let us count the ways: Rocco Baldelli’s injury history is making Kerry Wood look like Nolan Ryan, Delmon Young has a budding criminal empire, the Scott Kazmir trade is still giving Mets fans nightmares, James Shields is on the verge of homicide because he’s stuck with this run support, and it’s possible they’re bringing back Jesse Orosco for some semblance of relief help. To top it all off, Elijah Dukes is the MLB’s version of Michael Vick, and this is no longer even disputable. The fact that the team as a whole is talking trash to the players children makes this even more outstanding, and is probably a page out of Mike Tyson's repartoire. I can see this spiraling out of control a la the Miami Hurricanes in the 80’s. Rampant criminality, traditionalists freaking out everywhere, elite play, a crappy stadium, and inevitably, military fatigues, rap videos, and murder. Will there be probation? Sanctions? Contraction? A banning of Rated R from the dugout? Almost certainly, and it's going to be great to watch. We are in the midst of a glorious future for MLB, and the first signs stemmed from Elijah Dukes saying “We just kicked ya daddie’s [ass]” to Torii Hunter’s kids. When this all finally happens, and at this point it must, you guys can all say Slick saw it coming from back in the day.

Not busted for dog fighting. Yet.

UPDATE: From my good friends at WithLeather comes the report that Dukes has fathered a child of a 17 year old girl. I'm guessing the Prophet might be more Marcus than Michael.

Tommy Can You Hear Me

Tom Verducci, I’d like to preface this by saying I’m a big fan. Huge fan, even. Considering you’ve racked up national sports writing awards like the Yankees have racked up championships, I’m sure I’m not the only one. Your writings have anointed you as one of the great caretakers of the game of baseball, and your first-hand take on what it’s like to participate in a Major League spring training or to umpire a spring training contest, are writings that enrich our enjoyment of America’s Pastime.

But I think someone needs to tell you (and I’d like you to sit down when you hear this) you are NOT a Toronto Blue Jay. Just because the last ever Canadian baseball team decided it would be a good idea get some easy publicity and let you roll around in the sand for five days doesn’t give you entry into the fraternity that is “The Show.” And I mean, seriously, how close can you get to some guys after knowing them for five days? Vernon Wells is not your homey. BJ Ryan was probably not going to be the first one to tell you that he’s hurt, despite the posturing of his team, and Doc Halladay is not your huckleberry.* Outside of proving to the world that baseball players are outstandingly good compared to the rest of the planet, the most notable thing you did, really, was listen to a lecture on why eating feces is bad, and most of us get those lectures at work all the time. I get them daily.

Will never go to the bathroom and then touch the spread

And now you’re playing in the Hall of Fame game? Josh Lyman in the West Wing (Brad Whitford’s character) had a terrific line, saying “There comes a time in every man’s life when he realizes he won’t be playing professional baseball.” That time in your life is now. You’re a lot like that weird guy in Happy Gilmore following around Shooter McGavin, a man would do anything to be closer to the sport. It’s beneath you, and it’s embarrassing. Journalist’s forays have often yielded disastrous, though hilarious, results, and before you know it, your wife is going to have the ass** because you’re spending all your time in the batting cages getting ready for your next “story”, in the utterly insane notion that some team, somewhere, will actually give you a shot. Madness, I tell you. The D-Rays might have been up to it once upon a time, but they’re actually somewhat respectable right now. The Brewers, despite their impending doom, also will not want you. Toronto has seen what you have to offer, and still no sale.

Well Gustavo, I'll be at the Red Lobster if you change your mind!

Keeping this up makes you the journalistic equivalent of Uncle Rico in Napoleon Dynamite. Uncle Rico was funny because he was a loser. You’re not yet a loser. However, you’re getting very, very close to being one, so consider this an intervention. You might have been a Toronto Blue Jay, but you’re not any longer. Channel your athletic drive into beer-league softball, or better yet, kicking the crap out of Boston sports writers for an afternoon. The sooner you realize this, the sooner you can return to you fantastic writing. It’s not quite the show, but you’re still part of the game.

*Because you need to know where this is from:

**and this too.

Fear Delmon

Reading the essential AOL MLB Fanhouse, I came across this little tidbit on the Rays and their lack of hype.

So where's the respect [for the Rays]? Where are the "Fear Delmon" T-shirts and Carl Crawford Nike ads?

Why, indeed? The very least Delmon Young can get is a t-shirt. If anything symbolizes the “Booyah” generation, it’s athletes with freakish athletic talent coupled with penchants for criminality, destruction, and a flagrant disregard for authority. If Michael Vick is given million dollar contracts for dog fighting, and Sebastian Telfair is given shoe contracts for gunplay, then Delmon Young is absolutely a role model for the new generation of criminal athlete.

Delmon signed out of a California high school for six million dollars, immediately making him the highest paid Devil Ray since Jose Canseco. At age 18 he started out in single-A ball, where he racked up minor league all-star selections and player of the year awards. After a banner year in 2005 for both on and off the field activities, Delmon finally made it to the show for good at the end of 2006. Although he’s put up respectable numbers in the majors, his projections are far more impressive for the destruction outside the realm of traditional baseball.

Delmon has made it a practice to physically assault umpires, which according to notables such as William Ligue Jr., is every fan’s dream come true. In the minor leagues in 2005, Young gave an umpire a chest bump that Lou Pinella would be inspired by, earning him a paltry suspension of three games. A year later, Young would become the standard bearer for nihilistic rebellion when he intentionally hurled a bat at an umpire for handing out one of the worst third strike calls ever seen in AA baseball.

C'mon, that pitch was outside
A 50 game suspension resulted, but it did not slow Delmon’s progress in “Booyah”. When asked by a reporter how he felt about being held back in the minors, Delmon said that the organization was “cheap,” and that “when it comes to free agency, [there’s] no use trying to stay around there for the long haul.” Rational observers might think that because of the bat incident and attitude, the Rays felt Delmon lacked the emotional maturity that’s required for the major leagues. Madness! A similarly talented Ken Griffey Jr. was in the majors at that age, but he did have to suffer through occasional spankings by his father in front of Jim Lefebvre and Harold Reynolds.

And speaking of family pedigree, according to police forces in the district, Delmon is also a known accomplice (or sibling) of Washington D.C. arch criminal and drug lord Dmirti Young, whose sole presence has single handedly caused crime statistics to skyrocket, with long term residents wishing for the halcyon days of the crack epidemic and Marion Barry. Experts now say Southeast DC is a war zone markedly worse than Detroit on Devil’s Night, or a post-liberation Fallujah. If Dmitri is Avon Barksdale, then Delmon is Stringer Bell.



Tampa Bay is no place for Delmon Young. Rumor has it Tropicana Field was created to house homeless people in case of a Katrina-like disaster, with the intention of performing sociological experiments when the residents eventually dissolved into cannibalism and madness. This vibe is palpable throughout the arena, and does not make for a pleasurable viewing or playing experience. Young will not stay. In that well placed tirade against the team mentioned previously, he said that his goal was to “Get your six years and leave.” Can you imagine the publicity he'll get when he's a Yankee? By that time Joe Torre will be dead, replaced by an animatronic robot who cares little for things like "character" and "hustle."

Is there any player in sports who we should fear more than Delmon Young? Of course not. Marcus Vick and his twin gats doesn’t have the army that Delmon has behind him in southeast. After getting fired by the Celtics, Bassy won’t have the money. Until LeBron James starts doing drive-bys out of the Hummer that his momma bought him, Delmon will be the athlete that symbolizes the "Booyah" generation. And that, my friends, is outstanding.

The Five Fabulous Weeks of the Marty Miller Program*

Marty Miller, Director of Performance Enhancement for the New York Yankees, has been summarily relieved of his duties following the most number of injures on his watch to a platoon of men ever not directly involved in lethal and armed combat. The Yankees first hired Miller out of BallenIsles Country Club in Palm Beach, Florida, which is appropriate, considering the team is made up of a bunch of geriatrics. But having a “czar” of performance enhancement was a ridiculous notion before it was even conceived, making it one of baseball’s few (but glaring) pre-emptive failures.** And why is it thus? Let us count the ways!

First off, you can’t possibly trust anyone who goes by their nickname on their business card. It shows an outrageous lack of civility, and stretches the boundaries of good taste. He went by “Marty?” Are you going to put that on the top of your letterhead? What the heck is that? Before you know it, good and decent professionals will be calling themselves “Will” instead of “William” in a business setting. Dogs and cats, living together, mass hysteria.

Never drive angry.
Second thing-- Director of “Performance Enhancement?” Do you see those quotes? I think Jason Giambi’s performance has been enhanced quite enough over the years, don’t you? I mean, his comeback from 2003 was basically the stuff of miracles, and proof to everyone either the benefits of a clean lifestyle or better living through chemicals. Not to mention getting the Sheff out of the kitchen don’t make it less hot, baby.

Might be the greatest picture in the history of the Internet, right here.
And speaking of stretching, apparently Miller wasn’t interested in it. Now, I’m not expert in the philosophies involved in allowing world-class athletes to reach their potential, but hasn’t stretching been in basically every single self-fitness guide since the times of Teddy Atlas? Are we trying to go beyond the paradigm here? Is stretching too “new wave” for you, Marty?

Let’s Survey the Damage:

Johnny Damon—Hamstring problems that persist to this day.
Mike Mussina—Injured for a month.
Chien-Ming Wang—Injured for slightly less than a month.
Hideki Matsui—Injured, and just recently returned.
Jeff Karstens—Injured hamstring, out to start the season.
Phil Hughes—Injured for 8-10 weeks, might be back in time for the All-Star game.

According to some sources, Brian Cashman had a “sleepless night” when trying to decide whether or not Miller should be fired, which makes the independent observer wonder which inmates exactly are running the asylum that is the Bronx Zoo circa 2007. That list seen above? That’s not a disabled list, that’s a hit list. You couldn’t send a sleeper cell into an enemy locker room and cause that much destruction.

“Marty” has been the worst trainer for a baseball franchise since the Greg Anderson fiasco, and that guy is in jail. It appears to me that Miller got off easy. Don't forget to tell the folks back in BallenIsles to stretch, Marty, and don't pretend that you and "Jetes" are friends-- he probably hates you.

This will be your house of pain.

*C'mon. You guys gotta know know where this is from.
**Others being the Tampa Bay Devil Rays, The All-Star game counting, and actually recognizing David Ortiz as a 1B all come to mind.

Josh Hamilton Saved By Jesus Chain E-Mails

Josh Hamilton is a terrific story. Heroic, even, or mind bottle-ingly stupid depending on your perspective. The #1 overall pick in the 1999 amateur draft, Hamilton fell into injuries, drugs, suspensions, all essentially at the same time as the Devil Rays futility continued.

25 tattoos, crack, four million, and the #1 overall pick. It bottles the mind.*

Regardless, after hitting rock bottom, he embraced Matsuzaka Jesus, got his life back together, got selected by the Reds in the Rule V draft, and the rest is recent history. I got two things out of this piece, both of which make me want to cry. First is that after what was essentially a three year layoff, he could light up the gun with a pitch, whereas I’m barely able to break 100 70 60. Some guys just got “it.” “It” meaning unparalleled athletic ability and the mojo to bang hot groupies whenever they mood strikes them.

Second is this little quote here:

Now, at the kitchen table, Hamilton toggles through some text messages saved on his cellphone until he finds the one he was looking for: Dated Dec. 6, 2006, at 1:42 a.m., it reads: "Jesus never fails. Send this message to nine people except me and you will get good news tomorrow. Don't take this as a joke." As soon as he got it, he did as instructed.

The next morning, in a hotel ballroom at Walt Disney World Resort near Orlando, baseball held its annual Rule 5 draft. Hamilton got a call later that day from a scout he knows. "Hey," the voice said, "you got taken by the Cubs." A little while later, another call: "Check that. The Cubs just traded you to the Reds."

Are you freakin' kidding me? Hamilton attributes his comeback to a chain e-mail probably started by a Jesus-freak 13 year old girl in rural Alabama? Absolute madness. Religion is good for all kinds of things like personal betterment, artistic creation, and jihad. It is not good for increasing the amount of chain e-mails already spamming the tubes of the Internet and driving good and decent people bat-shit crazy. If Hamilton is for chain mail, then I am against him. A pox upon his house.

Josh Hamilton-- Jesus' 4th outfielder

*Note: It is impossible to mention Blades of Glory without a sexy picture of the smokin’ hot “Pam” from “The Office” in sex-garb. Very tasty. And I mean that in a totally cannibalistic way.