Woe is the Offense
I was looking at team batting statistics today, when I discovered a startling fact — the M’s are dead last in all of baseball with a .315 on-base percentage. Seriously, they’re 30th out of 30 teams in Major League Baseball. I knew things were bad, but not this bad. That got me thinking, in a nostaglic sort of way, about when the M’s had a good offense. Remember those days? C’mon, sigh along with me. That’s right, let it out.
Here’s my entry for the 2005 Most Depressing Chart contest:
Year OBP Runs 2000 .361 (3) 904 (4) 2001 .360 (1) 927 (1) 2002 .350 (2) 814 (7) 2003 .344 (7) 795 (11) 2004 .331 (19) 698 (25) 2005 .315 (30) 709*(22) Number in parens is rank among 30 MLB clubs. *Projected total based on runs scored to date
Who else is looking forward to next season’s .300 team OBP?
Excuses, Part Two: Okay, So I Actually Did Steroids
So you’ve been caught doing steroids, despite our best efforts to get you off the hook. Even Skip Bayless doesn’t believe you now.
Buck up, little camper: everybody loves a tearful confession and a promise to never, ever repeat the terrible mistake. This is true even if the “confession” includes excuses rather than the acceptance of responsibility, and even if one never specifies for what one is apologizing.
Hence, in the second and final installment of the USS Mariner guide to suggested explanations, Derek and I cover what to do post-bust.
The Top 15 Reasons I Actually Needed To Do Steroids
15. I’m just a humble intestinal parasite collector trying to build a specimen count.
14. Tired of other marginal players getting all the headlines
13. In training to be governor of California
12. Wanted to get an approving mention in a John Levesque column
11. Homesick for clean, small-town living of Spiro Oklahoma, where men are men, women are women, and baseball players test postive for drugs
10. FedEx lost package with masking agents
9. Wanted to show kids harmful effects of using and being caught using steroids
8. Have you seen me play?
7. Not much else to do in small town, U.S.A.
6. Needed to be strong before going into prison on steroid distribution charges
5. Sent longer-lasting Deca in to see what had happened to the Winstrol and report back
4. Trying to put food on the table for Latrell Sprewell’s family
3. Just wanted an excuse to be in bathroom stall with Jason Giambi
2. Always wanted my name on news ticker at bottom of television screen, so for once Mom would notice me even though all she watches are her stories and Fox News Channel. I love you mom!
1. I learned it from you, all right? I learned it from watching you!
Game 140, Orioles at Mariners
LHP Erik Bedard v LHP Jamie Moyer. 7:05, FSN for TV. (Also, PCL playoff action)
With the Mariners pushing Moyer back and moving Franklin up so that Moyer could get another start at home, it sounds like the Mariners are, at least when opportunity allows, adopting the “home starter” idea Dave and I were kicking around back in July.
To update that post, Moyer continues to be a different pitcher at home:
Home: 2.73 ERA, 8-0, 95.2 IP, ~7 innings/start, 6 HR, 19 BB, 56K
Away: 6.73 ERA, 3-6, 70.2 IP, ~5 innings/start, 12 HR, 28 BB, 33K
No park effects, I know any split for a season is subject to wild variance, but even then — that’s crazy. Just the two things you can be sure he controls, walks and strikeouts, are far, far better at home than on the road.
Helping Moyer out tonight is Rafael Palmeiro. Once better known in Seattle for his Mariner-killing hitting, Palmeiro’s not even with the team. Coming back from his suspension, Palmeiro didn’t play, didn’t hit when he played, and lost his starting job before being told nicely that the team would prefer he not hang around, sending him home to rehab his right ankle and knee.
Purely on selfish terms, this is Mariner fans, because if anyone was going to go 12-12 with 8 home runs and four doubles in this series it was going to be that $#@$@#% (and @#%^^@ing @#$&@%er) Palmeiro. And that would turn his season around, he’d come back next year with the Orioles, tearing up Mariner pitchers for another year and driving us insane.
Instead Palmeiro has possibly easily been the greatest casualty of the steroid policy. He went from lauded hero for his tough talk denying steroid use to having people argue his career statistics should be nullified, and his Hall of Fame chances are badly wounded and hiding out in the woods hoping to fight another day.
While I think history will see this much differently, I would bet that a survey of HoF voters, perhaps given a quick update of Moyer’s achievements since turning into the ace of the 90s, wouldn’t pick Palmeiro over Jamie. Jamie appears that even if he’s reduced to hanging around Safeco exclusively, seems ageless, clean, with a long run of quiet dominance and impressive raw stats, while Palmeiro’s hitting stats are discounted by era and the drug test, his reputation and character impugned by the Congressional hearings, and it appears he might be done entirely.
Next year, Palmeiro might be back, of course, and Moyer retired, but tonight, only Moyer gets to step on the field. I feel a little guilt at taking delight in anyone’s downfall, but as a Mariner fan, it’s going to be so nice to see Jamie pitching at home and not having to face Palmeiro.
TNT: McGrath on Moose suspension
McGrath’s heart breaks on learning of the latest Mariner suspended.
The Moose becomes more tragically human all the time. I remember when this was the subject of debate.
Some Suggested Excuses For Future Failed Steroids Tests
Michael Morse’s suspension is the third time a Mariner has been suspended for violating the new policy. It’s gotten so bad that the Sacramento Bee is asking whether steroids have replaced caffeine as Seattle’s drug of choice.
Well, at least they both beat heroin.
As Derek pointed out, though, at least Morse’s explanation was original instead of that old fallback, the “tainted supplement,” and was forthright instead of a Palmeiroesque “Winstrol? How did that get there?”
Let’s face it: between the majors and the minors, this team is probably going to need more and better excuses for getting caught.
We at USS Mariner Labs are nothing if not eager to help. Ask anyone, and they’ll tell you that Derek and I are two of the most helpful guys around, deserving honorary merit badges in that arena if only we’d join the Boy Scouts.
Hence, Derek and I collaborated on a handy cheatsheet (no pun intended). These are 15 potential excuses that the next 15 busted Mariners should run up the media flagpole.
The reader should note, however, that neither Derek nor I are in the running for “good taste” merit badges any time soon. So if you’re easily shocked or wish to take this list for anything but mirth … maybe you should go read something else.
Stick around for tomorrow’s post: “Part Two: Okay, I Actually Did Do Steroids, But Here’s Why I Needed To.” Read more
You can’t scatter your ashes at Safeco
So that guy who ran on the field was attempting to spread his mom’s ashes (Seattle Times, elsewhere). The Mariners have decided to forbid fans from scattering remains on the field.
“We’re not denying these people their last wishes because we’re mean,” Hale said. “There are too many questions. Where do you put them? How do you handle that? There are a lot of good reasons for us to have policies that don’t allow these kinds of things to happen.”
Rebecca Hale’s the head PR person for the team. Anyway, I have a couple of thoughts:
– What good reason do they have to forbid it? It’s not a biohazard or anything. Doesn’t this just force people to disrupt the game, since it can’t be done in a normal manner? I don’t think people should disobey the law, but seriously, if that was my Dad’s dying wish, there’s really no question it would happen. It’s unreasonable to expect denied people to act reasonably.
– Why do the Mariners get to make that decision? It’s not their stadium. If the PFD wants to allow it, shouldn’t that be their call as long as it doesn’t interfere with the team’s schedule or the condition of the field?
– Other teams have handled this differently. The Cubs, for instance, like to pretend nothing happens — if you ask them what happened when a fan leaned over the rail and dumped something out, they just go “I didn’t see anything.” I’m just saying.
Stone on Morse
Larry Stone forsakes the chance to grandstand on Morse’s suspension and instead writes a considered piece where he goes and talks to people and puts together a nice little piece I recommend.
According to Black, who helped Pete Rozelle set up the NFL’s steroids-testing program in the 1980s, no definitive studies have been done on how long oil-based steroids like nandrolone stay in the system.
“There’s anecdotal reports of 16 months, but we certainly have every reason to believe it could be longer than 16 months,” Black said. “Once injected, it resides in the body for a long period of time.”
It’s interesting too that he includes a mention that WADA, which is frequently cited criticizing MLB’s drug testing as inadequate, has essentially the same “once injected, repeatedly punished” policy MLB does.
Man, I like Larry Stone. There’s a reason he received an official U.S.S. Mariner endorsement.
More hot PCL playoff action!
The Tacoma Rainiers, who lost yesterday, again host Sacramento in Game 2 of the PCL Pacific Conference Championship tonight at 7:05. I believe you can listen on the internet via sportsjuice, here, or on 850 AM for those of you with radios. Go Rainiers.
Ask your doctor if steroids are right for you
Hi all, Derek here. Given the horrible train wreck of a recent thread, I wanted to say a few words about the site’s policy on steroid posting and commenting, and how it’s not working.
It’s really awful. I want to open and honest about this: it doesn’t work. Starting years ago, we essentially had a line which was “no steroid speculation”. So Jamal Strong tests positive, that’s fine. Saying anyone is taking steroids based on appearance gets deleted. This becomes muddied quickly: we’ve been lax on Jason Giambi and Jason Giambi-related speculation though he has not openly admitted that he’s used steroids, because his apology (which did not include an admission) and other information, while I’ve killed Barry Bonds comments because Bonds has denied taking anything, accidentally or otherwise (I’ve written about what a load of hooey that is, too).
So Barry Bonds, until he tests positive or admits something, gets moderator protection, while Giambi doesn’t? That’s crazy. I freely admit this sucks.
The other big issue is that we’ve essentially tolerated what appears to be steroid speculation in some cases for one reason or another, and this has generated much hostility and resentment.
In particular, take Morse. Morse got suspended twice. A USSM author made some comments about how it was a personal thing and they weren’t going to say anything about it. Huge protests. Later on, stuff starts to come out, it’s a huge mess, and now we’re where we are.
Part of this comes from a question we asked a long time ago: if we know something but can’t reveal where it came from, or can reveal only partial information, should we say anything? The overwhelming response was “reveal what you can when you can”. But let’s say I know some Mariner player’s tested positive and his case is in appeal because (I don’t know) I’m on the arbitration panel or something. What’s my obligation now? What’s the tasteful thing to do?
And at the same time, there’s a great amount of hostility in those who do disagree with the “reveal what you can when you can” policy. Some, like Mr. Thomsen, have deep-seated fears about the nature of disclosure drawn from a journalistic background. Other people think we’re acting like know-it-alls and resent that. Both have good reasons, though obviously I’m a little more sympathetic to the first one, if only because they’re much more polite about it.
If we know something, we’re screwed unless we reveal everything or nothing, which is sometimes neither possible or appropriate.
Which leads to the second untenable situation, which is that Dave has said things I haven’t deleted whereas if some random passer-by left them, I’d have deleted them. This is entirely true, and a valid criticism of the way we (and in particular, the way I) have handled moderation and steroid speculation comments. And, given the conflicting demands, I have no idea how to resolve it. From my standpoint, if Dave wants to say “I think you’ll find that if you open up T.J. Bohn’s head you’ll find he’s a android made by a secretive cybernetics company in Korea” I’d take his word for it. And if he says “T.J. Bohn will never be injured in a normal way, but I can’t tell you why because cyborgs will kill my family” I’ll shrug and be okay with that.”
This leads to a bizarre set of site policies: if an author decides they want to stake their good name on something, that carries as much weight as a public admission of guilt by a player or a positive drug test. That’s clearly nutty, and I understand entirely why people see this as hypocritical, or patronizing, or arrogant. Because it is.
But I don’t know how we can resolve the problems. Given the basic parameters:
– No steroid speculation (with a pretty stringent definition of what that includes), for both site management and site existence reasons
– Steroid discussion of known positives/admissions okay
– Should disclose known information
– Would like to keep comments viable
I don’t see a way out of either of these problems. Anyone with a knack for puzzles, please drop me a line. In the meantime, until we figure out this Gordian Knot, please accept my admission that this sucks, and know that I know how fully it sucks. I hope that understanding why this sucks is in some way helpful in reconciling why USSM can seem badly screwed up when it comes to handling steroid issues, but (I hope, anyway) pretty reasonable on other issues.
Remember When
Inspired by Jamey Newberg’s piece, and seeing how it’s an off day and the blog could use a little more friendly fare than we had yesterday, I’m getting nostalgic.
In 1980, I was born into a family that wasn’t exactly what you would consider sports enthusiasts. We didn’t have a television. We didn’t get the paper. My parents had started their own business, and the hours were pretty long. When a babysitter couldn’t be found, my brother and I would often end up at the shop. There was a lot of sweeping involved. Oh, how I hate sweeping. But then Mom or Dad would give me a dollar or two, and I’d begin the long trek a block north to the 7-11 and figure out how I could best use my new found wealth. Sometimes, I’d get flowers for Mom, but not nearly as often as I’d get some kind of candy bar. Eventually, I bought a pack of baseball cards. I didn’t know who any of the players were. I had never heard of these people. But I would read the back of the cards and find stories. There was a vast world contained on the backs of those cards, and interesting faces on the front. And so I became a baseball fan.
I remember my Dad taking my brother and I to watch the Mariners host the Red Sox. Oil Can Boyd was pitching. We took a sign that read “Kick The Can”. Dad was a Carl Yastrzemski fan as a kid, and the Red Sox were actually good, so we took a trip to the Kingdome. There are a few things etched into my memory that I will never forget.
The massive opening when you came out of the tunnel and the whole world seemed to open up in front of your eyes
“Now batting, #21, Allllllllllllllllllllvin Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaavis”
The Kingdome wasn’t the most beautiful ballpark of all time, but man, to a 6 year-old kid, it was something else.
My brother and I shared a room, and we started listening to the radio at nights. If we weren’t listening to TalkNet with Bruce Williams (we were weird), we had Dave Niehaus describing the action. I loved Harold Reynolds, AD, and Dave Valle. The fact that Greg Briley would go by Pee-Wee made me root for him. I couldn’t stand Dave Cochrane or Rey Quinones. Ivan Calderon had weird hair. I thought Bill Swift’s sinkerball was the greatest pitch ever invented. Lee Guetterman was the devil incarnate. And Steve Trout was the worst pitcher of all time.
The team was terrible, but I didn’t care. I would memorize the back of baseball cards, and when our family would go to a game, I would listen for people around us to start asking questions about a player, and I would turn around and answer them, full of pride for knowing something an adult didn’t know.
Fat Drunk Guy remarks that Scott Bradley couldn’t hit? “He hit .278 last year.” Apparently, if you’re 8, it’s cute. I don’t recommend trying it after you hit puberty, though.
I remember hearing stories about the kid up in Bellingham, the guy who is going to save the Mariners. Ken Griffey Jr, the great Mariner hope. And then he doubled in his first at-bat. He was still a teenager. This kid was going to be something else. I was sold. That’s all I needed to see. We were on our way.
Of course, the M’s kept losing. I didn’t care, though. We kept going to the games. We went to see Scott Bankhead pitch, because he was the team’s ace. We went to see Edgar Martinez hit. We went because I had fallen in love with baseball. My mom would bring books. I didn’t care. I would talk to the people sitting next to me.
Eventually, I joined little league, and my Mom would come to those games with 34 blankets and a stack of books too. But she came. And she’d watch occassionally. And she’d ask questions. And after a little pushing and pulling, baseball got ahold of her too. She’d stop bringing books. She started keeping score for my team. She started watching Mariner games when I wasn’t around. She’d switched teams. I’d gotten Mom on the side of the Mariners. We were becoming a family of baseball fans.
The 1994 strike sucked. But at 14, you can forgive anything. And when baseball came back, so did I. The M’s were built to win, finally, and I wasn’t going to let a little bitterness make me miss it.
Jr’s injury. Three months of Alex Diaz. The Vince Coleman trade. Tino going yard. Doug Strange with the pinch hit home run. The unhittable Randy Johnson. Jr’s homer off John Wetteland. Everybody scores! As it did for the city, 1995 solidified my whole family as Mariner nutjobs. We were koolaid drinking members of the cult.
The first 3 games of the ALDS, my school had a trip to the mountains scheduled. We weren’t allowed to bring radios. I brought “an alarm”. They wouldn’t let me skip the night meeting to listen to the game, since we weren’t allowed to have radios and all, but I remember giving Mr. Kercher the alarm and telling him to give me updates. Mr. Kercher was the man. But we kept losing. By the time the trip was over, we were down 0-2. And I spent the whole busride back convincing my friends it wasn’t over yet.
Game 5 was surreal. I was sick as a dog, watching the game with my mom on the couch. When Edgar doubled, I remember jumping off the couch, grabbing her, and jumping up and down. One of the greatest moments of my life.
We went to hundreds of games over the next few seasons. My dad spent $500 so that the four of us could go to the first game at Safeco Field (screw you, Jose Mesa). I started posting to a usenet newsgroup in 1995, where I met these guys named Derek and Jason and a bunch of others. We started having meetups at bars, where I’d be the only there who couldn’t drink. And Derek, Jason, and I became friends. And now we have a blog that you may have heard of.
Baseball brought me joy and tears, hope and pain. The Mariners brought me from the Dick Williams era to being a Lefebvre Believer to wanting to punch Bill Plummer in the nose. I have hundreds of stories I could tell. Baseball is intertwined with my childhood. But now, I love the game most for the friends it brings me. Baseball is a great game, but the joy of watching Felix pitch would be diminished significantly if I had never met Derek, Jason, Jeff, Peter, Jonah, Jake, Pat, or Mike.
“Why do you love baseball?” is a pretty common question for me. I’m never really sure what to say. I just do.