Phanatics in our Midst

As you know, ordinary American citizens play a vital role in the War on Terror. It is often only by the watchful eye and diligent reporting of true patriots that terrorism is squelched on these shores before it has a chance to strike.

Earlier today, federal agents raided the locker room at beautiful new Citizens Bank Park. At first, everything seemed in its place, but their attention was drawn to a distinct ovular shape concealed under the clubhouse rug. There, along with subversive literature, they found detailed blueprints of the Liberty Bell and enough ammonium nitrate fertilizer to reduce historic downtown Philadelphia to a smoldering heap. Indeed, the culprit was quickly apprehended - the team's own mascot, shown here in a file photo.

Not even President Bush could have suspected that the Phillie Phanatic would be an actual fanatic. But while this lovable green goofball has entertained millions over the years, he has harbored sinister intentions against his own country. As an embedded agent of Al Qaeda, the Phanatic proves to us all that terrorism is an ongoing threat in this great nation.

Where did he learn to hate America? I don't know. But now that he languishes in a holding cell at Guantanamo Bay, the Phillie Phanatic will never harm an innocent, defenseless American. In this new age of terrorism, fanaticism - phanaticism, if you will - can take many forms, and we must all be as vigilant as Mr. Met in combatting the dangerous threat of Al Qaeda. Along with Mr. Met, I am gathered here today with Wally the Green Monster, the San Diego Chicken, Sluggerrr the Lion, the Mariner Moose, Bernie Brewer, Billy the Marlin, and even Youppi! the orange thing to announce the formation of a baseball outreach program: Mascots United Against Terror.

These lovable mascots will serve as goodwill ambassadors for the sweeping set of anti-terrorism laws soon to be approved by the Senate. Americans can once again sleep soundly knowing that their homes are securely protected - and these smiling mascots will introduce the new rule changes in a nationwide ad campaign to start this fall.

No clubhouse peanut vendor, stadium organist, radio announcer, parking attendant, or disgruntled right fielder is beyond suspicion these days. Therefore, my fellow Americans, if you see something, say something. It isn't just a good idea. According to Section 215(d) of the Patriot Act, it'll soon be the law.

Dr. Condoleezza Rice is the United States Secretary of State and an avid Washington Nationals fan.

The Physics of Baseball 3: "Throwing Strikes and Breaking Bones"

I recently returned from a conference in Europe, where all of the continent is busily anticipating this year's installment of the Tour de France. It is not only the world's physically demanding race, but is also the finest and most elegant example of raw physics at work in modern sport. The bicycle -- the simplicity of its operation, the gear-ratio dependent torque of the pedals with respect to its drive train, the affect of the decelerating force of gravity as the muscled riders struggle to climb the 6.9% average grade of the Col du Galibier -- is the ideal athletic manifiestion of the poetry of Newton's Laws of Motion as they apply to the science of athletics.

Unfortunately, here in America, professional cycling is less popular than cold fusion and therefore it is pointless for me to waste my time writing about that great sport. Luckily, the art of throwing a baseball presents us with a representation of the poetry of physics that is nearly as beautiful as the art of pedal-pushing. Both involve the application of exteme force to an inanimate object through the use of a bodily appendage. When a baseball is gripped tightly and the arm is thrust forward in a robust throwing motion, it is possible to impart significant momentum to the ball and propel it forward at speeds up to 44.7 meters/second, or 100 miles/hour in layman's units. A related problem involves moving an empty hand (or foot) at high velocity toward a very large object in an attempt to impart momentum to it despite its considerable mass. This is precisely the situation encountered by Major League pitchers Kenny Rogers and Oliver Perez during this past week.

By now, you have no doubt heard about the interaction between Rogers' hand and a water cooler, as well as the one between Perez's foot and a laundry cart . In fact, such instances are nothing new to the game of baseball, as evidenced most recently by Kevin Brown's well-publicized interaction with a clubhouse wall in the middle of last year's pennant race. Let us consider the physical kinetics and dynamics that were at play in an attempt to assign a measure of risk to the actions of both Rogers and Perez.

Rogers' pitches travel at speeds approaching 40 meters/second. However, it would be presumptuous to assume that Rogers' hand is capable of throwing a punch at exactly that speed. For instance, in this case he punched with his non-throwing hand, which is surely slower and less coordinated than the hand with which he pitches. Furthermore, he was not throwing this punch from a mound, which further decreased his maximum attainable punch velocity. Using reductions of 38% for the non-throwing hand and 22% for the lack of a punching mound, we can decuce that Rogers' punch travelled at a maximum speed of 19.3 meters/second.

My unpublished 2003 study of the coefficient of restitution of MLB water coolers revealed that the average clubhouse water cooler is very hard indeed. When striking such an object (typical mass = 30 kg), there is very little "give" to the surface of the cooler. Unfortunately, I am unaware of a similar study of laundry carts in typical MLB clubhouses. However, I am quite certain that the mass of said carts, particularly when filled with the large daily allowance of laundry that is expected from a baseball club, exceed that of the water coolers. Such carts are likely constructed from plastic or metal of a similar hardness to that of the water coolers. Therefore, for the purposes of this calculation, we can approximate both the laundry cart and the water cooler as spheres with coefficients of restitution less than 0.1. This spherical approximation simplifies matters quite considerably, and greatly reduces the complexity of the calculations. Similarly, we can also approximate Rogers' hand and Perez's foot as spheres. Thus, summarizing our approximations diagrammatically, we have:

= =

and

= =

It should be obvious that the masses of the cart and cooler are considerably larger than those of the hand and foot. Along with the very low "give" of these materials, we can easily solve the conservation of momentum and energy equations. Well, it is easy for me and anyone else with a university physics degree. For those of you who have not had this honor bestowed upon you, you simply need to trust my intellect on this matter. The end result is that, unsurprisingly, the cart/cooler barely moves when struck. The collision is highly inelastic, with a considerable amount of impact energy being absorbed by the fist or foot.

Armed with this information, we can now investigate the possibility of physical correlations between punching a water cooler and the risk of serious injury. A fist speed of 19.3 meters/second results in an impact force of 17 000 Newtons. Assuming that the cross-sectional area of Kenny Rogers' fist is equal to that of my own, we find that the pressure exerted during impact is 2.57 megaPascals. This is considerably larger than the 1.2 MPa compression fracture threshold for bones in the human hand. As for the big toe, its higher volume to surface area ratio (in comparison to the wee pinky finger of the hand) suggests a higher fracture threshold. However, the act of kicking produces lower cross-sectional impact areas than the pugility of punching, and therefore the impact pressure is expected to be higher, probably in the 4.0 - 4.5 MPa range and well above the predicted fracture threshold for toe bones in the human foot.

In simpler, more direct terms, we can conclusively state the following: punching a water cooler hurts like a b*tch. The same is true of kicking a laundry cart. We can furthermore conclusively state that both Rogers and Perez are douchebags. Clearly they had nothing to gain through their actions, for both the laws of physics and the principles of common sense were working strongly against them. In the future, big league pitchers would do well to consult with local physicists before attempting such acts of thuggery.

As always, I look forward to revisiting this blog and enlightening your understanding of our national pastime through the magic of physics. Until then, please join with me in rooting for Der Kaiser, Jan Ullrich. The Tour de France is ready for a new King!

Sunday Night Baseball Preview

We originally planned to feature an exclusive Sunday Night Baseball preview with Joe Morgan and Jon Miller. However, unforseen to those of us at Yard Work, we ran into Anna Benson in the Yankee Stadium press box and were unable to resist her charms! Model, actress, mother, and socialite, Anna always has time for interacting with her fans. On the afternoon of husband Kris' start against the Bronx Bombers, Anna offered her own unique Sunday Night Baseball preview.



The "Bronx Bombers"? I don't know about that, but I'm getting bombed in the Bronx right now! I'm already on my fourth cosmopolitan and the game doesn't start for more than three hours! That's OK, because Kris doesn't drink on the days he pitches so I have to drink for the both of us. But after Kris gets his win, we can get smashed together, go home and screw each other's brains out!

We're always very busy on the days Kris pitches. We woke up early today and I was feeling a little horny but my husband has a strict "no sex" rule on the days he pitches because he doesn't want to tire himself out. So I had to take my neck massager and disappear into the bathroom for a while! Ooooh! By the time I was finished, Kris was having breakfast with the kids.

He left the house at around ten and went to the stadium to work out and go over the Yankee hitters with his coaches. I don't really understand those pitching charts. I keep telling him that he should keep it simple and pitch everybody the same way. When he pitches to me in bed, he always throws the hard heat inside. If it works for him in the bedroom, then why shouldn't it also work on the baseball diamond?

Since we had a few hours to kill, I took the kids downtown and we spent a whole load of Daddy's money. I don't even remember what we spent it on, because I had two Manhattans with my lunch. Get it? We were in Manhattan, so I drank Manhattans! I think I bought the 4" heels that I'm wearing right now. After shopping we all came to the ballpark. Last I saw the kids, they were climbing all over the man at the soda machine and were drinking Dr. Pepper like it was water. I think they've gone to run around on the field now. They get so excited when their Daddy pitches!

I guess I should say something about the Yankees. Both the Yankees and the Mets have won 37 games this year, which means the winner of tonight's game will be the champion of New York! Friday was a great game with all the "who's your Daddy" chants. Pedro showed them who the real Daddy was. Pedro is the Big Daddy. He might have been the little Daddy when he played in Boston, but he's the Big Daddy now. He's bigger than ever. Of course, I only have one Big Daddy and that's my man. When I'm bad, I get sent to my room and my Big Daddy gives me a spanking!

Tonight, Kris is pitching against "The Big Unit". Haha, I know what you're thinking, but even I won't make a joke about that -- my mouth isn't that foul! It's a very important game, but I have all the confidence in the world in my man. But no matter what happens, even if he doesn't beat Randy Johnson, I'll be randy for beating his johnson once we get home!

Enjoy the game! I know I will!

More Cowbell Than You Will Ever Need IV -- All-Star Edition ... Continued! (Now with MORE Mailbag!!)

Following up from last week's column , here are my 2005 All-Star candidates from the National League:

C: Ramon Hernandez, San Diego. Mike Piazza is now a 36-year old gimpy catcher which means he's no longer an automatic selection, so I'm going with the sentimental choice and picking Hernandez. He was responsible for the single most shocking play I've witnessed in the past five years, namely, his bunt to win Game 1 of the 2003 ALDS against the Red Sox. Nobody saw that coming. A catcher? Bunting for a game-winning single? In the 12th inning? In the playoffs? A catcher for the bunt-shy Oakland A's bunting for a game-winning single in the 12th inning of a playoff game? I was so stunned, I sat motionless on my couch, staring blankly at the TV screen for 25 minutes. Then I called my dad, and you know what? He'd been staring blankly at his TV screen for 25 minutes also. This was the baseball equivalent of Kim beating Lex and Ethan on the final immunity challenge on "Survivor:Africa". Who would have expected a 55-year old grandmother to stand motionless on a narrow pedestal in the blistering heat and outlast two guys half her age that had dominated the game for weeks? You would have bet your house against her without giving it a second thought. That's what watching Hernandez's bunt was like.

Of course, I can be sentimental about this only because the Sox came back from 2-0 down to win the series, going on to face the Yankees and ... well, let's stop the trip down memory lane right there.

1B: Derrek Lee, Chicago. Who else? Pujols and Delgado are having great seasons, while Bagwell has finally succombed to the karma of being traded from Boston for Larry Andersen. The trade was horrendous, but you don't see a World Series banner flying in Houston, do you? And can it possibly be a coincidence that Bagwell's career has been snuffed out by a bizarre shoulder injury almost immediately following a Red Sox championship win?

Derrek Lee's impact on the Cubs has been incalculable. When Heather Locklear started on "Melrose Place", it was a struggling show that would have been cancelled in a year or two. She transformed it into a huge hit and a staple of 90's TV culture. One new cast member completely overehauled an entire TV show. That's what Derrek Lee has done with the Cubs the last couple of years. It's the same impact that Curt Schilling had when he joined the Red Sox, in that he turned a team of frustrating losers into a club of loveable winners. Of course, the comparison isn't fully deserved unless Lee can get the Cubs to the World Series, securing his place in the baseball pantheon in the process. But right now, Lee is the most dangerous hitter in baseball. Every time he comes to the plate in a late-inning pressure situation, he does something remarkable. Even if Bonds was playing this season and was duplicating his 2001-4 numbers, Lee would still be my MVP. He's that good.

2B: Jeff Kent, Los Angeles; SS: Felipe Lopez, Cincinatti. Kent has been mashing the ball and is displaying the form that won him the MVP in 2000, so he's an obvious choice. Lopez is having notable season for a shortstop, but I'm sure you've noticed that all the voting results in both leagues are slanted toward players from big-market teams such as Boston, New York, LA and St. Louis. Voting for Lopez is my way of distributing the vote to teams that generally go unrecognized. Regardless, this particular vote isn't worth agonizing over because the only thing that matters is the AL winning this game so that the Sox can open the World Series at home, and who starts at shortstop for the NL isn't going to figure into who wins or loses the All-Star Game. It's like the first person out of eighteen to get voted off of "Survivor" -- they have to show up to the reunion show for completeness' sake, even though they didn't figure into the outcome of the series. Not to mention that nobody watching at home (besides their families) knows enough about their personalities to care about them.

Unfortunately, it's looking like soft-hitting Dodgers shortstop Cesar Izturis will win the vote, which means on July 12, during the pre-game introductions, we'll be watching the debut of the Cesar Izturis "I'm Only Here Because One Guy Ripped His Groin Apart and Another Guy Fell Down Carrying Deer Meat" Face.

3B: David Wright, New York. Sometimes it's nice to vote for a guy on New York's non-devil worshipping team. Wright is a breakout star and he deserves a chance to get some All-Star attention.

OF: Ken Griffey Jr, Cincinnati; Bobby Abreu, Philadelphia; Miguel Cabrera, Florida

Several Marlins players are having great individual seasons so I felt that I needed a Florida player on my ballot. Nonetheless, you have to wonder how a team with Lowell, Cabrera, Delgado, D-Train, and Beckett can be playing .500 baseball in June. In particular, Delgado is an interesting case: we keep hearing about how good he is, how well he's made the adjustment to a new league, and that he's a future Hall of Famer. However, in eleven prior seasons, he's never been to the playoffs. On top of that, this year he joined a club that won the World Series two years ago and their record has gotten worse with him there. Does that sound like a Hall of Famer to you? Did Larry Bird ever miss the playoffs in his prime? Despite his yearly chokejob in the playoffs, did Karl Malone's teams ever play .500 ball? Say what you will about Alex Rodriguez, but even he took the Mariners to the playoffs a couple of times. So you really have to wonder what's going on in South Florida.

Against all conventional logic, Ken Griffey Jr. has returned to form and is putting up his best numbers in years to go along with his usual highlight-reel play in center field. What's more, he's doing all this for one of the worst teams in baseball. Can you imagine how good he'd be right now if he was motivated? Junior needs a change of scenery, and fast. He needs to get out of Cincinnati like Vince Carter needed to get out of Toronto.

In March, Vegas was posting a 1.5 over/under on the number of trips Junior would make to the DL in 2005. That wasn't good enough for my buddy Hench, so he got 3-1 odds in Vegas that Griffey would make more than 3.5 trips to the DL this season. Between that and betting on "Yard Work" not lasting three months, it's not looking like a good summer for Hench.

But Junior is only fifth in voting right now, which perhaps serves him right because he used to lead in voting every year, almost by default. It's quite likely that he was overappreciated for many of these years. However, on the other end of the spectrum is Bobby Abreu. He puts up eye-popping numbers every season. He's been one of the top five outfielders in the NL for years, but nobody knows who he is outside of Philadelphia. Is there a more underappreciated superstar right now in any sport? What does this guy need to do in order to get noticed? Earlier this season, he dumped his fiancee when he discovered she had been starring in adult films, went on a hitting tear, and still nobody noticed outside of statheads and Phillies fans. If Abreu played in LA, he'd be as famous as Kobe Bryant. He'd be dating Lindsay Lohan, I'm sure of it.

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The Sports Gal is still angry with me over the whole ARod thing from last week, so she has limited me to only seven hours of TiVo per day, not including the NBA Finals. This leaves me with a bit more free time on my hands, so I'm going to use it to answer some of the emails that have been piling up in the Yard Work inbox.

Q: Would you rather have a sports career like Alex Rodriguez or Craig Counsell? That is, would you rather have all the money in the world, the most impressive statline, and be a whiny glove-slapping bitch who's never won anything in his life; or a light-hitting pipsqueak who scored the winning run in Game 7 of one World Series, and contributed to the winning rally in Game 7 of another (beating the Yankees, no less)?
-- Harold G., Birmingham, AL

SG: Counsell, no question. ARod might be the more talented of the two, but would you want to play on the same team as him? However, who wouldn't want to play with Craig Counsell? Does anybody dislike Craig Counsell? Is such a thing possible?

Also, you've hit the nail on the head -- Counsell was involved in two of the most exciting World Series finishes ever. ARod's career numbers are impressive, no question, but can anyone name even one famous MOMENT that he was involved in, ALCS Game 6 excepted? A big play, a game-winning hit in a meaningful game, anything? Just one single moment that the casual baseball fan can remember? Anybody? Sports isn't just about players, it's also about moments, and ARod doesn't have any great moments associated with his name. Not to mention that I'd give my left pinky finger to have been standing on first base and watching Gonzalez's bloop hit fall in to win the World Series over those damn Yankees. So yes, I pick Counsell, and it's not even close.

(You see? Happy now? Can I please have the TiVo remote back?)

Q: In all of recorded history, has a man ever gone out on a first date with a woman, talked about fantasy baseball (no matter how briefly) during any part of that night's conversation, and earned a second date with that woman? Has this ever happened to the best of your knowledge?
-- Norman B., Montreal, QC

SG: No, that has never happened. To review, the following topics of conversation are off-limits on all first dates, no exceptions: fantasy baseball, Golden Tee golf, manure, weight/dieting, ex-girlfriends/boyfriends, and the book "Morrissey and Marr: The Severed Alliance" by Johnny Rogan. The reasoning behind the first five should be self evident. As for the last one, you'll just have to trust me.

Q: Is there a "Yard Work" intern? Do you need one? I'm available.
-- Leroy R., Vancouver, BC

SG: No, we don't have an intern here. But we don't need one because we don't bother checking facts. We make everything up. Hey, it worked for Jose Canseco. And speaking of Canseco ...

Q: Jose Canseco is starring on the fifth season of "The Surreal Life". Which current player would you most want to see on that show?
-- Gerry T., Chicago, IL

SG: Can I pick a current manager instead of a player? If so, then the answer is easy - Lou Piniella. If he'll tell off the Devil Rays ownership while sober, can you imagine what sorts of things he'd say to Mini-Me and Da Brat while raging drunk?

Q: Baseball would be a far more interesting game if managers wore clown suits. Big bulky clown suits with oversized red shoes. People would look forward to seeing pitching changes, and the managers would enjoy them more too. Furthermore, the manager would come out and wave his floopy clown suited arm toward the bullpen and the new pitcher wouldn't run out, instead, he'd ride out on a mule. The entertainment value of the game would increase immensely. Do you like my ideas?
-- Charles O., Kansas City, MO

SG: Yup, these are my readers.

Mike Piazza's Political Soapbox

Hey, I'm Mike Piazza, All-Star catcher for the New York Mets. And I'd like to talk to you about Social Security.

If you're like me, you stay awake late at night worrying about the future of this country. "What am I gonna do when I'm really old?" you ask. "Who's gonna provide for my kids when I'm gone?" you think. (Not me. I don't have any kids.)

Well, the president's plan to privatize Social Security is totally kick-ass. It'll let you invest your hard-earned money the way you see fit - in stocks, in bonds, in rare collectible coins, and even in autographed Mike Piazza trading cards.

It's your money. You should control how it's invested. And there's just no reason why people who don't make as much money as you do should reap the benefit of your hard work. Take me, Mike Piazza, for instance. Just because I'm making $16 million this year, should I be responsible for supporting Joe McEwing and all his illegitimate kids? (They don't call him Super Joe for nothing!)

I was out partying hard, looking for babes, and grilling venison with John McCain and Ted Nugent last weekend, and MacDawg said, "P, I'm madder than a public school graduate trying to read USA Today over these wacko MoveOn.org liberals trying to stick their fingers in the cookie jar of America's retirement fund!" The Nuge said, "Hell yeah! First they go for our wallets, and then our guns!"

I didn't know what to tell either of them. "MacDawg, you're an old dude," I said. "Why do so many other old dudes think that privatizing Social Security would cut them off for good? Don't they have kids who love them and support them?"

Ted didn't look convinced. "And Nuge," I said. "What if they redistributed record sales like Social Security revenue? Wouldn't that be like taking money out of Damn Yankees' pockets and giving it to some lame-ass band from the Inland Empire that nobody cares about, like Diskothiq?"

He sighed. "You're right," he said, and I coulda swore the Nuge had a tear in his eye. He turned around to face the grill.

"Hit one for the Nuge," he said, and he flipped the venison.

You see, liberals want you to believe that the system's just fine the way it is. But that's like saying that I should give Jose Reyes some of my home runs and RBIs, just because it's more fair! And what if I crash my Harley, or what if the Nuge mistakes me for a bull moose when we're out hunting? Hey, if the Rocket had hit me with that piece of bat, it could have severed an artery and I could have bled to death right there on national TV, and all my tax money would have just disappeared. My loved ones deserve better than that. Our loved ones deserve better than that.

I'm Mike Piazza, and I approve this message.

Riding the Pine

If you listened to some of these purists talk about it, Brendan Donnelly crapped on Cy Young’s grave out there the other night. Bull! The fact is, Donnelly plays about as tough as anybody out there, and the Krukster’s got no love for guys who don’t sack up and game hard. That crybaby Frank Robinson might look at Donnie and see a cheater, but I see a guy who had tooled around the minors and never complained about it for ten years. You ever tried to party in Altoona on a Tuesday night? You’re lucky if you end up with a sixer of Iron City and a shiner the next morning courtesy of a certain swears-she’s-18-year-old somebody’s jealous boyfriend. I swear, the way he reacted you’d think I had my way with his Xbox.

Then Donnelly got hit in the face in spring training and shattered his nose. Never said a word, just took it like a man and wiped the blood off his schnozz. Three hours of reconstructive surgery later, Donnie looked like Ernie Lombardi after a chance meeting with a shovel.

But Donnelly knows he can go out there and snap bats in half with some of that steam he throws. And the last thing baseball needs is pretty boys who are all worried about how their uniform looks or whether their spikes match their shades. Listen up, Mariah! This is baseball! Dirt, blood, spit, chaw, brews, and melted ice cream from one of those little snot-nosed punks’ miniature batting helmets filled with heavenly hash are all badges of honor! Donnelly ain’t no cheater, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to wipe that crap off his glove, either. If those Nationals think that’s cheating, they’d better remember that a year ago, they were lucky to play in front of five thousand striped-T-shirt-wearing, poutine-munching Frenchies up there in that hellhole. You ever seen some of the teeth on those “Continental” girls?

And as for Jose Guillen? Back when I was playing we’d have treated a squealer like him worse than Dykstra’s old lady. (Just kiddin’, Nails.) Jose better watch himself, or he’s gonna get drilled every game. By the end of this thing, he’s gonna get beaned so many times, he’ll have a bigger case of the ol’ red-ass than Michael Vick and Miguel Olivo put together.

If the Nationals think they can beat the Phils by crying every time some schlub’s hat’s on all cock-eyed, I’ve got news for them. Just like Brendan Donnelly, the Phils are working-class gamers, and they play the game hard. You think Pat the Bat would call the umps like a little sissy? Ha! No way. The Krukster knows a thing or two about stones. Brendan Donnelly has stones.

More Cowbell Than You Will Ever Need III -- All-Star Game Edition!

The outcome of the NBA Finals is still a foregone conclusion and there are no new episodes of "The O.C." until September, so I've got to find something else to write about. That's when I turn to baseball, even though I see no reason why all of my TV staples can't be on the air all summer long. Reality TV has no off-season, "Survivor" was one of the biggest summer shows ever and a veritable cultural touchstone, so why can't "The O.C." follow this sort of example? If it's the "90210" of the aughts, then it needs to develop a summer season. "90210" didn't make the jump from cult hit to cultural phenomenon until that 1991 summer season, AKA the Summer of Dylan and Kelly. For those who weren't around at the time, this was seriously heavy stuff -- for Generations X and Y, in terms of serial drama and overall hype, we're talking about "Who Shot JR?", the Undertaker's Higher Power, and Game Five of the 1987 Eastern Conference Finals all rolled into one. You couldn't go anywhere without hearing "will they or won't they?" gossip about Dylan and Kelly. All aspiring young TV shows should follow the pioneering lead of "90210". Why am I the only person who understands this?

At times like these, baseball becomes a welcome summer distraction. Which means it's time to do my part as a card-carrying member of the Red Sox Nation and help my team repeat as champions by casting my All-Star ballot. The outcome of the All-Star Game directly determines home-field advantage in the World Series, which means that the fans effectively choose which league gets to host Game 1. Has any sport, at any level, ever given the fans that kind of power? It's one of those ideas that's so simple and ingenius that you know it'll never last. On my list of the 50 Greatest Moments in My Life that Didn't Involve Larry Bird, the final out of the 2004 All-Star Game ranks at #35, because it directly led to the Red Sox winning the World Series. I spent my first thirty-odd years on this planet fearing that me, my dad, and my kids would die without ever seeing the Sox win it all, so how could a moment like that possibly rank outside the top 40? It couldn't. Can you believe that this idea, the one which directly led to all this happiness and joy, came from the brain of the same guy who cancelled the World Series in 1994? Thinking about these things keeps me awake at night. I can't sleep! Not only that, amongst the "this time it counts" furor, Bud Selig quietly managed to put an end to home-team bias voting. In my case, I could vote for nine Red Sox players, but it's more in my interest to include other teams' stars so that the Red Sox have the best chance of hosting four World Series games this fall. So like I was saying, the idea is ingenious and therefore, it can't possibly last. It just can't. They'll be reviewing the rules this offseason, and they're bound to eliminate this one. I'm certain of it. My buddy Hench was so certain of it, he sold his car and used the money to get 3-1 odds in Vegas that they'll go back to alternating home-field advantage from year to year. That's basically found money for Hench. Vegas usually doesn't miscalculate the odds like that. They just don't.

Now, let's take a look at the ballot that I'll be submitting 24 more times on mlb.com during the next couple of weeks:

DH: David Ortiz, Boston. Over the weekend, I watched my "Red Sox: 2004 World Champions" DVD four times and each of those times, I rewound and watched Ortiz's ALCS Game 4 homer another five times. Why name your kids Ginobili when you can name them Papi? Did I mention that I love this DVD? I might not be able to get through the rest of this column without stopping to watch it again.

1B: Justin Morneau, Minnesota. Nobody stands out at this position in the AL. Somehow, all the best first basemen are in the NL this year. In these instances, almost anyone is an equally good and bad pick, but nevertheless, you have to pick somebody. It's the gambling equivalent of Vinny Testaverde and Matt Hasselbeck facing each other in the playoffs -- you'd rather bet on neither guy, but you've got to convince yourself to actually bet on one of them. All the rules of gambling get thrown out the window and you need to go with your gut. So I'm going with Morneau, who's a young slugger that's looking like a perennial All-Star for the next decade if he can stay healthy (although, between Larry Walker, Corey Koskie, and Eric Gagne's injuries, it hasn't been a good year healthwise for Canadian ballplayers. Did I just jinx Morneau? I hope not. I feel good about my pick, I do. I do? Yes, I do).

C: Jason Varitek, Boston; SS: Miguel Tejada, Baltimore. In contrast, these are a couple of no-brainer picks. There's absolutely no discussion needed, and you'll only hear arguments coming by way of New York, courtesy of people who will try to convince you that Derek Jeter's latest faceplant catch is worthy of a lifetime exemption into the role of AL starting shortstop in the All-Star Game. As for Varitek, he can do no wrong this season. He's been the glue that has held together an otherwise fragile Red Sox team. I mean, if you were playing a game of pickup softball with your friends, and you could "draft" any AL ballplayer as your first pick, then who would it be? Faced with that situation, I'm sure that nine out of every ten people would pick Varitek first. That's the mark of a guy having a dominant, MVP-calibre season. What more proof do you need?

2B: Brian Roberts, Baltimore. Speaking of players who can do no wrong, Brian Roberts lives in his own universe of doing no wrong. Roberts should skip the All-Star Game and head to Vegas instead, because you've got to take advantage of these types of hot streaks while you can. You know that scene in "Swingers" when Vince Vaughn says "you're so money" to Jon Favreau? That's Brian Roberts right now -- he's so money that he doesn't know what to do with himself. Opposing pitchers can't figure him out, and before they have a chance to adjust, the series is over and the Orioles have left town faster than you can say "Brady Anderson". How can anybody dislike Brian Roberts right now? All this, and he's a Yankee killer. How can you not like this guy?

3B:ARod, New York. A lot of people are bound to be upset about this one. I was filling out my ballot and the Sports Gal walked by, shrieked "you're voting for Slap-Rod! How can you live with yourself?". Now she's hidden the TiVo remote and I haven't been able to find it all day, which is why I'm taking the time to write this blog post. But remember that scene in Goodfellas when Henry (Ray Liotta) goes to Pauly (Paul Sorvino) to beg for help after he got busted for drugs? Pauly gave Henry a wad of money and turned his back on him. Even after a lifetime of loyal service, Henry knew that he was a dead man sooner or later, so he went ahead and testified against the mob. What does all this mean? Just like Henry and Pauly, I have tremendous respect for A-Rod. He's clearly having the best season by any AL third baseman. I can vote for him now, employ him to help the Red Sox get home field advantage in the World Series, and turn on him in a heartbeat come October. Baseball is a dirty business.

OF: Johnny Damon, Boston; Vladimir Guerrero, Los Angeles; Manny Ramirez, Boston. Guerrero needs no justification. Manny is Manny, I've got to show some home team favoritism (and cleanse myself of any remaining guilt over that ARod vote). And he's obviously the best bet to deliver one of those Kruk-Unit All-Star moments that become 1000 times more famous than anything that will happen in the game itself. If we're lucky, he'll catch his spike on a pigeon or hot dog bun while running after a routine fly ball. But Damon is something else. His career is indestructible. He has survived the Kansas City Royals, Moneyball, a biography titled "Idiot", appearances on "Queer Eye For the Straight Guy" and "Rob and Amber's Wedding", and a head-on collision with an outfield wall. Despite all of this, Damon's hitting .340 and is enjoying the best season of his career. Is there any precedent for this? By all rights, Damon should have gone the route of Buster Douglas after all these extracurricular adventures. He's like Jimmy Piersall without the mental anguish. He's too insane to be crazy. Everytime I see him crash into a wall or nearly trip over his hair while rounding third base, I hear Vince McMahon's mid-90's-era ringside commentary coming out of my TV speakers. "Un-bee-leevable. Johnny Damon is un-bee-leevable. Look at that! What an athlete! He's coming home ... he's safe, no he's out, c'mon ump!". You'll be telling your grandkids that you saw Johnny Damon play. You will.

Coming up on a future edition of More Cowbell ... my NL All-Star ballot. Until then, go rent "Caddyshack" in case Tiger runs away with the US open by 3PM on Saturday.

The Diary of Clint Barmes

Editor's Note: Colorado Rockies rookie Clint Barmes has been keeping a regular diary throughout his standout 2005 season. Among MLB rookies, the 26-year-old shortstop from Indiana State ranks near the top of the leaderboard in almost every major offensive category. In this Yard Work exclusive, we are pleased to bring you excerpts from the diary of this budding superstar.

April 16. I had a great game last night, going 4-5 with two homers, but we still got blown out by San Francisco, 13-6. I thought I did my part, but I guess it wasn't enough. But after the game, Preston Wilson came up to my locker and said "hey rookie, why are you making the rest of us look bad? You're supposed to stop trying when we're down by ten runs, squirt". I apologized, really I did, and he said I could make it up to him by helping him move the next day.

They made me do a lot of work. At one point, I was walking from room to room carrying a huge oak cabinet strapped to my back. We'd get to one room, Preston and his wife would argue over where to put the cabinet and I'd have to stand there holding it while they had their discussion. Then we'd walk to the next room and the same thing would happen. After 25 minutes of carrying this 200 lb cabinet (including twice up and down two flights of stairs), I tripped over their dog and fell flat on my face. Preston's wife started screaming but fortunately the cabinet didn't get a scratch because it landed on me and I braced its fall. I got a little smushed but I was OK. Preston bought me a slice of pizza at the ballpark to thank me for the help. It had pepperoni on it and was pretty good. But all this work is worth it in order to earn the respect of the veterans on our club.

April 29. I'm hitting .430 after another two-hit game, but we lost again, this time against LA in Dodger Stadium. After the game, a few of us decided to head out for dinner. Well wouldn't you know it, our rental car broke down on the drive there. I told the guys to take a cab the rest of the way while I took care of the car. The vets always make the rookies park the car anyhow, so I figured I might as well volunteer. I put the car in neutral and started pushing. The restaurant was sixteen blocks away -- it's a good thing the weather is so nice in LA! Then, about halfway there, the car got rear-ended. Lucky for me, I'd just gone to turn on the hazard lights (I'd forgotten to put them on all that time -- oops!) only a few seconds before the car was hit. The rear bumper was knocked off completely so it's a good thing I wasn't back there pushing the car at that moment or else I could have bruised a knee or something. Well, by the time I got to the restaurant more than two hours later, the vets had already left without me. That's OK, I wouldn't have wanted them to wait and ruin their dinner on account of me. But I was hungry by that point, so I hailed a cab back to the hotel and had a bowl of Frosted Mini Wheats in my room while watching a late-night rerun of "Fear Factor". Yum!

May 26. I got three more hits last night, but we lost 8-6 to St. Louis. I really wanted to go home and relax, but I'd already promised [General Manager Dan] Mr. O'Dowd that I would bring the new photocopier up to his office in Coors Field. It didn't have any wheels and the service elevator was broken so I had to carry it up the stairs. Then I had to meet a delivery man in the parking lot and bring Keith's [Dugger, Rockies head trainer] new massage table into the trainer's room. It was over ten feet long so balancing it on my shoulder was really hard, and getting it through the doors was even tougher.

This morning I had to wake up early and drive into the city to pick up the vintage 50's pinball machine for our clubhouse. It's a gift from the rookies to the vets. In return, they promised to stop putting yogurt and week-old mashed potatoes in our gym bags after each ballgame. The pinball machine was really big so I had to strap it to the roof of my car using bungie cords. I got into the car and was about to turn on the ignition when suddenly, the roof caved in! A shard of metal scraped my ear and I had to get a band-aid for it, but otherwise I was OK. Good thing I wasn't in the passenger seat -- I would have been flattened because the pinball machine tumbled into that side of the car! I'll need to replace my car but the worst part was that some of the paint got chipped on the under side of the pinball machine. The vets were none too happy about that so they said they'd stop with the yogurt, but would continue to use the mashed potatoes. Now the vets AND the rookies are angry with me. Jeepers! Fortunately, Todd Helton said he'd forgive me if I went hunting with him next week. He likes to hunt deer but he needs somebody to carry the dead deer back to his house afterward. He said if I behaved myself then we could ride ATV's after he finishes hunting. Golly, life in the big leagues can be so unpredictable sometimes!

Where Is The Love For... Scott Erickson?

We here in the Dodgers front office hear what you're saying, fans. Scott Erickson has got to go. Scott Erickson is the worst pitcher in the major leagues.

What the meatheads and frat boys aren't telling you is that Scott Erickson is a proven winner. This is a man, let's not forget, who propelled his Minnesota Twins to World Series glory just 14 years ago.

Are you telling me, Dodger fans, that you don't want the same Scott Erickson on your team who outdueled the mighty Randy Johnson on April 26? Neither Ken Griffey Jr. nor Ken Griffey Sr. could manage much in the way of success against the devastating Erickson sinker that fateful day in the Metrodome. Scott Erickson's power simply spans generations.

On May 1, Scott Erickson shut down the Boston Red Sox - the very same Boston Red Sox who, of course, eventually went on to win the World Series themselves. Not even Hall of Famer Wade Boggs could manage a hit that day against the rubber arm of young Erickson.

Bill Gullickson. Roy Smith. Andy Johnson. Bobby Witt. Dave Stewart. They were all mowed down by the impressive force of the plucky Erickson. Even Charles Nagy - arguably the greatest major leaguer ever from the storied University of Connecticut baseball program - could manage only a pathetic piffle when his Indians crumpled against the Twins one sultry June night that fateful year.

We've known about Scott Erickson for a very long time, Dodger fans. And we know what he brings to a team. Proven experience. Championship poise. You may have heard some baseball experts call these "intangibles."

We're on the Internet, too, and don't think that we don't take your opinions into consideration. "He pitches like a beer league softball player," you say. "He looks like Jamie Moyer at 24 fps," you scornfully cluck.

The fact is, when major league hitters step into the box, they expect to see the ball coming at them at lightning speed. When it's slow, their little brains hesitate, and they fail to register the ball's movement at all. Most of these hitters barely graduated high school, let alone cum laude from Harvard like me, Paul DePodesta '95. Like the great Kodiak grizzly, a top major league hitter like Albert Pujols simply cannot react when his prey - in this case, the deceptively slow fastball of Scott Erickson - is before him, unmoving. Albert Pujols went to a junior college in Missouri, people. I shouldn't have to spell this out for you.

But if I must, let me put this in terms that even the casual baseball fan can understand: if you take the N, tilt the letter I a little, and visualize the letter M, it is absolutely impossible to spell "Scott Gavin Erickson" without "gamer." This is exactly what a progressive, modern organization like the Los Angeles Dodgers is looking for in this age of bloated contracts and big-money free agents.

Some of you bloggers, safe at home behind your keyboards, may want to call Erickson a "human taco machine," but we Dodgers choose to look beyond the tacos - even tacos such as those which Erickson serves up, drenched in guacamole and refulgent with luminous caramelized onions - and see what lurks behind the crispy corn shell of Erickson's 81 mph fastball. It's this type of thinking outside the box - nay, thinking outside the bun - that shall lead us once again to the promised land.

Paul DePodesta is the general manager of the Los Angeles Dodgers.

Pay Rickey

Life in the minor leagues! Sure, Rickey's making 400 bucks a week, wearing a purple uniform, living with some corny-ass host family way out in El Cajon, and batting .194, but that don't matter. Rickey's watching the Oakland A's, man. He read that "Moneyball" book. Billy Beane's a good writer! And Rickey sees Eric Byrnes floppin' around out there in left like a baby seal. Rickey knows what's up. See, those "Moneyball" dudes are all about walks, right? And Rickey, he can draw a walk. Rickey gets up there, and the other pitcher's like, "Yo! Rickey! Out of respect to you and your 25 years of service to major league baseball, I'm just going to get you on base, so the fans get what they paid to see, and I'll just pitch to that little dude picking his nose in the on-deck circle!"

And Rickey's a classy, respectful gentleman. Rickey ain't gonna swing at no 75-mph meatball from some kid. He's going to wait it out and hit tough pitches, because he knows that patience and diligence mean more to the Oakland A's than if Rickey was hitting inside-the-park tacos every night. Even in the Golden Baseball League.

Speaking of gold, one of the few regrets of Rickey's legendary baseball career is that he never won a gold medal. When Rickey was coming up, they sat him down and said, "Rickey, we need you to go to Moscow in 1980 and beat the Commies like the little scrubs they are!" Of course Rickey was ready to go and get on some Captain America shit, but Rickey's star was just too much for the minor leagues. The Oakland A's called him up, Rickey shocked the world with his magnificence, baby-soft dimples, and all-around glory, and when 1980 came around, the Olympics were like, "Yo! Rickey!" and Rickey was all, "Rickey got paid!"

They was so mad that they didn't go to Moscow at all. They was all, "If Rickey ain't going, nobody ain't going!" That Afghanistan thing was a cover. So then the Olympics were all, "Man, f-ck Rickey! If Rickey ain't playing, we're gonna wait four more years!" So I guess you could say that Rickey Henderson was personally responsible for the fact that baseball didn't become a full Olympic sport until 1992.

So anyway, everybody's worried about that World Cup thing next year, and how their players might lose some of their spring training. Those guys are chumps and sissies! Rickey isn't like them. He doesn't go on fantasy cruises or do autograph signings or hang out with his children or even do the dishes, even if it means that his host parents take away the Xbox. Rickey's a professional. Rickey's a gamer. The hell with spring training. Rickey Henderson doesn't stop training. Right now, Eric Byrnes is probably eating Lucky Charms or that Cap'n Crunch where they screwed up at the factory and now it's all berries. Rickey don't even want to know what Coco Crisp is eating! Rickey's up at five in the morning every day, getting his All-Bran on. Billy Beane better remember that.

Pay Rickey!

Made in Canada

We live in the greatest country on earth and that's why we produce the greatest athletes. Canadians are making a huge impact in baseball these days because our development of baseball players is second only to our development of junior hockey players.

Now let me tell you a story. I used to be a really good ballplayer. Of course, over the winter and into spring, we stretched out the hockey season as long as we possibly could. But by June, all the ice and snow had melted and our skate blades were dull from two months of skating on the pavement. That shows you how much we loved Canada's game. But when summer finally rolled around, it was time to put away our skates and get our spikes and gloves out of storage. We played in a semipro league and everyone on our team was paid three dollars per day, plus bus fare to and from the game and a two-four of Labatt's 50. We were getting paid peanuts but we weren't doing it for the money, we did it because we wanted to play.

Big league scouts used to drive up from the States to watch our games. Word spread fast about our team of hard-nosed Kingston boys. We hit the ball hard and opposing infielders harder. In their game notes, the scouts used to call it the "Canadian style" of play but you never hear that term used anymore because the game has become so diluted by foreigners who don't know how to take a hit. Next time you're watching a game, look at how those Venezuelans and Dominicans play. They take one hit -- one hard slide -- and they're down on the field for five minutes. Give me a break. We played hurt everyday. One season, our ace pitcher, a guy by the name of Stumpy Miller, pitched the entire second half of the season with a dislocated shoulder. What's more, he never even let on that he was hurt, and we didn't find out about the injury until the season was over. He got hurt during a bench clearing brawl we had with the Huntsville Grizzlies. The game hadn't even started yet. Our manager brought the lineup card to home plate, the other manager said something about his mother and it was on. The umps just stood back and let the players go at it. We had a really good umpiring crew working that day and they didn't want the game to be decided because of ejections, so they didn't eject anybody because of the fight. That's the way the game should be played -- the umps have got to let the players play the game. In the end, the fight went on for a while and the opening pitch was delayed for about an hour and a half, but the fans loved it.

Anyhow, I want to tell you about this one game we played against the Smiths Falls Trillium Pickers. These guys played dirty, they had a real mean streak about them. We never liked playing against them. Our catcher was this a huge brute of a guy named Carl Turner who was also the top defenseman on our minor league hockey team before he disappeared one summer while canoeing down the Ottawa river. So this guy Turner went to break up the double play at second. The shortstop was coming across the bag and was looking down into his glove to receive the ball from the second baseman instead of looking up at the runner. Now, for all you kids out there, remember to never ever ever cross the bag with your heads down because if you do that you're gonna get hit. Now, Turner didn't even bother sliding, he just ran right through the bag like he'd been trained to do and shoulder checked the Trillium Pickers shortstop into next week. This was in the top of the second inning, so by that time, the Smiths Falls fans were good and drunk and started chucking empty bottles of rye whiskey onto the field in protest. Pandemonium broke out, and it was a big mess. As for me, I got whacked in the eye with a hockey stick by a fan who had run out onto the field so I had no choice but to drop my glove and fight him.

Well, the game was a forfeit but the scouts were impressed. They loved our toughness and our grit. We had more heart than any other team in the league. That's how I got offered a minor league contract from the Dodgers when I was seventeen, but I didn't accept it. I loved baseball, but I knew that hockey was my calling.

So all you kids need to go out to the bookstore and buy Bob Elliott's new book, "The Northern Game: Baseball The Canadian Way". It's important to learn about the history of our other great game, the game of baseball. Canadians are making an impact in the game today like we never have before. Guys like Larry Walker, Justin Morneau, and Corey Koskie are proudly flying the Maple Leaf south of the border and playing their guts out in the major leagues. Even the Quebecers are playing baseball now, like Dodgers pitcher Eric Gagne. Make sure you read the book and help celebrate our game!

Hockey legend and CBC analyst Don Cherry was recently voted #7 in a nationwide poll of the all-time Greatest Canadians. Mr. Cherry also wrote the forward to "The Northern Game: Baseball The Canadian Way", by Toronto Sun sportswriter Bob Elliott.

Fantasy Baseball Advice

Ed. Note:Welcome to another installment of Fantasy Baseball Advice here at Yard Work. We originally planned for Pedro Martinez and Tom Glavine to return for a second column. However, on the day of the interview, we ran into Anna Benson in the Shea Stadium press box and were unable to resist her charms! Model, actress, mother, and socialite, Anna always has time for interacting with her fans. We spoke with her on the afternoon of husband Kris' Sunday night start against the Giants.



Q: OK, here's the deal. I've been running a semi-platoon deal with Sean Casey and Ryan Klesko. Casey's OPS split vs lefties/righties is 883/747. Normally, I bench Casey against righties and install Klesko at first on those days, with rare exceptions (Klesko's splits are 742/930, thus, on days when Casey faces a righty and Klesko a lefty, I defer to the pitcher-batter matchups to decide if I want to bench either guy). So, when Casey is benched, I have to play an outfielder from my injury-depleted bench, which is a choice between Preston Wilson (who can't hit a damn outside of Coors), or Richard Hidalgo, who also can't hit lefties and is somehow hitting just .210 in Texas. What's more, both guys are fast starters and tend to cool down after the All-Star break (to the tune of over 100 points in OPS). Thus, thinking long-term, I can see the logic in starting Wilson (when he plays at home) and Hidalgo (on the road) and hopefully this strategy will result in maximal playing time with the best possible matchups for Casey, Klesko, Hidalgo, and Wilson. Is this a sound strategy?

Fred R., Tempe, AZ

Anna Benson: Wow, math is hard! That's a tough question. How many OBS do you need to total 27 million dollars? That's what I need to know. My man has thousands of OBS's, I'm sure of it. How many do your players have?

Q: After Glendon Rusch's shutout against the Padres this week, is this guy for real? I'm asking because I'm mulling over a trade of Rusch for Eddie Guardado. If I lose Guardado, I still have Chad Cordero to close for me, and I've got a big lead in saves right now. I need a guy who can eat innings and pick up some W's. Rusch gives up too many baserunners for my liking, but he's been keeping runs off the board, is tied for his club lead in wins, and has even pitched very well in the Friendly Confines. Is this a good deal for me?

Joseph P., Nashville, TN

AB: When I'm with my husband, he pitches very well in my Friendly Confines and I'm not talking about baseball, if you know what I mean! Also, I'm not drunk enough yet, I need another cocktail! If I'm not good and tipsy when Kris pitches, I get very nervous and then who knows what kinds of silly things I'll say!

Yard Work: Um, do you have an answer for Joseph from Nashville?

AB: Oh sure. How can I judge when I don't know what they look like? Do you have pictures?

Yard Work: OK, here [shows pictures]

AB: Definitely the man in the blue cap. He has such soft eyes. You know who has the softest eyes? My husband. I get horny just thinking about them! After tonight's game, after Kris gets his win, I'm going to surprise him, wear my sexiest bustier and tiniest black lace panties, creep up behind him in the clubhouse showers, and put my mouth on his [censored -- Ed.] ... and then take his [censored -- Ed.] ... into my [censored -- Ed.] ... we'll go out to our favourite restaurant, and when we get home, he'll be in for a night of more [censored -- Ed.] ... in his [censored -- Ed.] ... until we can't do any more [censored -- Ed.]. Ooooh, fun!

[Ed: Since Yard Work is a family-friendly website, some editing of Anna Benson's statement was deemed necessary. Every effort was made to moderate her statements without altering their context.]

Q: I need to drop a starter in my 5 x 5 head-to-head league -- either Chacin, Oswalt, or Wells. Oswalt is probably the best of the bunch, but he's facing Pedro this week. BTW, my two relievers are Tavarez and Gagne. What do you think?

Henry G., Rochester, NY.

AB: Eeeeee, I just got a text message from Kris. The message says "centrosymmetry". Don't I know! And Pedro is such a cutie pie. You definitely need him on your team. His curly locks are so sensual.

Yard Work: That wasn't really an option. Pedro isn't on this guy's fantasy team.

AB: Oh, it's a fantasy team? Half of the Mets clubhouse is on my fantasy team. I love spending my husband's money on the adorable Mets and their cute butts. He paid for these drinks, you know. He likes me good and wasted so that he can take advantage of me after the game once the kids go to sleep -- and sometimes before they go to sleep! And sometimes right there at the dinner table! With our in-laws there! My man is so rich and beautiful. Do you want to know more about my fantasy team?

Ed. note: we decided to end the interview at that point and continue the discussion off the record. Thanks for reading this week's edition of Fantasy Baseball Advice!

Missouri's Own Hemophiliac Aristocracy

A year and a half ago, the Brewers traded gigantic first baseman Richie Sexson to the Diamondbacks, and received what looked like a collection of spare parts in return. Junior Spivey, Lyle Overbay, Chris Capuano, Jorge de la Rosa: who the hell were all these guys?

When the Brewers shipped closer Danny Kolb to the Atlanta Native Americans, it looked like another case of baseball's haves picking and choosing the most delicious morsels of the have-nots — the Native Americans shed top prospect Jose Capellan in the deal, but received a proven closer with 39 saves for a moribund team in 2004. What could go wrong?

Thus far in 2005:

Lyle Overbay: .295/.432/.514, 7 HR, 28 RBI, 35 BB, 27 K
Chris Capuano: 4-4, 3.01 ERA, 56 K, 27 BB, 1.192 WHIP
Jose Capellan (AAA): 3-2, 4.74 ERA, 37 K, 23 BB, 1.581 WHIP

Danny Kolb: 1-4, 5.66 ERA, 19 K, 18 BB, 1.984 WHIP
Richie Sexson (Mariners): .250/.359/.536, 13 HR, 42 RBI, 28 BB, 55 K

The fact of the matter is this: time and time again, the Brewers and GM Doug Melvin have gotten the better of bigger-market teams. How do they do it? By managing to understand the vagaries of the trading game, casting their nets in the shallow end of the free-agent market, and not getting too attached to their homegrown starlets.

Even the trade of speedster Scott Podsednik to the White Sox for underrated slugger Carlos Lee represents a shrewd understanding of the needs of a team like Milwaukee. Podsednik may be on pace to steal a hundred bases this year, but what good does a base-stealer do a team without much of a chance of scoring runs? That Podsednik was a waiver claim, effectively costing the Brewers nothing, only adds to the remarkable nature of the deal; essentially they claimed him, let him prove himself in Miller Park, and shipped him to the highest bidder. The player they got in return is a much better fit for the Brewers' small-market needs; Lee hits between Geoff Jenkins and Overbay in a heart of the order most teams would envy. Podsednik's leadoff spot? Capably filled by Brady Clark… claimed off waivers in 2003. Kolb's closer's role? The domain of Derrick Turnbow... claimed off waivers in 2004, and putting up a much better line than Kolb, to boot.

The Brewers, at 24-27, do not look like a success story. But for a team with a $40 million payroll to sniff .500 in this day and age is unthinkable; similar charity cases like the Devil Rays and Pirates have practically given up the ghost. Although the Brewers aren't a traditional "Moneyball"-oriented team, they resemble nothing so much as the Oakland Anaerobics of five years ago. With minor league sensation Prince Fielder knocking on the door, expect the Brewers to remember Sexson, who bolted Arizona to the highest bidder, and deal Overbay, whom they won't be able to re-sign next year for the $446,000 he makes this season. In return, some big-budget chump will give up a young pitcher or corner outfielder whose value they don't quite realize, and Milwaukee, leaning on the considerable talents of ace Ben Sheets and a stable of dirt-cheap, quality who-dats in the bullpen (think Capuano or Victor Santos), will grow ever better. Contending in the loaded NL Central will be hard, but the Astros are aging quickly, the Cardinals can't win 100 games every year, and the Cubs are the Cubs. Why not the Brewers?

TMQ brings this up when thinking about the Lame Duck Monarchy of Kansas City, who named Buddy Bell as their new manager on Tuesday. Bell, who guided the Tigers and Rockies, shrieking in flames kamikaze-style, to 53-109 and 73-89 records during his respective tenures at each club's helm, is a real cringe-inducer, even if you have a taste for those pulpy true-crime novels they sell at the bus station.

"It was only then that I put the pieces together and realized that the psycho killer was our very own GM, Allard Baird," sobbed Greinke's wife, blinking back tears.

Why? Why Bell? What's the point? You imagine that Baird, prior to hiring Bell, spent the previous month or so refusing to bathe, sleeping until five in the afternoon, playing endless games of "MLB 2005" and pretending that the Royals could pick first in a notional leaguewide fantasy draft ("Why yes, I'll take Albert Pujols!"), all the while letting his phone calls go unanswered and bills unpaid. Given the stark reality of Kansas City's situation, hiring Bell is an exemplary non-move move that says, in no uncertain terms, that the Monarchy just doesn't care. (Perhaps the allure of that chateau in St. Moritz is too much for Missouri's own hemophiliac aristocracy, forever afflicted with a malformed case of noblesse oblige.) Shoving a sub-.500 caretaker whose previous managerial experience involved steering another franchise deeper into the morass of suck is like a department store selling off fixtures. Everything must go! (Expect, inexplicably, fan favorite Mike Sweeney.)

Baseball types don't like to look at the Brewers and Anaerobics and admit that smart sports sense can win out over financial restrictions in the end. Indigent GMs, faced with angry fans wondering why they've given $18 million to Eric Milton, like to blame their teams' woes on the Red Sox and Yankees, with their nine-digit payrolls and massive TV contracts. The fact of the matter is that baseball's playing ground is unfair, but baseball common sense is often inane. Payroll disparity is an unfortunate side effect of the explosion of the sport, but it's a strawman, in the end, for personnel decisions that often reflect the stupidity of conventional wisdom. Milton's downward spiral, which recalls none so much as Nicolas Cage's in "Leaving Las Vegas," if baseball bats were gigantic bottles of vodka, is no surprise to statheads and the Philadelphia Phillies organization. Eric Milton was no more likely to start pitching like anyone other than Eric Milton than a dog is to quack when you stick $18 million worth of dog food in its bowl.

The dog's agent will tell you otherwise, of course.

Stat of the Week #1

May 25: Joe Blanton, Oakland Anaerobics.
0.1 IP, 6 H, 8 R, 7 ER, 0 K, 1 BB, 32 pitches.

Ye gads! Blanton's start (against Tampa Bay, no less) was Paul Wilson-esque in its inauspiciousness, and provided immediate fuel to Billy Beane's detractors, who immediately claimed, with great relish, that the A's were eternally doomed for trading away two of their Big Three in the off-season. Blanton's terrible game – which raised his ERA from 5.15 to 6.55 in one-third of an unforgettable inning on the bumpy stubble of Tropicana Field – was ultimate proof of Beane's fatal error. Tim Hudson would have never done such a thing!

This evidences what TMQ would like to call the Bonderman Hypothesis. In 2003, Jeremy Bonderman, the Tigers' best pitching prospect, went 6-19 with a 5.56 ERA. Ye gads! Lost in the equation, however, is the fact that the 2003 Tigers, lest you forget, went 43-119. Bonderman was one of three Detroit starters to lose more than 17 contests that year.

Let's say you knew nothing of the context of that suicidal Comerica summer and only saw Bonderman's pitching line. Would you consider him a "top prospect"? TMQ thinks not. However, Bonderman's 2004 and early 2005 results – and remember, our Jer is still but 22 years young – reflect a maturing, developing pitcher. His WHIP and home run rate are decreasing. His strikeout rate is rising. His ERA is falling, commensurately – his team is also getting better, but independent of this, Bonderman is becoming a better pitcher, and there is little doubt among baseball cognoscenti that he will someday be a very good one.

Not all great young pitchers have the good fortune of being drafted by the Marlins or Twins. It is easy to look at the success of Johan Santana or Josh Beckett and wonder why Bonderman or Blanton can't win 20 games every year, if they're everything they're cracked up to be.

And the Anaerobics must be ninnies for trading away Mark Mulder and Tim Hudson, both of whom experienced nagging, ominous injuries, for minor-league talent with no proven production, right? Better to stick with the status quo and re-sign the twain to super-sized contract extensions. It's surprising that baseball intelligentsia, who clearly have no vested interest in maintaining a payroll system that rewards starting pitchers for good branding, self-promotion, and above all the outlier walk year (cf. Jaret Wright) would criticize Oakland for trading its aces. Why would any agent, scout, announcer, bat boy, or peanut vendor worth his salt say such a thing?

The fact of the matter is this. The net haul of prospects - Dan Haren started the season as Oakland's fifth starter, Dan Meyer is on the verge of cracking the Anaerobics' rotation, and Daric Barton will slot in at catcher once Jason Kendall's ample haunches have fully warmed the plate – almost definitely exceeds the value Oakland would have gotten by giving Hudson and Mulder market rate. Judging a trade like this when its main components have underperformed (on an underperforming team, mind you!) for two whole months speaks volumes as to the guilty-until-proven-innocent mindset with which baseball still views outside-the-box baseball management. Never mind that the Anaerobics may have reloaded their roster by surrendering their most expensive chits at peak value. The Bonderman Hypothesis holds that Oakland's trades will look much better in hindsight as their young pitchers ripen, but as far as baseball is concerned, Oakland's success was an unfortunate anomaly. Never mind that Mulder and Hudson weren't merely great Oakland pitchers; they were great Oakland pitchers who happened to make a fraction as much as their contemporaries.

The baseball gods smile upon fiscal conservatism. Oakland will be back with guns blazing.

Stat of the Week #2

According to Baseball Prospectus, Oakland's five Opening Day starters rank in the bottom twenty-five of all major league starters, in terms of luck (ie. expected win-loss records vs. actual win-loss records). The only other major league team with more than two starters as unlucky as Oakland's five is Houston, with Andy Pettitte, Roy Oswalt, and Roger Clemens.

Clemens' typically great season has resulted in a 3-3 record, courtesy of the anemic Houston bats. Perhaps the Killer B's are getting tired running up that hill in center field?

Stat of the Week #3

During six games last week in which he batted 16 for 24, Red Sox shortstop Edgar Renteria raised his batting average from .239 to .295. Renteria, who signed a free agent contract for megabuxxx and replaced fan favorite Orlando Cabrera in the process, was a pariah in Boston, roundly vilified by the hostile Red Sox media prior to the team's road trip to Toronto and New York. Upon his return to Fenway on Monday night, he was greeted with a minute-long standing ovation before he even swung a bat.

STOP ME BEFORE I BUNT AGAIN!

Cubs at Dodgers, May 31. Cubbie who-dat Michael Wuertz on the hill, game tied 1-1 in the bottom of the ninth. Dodgers right fielder Jayson Werth draws a leadoff walk. Next up is slugger J.D. Drew, he of the .390 career OBP and .898 career OPS. Drew is a patient, selective left-handed hitter, known for his great ability to draw walks and get on base. Wuertz is a decent middle reliever, but allows lefties to hit him at a .300 clip. Surely, the eight innings of one-hit ball provided by Cubs ace Carlos Zambrano are for naught! Surely, the Dodgers reign triumphant - IT'S A BUNT!

Or, rather, it's two miserable attempted bunts by Drew, not normally known for his talents at sacrificing runners into scoring position. Drew eventually strikes out, Wuertz retires the side, and the Cubs go on to win.

One wonders if Dodgers manager Jim Tracy, possessed of a madness almost Atreus-like in its perversity and compulsion, has taken to collecting his urine in tiny jars in the Dodgers' dugout. He is surely managing some phantom collection of doppelgangers, unaware of pitcher/batter matchups and the actual progress of the game itself. Why not have Drew do what he does quite well, as Fire Jim Tracy asks?

TMQ suspects that Wuertz's known control problems came as a surprise to the Dodgers braintrust, although the evidence was staring at them on first base the entire duration of Drew's at-bat.

Sweet Play of the Week

On May 28, Tigers center fielder Nook Logan robbed Jay Gibbons ("nonchalantly," reports the Baltimore Sun, as though he were chewing a toothpick at the time) of a home run at Camden Yards. It was the second time this season that Logan robbed Gibbons at Camden Yards — and the third time Logan took away a homer from Orioles batters in the four games the Tigers played in Baltimore. Is there a better record of defensive poise than Logan's against Baltimore?

Sour Play of the Week

On May 27, a line drive off the bat of Colorado right fielder struck Cubs pitcher Mark Prior in the right, fracturing Prior's elbow and possibly shelving him for the remainder of the season. Of the Cubs' troika of aces, only Carlos Zambrano remains unscathed — and ominously, Zambrano ranks second in the majors in average pitches per start.

Prior's injury wasn't due to misuse or poor mechanics, but it serves to highlight a point about the Cubs' management. Dusty Baker is notorious for leaving his pitchers in way past the point where they've begun to curdle on the mound, but without high-grade arms like Prior's and Kerry Wood's, the brunt of the 120-pitch odysseys on which Baker routinely sends his pitchers must now be borne by luminaries such as Todd Wellemeyer and Jerome Williams, who was recently acquired from the Giants.

When Williams heard the news, did he begin furtively massaging his rotator cuff in advance of whatever debilitating injury will surely befall him? If worse comes to worse the Cubs can always turn to their minor league system, which, true to the Cult of Dusty, is replete with players who've spent far too long laboring in the bucolic bandboxes of the erstwhile American Association. At least Cubbie fans can rest assured that whoever Baker might pluck out of the Iowan wasteland and summon to his doom, he will be making his trip to the majors at least three or four years after he should have done so.

Cheerbabe of the Week

Or the closest thing baseball has to one, anyhow — the boobalicious Anna Benson, who recently took a journalistic turn in the New York Post. Take it away, Anna!

He always sends me one first before the game. I'll say "pectoral?" And he'll say "fine." He'll ask, "Are you in the suite or down with fans?" The luxury box offers more privacy, which I need thanks to my foul mouth. Besides, the kids know Daddy's a famous pitcher, but they have no idea why people scream and boo at him.

By the second inning, I knew how he was going to do. I could tell by his body language. I can see when he's confident. It's thrilling when he does so well, and he's so happy he got a hit — a single. I got a text message from him while he was in the dugout telling me he's [sic] excited he was.

We're going to have a good night. But first, we have some other engagements. There's a signing at the Marriott, then it's back to the hotel for dinner. Later, there's the U2 concert at the Garden. It's a great reward, but not the only reward. After the game, he ices down and does some interviews while I head to the locker room. After the game, that's when the real fun starts!

Presumably, the "other reward" implies a trip to Gray's Papaya!

TMQ, having peeked through his fingers as Kris Benson self-destructed in yet another ludicrous outing for New York/B, is moved to compose a haiku:

Ms. Benson allows
Her paramour to forget
That he can suck, too,

Though Willie Randolph
and his handling of meat
doesn't help matters.

Not-So-Obscure Minor League Player of the Week

This would be Dennis "Oil Can" Boyd, who at 45, eight years removed from his last professional game, is pitching for the Brockton Rox of the Can/Am League. Boyd is no George Halas, but the Can — smoking butts between innings, wearing thick eyeglasses, and throwing pitches with names like the "yellow hammer" — is one of the game's great characters. And while the Can/Am League is among the lowest rungs of the minors — the Rox feature a catcher named Brian Jones, who is not floating face-down in a swimming pool, and a pitcher named Manny Tejada who resembles neither Manny nor Tejada — Boyd was good in his Brockton debut, allowing two runs in six innings.

Asked about his future plans, the Can reported, "I still want to play in Boston. I'll go to Pawtucket for a couple hours, and then let's go get the Yankees. The powerful Yankees. Hell, yeah."

This Week's Challenge

Loose-lipped FBI stooge W. Mark Felt was recently unmasked as the dastardly Deep Throat. In much the same way, someone — nobody's naming names — leaked pages of Barry Bonds' grand jury testimony to the media last winter. TMQ invites readers not only to speculate as to the identity of baseball's own Deep Throat, but to come up with a catchier, new-millennium moniker for the person who let personal gain and petty infighting supersede their ultimate loyalty to God, country, and BALCO.

Fletch Lives

Hi, to you baseball fans. Boy, did we seen some great playing of the game this past weekend in Toronto. Pitchers and former Cy Young winners like Roy Holladay and Johan Santana threw the ball well. Let me tell you, as a former catcher and big league ballplayer, I've got to tell you this: I think the blue jays and Twins have found something special in Roy Hollidai and, Santana.

When I played, it really meant something to have a solid #1 ace starter who was good starting for you. You felt like you had a much better chance of winning with a Doc Hollidae on the mound than you did when, for example, you had a #5 starter who wasn't nearly as good when he pitched on the mound on that day. As a player, that made you play with a lot more confidence, knowing that you didn't need to score so many runs and also

On Sunday, Doc didn't just have his best stuff. He also had location. Location can be so important for a pitcher, it's certainly can be critical between an out and a hit. A pitch over the plate can be very easy to hit but a pitch on the inside corner can also be the most difficult for a batter.

Santana wasn't quite as sharp as Roy was, but he was still very good. The Jays may have had some chances but Santana went here comes the hammer ba ba ba ba ba here comes the hammer ba ba ba ba ba and would get the strikeout. That's tough.

On offense, the Twins hit the ball hard off of Josh Towers because that's how you have to hit the ball. That's the way to do it. The Twins played Minnesota Twins baseball in the third inning of that game and scraped together some runs. That's how you score by taking advantage of wild pitches and speed and playing small ball even when the ball isn't hit hard. You always want to hit the ball hard because you feel better about your chances of scoring runs when the ball is hit hard, compared to when you aren't hitting the ball well and don't feel as though you can score. That's very important for a team to be able to do that.

See you next time at the ball park!

Darrin Fletcher was a catcher for fourteen seasons with the Dodgers, Phillies, Expos and Blue Jays. He recently debuted as a colour analyst for Toronto Blue Jays broadcasts on Rogers Sportsnet