Where Is the Love for Lima Time?

The editors of Yard Work should be ashamed of themselves. All this talk about the King of the Tacos – and no Jose Lima?

Maybe you haven't been paying attention to the Kansas City Royals, but as far as tacos go, it's Lima Time, baby! I'm up to 22, third in the league...and no respect from you. Where is the love, E$PN? You are all dogs' hindquarters and should be shot in the street for denying the glory that is Lima Time.

Oliver Perez, one of these so-called "finalists," does not care about becoming King of the Tacos. All he wants to do is trim his little girl beard into ever more elaborate shapes. But me, Jose Lima? I care about tacos.

When I was a young boy growing up in Santiago, I could only dream of a guaranteed job at Taco Bell. I am not like those privileged sissy Americans. Every day I would eat the Quisqueyano food, and think to myself, "What if there was a way to combine grilled chicken, shredded cheese, refried beans, ground beef, and sour cream within a deep-fried double-decker taco shell? What if I could then order cinnamon twists or a Choco-Taco?"

Maybe you should try living in Kansas City, E$PN. These burnt ends – they are not fit for starving livestock or Paul DePodesta. But every day, while I drive to the stadium, I stop at Taco Bell and I return to the dreamland of little Jose, fielding grounders in the modest little cockfighting ring of my father.

To finally retire from baseball and embark upon a career at Taco Bell would be the culmination of a lifelong ambition, E$PN. Have you tried the new CrunchWrap Supreme? It is poetry. Spicy ground beef, melted cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, and sour cream, nestled within the warm embrace of both a soft tortilla and a crunchy tostada shell, all lovingly grilled to create a masterpiece of portable cuisine.

I know a thing or two about itches, E$PN. When you have an itch, you must scratch it. And no soothing unguent can cure me of the fever I feel deep inside - the fever of beisbol, yes, but also the desire to spread the good name of Yum! Brands International far and wide. What must I do? Perhaps I shall enlist my wife to help me write taco-specific new lyrics for a patriotic song to sing at a future Royals game or Taco Bell store opening. Perhaps then the world shall pay attention. Glory, glory, enchirito!

Rank Index -- NL West

Good afternoon sports fans, and welcome to another edition of the Rank Index right here at Yard Work. We're heading into the home stretch of the 2005 season: a time when pennant races heat up and the games really start to count. With the trade deadline just around the corner, it's time to think about the Yankees, Red Sox, and all the other teams who are gunning for the playoffs. So let's take a closer look at one of baseball's most intruiging and competitive divisions -- the NL West.

NL WEST

San Diego Padres -- As long as Jake Peavy continues working his magic on the mound, with Brian Giles and Ryan Klesko slamming balls out of NL ballparks, the Padres remain the team to beat in the West. They've proven that they're the class of the division by holding off the Diamondbacks and Dodgers for most of the season, and until they're dethroned, they earn top grade. A+

Arizona Diamondbacks -- They've shown remarkable character in 2005 by rebounding from 110 losses to pennant contender in only one year. Only fourteen seasons ago, the Braves accomplished the exact same feat -- and they haven't finished out of first place ever since! Could this be an omen of things to come for the 2001 World Champs? A

Los Angeles Dodgers -- After winning the division in 2004, they added former MVP Jeff Kent and 2004 playoff hero Derek Lowe. They haven't let injuries to Eric Gagne and J.D. Drew get them down, and with Brad Penny and taco king Jeff Weaver filling out the rotation, the Dodgers can be counted on for big things down the stretch. Plus, you can never, ever, underestimate a defending champ. A

San Francisco Giants -- Despite a season of turmoil, with superstars Barry Bonds and Jason Schmidt missing significant playing time due to injuries, the Giants are a mere 1.5 games behind defending champs Los Angeles. The Giants find a way to be in the thick of things every year, and with one of the smartest managers in the game in Felipe Alou, expect to see the Giants causing trouble in the NL West this September. A

Colorado Rockies -- Clint Barmes was looking like a shoo-in for Rookie of the Year before his tragic staircase injury. Nonetheless, things are looking up for the Rockies thanks to the resurgence of Todd Helton and the inspired pitching of young Jeff Francis. Imagine the hang time that newcomer Eric Byrnes will get on his diving catches in the thin air of Denver! A-.

AJ Burnett -- He's the name on everybody's lips, and has been for weeks. Even the Dodgers don't have the glitz to compete with the Hollywood-esque exposure that Burnett has received from fans, players, and managers throughout the game of baseball. The Giants might be able to upstage him if Bonds were to return this season, but barring that, it's top grades all the way for Burnett's meteoric rise. A+

More Cowbell Than You Will Ever Need V -- The Numbers Edition!

What do you mean, only five baseball landmarks still matter? You can't compare this to the NBA because nobody cares about numbers in basketball. How many 3-pointers did Jordan have in his career? Nobody remembers those sorts of details. But ask a baseball fan how many homers Teddy Ballgame hit, and they'll tell you right away -- 521.
-- Joe G., Kansas City, MO

You're nuts if you think there are only five untouchable numbers left in baseball. What are you going to do next, claim there were only five episodes of The Contender that were worth watching, and the rest were useless?
-- Frank A., Tallahasee, FL

I could list 50 baseball landmarks that still matter. Maybe you're the one who no longer matters. Chump.
-- Victor E., Albany, NY

Is it "Kill Yr Idols" week at E$PN? Getting 3000 hits is just as difficult as it ever was. Big Mac never got there. Neither will Bagwell. Or Griffey. Or Sosa. Or Bonds, in all likelihood. Those guys might have the MVP awards and the accolades, but Raffy outhit them all. He'll end his career with more hits than all of the so-called "storied" players you named, including Will Clark and Don Mattingly, who have received zero Hall of Fame respect from the voters, and rightfully so.
-- Theo F., San Diego, CA


I received a few hundred emails yesterday, and most of them were just like these four. It also goes without saying that if my readers write in so enthusiastically about something, then they've usually got a good point.

Admittedly, it was a bit presumptuous to boldly state that only five baseball landmarks have remained untouchable and undamaged by the offensive inflation of the current era. It was also presumptuous for me to write off "Rock Star:INXS" after only one episode. I mean, did you see Kirk Pengilly's facial hair? Who thought it would be a good idea to force that onto unsuspecting viewers without at least a parental advisory warning after each commercial break? Who tranquilized Mark Burnett before taping began, convincing him to put his TV reputation in the hands of a saxophone player with a ugly beard? I'm still not convinced that the show isn't an act of self-sabotage on Burnett's part, much like Mel Brooks' character on the fourth season of "Curb Your Enthusiasm". However, after a couple of weeks of this show, you've got JD's pot-stirring, Jordis' babe-osity (she's two or three episodes away from "Reality Babe Pantheon" status), plus three straight nights that I woke up at 4AM for a glass of water and started wondering which of them would do the best version of "Need You Tonight".

So, upon further reflection, I underestimated this show. I also shortchanged some other baseball landmarks, and here are just a few of those:

Jesse Orosco's Games Pitched Record (1252).

Mike Stanton just reached his 1000th game, but he's only third on the active list behind geriatric heavyweights Mike Jackson and John Franco. Still, none of them are within 150 of Orosco, and things will stay that way, unless any of them pitch to one batter a night until they're 65, like Orosco did. Really, what's a career of excellence like Hank Aaron's home run record next to Orosco's accomplishments? It's not a difficult managerial decision to put Hammerin' Hank in the lineup, particularly when he's out there hitting 40 homers at age 40, back when hitting 40 homers meant something. Orosco is a different story. How do you convince a succession of major league teams to let you pitch for five minutes a night for twenty-five years? That's mediocrity stretched as far as it can go, par excellence. That's up there with stretching the "Friday the 13th" series into an eleven-film mini-empire. Orosco should be teaching "Making the Most Out of What Little You've Got" self-improvement classes at his local community center.

ARod's Salary Record (avg 25.2M over 10 years)

Quick -- how many career home runs does ARod have? What was his batting average in 1996? You don't know, do you?

Here's another one -- what is ARod's salary? Yes, that's an easy one. Tell me that the number 252 isn't more famous than 714 or 4256. The salary record works much like 20-loss seasons for pitchers and the single season strikeout record for hitters (Mike Maroth and Adam Dunn's recent, er, "triumphs" notwithstanding). Those marks tend to stay safe because nobody wants to reach those goals. Managers will remove a guy from the rotation before they'll let him lose 20, and bench an otherwise productive player rather than watch him strike out 190 times. Eventually, we'll see contracts creep up back over $20 million per year, but guys will settle for $25.1 million per season before they suffer the ignomity of overtaking the Rodriguez/Boras plateau of greed. It's a line that nobody will want to cross. Mark my words -- 252 is the new Mendoza line in baseball.

Nomar Garciaparra's Delay of Game Record (3839 minutes)

By my estimation, he's presently 57 minutes behind Mike Hargrove, but he'll surely surpass Hargrove's mark during his first month back for the Cubs so we might as well hand him the record right now. How long does it take one of Barry Bonds' homers to leave the park? What, five seconds? However, before every at-bat, Garciaparra spends about 45 seconds pulling his crotch and his uniform. There's more touching and grabbing in a Nomar at-bat than in a 50 Cent video. Do the math for yourself -- 4200 at-bats, 45 seconds each, vs 703 home runs, 5 seconds each. That means Garciaparra has been on our TV screens 50 times longer than Barry Bonds. How impressive is that? This makes Nomar the Regis Philbin of baseball, doesn't it?

Lou Gehrig's Career Grand Slams Record (23)

Manny Ramirez currently has 20 slams, and he's still in his prime, which puts Gehrig's mark in serious jeopardy. The longevity of the number 23 is remarkable. Why do we care so much about 56 and 406 but easily forget something like 73? Easy -- Bonds broke a record that was only three years old, and before him, McGwire broke a mere 37-year old mark. Joe D and the Splinter set their standards more than sixty years ago, and nobody has seriously approached them since. Rickey's 130 is only twenty-odd years old, but it's looking safe for at least the next several decades. It should be obvious that the exact numbers don't matter, it's the longevity that's important. Long-standing records earn their keep, which is why the numbers associated with them deserve their legendary status. If your life depended on it, which would you rather bet against: somebody passing Hank Aaron's 755 in the next ten years, or somebody having a 57-game hit streak in the next fifty years?

Gehrig's record is even older than 406 and 56. Think about that for a moment. If Manny breaks the record (and my buddy Hench put $500 on 3-1 odds in Vegas that he breaks it by 2008) then he can write his Hall of Fame ticket. On top of the 500+ home runs and 1900+ RBI's that Manny will ring up by the time he's done, the grand slams record will solidify his place as one of the top clutch hitters ever, the guy who you could count on the most to come through with a big home run with runners on base. Plus, it'll be oddly fitting to have a class clown like Manny break the record of a straight-laced, non-beaver shooting player like Lou Gehrig.

Getting On Base: The Art of Baseball Productivity

In a recent game against the Chicago White Sox, a Kansas City Royals rookie saw a prime batting opportunity for what it truly was: a chance to network with perennial All-Star Paul Konerko.

"Second and third with no outs? Most guys would swing for the fences," says the player. "Me, I bunted." In doing so, he turned a simple at-bat into opportunity.

"Konerko respected that," the player said. "I know it. Sure, he said, 'Fuck you, rookie,' just like any other player would have, but after 10 or 12 more of those bunts, I know he'll respect me and view me as a valuable business associate. I'm sure they had a good laugh about it in the other dugout, but when our playing days are done, Paul Konerko and I are going to have a lot to talk about. That was a productive out, and he knew that."

Maintaining a tickler file of useful facts and at-a-glance information is another way of generating productivity out of each and every at-bat. When facing Dodgers pitcher Scott Erickson, a batter should have a very good idea of what he'll see thrown at him - namely, a 77-mph fastball.

"Preparing for anything else is just silly," says Erickson. "Honestly, I don't know why players practice swinging at curveballs and sliders when there are pitchers like me in the big leagues." As a businessman, though, Erickson isn't predictable - he's reliable. His clients know exactly what to expect from him every time they work with him. Even sixty feet away, they can read what's on his mind every time they interface.

A system of "next actions" can also enhance and increase the efficacy of baseball project management. The aforementioned Kansas City rookie's next actions, kept within his tickler file, might have looked something like this:

Project: Bunt with 2nd/3rd/no outs
N.A.: eat a bag of sunflower seeds
N.A.: watch "Robin Hood: Men in Tights" with Zack Greinke.
Context: @dugout

Not a moment of one's game is wasted when one is constantly aware of what one is to do next. While the rookie is trudging back to the dugout basking in the adulation of his fans and teammates, he will already be thinking of the delicious crunch of David-brand sunflower seeds, and the hilarious antics of Cary Elwes and a young Dave Chappelle.

Next actions assist the rank-and-file position players in developing their skills, but they also help to create highly effective baseball life coaches through the shrewd application of basic management techniques. Consider Tampa Bay Devil Rays manager Lou Piniella's recent tickler file:

Project: Drink bottle of Old Grand-Dad
Sub-Project: watch "Celebrity Poker Showdown"
N.A.: make lewd comment about Mimi Rogers
N.A.: hurl empty whiskey bottle at Travis Harper's head
Sub-Sub-Project: sob quietly in clubhouse shower until conclusion of game.
Context: @dugout

Piniella is constantly aware of his objectives and surroundings. During the accomplishment of his initial project, for instance, he is watching Travis Harper to make sure that the player doesn't put on a batting helmet, thus dulling the disciplinary impact of the bottle of Old Grand-Dad. He has one eye on the entrance to the shower in order to ensure that Aubrey Huff isn't plucking his eyebrows when Piniella's meltdown reaches its inevitable denouement. This attention to Next Actions makes Piniella the legend he is; by remaining adroit, flexible, and organized, he is able to keep his mind flowing like water - and his teams routinely winning as many as sixty games year after year.

A basic truism of success in baseball, as well as business, is this: planning your day out, down to the letter, means that you don't waste valuable time standing around on third base or fouling off extra pitches into the stands. The organized baseball player can minimize the amount of time he spends actually playing baseball in order to concentrate on other, more lucrative pursuits, such as day trading, speculating on foreclosed residential property, or, in baseball's dense jargon, "beaver shooting." One assumes that hunting wildlife for one's family consumption is a little extreme when one makes millions, but fellow businessmen would be unwise as to downplay the significance of one's rural upbringing.

There are many methods of arranging and storing this data in efficient ways. A player ought to look at his personal effects as a sort of suit of productivity armor. He can store short summaries of opposing batters and pitchers in his wristbands. He can remind himself of keys to success by writing them on the butt of his baseball bat, like former Orioles infielder Billy Ripken. He can even create a small, portable tickler file out of simple 3x5 index cards and carry them with him - in his pocket, under his cap, in his jockstrap. At any point during the game, he ought to feel comfortable calling time, sitting down and getting into his "me zone," and writing down the thing that troubles him most. With this at the top of his to-do list, he can return to his job clear-headed, much to the delight and amazement of the thousands of cheering fans who will undoubtedly recognize and applaud his innovative strategies.

Personal productivity guru David Allen is the acclaimed author of "Getting Things Done" and "Ready For Anything."

Game of the Week Re-enactment: Yankees @ Red Sox, July 15, 2005

Editor's Note: When they're not providing colour commentary for many of the world's most prestigious bicycle races, Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwin like nothing better than to relax with the grand old game of baseball. Recently, they took a short break from working the Tour de France to watch Boston and New York mix it up in Fenway Park. Here are some excerpts from their live chatroom commentary -- an exclusive to Yard Work!

AllKillerNoPhiller: What a storied rivalry we have here.

WeAllPaulter: Yankees vs Red Sox. It doesn't get any bigger than this. The Queen rivalry of baseball.

AllKillerNoPhiller: Who are you keeping an eye on tonight?

WeAllPaulter: Keep an eye on the sloppily-tucked, red-and-white jersey of David Wells. He struggled in recent starts but he's always dangerous.

AllKillerNoPhiller: We're underway now and Boston is at it again! What a turn of events.

WeAllPaulter: It is a spectacular turn of events and I'm not sure if anyone expected to see the Yankees in trouble so early.

AllKillerNoPhiller: The advantage is now three runs.

WeAllPaulter: Three runs can evaporate quickly once these Yankee boys decide to start chasing down that lead. We'll see how long the Yankees let them stay away.

AllKillerNoPhiller: And now here's Hideki Matsui. The ball is on the ground but look out for the white jersey of Mark Bellhorn he's got the ball and here's his teammate Millar who will leadout for the throw Matsui is headed down the line toward the base this is going to be a desperate finish Millar has his foot right on the bag he's not going to take it off the throw is in Matsui is racing for the finish the ball is on its way to Millar and he's got it Matsui is out just pipped at the base by the throw from Bellhorn what a great victory that was.

WeAllPaulter: It surely was, what a great explosive finish on the throw from Bellhorn, with Millar barely reaching the bag in time.

AllKillerNoPhiller: Matsui has to settle for second place. Now here is Trot Nixon and he gets the WOAH Cabrera is down Cabrera has crashed!

WeAllPaulter: He has crashed but he looks to be all right.

AllKillerNoPhiller: Now Nixon is steaming around the bases, how is he doing it Paul?

WeAllPaulter: I don't know how he's doing it, he's at second base but his legs are absolutely screaming in pain. The determination is etched on his face and you know that his body is telling him to stop but his mind won't let him.

AllKillerNoPhiller: He's at third now. Can he possibly make it through all four bases?

WeAllPaulter: I think he can, the throw isn't on its way yet. This is absolute torture for Trot Nixon. He's reaching deep into his suitcase of courage with this one.

AllKillerNoPhiller: And he's home safely, what a sprint by Trot Nixon and the advantage is now eight runs!

WeAllPaulter: It's still early, but eight runs is a big advantage at this stage of the game. I don't know if the Yankees can bring this one back.

AllKillerNoPhiller: Jason Giambi was just hit by a pitch. Hats off to him for that, but sadly, he's never regained the form he had when he was playing in Oakland.

WeAllPaulter: He's a fine supporting player but his superstar days as part of the action are over. He's playing in his own personal purgatory.

AllKillerNoPhiller: Right you are, and now the lead has been stretched to eleven runs. I'm starting to think that these boys can stay away, Paul.

WeAllPaulter: It will require a monumental effort by the Yankees to bring this one back. We're already halfway through the game and I think the Yankees have left the chase too late.

AllKillerNoPhiller: David Wells is now in a spot of trouble, he's got two men on in the sixth. I can't believe he's still out there.

WeAllPaulter: He's pitching on fumes now, going on nothing but courage, sheer courage. His left arm is exploding right now, it's telling him to stop, but he won't do it. But he wants to win. It will take all his energy, all the reserves that he has left.

AllKillerNoPhiller: They'll have to watch out for the man wearing number 34, David Ortiz. He's launched a ball toward the stands and it's out, it's out! 17-1 Red Sox and I think Boston is going to take this one. They broke away in the first and nobody has been able to catch them.

WeAllPaulter: It will be a great victory for the Red Sox, the 8313th victory in their storied career. The Yankees, however, are experiencing pure agony. They have to finish the game in their own personal hell.

AllKillerNoPhiller: And David Wells is still out there!

WeAllPaulter: He's putting his body through utter torture. His left arm has to be screaming in pain, it's saying "please, enough, I've had enough" but still he presses on.

AllKillerNoPhiller: Finally, Wells steps aside in the eighth, he's given all he can for the team, now his work is done for the day.

WeAllPaulter: It was seven innings of absolutely excruciating pain and agony for his body. He's gone through nothing but torment and debilitating, nightmarish suffering. But now it's over, and the Red Sox look they'll be able to hold off until the end.

AllKillerNoPhiller: Tino Martinez lines out to end it, victory belongs to Boston, what a performance!

WeAllPaulter: It certainly was.

Show Me The Wins and I'll Show You the Money

I must have missed the memo -- the one that explained why the 2005 baseball season was shaping up to be the greatest year in the history of the game. Bud Selig couldn't stop talking about it during the All-Star Break. Everyday, he called a press conference or scheduled a TV interview to announce it. However, no season in which Barry Bonds hasn't played a single game can possibly be considered the greatest ever. Don't get me wrong though -- I don't want Bonds to come back, even though the game needs him now more than ever. Regardless, he should walk away from baseball and never come back. You see, Barry is standing in a very large room, and in that room is a white elephant. Clearly, this is all about racism, and if you don't know how or why, perhaps you'd better take a closer look at yourself.

With or without Bonds, baseball is in serious trouble and the league needs to make several changes to keep the game strong. The international style of baseball that is played in places like Venezuela and the Dominican Republic is clearly superior to the American style. If you don't believe me, look no further than the spectacular performances by David Ortiz and Bobby Abreu in the home run derby. International stars are forcing the game to change, and they're changing it for the better. In turn, it is the league's responsibility to do something about the current salary structure, which clearly isn't working to the benefit of the fans or the players.

The most important thing to a baseball fan is to see their team win. Fans don't care about home run contests or All-Star Games because those things aren't important. They want to see a brand of winning baseball on the field in their home city. The best way -- if not the only way -- to accomplish this is to tie salaries to wins. It's simple. At your workplace, if you do a good job, then you get a raise. If you're sick and need to stay home, then your work doesn't get done, your employer suffers, and you don't get paid. What could make more sense?

Look at the NHL. Cancelling the 2004-5 season, contrary to what many people believe, is the best thing that could have happened to the game of hockey. The NHL is now in the enviable position of being able to institute some major changes before restarting play. We've heard about salary rollbacks, upping the number of playoff teams from 16 to 20, and many other proposed reforms. Everybody has an idea about improving the NHL and all this brainstorming can do nothing but benefit the game. Still, they need to take things to the next level and link player salaries to wins. Hockey is a physical game, and players who are motivated by money are more likely to play harder and lead their teams to victory. Players will put a little more muscle behind each shots if they know that it could mean the difference between a large and a small payday. These are the sorts of fan-friendly changes that will bring people back to the arenas, and the NHL needs every fan they can get because the last year has been devastating for the game of hockey. It's hard to imagine any league being in worse shape than the NHL is right now, and they need the support of their fans right now more than ever.

MLB should take a page out of the NHL's book. Do you think the Yankees would have lost so many games earlier in the season if A-Rod was paid more money when the team won than when they lost? Derek Jeter would never stand for a Yankees' loss if his paycheck was on the line each and every day. At the other extreme, you have teams like the Royals and the Devil Rays. It's no wonder that a great manager like Lou Piniella can't get any wins out of the Devil Rays -- there's no incentive for his players to win with that miniscule $30 million payroll. Why should Jorge Cantu bust his butt when he's only making a few hundred thousand dollars per year? Are you truly surprised that the Rays are in last place again?

Bud Selig is afraid. He wants to tell people how great this season has been and he has every reason to do so. Attendance figures are skyrocketing and the quality of play has been excellent. However, he's worried about criticism from fans and writers, who have been embarassing the commisioner by highlighting the glaring weaknesses in the way the game is played. The ball is in Selig's court, and he needs to act fast.

Jason Whitlock writes for the Kansas City Star and is an occasional contributor to E$PN's Page 2

World of Shame

In its infinite wisdom, baseball, apparently taking a hint from that grand spectacle of athletics known as “futbol,” has decided that the 2005 Home Run Derby ought to feature an “international flavor.” Eight hitters will step up to the plate tonight, each from a different country that the average baseball fan couldn’t find on a map.

Don’t get me wrong. After steroid-enhanced freaks like Mark McGwire and Brady Anderson turned the game into some sort of pill-popping WWF sideshow with their tight little biceps and medicine cabinets full of God knows what, baseball needed to do whatever it could to restore the former glory of the Midsummer Classic. But this? This isn’t a sideshow, it’s a freakshow. Minus the freaks. This so-called competition isn’t going to whet anybody’s appetites for next year’s World Baseball Classic any more than a Trinidad/Botswana soccer game is going to make me, Skip Bayless, shout “Olé!”

This is the sissification of baseball, pure and simple. In the name of globalization, MLB has seemingly forgotten its roots. This is the national pastime. This isn’t some United Nations crap. There isn’t any need to concentrate on selling baseball to people who can’t even speak English.

One of the hitters participating tonight is Andruw Jones, who hails from the tiny island nation of Curacao. Curacao? They couldn’t dig up some bum from Cuervo Nation while they were at it? The only other major leaguer currently hailing from that floating dock is Randall Simon. You may remember Simon as the sickening thug who took a bat to a young lady dressed up as a Braunschweiger during a Milwaukee sausage race. Andruw Jones could have torched an orphanage and he’d be a better face of baseball in Curacao than Randall Simon. Some competition you’ve got there, Andy.

And then there’s Hee Seop Choi. Hee Seop Choi isn’t a guy who’s good enough to start for his own team against lefties. You mean to tell me he’s good enough to represent his entire country in international competition?

The Koreans are wonderful people, and I’ve got nothing against them. But Hee Seop Choi isn’t fit to carry Ichiro’s jock, no matter how mindful MLB is of the game’s burgeoning popularity in Asia. Either the powers that be know something about Hee Seop Choi that Jim Tracy and Paul DePodesta don’t, or this decision was all about selling jerseys in Pyongyang, and not about giving baseball’s best a chance to shine.

But it gets worse. The last time anybody cared about Panama, they were dragging that nut Noriega off to the slammer. Yet Carlos Lee, the best of an illustrious roster of Panamanian hitters that includes such stars as Jose Macias, Einar Diaz, and Olmedo Saenz, will be stepping up there and taking the rightful place of a deserving – ie. American - hitter. It’s a travesty. Who’s going to challenge for Jason Bay’s Canuck spot, anyway? Corey Koskie? Stubby Clapp?

Look, the fact is this: if you take the best home run hitters in baseball right now, they don’t make a rainbow. American baseball players – American baseball fans - will have to make do with Texas’ own Mark Teixeira as their sole representative. Nobody denies his talent, but dozens of deserving American hitters will get the shaft.

You can’t polish a turd like Hee Seop Choi and call it the Silver Slugger. And so, instead of an exciting Home Run Derby, we’re primed for another yawner, as a bunch of little guys with funny names hit a bunch of 310-foot loopers.

Let’s hope there’s a tailwind in Detroit tonight. We’re gonna need it.

Skip Bayless is a columnist for E$PN and a frequent correspondent on the hit E$PN2 morning show "Cold Pizza." In 1978, he was disqualified from the Texas regionals of the Mr. Universe pageant for punching out a fellow contestant who argued that barbecue was the same as grilling, and he’d gladly do it again. Look for his upcoming book, “No Way, Jose: How the Bash Brothers Ruined Baseball” in Vitamin Shoppes and finer truck stops near you.

About Face

It should have been a laugher. A formality. The most celebrated team leader of his generation versus his hobbled teammate, a glorified singles hitter who steals the occasional base, and a couple of other guys who don't matter. After being cruelly and inexplicably ignored by his fellow American League fans and players, it was a virtual certainty that when all the smoke had cleared, Derek Jeter, better known as The Face of Baseball, would emerge as the Last Man Standing.

But it wasn't to be. At the time, all that remained were plenty of questions, with precious few answers.

For me personally, it has been a week for pause and reflection. My first reaction to Podsednik's selection was one of numb grief. Afterward, my emotions moved into more unsettling territory, as I was overcome with an intense anger that profoundly frightened both me and my family. Soon enough, this led me toward acceptance -- an understanding of what baseball fans had done and why they had done it.

Finally, it was time for reflection. Baseball is an infallible game, that much is axiomatic. The joys of your home team's 9th inning walk-off homers and the crushing heartbreak of their bases-loaded strikeouts could never carry such emotional heft if baseball were a fallible game. One of us had made a mistake -- it was either me, or it was the game of baseball. And it had to be me.

All my logic was therefore false. It follows that everything I thought I knew about baseball was wrong. Therefore, the opposite of my previous thoughts had to be true. With this realization, I was euphoric once again, for I was on the way to recovering an understanding of the game of baseball. The perfect, unblemished game of baseball.

Alex Rodriguez, Jeter's much maligned teammate, is the greatest player in the game today. By being a bratty, selfish man-bitch, he improves his team immeasurably. His frosty demeanor stokes the five senses of everyone who plays with him, thereby raising their level of play. Jeter's level-headed, "team first" attitude casts a pall over his clubhouse, for a team that cannot play with emotion is a team that cannot win ball games. It's no wonder that the Yankees are struggling this year.

The game of baseball is constantly evolving, but one thing has always remained constant: each era is defined by its prominent players, not its most successful teams. This is because team dynasties are fairly rare, whereas colorful characters are always in abundance. Barry Bonds is one of the greatest players ever and his perpetually sour disposition says everything that his numbers can't, or won't. Mark McGwire may have lacked eccentricity, but he made up for it in spades with the persistent andro/steroid rumours, thereby cementing his place in baseball lore. Controversy is a surefire mark of a legendary player. Yankee owner George Steinbrenner, whose Yankees have won six World Series under the watchful eye of his checkbook and his private investigators, would surely agree.

Babe Ruth and Mickey Mantle aren't legends because of their long home runs and countless pennant victories. Mantle's legend was cemented by his unquenchable thirst for potent potables in addition to his thirst for expansion-era AL pitching. Ruth is fondly remembered today because his hunger for home runs was equal to his hunger for pussy and 18-egg omelettes. What does Jeter hunger for? "He hungers for nothing" remarked one former Yankee. "He dated Mariah Carey but wouldn't make a big deal of it because he refused to turn his personal life into tabloid fodder. He never said anything about her to the boys, either. It was like he didn't trust us. At the time, it really hurt our sense of team unity".

Jeter's style both on and off the field is one of cold efficiency. He only speaks out in the press when his team is struggling. He never says a word when the Yankees play well, but as soon as their quality of play slips, he's quoted in the papers, flatly saying "we need to play better". He's the players' equivalent of the worst type of sports fan, namely, the front runner -- a person who cheers when his team wins, and boos when they lose. Someone like Jose Lima is the opposite of Jeter in this regard. Lima's personality is constant, steady, and consistent. Whether he's throwing complete game playoff wins or contracting STD's in his spare time, he always behaves the same way. Lima is genuine. Jeter isn't real, he's a masquerader. Lima is a character. Jeter is an actor. The importance of such characters in baseball cannot be overstated. There's a reason that we remember Moe Drabowsky and Bobo Holloman, but have forgotten about Bob Feller and Hal Newhouser.

Jeter is so aloof that he calls his manager "Mr. Torre". "His pretentious formalism really got on everybody's nerves" said Arizona pitcher Javier Vasquez, who pitched one year (2004) with the Yankees. "When there is a dispute in the clubhouse, you need a leader that can relate to everyone and help people work out their problems. Who would want to confide in somebody who's so emotionally distant that he can't even call people by their first names?".

On the field, he's a bundle of wasted energy that can be easily mistaken for a man of hustle. "He runs hard down to first base with every at-bat", says E$PN broadcaster Dan Shulman, "but for what? David Ortiz and Manny Ramirez don't do that, and they have a lot more RBI's than Jeter does. If he spent less energy hustling down to first then he might have more energy left with which to swing the bat".

"And what about that face-first dive into the stands last year in Boston?" continued Shulman. "He could have smashed his head open. How would that have helped his team? It just goes to show that Jeter is famous for all the wrong reasons. Jim Edmonds makes three catches like that in nearly every game".

None of this should surprise anyone who has followed Jeter's career closely. He's been like this his entire life. Even in high school, his parents made sure he was home by 10 PM every night, thereby teaching the young man how to hate fun. His early curfew ensured that he would grow up without any cool friends, a reputation which has remained with him to this day as the black sheep of the Yankee clubhouse. His parents taught him the wrong lessons at the wrong time, and now, he's messed with Scott Podsednik at the wrong time. That is why, during this Tuesday's All-Star Game, I'll be cheering even louder than usual every time Podsenik is on first with second base open.

Tim Kurkjian is a senior writer for E$PN The Magazine and a frequent contributor to Baseball Tonight.

Foulke Implosion

Keith Foulke already found out all about the barbecue in Birmingham. Maybe this time, he can tell us about the Burger King in Brighton.

Or Braintree.

Or Bridgewater.

Or Brockton.

For as sure as he ventured to Alabama in search of better ribs than Redbones’, Foulke’s coming back to Boston for knee surgery, his season hanging by a thread flimsier than his ACL. He’s made no secret of his disaffection for the local cuisine – or at least, for the people who cook and serve it, pay good money to come to Fenway, and ostensibly cheer him on, and all without the benefit of a free truck for blowing a bunch of hot air on the radio – but he stands to eat quite a lot of it while he rehabs and tries to throw another meaningful inning for the Red Sox.

Wasn’t Foulke supposed to be the the antithesis of the sort of professional prima donna that the Boston brass had run out on a rail along with Trader Dan Duquette and He Who Must Not Be Named? Foulke’s antics make you long for the days of Dante Bichette and Jose Awfulman – never mind Jurassic Carl and the Dominican Diva himself. Keith Foulke was supposed to be different. Here we had a hard-nosed workhorse, a man of the people. As a lights-out closer for the White Sox and A’s, he was supposed to solve the problems that plagued Boston’s relief corps in years past.

Yet this wasn’t just a slow start, like he experienced in 2004. When blown save after blown save began piling up, when it was obvious that Foulke was serving more meatballs than Bertucci’s to the dregs of the division, the questions began again in earnest.

The true Sox fan can be forgiven for holding Foulke accountable for his team’s bullpen struggles lately. After all, Alan Embree and John Halama have been lousy all year. Matt Mantei pitched through his injuries until they became too much to bear. The difference is this: when confronted, they took responsibility for their own failings. What did Foulke say?

"I'm more embarrassed to walk into this locker room and look at the faces of my teammates, than I am to walk out and see Johnny from Burger King booing me."

By the next day, he had the Internet going nuts. Rarely has a player fallen out of favor so quickly in Boston, this most mercurial of baseball burgs – even Bob Stanley managed to avoid this kind of alienation after his famous anti-fan screed in 1986. You expected to see #29 jerseys burning in effigy in the Twins store, little kids in the suburbs quitting hockey (as if they still remember what it was) in order to further distance themselves from the disgraced Phoenix Coyotes fan. Right now, his postseason heroics – that single earned run in fourteen innings – seem like ancient history.

You can still stick a fork in the rest of the AL East. Just as the sun will rise tomorrow over that BK in Beverly, the Yankees, Orioles, Jays, and Rays will lie withering under the heat lamp like so many of yesterday’s Croissan’wiches. But Foulke needs to realize that the guy opening up that Burger King – good ol’ Johnny, the guy who pays his salary – won’t be gripping grain in the extended-cab Dodge Ram Foulke gets for a half-hour of his time every Friday on WEEI. If we’re looking for heroes, look no further than the fast-food joints. Don’t expect to find one on the Fenway mound in the top of the ninth.

We ought to wish him the best in his rehab; when healthy, there are few closers in the game who are better. But with a healthy knee, let’s hope he gets an attitude adjustment as well. We’ll welcome you back to Fenway with open arms, but it takes grinding to be a king, Keith Foulke. Don’t forget that.

Dan Shaughnessy is a frequent contributor to ESPN the Magazine.

The Fix Is In

Over the weekend, baseball history was made with eleven first-time starters voted into next week's All-Star game. Unfortunately, what should be a watershed moment in the lore of our national pastime has been ruined by Republican corruption.

This season, Mark Teixeira emerged as a credible candidate for the starting job at first base. On the face of things, Teixeira's election was an easy one, as he cruised to victory by more than half a million votes. But Teixeira's election was hardly a fair vote, as evidenced by his connection to the Texas Rangers, and in turn to its former owner and our current president George W. Bush.

The voting record bears out the damning evidence of vote tampering, if not outright voter fraud. First of all, Teixeira was lucky in that he was aided by vote splitting, as the northeast vote was split between Kevin Millar and Tino Martinez. The lack of unification among the voters in New England and New York was a great help to Teixeira. Secondly, exit polls showed that that Millar may have drawn up to 20% of the 1B vote in Texas, but once the ballots were counted, he only garnered 45 000 total votes in the Bush family's home state. Potentially hundreds of thousands of Millar votes have gone unaccounted for, and with ballot box irregularities reported in Houston, Lubbock and Montague counties, the evidence of tampering is too obvious to ignore. Indeed, White House fingerprints are currently staining many a ballot box in more than one Texas ballpark.

Furthermore, the All-Star rosters were to be announced at 7PM Sunday on E$PN. However, at 6:57 PM that same night, Fox News made their own announcement and declared that certain American Leaguers had been elected to their positions before that information had been confirmed by E$PN. In addition, the employee at Fox News who gave the official go-ahead to reveal these results on air just happened to be the fourth cousin twice removed of the president's grand-uncle's illegitimate son Hezekiah H. Bush.

The sad thing is, Teixeira is a worthy All-Star candidate who might have been elected even without GOP interference. Now we'll never know what might have happened in a fair election. However, it's just like Karl Rove to organize this sort of scam while the country's attention is diverted toward George W. Bush's role in the upcoming G8 meeting in Edinburgh. Shame! Shame on you, Mr. Bush.

The National League has not been exempt from these types of shady backroom deals with prominent baseball-affiliated neocons. Roger Clemens wields tremendous influence in the baseball commissioner's office due to his well-publicized connections within the NRA. Concerted lobbying by Clemens and high-ranking NRA officials in the Houston-area resulted in Roy Oswalt's inclusion on the "Last Man" ballot, ahead of more deserving non-partisan candidates such as the Cardinals' Matt Morris. Over the weekend, I paid an unannounced visit to Clemens' Houston home to demand answers from the gun-toting future Hall of Famer. Sadly, I had forgotten about the Astros' road trip to Cincinnati, and was therefore unable to speak with Mr. Clemens. However, on my way out, I left a photograph of Matt Morris in his mailbox. Mr. Clemens' actions carry heavy consequences, causing real hurt to real people. Perhaps once he looks at that photo and gazes into the eyes of Matt Morris, he will start to understand this. Where has your humanism gone, Mr. Clemens? Shame!

Congratulations to the thousands of you who faxed, called, and wrote to Bud Selig's office to voice your objections to the decidedly corrupt All-Star Game voting process. Thanks to hard-working citizens such as yourselves, the integrity of our country's national pastime is not lost. Rest assured that your voice is being heard in the hallowed halls of the baseball commissioner's office. The Republicans know that we're onto their tricks, and they're running scared. Your efforts to reunite the game of baseball with its lost pride will never be forgotten.

Jenkins Variations

"When the ninth inning rolled around yesterday and the score was tied, the largest crowd this season stood as if victory had become an inalienable right, as if the concept of defeat was unpatriotic...To upstage another New York team 37 years later would be like an extra scoop of ice cream on a piece of apple pie." - Lee Jenkins, The New York Times, July 5, 2005.

To upstage another New York team 37 years later would be like an extra yellow ribbon magnet on the bumper of an H2 Hummer.

Carlos Beltran's substandard play this season is an act of treason tantamount to Richard Clarke's scorched-earth book tour against the War on Terror.

At his initial press conference with the Kansas City media, manager Buddy Bell should have eschewed Royal blue for one of two costumes: Angus Scrimm's dark tall couture, or a William Howard Taft fat suit.

From their lofty perch atop the AL Central, the Chicago White Sox are baseball's own shining city on the hill, with a bullpen built on rocks stronger than oceans.

You would find more support in the Reds clubhouse for John Wilkes Booth and Sirhan Sirhan than you would for Dave Miley and Don Gullett.

After being released by the Tampa Bay Devil Rays, Alex Sanchez heeded the call of Lady Liberty, moving west like the great pioneers to claim his center field homestead in San Francisco.

As Yankees fans rained boos on Sammy Sosa on Monday night, they proved that they do not merely hate him, they do so because of his prosperity, achievement, and thus, the very freedom he represents.

The fireworks on the Mall were not the only ones on display last night; indeed, Jose Reyes played shortstop as if he had lost several fingers in a sparkler accident.

With JD Drew's unfortunate - but not unexpected - injury this weekend, the second of the Dodgers' Twin Towers finally, predictably, collapsed, as did the hopes for a winning season from Dem Bums. Chavez Ravine now sits as barren and wasted as Ground Zero as fans and front office personnel pick through the rubble of a tragic baseball campaign, wondering how things went so wrong so fast.

Along with baseball, democracy is that which makes America great - and there is no more vital display of the democratic process in our sport than the Ameriquest All-Star Final Vote. Not only does Derek Jeter lead the league in intangibles, but by dint of his leadership, motivational skills, championship experience, stellar defensive prowess, All-American good looks, toothpaste smile, and erstwhile relationship with America's songbird Mariah Carey, whose platinum album "The Emancipation of Mimi" is available in better record stores near you, he is the only rational choice for the American League 30th man. Exercise your vote, America. I urge you to vote Derek Jeter to his rightful place as his nation's All-Star ambassador - from sea to shining sea!

Pay Rickey

If you don't know, life in the minors is different from life in the big leagues. In the big leagues, you're eatin' steak every night, sometimes with shrimp on it or that sauce that Rickey can't spell the name of. In the minor leagues, dudes get like $10 a day in meal money. $10! Even in the clubhouse, they don't have any Gatorade, just this no-name stuff they bought at the dollar store with all this Russian writing on it and all these weird flavors nobody ever heard of. You ever try to drink an orange-parsnip Gatorade?

In the big leagues, you're doing Sunday Conversations and sh-t, and later you go to Scores, and you always stick Karl Ravech with the check. In the minors, you're hanging out at the airport Holiday Inn waiting for some girl named Starlene to get off third shift. And then there's this host family. Rickey gets paid in the minors, but Rickey don't get paid a lot, so to offset the costs all the Surf Dawgs stay with families in the suburbs.

Anyway, Rickey's host family is always conspirin' against him and sh-t. "Do the dishes, Rickey!" "Eat your carrots, Rickey!" Rickey Henderson is the major league leader in runs scored! Rickey told them that one night, and they were all, "Rickey, you better run this trash out to the curb before the garbage truck gets here!"

It ain't Rickey's fault that he's always coolin' in the basement with that corny little punk Trevor and the Xbox. They got air-conditioning down there! And "Halo 2"! Rickey was beatin' that kid's ass one night, and Trevor got all mad and started to cry, and Rickey, being Rickey, got up in his face. "You just jealous! You just ain't as good as Rickey! You ain't the greatest leadoff hitter of all time! What, you scared? You scared of Rickey!" Then that kid ran up the stairs, and down came his parents, looking all serious and sh-t.

So they sat Rickey down and said, "Rickey, we just don't think you're doing enough to earn your keep." Rickey was ready to fall out! Then they were all, "Maybe you should get a second job - it'll get you out of the house, and you can chip in for food and utilities."

Maybe they was just mad. Rickey was chilling in the basement one day, watching "Days of our Lives," and the phone rang.

"Hello, this is Deion from DirecTV."

Rickey was all, "Deion? Prime Time?" It's amazing what those football dudes will do for an extra buck. So Deion and Rickey were catching up, talking about the old days, and Deion said, "Do you know you can save 30% off the cost of cable and get, like, nine ESPNs if you sign up for satellite?"

Damn! That's a lot of ESPNs! Rickey didn't have to think twice about that. So a few days later, Rickey's host dad was all like, "What happened to BBC America?" And host mom said, "And what about the Lifetime Movie Network?" Rickey was watching some Denise Austin aerobics video from 1991 on ESPN Classic 2 at the time, but they didn't seem too interested in watching her switch that ass.

So maybe that's what they meant by paying the utilities.

See, the thing about being the greatest left fielder of all time is that you aren't really prepared for a career in the working world. Work experience? Rickey ain't experienced in sh-t but getting on base, stealing second, stealing third, and scoring mad runs. Rickey ain't gonna work at no car wash. So I'm sitting at Jack in the Box, eating them 99 cent tacos and getting my Pennysaver on, when I finally go, "I got it! I'ma apply for this job as a player/coach for a softball team!"

Just you wait. Rickey's gonna get paid.