dinosaur jesus

batmagadanleadoff wrote: This ex-Met was a tort plaintiff in a baseball related lawsuit that was ultimately heard by the New York Court of Appeals, the State's highest court. Elliott Maddox. I want a red belt like that. My favorite Met memory of Elliott Maddox (actually, it's my only memory) is of him executing a perfect hit and run, hitting the ball through the right side when the second baseman left to cover the base. The next time up, the shortstop covered, and he hit it through the right side. That's great hitting, I thought. This Elliott Maddox is a great hitter.

Fman99 wrote: I'm rooting for the two teams that haven't won a World Series in this millennium. I feel for fans of any team that has waited 20+ years to celebrate a championship. I do too. But I don't want them winning another one before the Mets do.

That 1969 shot is from September, I'm guessing Saturday, September 6. On a drizzly afternoon, Don Cardwell and Tug McGraw combined to shut out the Phillies 3-0 and move the Mets to 3 1/2 behind the Cubs. Fitting that this should be in the Grote thread, because after Terry Harmon led off the game with a single, Grote threw him out stealing second.

Grote is from San Antonio, just like my father, and about the same age. So yes, in my book he's the greatest. Jerry Grote, my red-ass surrogate dad.

"Papelbon" means "nice tits" in Old French.

Joe Frazier was a good man. That�s the first thing I want to get straight. I�m talking Joe Frazier the fighter, not the guy with the Kingston Trio. The Chad Mitchell Trio. Whatever the fuck trio he was in. He was good too, though. You ever hear them do �Four Strong Winds?� I love that one. �Think I�ll go out to Alberta.� I had a fight one time, out there in Alberta. Cold as shit. What I�m saying is, if it hadn�t have been for Joe Frazier, I wouldn�t have been a boxer, wouldn�t have met my first wife, wouldn�t have got the crap knocked out of me by Thomas Hearns, wouldn�t have met my second wife, God bless her, she got me out of a bad place, wouldn�t own this bar. Let me stand you another round. Not the house whiskey, that�s fortified piss. You want Buffalo Trace. My dad was a fighter, a welterweight. That�s the last thing he wanted for me. You wouldn�t know it to look at me now, but I was a good-looking little bastard once upon a time. My dad wanted me to be an actor, and I was okay with that. That kid Scott Baio? That could�ve been me. Fonzie�s kid brother. But I�ve got no regrets. I did some commercials, licking up peanut butter and grinning like it was pussy, chasing after that big Kool-Aid jug guy. I was even up for a show, The Bugaloos, some shit with cartoons, had to do an English accent, which was no problem for me, I�m good with accents. Anyway, so I�m up for that show, I�ve got an audition in a couple of days. And in the meantime my dad takes me to this place where they�ve got the title fight on the closed circuit. Frazier�s just scaring the hell out of Jimmy Ellis, pushing him around the ring until can�t take it anymore, won�t get off his stool for the fifth round. And I thought, that�s what I want. I want people scared of me. I don�t want to be this pretty boy that the moms and the teenyboppers go nuts over. Although I got to tell you, I never had any shortage of moms and teenyboppers as a fighter. I had some fun, no joking. So I blow off the audition, I beg my dad nonstop, saying dad, you gotta set me up with a gym, get me a trainer, I�m gonna be a fighter. And my dad, he was a cranky old bastard, only smiled when he didn�t mean it. But he loved me. He always gave me what I really wanted. This one's for you, dad. So it�s like twelve, fifteen years later. I�ve had my ups and down, never really had a shot at the title, but I could dish it out on a good night. And my manager works it out, I don�t know how, so I�m fighting Hearns. He�s not the champ then, Hagler took the title from him, and he�s just moved up to light heavyweight, which is my class. And I�m just practice, you know? I know that, everyone knows that. But I figure what the hell, you never know, and if I can land a few good ones it�s anybody�s fight. So the first round goes okay, we�re feeling each other out, he�s not laughing in my face, which is something already. And before the second begins, I�m looking around, and there�s Frazier, in the front row, just sitting there looking at me. I�m not talking about the singer Joe Frazier. Maybe he was there too, I don�t know. �Guantanamera.� You know that one? He�s looking at me, and the expression on his face says, �You go, kid. You can do this.� And I think, he�s right, I can. There are two fighters in this ring. And right after that--well, it wasn�t right after, it was the third round, but it�s the next thing I remember�I�m lying on my back, the ref is walking away, and my guys are coming into the ring to get me. I turn my head, and there�s Frazier, looking at me. The expression on his face says, �That�s how it goes, kid. You�re down, but you�re a fighter. A real fighter.� And I�m thinking, Scott Baio, this is something you�ll never know. You lucky pretty boy son of a bitch. Joel Youngblood, what have you been been doing with yourself?

"Let me tell you a story about a ballplayer I knew who used to buzz off five, six, seven times a day. And his teammates, they made fun of him, they razzed him all the time. And he was ashamed, and it was affecting all aspects of his game. He had trouble throwing, fielding, hitting with power, running the base. And then one day he just accepted the fact that he was a chronic buzzoff. And once he accepted that fact, he became a great ballplayer, and he went on to hit three home runs in the last game of the 1977 World Series!"

I've been in Michigan for a couple of years now, and I've been trying to get behind the Tigers. I've got nothing against them, but I just can't do it. I was listening to the game yesterday, doing my best ("Bear down, Anibal." "Clutch, Jhonny"). But when Brandon Moss untied it in the fifth, I realized that I was smiling. So the hell with it. I'll be a Tigers fan next year. This year I'm an A's man.

From Dana Brand's The Last Days of Shea: "You know," he said as if he was giving us the benefit of hard-earned wisdom, "people used to call me egotistical, but I will tell you, if I had been playing for them, I would have won that one game, even if I had to do it all by myself." Like he did in this game? http://www.baseball-reference.com/boxes/NYA/NYA198110280.shtml Or this one? http://www.baseball-reference.com/boxes/MIL/MIL198210100.shtml Or these? (A game and half out with eight to play, four games against the division leaders, and Reggie goes 1 for 16 with two runs scored.) http://www.baseball-reference.com/boxes/KCA/KCA198409241.shtml http://www.baseball-reference.com/boxes/KCA/KCA198409242.shtml http://www.baseball-reference.com/boxes/KCA/KCA198409250.shtml http://www.baseball-reference.com/boxes/KCA/KCA198409260.shtml Or these? (Tied with six games to play, four games against the co-division leaders, and Reggie goes 0 for 8 with no runs or rbis.) http://www.baseball-reference.com/boxes/KCA/KCA198509300.shtml http://www.baseball-reference.com/boxes/KCA/KCA198510010.shtml http://www.baseball-reference.com/boxes/KCA/KCA198510020.shtml http://www.baseball-reference.com/boxes/KCA/KCA198510030.shtml Or this one? http://www.baseball-reference.com/boxes/CAL/CAL198610120.shtml I'm cherry-picking, obviously. These are all from late in his career. But he has to know he's talking bullshit, right?

Well, that sure took the life out of the crowd. or For once I'd rather see the lefty. That's all I've got.

Chilcott could play. He got hurt when he was 18, but he was as good a hitter as his teammate Ken Singleton, and two years younger. It's awfully unlikely he would have been near as good as Reggie Jackson, but he wasn't a joke.

The right choice. And good to get it done sooner than later. Damn, that was a nice ride. He might come back strong, but who knows when we'll see something like that again. Next year, Noah?

Are those cupcakes with chocolate sprinkles, or giant cakes that Sparky Lyle crapped on?

HahnSolo wrote: I only got 5 out of 10 on that Braves postseason quiz. I got 2. Just to prove I don't give a shit about the Braves. If I'd tried harder I could have got at least 4. But if the choice is is between David Justice, Marquis Grissom, Fred McGriff, or Chipper Jones, how long do I really want to think about it?

Byrdak here again. I just wanted to tell you folks about another special day for me. It didn't happen this year. In fact, it was a long time ago now. But it's something I remember every time I go out there to the mound. It isn't special because it was a good day. In fact, it was about the worst day of my life. My baseball life, anyway. It's 2003. I'm 29, washed up as a major leaguer, pitching for Gary in the Northern League because, hell, it's baseball, and I'm a baseball player. And Gary is close to home. So we're playing in St. Paul, I'm starting, and the first batter up is some old guy. I mean old. They told me later it was Minnie Minoso, who was playing in the Negro Leagues when Jackie Robinson got called up, and the reason it was Robinson and not him was that they wanted someone younger. So the guy is like 105, he's leaning on his bat like it's a cane, and when he finally gets to the plate he tries to take a practice swing, except he gets stuck part way through, so our catcher has to help him put the bat back on his shoulder. But I figure, I�m getting paid to get this guy out, even if he did use to pal around with fucking Abner Doubleday. So I throw him a couple of my best sliders, a good hard fastball up and in, a curve away. He couldn�t have hit that stuff even if he could swing the bat. Well, he might be older than Babe Ruth�s Sunday school teacher, but he�s still got that good eye, you know? So I walked him. Fine. I�ve walked lots of guys. But you should have heard the people laughing and cheering, like he�d just won the damn World Series. And the other bench, they were yelling stuff at me like, �You couldn�t get your own grandmother out!� Which is definitely not true, because Grandma hits the breaking stuff okay, but she can�t get around on the fastball anymore. And it made me mad. Christ, I was boiling. Those St. Paul batters didn't have a chance after that. Minoso's next time up, they sent in a pinch hitter, because they knew I'd have put him on his ass. So I won that game. The next game, I'm still mad, and I blew them away in that one too. So that winter I get a call from the Padres, the next year I'm back in Triple A, the year after that I'm on the mound in Baltimore, back in the big leagues after five years, striking out Aaron Boone and Travis Hafner in my very first inning. Eight years later I'm still here. And I'll tell you why: because every time I'm out there with the game on the line, when I need a little extra, I just look in at the batter and imagine he's Minnie Minoso. And now, folks, get ready for the Carson Show. Here's Bobby! Christ, how old do I have to be to make that joke? As old as Minnie Minoso.

I was going to ask about Wrigley, but I see you covered that in the blog. An interesting idea, moving to the other stadium in town for the extra seats. The Mets wouldn't do that, would they? What an awful thought.

This is really great. If you put your findings out in a pamphlet, I would seriously buy it. Though I guess picture rights would be a problem. I'm curious what Buddy sounded like singing. He sure looks country. Does anyone know where to find recordings of? Or has anyone ever heard him? All I can find are videos of Woody Harrelson singing, which isn't that intriguing somehow.

Jesse would be like five years old in that picture, so I'm guessing it's not him. But he and Ginsberg would make a great separated-at-birth battery.

Google voyeurism. I love it. Is that Joe Ginsberg or Jesse Orosco?

It's not clear what Torrez is doing there. He was promising and still only 21, but pretty clearly not ready yet. Carlos was already 27, but he'd been very good in AAA the year before, and impressive in a late-season call-up, which included a 10-inning shutout. Pepper was nothing special in the minors, a first baseman without much power, and his only major league action was three at bats in 1966. Alan Foster was quite good in half a season at Spokane (AAA) in 1967; I'm guessing he was injured the other half of the season, though military service is a possibility. He had some success in the majors, but he's better known as a science fiction author. The Reds were grooming Bench to take Johnny Edwards's job. Yeah, it sounds crazy now, but hindsight is 20/20. Koosman was obviously way ahead of these guys. Maybe he had to run to the toilet or something when they were taking the picture.

Mets � Willets Point wrote: It's VY Day! If I could do photoshop I'd put Red Sox and Rays hats on their heads. Here's a start.

What's not to be serious about? ARod is a true Yankee. And a true centaur. Centaur is just Greek for "horse's ass."

Frayed Knot wrote: I had noticed Garrett's name popping up a lot as I've been reviewing these games. '73 was pretty much the best full season of his career anyway and those stats show that he certainly finished with a bang. One thing I've noticed in the past about Garrett, something that would have escaped notice of my young self at the time, is that the dude drew a ton of walks. His lifetime OBA wound up being 111 points higher than his BA (65 - 70 is about the norm) and he finished his career with more walks than Ks. If we could have taken modern weight-training techniques (even just the legal ones) to put a little more beef on that skinny redhead way back when he might have had an impressive career. As it was he got a decent 10 years in but was a bit light on power and was done as a full-timer by age 28 and for good before he hit 31. I wonder if he'd have been better off as a middle infielder. His glove was good enough (for second, anyway), and his offense would have stood out more. As a third baseman, he always seemed just not quite good enough (which was obviously what the Mets were thinking when they traded for Fregosi). But that perception might have been very different if he'd been a second baseman. I remember Ralph saying once that "Wayne Garrett's got what they call charisma." And I guess he did.

Zvon wrote: Edgy MD wrote: Replays remove all ambiguity. d'Arnaud tagged the guy. I saw this play. How on earth could the ump even imagine the guy was safe? Ooo, I did miss some kabooms didn't I. And the one from Murph, a big one. I think now that the games over I can watch it with Gary and crew. I'm sick of those Phillies guys. If a Philly hits a homer they scream like girls and when a Met hits one, they don't even raise their voice. I mean, it's happening, announce it with a lil bit of importance. lil bit? And the end of the low sentence describing the ball that leaves the park is laced with so much disgust. I can't stomach those guys any more. They used to be good. Yeah, Kalas was fine. But he had to share the booth with Wheeler, who's always been awful. It's a mystery how he's been there so long, because nobody in Philadelphia can stand the guy.

Welcome, Tovarisch.