http://www.ironmankyle.com/index.htmSports Musings and Other Randomnessenkgarlett@verizon.netCopyright 2009 Kyle Garlett2009-10-31T21:20:57-07:00 hourly 1 2000-01-01T12:00+00:00 Tue, 05 May 2009 10:05:21 -0700kgarlett@verizon.netHome2009-10-31T21:20:57-07:00http://www.ironmankyle.com/My%20Sports%20Blog/files/819dcf49299df100328c567874bc9a74-4.html#unique-entry-id-4http://www.ironmankyle.com/My%20Sports%20Blog/files/819dcf49299df100328c567874bc9a74-4.html#unique-entry-id-4As much as it pains me to say this, baseball kind of sucks.

Not the sport of baseball. I love the timeless nature of the game. From its three strikes, three outs, nine innings, and nearly 150 years of American history, it is the poetry of life played in a park. It’s non-generational. My great grandfather’s baseball is my baseball, is my future grandson’s baseball, and so on. It’s blind to society’s prescribed prejudices. Want to see a white man slap a back man on the ass and have the end result be the two sharing high-fives over beers later that night? Go watch a ballgame.

The stresses of life have you in need of therapeutic relaxation? Go sit, watch, and listen to the rhythm and precision of batting practice on a freshly mowed and newly chalked baseball diamond. There isn’t a pharmaceutical yet invented that can alter a mood so completely.

Baseball, as a game, is still the exquisitely beautiful thing that I remember from my childhood. But baseball the business - or more specifically, the collection of ultra-rich businessman who have current legal custody over our beloved national pastime (also known as Major League Baseball) – have hollowed out baseball’s soul and turned it into a shameful shell of itself.

I don’t care that this year’s World Series matchup excites me about as much as going to the dentist. Like dental visits, the World Series is part of my year, regardless of the teams or procedures involved. Sometimes you get the porcelain veneers of matchups, like the Cardinals and Red Sox in 2004. White other times you just get picked at incessantly with a dental scaler, ala the Phillies and Yankees this year.

Yes, the Phillies are the defending World Series champions. Whoopee. A win this year would make exactly three Series wins for them in 127 years of baseball. Do you know a Phillies fan that isn’t from Philadelphia? No, you don’t. And you know why. They capture the imagination of the young and budding baseball fan like... well... the dentist does at Junior High Career Day.

As for the Yankees, let’s set aside the smarminess of cheering for a player like Alex Rodriguez. If he wants to do steroids (2001-2003), try to upstage the World Series with his petty contract announcements (2007), and trade in his wife of six years for a human leather curtain (Madonna, 2008), that’s his business. I hate the Yankees for the right reason. Because I love baseball.

But the Yankees have 26 World Championships. So. Michael Bolton has 27 platinum records. It doesn’t make me want to walk around the house singing “How Am I Supposed to Live Without You.” But the Yankees had Babe Ruth, Joe DiMaggio, and Mickey Mantle. So. Another New York institution, Saturday Night Live, had Bill Murray, Dan Aykroyd, and John Belushi. It doesn’t make we want to watch the 2009 version that features Kenan Thompson, Abby Elliott, and Bobby Moynihan (no offense to you three). In fact probably the best thing the Yankees had going for them, Yankee Stadium, has now been replaced by a $1.5 billion monstrosity with ticket prices nearly three times higher than the league average. Which of course makes perfect sense for the team that yearly outspends the majority of the league by more than $100 million.

So I hate the Yankees for all of the right reasons. But their presence in the World Series alongside the Phillies is not what is spoiling baseball. It’s television. National television’s influence over baseball is strangling the league, disrespecting its followers, and alienating a generation of possible future fans.

First of all, there should never be a reason for baseball to extend into November. Pitchers and catchers report to spring training in February. Leave extending a professional sports season into a 10th calendar month to the NBA and NHL. But it’s not just the never ending quality that November baseball brings to the sport. November baseball severely diminishes the quality of the product on the field. Baseball was never meant to be played in the kind of weather the Northeast and Midwest experience at this time of year, every year. And just wait until the Twins make the postseason in their new outdoor ballpark.

Lose all of those stupid made-for-TV days off during the playoffs. Fine, you need travel days. I’ll grant that the October 18th day off for the Yankees and Angels in the ALCS was needed as the two teams made the trip from New York to Anaheim. But after the two games on the 19th and 20th, they took another day off even though the next game, scheduled for two days later, was in the same city. Since when do baseball players need every third day to rest? And it should be noted that these extra days off came after both teams had already taken four full days off to get ready for Game 1. Terrible scheduling that does nothing but hurt the game of baseball, all in the name of pleasing the television networks.

Baseball in the cold rain of early winter is no fun to play, no fun to watch, and in no way results in a full representation of which ballclub is the better team.

Another way to deal with falling thermometers as the World Series drags on is the return of day baseball. Really, greedy baseball owners? You can’t let us at least enjoy some baseball when the sun is still up on Saturday and Sunday? You’d rather have these four-hour marathons bleed past midnight on the East Coast, when you can be sure that none but the most avid of fans are still watching, then dare go head-to-head against college football and the NFL? (Just an FYI – the college football game showing in my region that would have siphoned off viewers from an afternoon Game 3 was Cal vs. Arizona State. Baseball is indeed in a sorry state when it shies away from that competition.)

And while we’re trimming the schedule and bringing the start of games back to an hour when the next generation of fans, looking for a sport to follow, can actually watch the biggest baseball games of the year, let’s do something about the length of games. How about a timeout system, much like in football? If the manager or catcher really feels it necessary to have a five-minute meeting of the minds on the pitcher’s mound, fine. But you only get three of those a game. A head football coach doesn’t get to call over his entire team for a momentum-numbing powwow because someone missed a sign unless he calls timeout. I want the same standard to apply to baseball games.

Shorten the time between innings. Make the batter stay in the batter’s box unless something is happening on the field that doesn’t involve a pitch home. Put a clock on pitcher’s between pitchers. Give relief pitchers fewer warm-up tosses when they enter the game. (Weren’t they just warming up in the bullpen? Did they get cold while running in from said bullpen? Well, yes, if they’re playing November baseball in New York at 12:25am.)

Baseball, as a sport, is a beautiful American classic that I will always love. But Major League Baseball is sadly losing its way.]]>kgarlett@verizon.netHome2009-08-11T20:11:36-07:00http://www.ironmankyle.com/My%20Sports%20Blog/files/528a2ada9ef42049bb895c090fc42006-2.html#unique-entry-id-2http://www.ironmankyle.com/My%20Sports%20Blog/files/528a2ada9ef42049bb895c090fc42006-2.html#unique-entry-id-2The first and most important step is realizing you have a problem. For years I was in denial, convincing myself that I was merely a social fantasy sports guy. I did it for the camaraderie of draft day. It was fun to talk trash with my friends on the league message board. And if this corps group of my friends had decided to take up, say, canyon hiking, I would have eagerly done that instead. My coffee table magazine stack would have gladly traded Fantasy Football Index for issues of CampingLife.

I didn’t need fantasy football. I could stop at anytime.

But then, rather innocently, you stumble across on one of the hundred or so websites that offer a salary cap game. You just wanted to read football news. You just wanted to spend a couple of minutes catching up on the happenings from NFL training camps.

But then you read, “Draft an entire 22-man starting roster with your own budget of $60 million!”

I could do a lot with $60 million, you think.

“Be your own NFL general manager,” the website heralds.

I could do way better than the real GMs, you delude yourself

“Free,” it lies.

All good general managers, and you would not be spending your time playing this game if you didn’t intend to be a great general manager, make moves. You trade players, pick up free agents, and dump the dead weight. And well, those things cost money. So you justify: If I’m going to be entrusted with $60 million of salary and the future of a professional football team, what’s $9.95 out of my own pocket.

And now you are hooked.

$9.95 turns to $19.95, turns to $29.95, turns to a stack of books, magazines, and website subscriptions that run past $100 with no signs of stopping.

Your one small football league with your friends – and now one Internet based salary cap league – quickly steamrolls into so many live fantasy drafts in the final week of August that you actually turn down a date with the hot girl who works three cubicles down.

You are now playing in nearly a dozen salary cap leagues across the online spectrum because: Hey, I could win $5,000 per league. With my skills it’d be foolish not to play. And before you know it you’re in a basketball league, even though you haven’t watched a complete game since the ’96 NBA Finals; you find out that Mario Lemieux retired from the NHL years ago after you stupidly tried to draft him in your new hockey league, setting the stage for your new “Super Mario” nickname and demands from your league mates that after each subsequent draft pick you hum the video game’s theme song; and you find yourself turning down yet another date so you can instead watch the 3rd round of The Texas Honing Open because you have Keegan Bradley on your NGA Hooter’s Pro Golf Tour Fantasy Team.

That, my friends, is rock bottom. You are delusional no more.

I am a fantasyholic, sober since December of 2006.

I’m not going to pretend that my sobriety comes easy. Far from it. I find myself walking extra close to the magazine rack this time of year, hoping to catch a glimpse of the cover of ESPN The Magazine’s fantasy football edition. Who are their top-10 running backs for 2009?

On CBSSports.com the “Fantasy” tab sits right next to the “Home” tab, beckoning with its siren song of delights that lay beyond. Fortunately I haven’t slipped up yet and clicked on the wrong one. I’ve stayed strong. I’ve even found myself going out of my way to stay with ESPN.com, where the “Fantasy” tab gets lost between “Page 2” and “Video”. Better to avoid the temptation. Stay out of the corner 7-11, so to speak. Even though I might really want a Slurpee, it’s also a very short walk from there to the beer cooler.

One click, and that could be the beginning of another slide. One phone call from a friend, begging you to fill in for a guy who dropped out of their league just two days before the draft, is a guaranteed 72-hour bender that involves you, a 12-pack of Mountain Dew, and the best ten fantasy sources the internet has to offer. And no doubt your credit card will make an appearance or two… or three.

It would not end well.

Sobriety is no picnic. It requires work. Hard work. But it does have its advantages.

I can proudly say for the first time in 15 years that I do not know the two-deep tight end depth charts for all 32 NFL teams. I can’t name you the teams that have a bye in week 6, and it is liberating. And this coming fall when I watch my Kansas City Chiefs there will absolutely be no conflicts of interest.

My days of convolutedly rooting for Chiefs wins, while also pulling for LaDainian Tomlinson to score lots of touchdowns against those same Chiefs, are over. I will never, ever, have to cheer for a member of the Oakland Raiders because he also happens to be playing against the team I’m tied for a wildcard slot with. And my Tuesday mornings will never revolve around the earliest read on the previous weekend’s injury report.

I am a football fan. Nothing more.
]]>kgarlett@verizon.netHome2009-07-27T14:12:37-07:00http://www.ironmankyle.com/My%20Sports%20Blog/files/3083deddb1b9e298bbebeb5922c864d4-1.html#unique-entry-id-1http://www.ironmankyle.com/My%20Sports%20Blog/files/3083deddb1b9e298bbebeb5922c864d4-1.html#unique-entry-id-1Michael Vick has been reinstated to the NFL by commissioner Roger Goodell, exactly as he should have been.

I know. He’s a bad guy. He was just in federal prison. He tortured dogs, man’s unquestioned best friend (only slightly challenged in stature by the refrigerator/La-Z-Boy). Bottom line, he’s a bad guy. The NFL is no place for someone like Michael Vick.

Think about that statement and ask yourself: Does the reinstatement of Michael Vick upset the delicate balance of the church-going Boy Scouts that make up the players of the National Football League?

Being a “good guy” has never been a requirement for NFL eligibility. Just check the police blotter’s on any given Monday morning. So it’s ridiculous to then conclude that being a “bad guy” should leave you stuck on the outside of the league looking in. Vick has paid an enormous price for his crime, as he should have. In fact, he paid a bigger price than most because he had a far greater amount (money, fame, status, fans) to lose. And most of it will remain gone forever, whether he plays football again or spends his remaining days bagging groceries.

It should also be clear that Vick’s conditional reinstatement is by no means a guarantee that he will ever play again. Teams can sign him, but they do so at their own peril. Any general manager that takes a chance on Vick will have some serious explaining to do to his team’s fans. And if that signing were to blow up in his face… well… he’d have some serious resume updating to do.

Now that he is back in the league, Michael Vick vaults to the top every team’s risk assessment chart. And in this world of “what have you done for me yesterday” I expect that most GMs will simply rate the gamble too great. With tenures short and angry season ticket-fan bases to be feared, the league’s 32 decision makers run from possible player implosions faster than Vick through a flat-footed secondary.

I certainly don’t want to see my beloved Kansas City Chiefs sign Michael Vick. For one, we don’t need a quarterback. But more importantly, we don’t need the headache. And Vick, even if he spends the rest of his time on Earth upstaging the life and legacy of Mother Theresa, comes with a giant headache. What do you suppose the over/under would be on questions directed to the rest of the men in that future locker room that contain the word “dog?”

Do you think any of them want the headache?

Michael Vick, as he should have been, was given back his right to pursue a career in the National Football League. But fans certainly have the right to continue to dislike him. And teams most definitely have the right to consider his signing a very bad idea.
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