17 Years Later

by The Editor

Prior to this year, the most recent volume of Baseball Diary was published in 1994. In the intervening years, I had wanted to bring out another volume, but for various reasons, this was not possible. Toward the end of the century, I began thinking about doing it online instead of on paper, but time, technical know-how, and other factors conspired against me. Then, earlier this year, Spencer Kimball and I started a blog called Half Forgotten. In May, I asked Spence, who is the smarter and tech-ier of the two of us, if we could somehow connect that blog with a new Baseball Diary. And there you have it, our triumvirate: Half Forgotten, Baseball Diary and the BD Archive.

With this post, Baseball Diary Volume 11 "officially" comes to a close. However, I will still be continuing the Archive posts, though on a more limited basis. And BD posts will continue if the baseball muse strikes me, OR if it strikes you - BD is always looking for posts of a personal, penetrating nature, and now, we can basically have them anytime, even off-season. So if the muse strikes, send along your efforts. Officially, we'll be closing up shop for the winter, with Volume 12 starting sometime around Spring Training 2012.

And of course this current season would not have been possible without the incredible contributions of this year's BD contributors. A HUGE THANK YOU to Richard Rosen, Danny DiPierro, John Hilton, Spencer Kimball, Everett Evers, Peggy Kincaid, Bob Stanley, Meredith Linden, and Tom Gibson. I love you guys! Hope to see more contributions soon!

Have a great winter! And here's some closing thoughts from yet another contributor, some thoughts that pretty much sum it up:

From The Diamond Sonnets
By Bill “Shaky” Spear

No. 73 (1981)

This time of year thou mayest in me behold
When pennant flags, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those poles which shake against the cold
O’er bare ruin’d diamonds, where late the players sprang

In me thou see’st depression of such day
As after Base-Ball fadeth in the fall
Which by and by naught else can turn away
Death’s second self, from here to Montreal.

In me thou see’st the yearning for such thwack
As bat upon the ball doth make, and I
With trembling fingers daily do ransack
The sporting news and wish it were July:

But all 'tis hoops and goals — how sickening! —
And ne’er an RBI ‘til gentle Spring.

Notes Regarding a World Series

by The Editor

Game 1
The "set-up" begins: turn to Fox, the network carrying the World Series, and pause it. Then go about my business for the next 15 minutes or so. When the dvr has reached its limit, the program goes on. I now have about 15 minutes to "play" with, which is usually enough so that I don't have to watch any commercials. With the saved time, I can fast forward when I hit the commercials. And when I inevitably need to get up during the game, do so while the commercials run to an empty room. This will generally get you through a three hour game commercial-less.

What is it about Joe Buck that has most everyone I know cringing when he announces? His constant stating of the obvious? His vain attempts at being funny? His idiotic repartee with Tim McCarver (who, yes I'll admit it, I do like)? Well it's all of these things of course, but for me, his biggest sin is his grotesque need to figure out each game's "narrative" before it happens. It's like he thinks he know what will occur based on what usually occurs, and because this is baseball, when it doesn't occur (which usually happens), he adjusts his all-knowing comments to embrace a new narrative. He's got to have a narrative. Just let the game unfold, Buck! For god's sake, let the game unfold and try to think of something interesting to say!

Game 2
Look, I don't have a dog in this race, but I gotta tell you, I cannot abide the sight of war criminal torture mastermind GBW sitting side by side Nolan Ryan, buddying up to each other, smug self-serving bastard acting like he's the king of the world. Good lord.

THIS is my favorite kind of baseball game, low scoring, a pitcher's duel with a final twist ending! I realize that most people, even many baseball fans, do NOT share my enthusiasm. But when you have a game like this, half-way through, if not before, EVERY pitch becomes exciting, every nuance is important, every "mistake" is monumental, it's just a glorious nail-biting thrill ride. Loved it, even though Bush's team won.

Game 3
Yeah, and then they have to have the guy throw the opening pitch!

Wow, can the Rangers turn a double play or what?!

Possibly the saddest moment of Baseball 2011: "07/09/11: Texas Rangers star Josh Hamilton revealed his heartbreak Friday after a fan plunged headfirst to his death while trying to snare a baseball tossed by the American League MVP. Shannon Stone, a 39-year-old firefighter, fell from the stands at Rangers Ballpark Thursday in front of his 6-year-old son, Cooper. 'It was just hard for me, hearing the little boy screaming for his daddy after he had fallen - and then being home with my kids, really hit home last night,' Hamilton said.

If only they woulda done it (yeah, right): From Canada's The Star 10/22/11: There was a Canadian chill in the air when George W. Bush turned up in Surrey, B.C., on Thursday to speak to a business audience. A couple of hundred raucous protesters were on hand, chanting “Arrest George Bush” and urging the Mounties to clap the former U.S. president in irons. “Complicit in torture,” one sign read. “Waterboard Bush.” “War criminals out of Canada.” And “Shame, shame, shame.” The campaign to make Bush a pariah in this country seems to have legs. Groups such as Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch are trying to shame the Canadian government into doing what the U.S. government won’t: To arrest and try Bush for authorizing the waterboarding of terror suspects when he next sets foot on our soil.

Game 4
I love Molina's right neck tattoo: some musical notes that look like they're emanating from a treble clef? I did a quick search to find out why he got it, and only came up with "personal reasons, probably relating to his father". Anybody know? And did you see his pickoff of Kinsler?!?

STL Today 09/26/11: La Russa bolted from Busch Stadium that night so he could catch the final songs of Carlos Santana's set at the (fabulous) Fox Theater in St. Louis' Grand Center. La Russa had a backstage pass, and soon after he showed up was given an on-stage duty -- shaking two maracas to the beat...After the show, La Russa spoke with Santana for awhile, and the guitarist took off the necklace he wore during the show and gave it to La Russa...In one retelling of the gift-giving moment, La Russa said Santana offered the necklace with these words: "You need this more."

Game 5
Okay, he is a Texas Ranger, but Derek Holland's Harry Caray impersonation was pretty hilarious - and that's a compliment.

The master strategist? No, this CAN'T be real: Bernie Miklasz, St Louis Post Dispatch: "Game 5 came down to phone calls? Really? And how do we possibly explain this...According to LaRussa, he called the bullpen with orders to warm up Jason Motte and "Scrabble" Rzepczynski. LaRussa might as well have made a long distance call to China, because the message got garbled and didn't make it through. Somehow, in the middle of all of this, Lance Lynn began loosening up even though the entire team knew that the plan was to give Lynn one more day of rest after he threw 47 pitches in Game 3. LaRussa attributed the problem to the very loud stadium noise. 'They heard Rzepczynski and they didn't hear Motte, and when I looked up there, Motte wasn't going,' LaRussa said. '(Later) I called back and said Motte, and they heard Lynn. So I went out there, wrong guy. (Lynn) is not going to pitch today...That's why - it must be loud. I give the fans credit." Rzepczynski heated up, and Motte sat, leaving Rzepczynski to deal with Napoli. LaRussa said he called later, asking for Motte, only to have bullpen coaches Derek Lilliquist and Jeff Murphy get Lynn read instead. Again, the excuse was crowd noise...After Napoli's double, imagine LaRussa's shock when he signaled for a pitching change two baters later, only to see Lynn walking in to pitch to leadoff man Ian Kinsler...'I thought it was Motte, and they were yelling at me as I went out,' LaRussa said. 'I didn't hear them. It wasn't Motte. So I saw Lynn. I went, oh, what are you doing here?'...Lynn was told to lob four pitches to intentionally walk Kinsler. Motte was finally and belatedly summoned too take care of the #2 hitter Elvis Andrus."

Game 6
What I said about Game 2? Fehgedduboudit! I think this was one of the best games I've ever seen - up there with the Red Sox games from, what was it, 2004? Good Lord! Coming back TWICE from two runs behind with one strike to go? No way. Was this for real?

Game 7
Congratulations St. Louis Cardinals. From ten and a half back to champs. Thank you AND the Rangers for the kind of WS I wish for every year but rarely get.

Then the Doctor Threw a Can of Beer at Her

Special Midsummer issue!
Featuring diamonds, raw fish, boiled potato, chives, sour cream, a devilish mustard/dill sauce, akvavit, and plenty of singing.
PLUS: Ken Koss!
All this and more in the latest Archive issue.
Click here to see.

In Which T.S. Eliot Takes the Field

by Bob Stanley

Tom was left-handed

so they put him at first base

not realizing he was right-brained.

In the second inning

when a ground ball found his glove

surprised, he cried

Let us go then, you and I

to the ball,

and in the lamplight

(it was a night-game)

he stepped on the bag for the out.

“Four Quartets”

we realize now

is not about the Upanishads

or Catholic imagery,

it’s about

the four bases of

the diamond:

how we hit, run, slide,

score &

steal,

as if we could stop time

and always be absolved

so that even victory becomes painful

on so many levels:

in my big inning is my end.

It’s about baseball,

which the Midwest transplant sorely missed

as a bank teller in London;

he missed the feel of dirt

sweeping his glove along the ground

and the chance

to pluck the fast moving ball

with a snap of his wrist.

April was a cruel month, indeed

since the Cardinals

were looking good that year.

There's Something About a New Car...

The Editor defiles a precious thing.
The Fearless Forecaster boils over with baseball tales.
Ken Koss goes to a game in Anaheim.
PLUS: Bruce Walkup joins the BD lineup!
All this and more in the latest Archive issue.
Click here to see.

Reagan, Not in the Ballpark

by Bob Stanley

Willya look at that – the clouds have parted and we’ve got sunshine all over Comiskey Park as the grounds crew hustles – look at those guys run – to tuck away the tarp along the third base line. We’re live from the South Side of Chicago as Luis Tiant takes his final warm-ups. Tiant, fifteen and nine this year. stands with hands on hips, and looks like he’s put on a few pounds this year, but it hasn’t helped the batters any. Don’t you think he looks sharp today, Jack?

Well you bet, Ron. That slider’s biting the way he likes it, and this stiff breeze will help his change dance against lefties, too!

Thanks, Jack, well, we’re all set to go now. Sandy Alomar steps in for Cleveland, knocking dirt out of his spikes. The first delivery from Tiant is – strike on the corner – right on the black – and we’re underway.

Ron looks down at four words on the teletype: “Tiant, pitching to Alomar.” If I can do this, (he grins for a second), I can convince anybody of anything.

Monday in the Park - Elysian Park - No Drama, No Controversy, No Game

by Tom Gibson











Dodger Stadium from Angel's Point, Elysian Park













Dodger Stadium from Academy Road, Elysian Park












Dodger Stadium from Victory Memorial Grove, Elysian Park

Even Though the Glove Touched the Thigh

by Meredith Linden

She loves baseball, but that’s beside the point. She speaks in metaphors and that’s more to the point. Her metaphor of choice: baseball. She speaks of chapters in a life as innings in which one is either ahead or behind (or perhaps tied). A struggle to the end is encapsulated in the pocket of being safe at home even though the glove touched the thigh. Her most recent delve into baseball-speak revolves around her current relationship. She is a Yankees fan, and we know what that means. He, even though he sometimes roots for the Yankees, is a Mets fan. Is this the one deal breaker? Will he go to Yankee games? She, for one, knows she can only sport Yankee memorabilia at any baseball game, no matter who’s playing. And if the Mets played the Yankees, well, there’s no doubt which side she’d be sitting on. How does that line up for a relationship? Is he in for a home run, a walk, a foul?

The subject has been broached. He asked her to convert. This is, after all, her religion. A conversion would change everything. She’s decided that even if she were to give in to going to Mets games, she would tote her large Yankee soda cup (don’t leave home without it). It’s a tall order to contemplate, so it may be a while before we hear the result. What she decidedly likes most about baseball is just when you think everything that’s happening is expected, something unexpected happens. And so it goes in relationship. The conversion was never expected.