I Hope I Don’t Jinx Things.

Posted on August 30, 2014 by Jackie, The Baseball Bloggess

“First off, superstitions work.” ~ Detroit Tigers Max Scherzer, 2013 Cy Young Award acceptance speech.

I’m a little concerned. Because, ever since Editor/Husband has been away, the Baltimore Orioles have been on a winning streak.

OK, maybe it’s just a two-game winning streak, but let’s not get all judgey about things.

Still, it makes me wonder how far I’m willing to go to win the World Series.

(Hi Honey, are you reading this? See you in November!)

I am a great believer in superstitions.

In the midst of a hot streak, some players will wear the same clothes, eat the same meals, or take part in strange rituals that might include touching certain parts of the ballpark, the bat, or themselves. Some won’t shave. Some will wear the same, unwashed jock through a hitting streak. (I know this is true because Mike Bordick said so during an Orioles’ broadcast earlier this season, and really, tell me why anyone would lie about a thing like that?)

(Here’s an important message to take from this last point: Ladies, no multi-million-dollar salary is going to make up for a lack of good personal hygiene. I’m pretty sure about this.)

Orioles pitcher Kevin Gausman eats powdered donuts before starts. Hall of Famer Jim Palmer used to have pancakes before his. (That’s my Orioles – always recognizing the importance of a good breakfast.)

Food plays a big role in player superstitions. And, this is a good thing, because eating the same meal, or at the same restaurant, on game day is a far better superstition than that don’t-wash-your-drawers-while-you’re-winning thing.

I have my little superstitions, too. While the University of Virginia baseball team made their way to Omaha this year – and came within two runs of winning the College World Series – I wore, and refused to wash, Lucky Shirt through the post-season.

It lost some mojo around the time Vanderbilt showed up, but other than that, it did a fine job for the Hoos.

Lucky Shirt. All washed & ready for 2015.

And, while superstitions are head-shakingly stupid and totally irrational, they are also vitally important and absolutely real.

(Editor/Husband would say that superstitions cannot be both irrational and real. But, I’m Editor-free today … so, yes, they can.)

See this shirt?

Lucky Orioles Shirt. Black Cat Approved.

It’s a vintage 1989 Orioles shirt – the year they went from the worst record in baseball to nearly winning the AL East. Nearly. So, maybe not the luckiest shirt in the world.

Still, it tries hard and has become one of my go-to Yoga shirts.

However, it should only be worn following an Orioles win. I believe it can further a streak – if they won their last game, wear the shirt, do some Yoga, and they’ll win again. If they lost their last game and I wear the shirt, they’ll lose the next.

You may have noticed I haven’t spoken much about my Orioles these last few weeks. Not when they’re here …

al east standings

I don’t want to jinx things.

But, here’s the thing. I’ve been dying to show you what the O’s have been up to this week. Because there’ve been some awesomely beautiful things in Birdland. Just watch …

Adam Jones home stealing (please note the excellent deke by Nelson Cruz):

Watch here.

Chris Davis grand slamming:

Watch here.

JJ Hardy double-playing:

Watch here.

Jonathan Schoop awesome catching:

Watch here.

I hope I haven’t jinxed things.

To recap.

The Orioles won last night. I wore the shirt today. Check!

The Orioles have lost every – EVERY – game we’ve been to this season. I’m not at Camden Yards tonight. Check!

Editor/Husband is still away. Check!

I’ve lined things up as best as I can from here. Now it’s up to Chris Tillman to break his 0-3 record against the Twins tonight. (Cereal, maybe?)

If they lose tonight, it’s not my fault. I swear.

*** UPDATE ~ 10:22 p.m. ***

Whew!

This is Nancy.

Posted on August 28, 2014 by Jackie, The Baseball Bloggess

Nancy

I’m off from work today. Cleaning the house and doing the chorey sorts of things you do when you’re not working.

Editor/Husband is away, so apologies, in advance, for ramble-on sentences, the spirited overuse of unwords like “untrustable” and “chorey,” and excessive smugness.

Also, no baseball.

A few months ago, I chatted with a telephone scammer named Sam, who, when I asked him why he chose to be a crook, started yelling at me. Not the road to redemption, Sam. Click here for the story of Sam and Me.

Today, the phone rang and it was Nancy!

Nancy, like Sam, wanted to help me rid myself of malicious files that were on my computer.

Oh, Nancy! How I’ve been waiting for your call.

I wasted a lot of Nancy’s time. I had her walk me through my computer and where to find certain keys on my keyboard like “Control” and the letter “R”, which she graciously did in her broken, but-better-than-Sam’s, English.

I had trouble finding the “control” key on my keyboard and she had to wait patiently while I fussed around – key by key – to find it. “Wait, here it is. Nothing happens when I press it though. Is nothing supposed to happen, Nancy?”

This went on for almost seven minutes. (This is what happens when Editor/Husband is away and I’m trying to be tidy. I get bored with cleaning litter boxes and look for a call from someone – anyone, even a criminal – to waste some time with.)

“Nancy this isn’t working. Should I get offline? Maybe I’m messing this up. Let’s start over.”

She was getting frustrated. “You need to listen to what I tell you.”

“I am listening. Is nothing supposed to happen, when I press this, Nancy? Listen! I’m pressing it.” I put the phone up against the keyboard as I madly rattled it. I tried to sound flustered. (My performance? Brilliant.)

Nancy’s voice got edgy and she started speaking very slowly because, obviously, she was dealing with a dolt. “You need to press the control key with the other key at the exact same time. I am telling you what to do.”

“I know, Nancy, I’m sorry, I really am trying! I must be doing something wrong. Let’s go back to the ‘My Computer’ screen. I think I can figure it out from there.”

It was sort of fun, and I was just about to ask her if she knew Sam, which would lead me into the question I really wanted to ask – “How in the world did you end up in a business meant to cheat people? How did you end up a crook?”

And, then Nancy interrupted me. “I see you don’t want to cooperate so I’m going to end this call. Goodbye.”

I made a scammer hang up on me.

(Although, to her credit, she did say “goodbye.”)

This is incredibly disappointing because now Nancy, like Sam before her, has ruined my post.

According to the National Consumers League, thousands of illegal telemarketing operations, full of Nancys and Sams, are scamming in the United States every day.

They’ll keep calling and I’ll keep asking them how they got into the crookery business.

Eventually, one of them will tell me.

And, I will finally get the post I’ve been waiting for.

In the meantime, back to the litter boxes.

Stevie says this post — and her wait for a clean litter box — has taken entirely too long.

Don’t Trust Children With Anything

Posted on August 17, 2014 by Jackie, The Baseball Bloggess

A few years ago, when I was quite small, my mom got me this …

wooly willy

(And, by “a few years ago”, I mean, “some years ago” … maybe “a few of a few years past” … and, well … you know, math is stupid.)

Anyway, not quite 100 years ago, my mom got me this …

wooly willy

For those of you who are older than magnets (you know who you are), Wooly Willy’s bare head was surrounded by metal shavings. So, with the “magic” magnetic pencil you could move the shavings around and give Willy hair and a beard and a mustache.

(So, really, you were just creating your own version of the Red Sox.)

As a very precocious youngster, who didn’t quite understand the connection between metal and magnets, I decided it would be interesting if, before fixing Willy’s hair, I could first examine the metal shavings up close. So I broke into my Wooly Willy and poured the shavings on the ground.

(And, by “on the ground”, I mean, on the asphalt, because we were still in the parking lot of Long’s Drug, where we had gotten the thing just five minutes earlier.)

This didn’t improve my understanding of metallurgy. But, it did massively annoy my mother. And, having broken the plastic lid, I never did get to give Willy a metal beard or mohawk, because no way, no how, was my mom getting me another one.

The moral of this story is simple.

Don’t trust children with things.

Really, anything.

Most important, don’t trust children with things that are meaningful to you. Like the foul ball you just caught.

As in St. Louis yesterday …

Watch here.

OK, you can’t really trust ’em, but that kid was awesome.

Fan-Tastic, Part 3

Posted on August 16, 2014 by Jackie, The Baseball Bloggess

Joe Nathan, the Detroit Tigers closer, got a little frustrated during Wednesday’s game versus the Pittsburgh Pirates. The Tigers won and all, but Nathan was a little shaky in the ninth, walking the first two batters and making things interesting. (He’s been “a little shaky” a lot this season.)

This led to some booing from equally frustrated Tiger fans.

So, Nathan did this.

Let me say this about that.

Joe Nathan, I don’t care if they booed you. No need to be a dolt.

And, fans, don’t boo your players.

Even when they frustrate you and annoy you and make you want to slam your head into the wall. Even when they blow the save or give up a walk-off homer and lose the game. (Brian Matusz, you sure do work my nerves some days.)

They’re doing their best.

Okay, there are a few times when you are allowed to – even encouraged to – boo your team.

Not running out ground balls to first.
Lack of hustle.
Not hustling.
Lazy hustling.
Hustle atrophy.
Hustlessness.
When cheering for your favorite player sounds a lot like booing … Nelson Cruuuuuuuzzzzzz … Louuuuuuuu Pinella.
And, of course, when your closer does this to you …

But, booing, generally speaking, doesn’t help. (Oakland fans, are you listening?)

It won’t make the blown save disappear or turn a bottom-of-the-ninth two-out strike out into a walk-off win. It won’t make anyone play harder. It won’t make anything better. And, it could make things abundantly worse. (Oakland, I’m not kidding here.)

The only time booing really made a difference was in ancient Rome when the cries of displeased fans would occasionally determine which gladiators lived and which, uh, umm, didn’t. Joe Nathan would have been a short-lived gladiator.

But some of us must boo, mustn’t we? Like the dinner party guest who must poo-poo every story you tell … one-up your vacation … your job … your kids.

(Oh my, your precious daughter won a Scrabble tournament with the word ‘jonquil’? I see why you’re so proud. My cat beheaded a mouse on my Yoga mat, dissected its intestines and set them aside, and then barfed the rest of it up into two separate piles. Can your daughter do that?*)

* True story: My cat Polly barfed as I was writing about cats barfing. How cool is that!

Polly. Not sorry.

Nathan apologized for his obnoxious behavior the next day.

And, he should, because, despite sometimes booing, baseball fans are the most wonderful hodge-podge of people around.

Like Tim Pinkard who attended his first Houston Astros game on Tuesday and caught Chris Carter’s home run ball. And, then caught another Chris Carter home run ball. Watch it here.

Here’s to the fans. The managers may be the brains. The players may be the brawn. But, fans are the heart … and without them … well, there’s no $9 million payday for Joe Nathan is there, Joe?

“I do love … the baseball that is in the heads of baseball fans. I love the dreams of glory of 10-year-olds, the reminiscences of 70-year-olds. The greatest baseball arena is in our heads, what we bring to the games, to the telecasts, to reading newspaper reports.” ~ Stan Isaacs, Newsday sports columnist (1929-2013).

Fans on the hill. Davenport Field, University of Virginia

Richmond Flying Squirrels, The Diamond, Richmond, Virginia

7th Inning Stretch, Orioles Park at Camden Yards, Baltimore, Maryland

Cardinal Fans at Camden Yards, Baltimore, Maryland

Orioles fans at Camden Yards, Baltimore, Maryland

Beverly brings “Francisco The Flying Squirrel” to nearly every Flying Squirrels ballgame. (It “stands” during the national anthem and the 7th inning stretch.) The Diamond, Richmond, Virginia

___________

Here’s more …

Fan-Tastic, Part 1 ~ Our grandparents were bad (and dangerous) baseball fans.

Fan-Tastic, Part 2 ~ Today’s rules of proper fan behavior. Bring your miniature horse to a game? Okay. How about a grapefruit? Not okay.

Fan Photos: Davenport Field, Charlottesville, Virginia. Oriole Park at Camden Yards, Baltimore, Maryland. The Diamond, Richmond, Virginia. 2014

Super Enough For Me

Posted on August 11, 2014 by Jackie, The Baseball Bloggess

“Everyone is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody.” ~ Mark Twain

I was feeling pretty good about capturing last night’s “supermoon.”

Then, Mr. I’m-A-Very-Smart-Astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson had to go and spoil it.

Thanks for bumming out my moon photos.

So here.

Not-So-Supermoon-afterall.

And, here’s a cow with the Not-So-Supermoon.

Here are lots of cows stampeding past the Not-So-Supermoon, becoming Ghost Cows in the process.

Not-So-Supermoon, feelings hurt by the rudeness of Astrophysicist, packs it in and heads for the clouds.

We spent Sunday’s pre-Supermoon daylight hours in Baltimore at the Orioles-Cardinals game (three-hour drive – each way – for those of you who wonder just how dedicated I am to baseball).

Here’s Super-Pitcher, But Not-Quite-So-Super-Today Kevin Gausman.

gausman line

Here’s Rookie Catcher Caleb Joseph. He homered in each of his last five games, a club record for catchers.

Today?

joseph line

Not-so-super. And, no home run.

Here’s Ever-Reliable Super Right Fielder Nick Markakis.

Still super.

Although 4-for-5 at the plate, he scored only twice, once thanks to a wild pitch. Thanks for nothing, rest of team.

Not a Super Day for the Orioles. They lose 8-3.

But, I saw baseball. And, a moon.

And, the Orioles are still in first.

AL STANDINGS

Super enough for me.

Photos: Oriole Park at Camden Yards, Baltimore, Maryland, August 10, 2014.

Super-ish Moon, Madison, Virginia, August 10, 2014.

Fan-Tastic, Part 2

Posted on August 3, 2014 by Jackie, The Baseball Bloggess

When 30,000 baseball fans get together, one or two will turn out to be jerks.

Not you and me, of course. But, you know, other guys.

I recently wrote about how we are much better behaved today than our grandparents and great-grandparents were. Click here.

A hundred years ago, the unwritten rules for baseball fans were essentially: “Don’t kill anyone. But, if you do – and we know these things happen – please keep bloodshed to a minimum. Also, if you have the Spanish flu, tuberculosis, or the plague, please stay home.”

The only written rule was this:

That rule’s gone.

But, there are plenty of other rules today.

Good rules. (“We don’t care what your great-grandparents brought to the games, leave your guns and knives at home.”)

Weird rules. (No full bodysuits in Cincinnati.)

bodysuit

(Not so fast there, Reds fan.)

And, dictatorial ones. (For a game that segregated fans for years with “Coloreds Only” signs, they really shouldn’t be so self-righteous when it comes to what WE can put on OUR signs.)

These things are banned in pretty much every major league ballpark:

Thermoses, things in glass, hard-sided coolers, noisemakers, fireworks, guns and knives, anything that explodes, anything that could kill you (except, apparently, trans fats and chewing tobacco), anything that could put out someone’s eye.

Also specifically restricted in most ballparks:

Standing or sitting in the aisles, in the portals, or in the tunnels. Sitting in a location other than your ticketed seat.

Running onto the field of play (clothed or unclothed).

Throwing stuff onto the field.

Foul language.

“Disruptive behavior.”

Intoxication.

Inappropriate public displays of affection.

Skateboards (except at San Francisco’s AT&T Park where you may stow your ’board under your seat).

Brooms. (Exceptions are made in some parks if the team is going for a sweep. Oakland’s O.Co Stadium says no full-size brooms, but little “whiskbrooms” are OK. Clearly, a grandmother writes their rules.)

Fishing nets. ~ Chase Field, Phoenix, Coors Field, Denver

Beach balls.

“Culturally insensitive attire.” ~ AT&T Park, San Francisco

“Food that might be thrown as a projectile … (i.e., oranges, apples and other fruits).” ~ Petco Park, San Diego

“Any fruit or vegetable larger than a grapefruit” unless it is sliced. ~ Coors Field, Denver

“Loud or lengthy” cell phone calls. ~ U.S. Cellular Field, Chicago White Sox

Hairspray. ~ Marlins Park, Miami

Inflatable dolls. ~ Petco Park, San Diego.

You stay classy, San Diego.

“Confetti or Glitter” ~ Yankee Stadium, New York

The Pittsburgh Pirates specifically ban footballs from PNC Park. Good for you, Pittsburgh. Footballs should just be banned, period.

The Washington Nationals encourage you to sit still: “Be a team player – Restrict movement in the seating area to breaks in the action.”

The Philadelphia Phillies will let you bring handmade signs, but they provide a lengthy list of guidelines on what your sign may say, its size, what it can be made of, and how you can display it. No “fighting words,” they warn.

“Citizens Bank Park is a baseball ballpark and not a forum for public discussion.”

The Houston Astros insist that your sign must “support” the team or a player and be in “good taste”.

(Trying to come up with a sign supporting the Astros? How about this: “Well, at least you’re not the Rangers.”)

Most places restrict “wrapped gifts.” The Kansas City Royals, recognizing you might be celebrating a birthday at Kaufmann Stadium, earnestly suggest “gift bags” instead.

The Mets allow diaper bags “with children.” I don’t know where to go with this, because I didn’t even know diaper bags could procreate.

St. Louis’ Busch Stadium has a pretty short prohibited list. Leave your big bags and weapons home. That’s about it. Have at it, Cardinals fans!

Oh, except for this:

“Visiting team fans are our guests. Harassment of the visiting team or their fans will not be tolerated and may result in ejection.”

Cardinal harassing is, apparently, a-ok. You may now harass John Lackey with abandon.

The Angels and Dodgers invite you to bring your crappy cameras and iPhones, but no lenses that are longer than 4” (Angels) or 6” (Dodgers), please. The Tampa Rays allow lenses that are 12”. (The better to fully capture the Trop’s Teflon roof.)

The Yankees invite you to bring whatever size lens you like.

Visit the Minnesota Twins’ website and they will offer you security rules for the Metrodome.

They haven’t played there since 2009 and it was permanently deflated earlier this year.

The Mets continue to have tight security at Shea Stadium.

Shea was torn down in 2009.

Most teams explain that the only animals allowed are service animals (except for special “barks in the parks” events).

Miniature horses are specifically welcome at Petco Park in San Diego, as long as they are serving a direct service role. (Slacker horses? Not allowed.)

By DanDee Shots [CC-BY-2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

(Yes, service horses wear sneakers!)

A big tail wag to the Chicago White Sox who allow service animals at U.S. Cellular Field and “offer a Pet Check service for other types of animals.”

Stevie hopes this “pet check” includes snacks and a nice brushing.

Then there’s the Toronto Blue Jays. What a way to ruin a post, what with your “We’re a friendly place and we want you to be happy” rules.

They even promise to greet us with a cheery “How’s it goin’?”

(My friend Susie swears that no one in Canada really says “How’s it goin’?” She’s from Canada, she should know.)

They seem almost apologetic to be restricting anything, and when they do, it’s really just to keep you tidy.

Your own food is welcome, “as long as the items are wrapped, bagged or left inside a container to avoid spillage.” See? They just want to keep mustard off your shirt.

But, there is one odd Toronto rule:

“For obvious safety concerns, guests are not permitted to throw any objects around or within the Rogers Centre seating areas (e.g., baseballs, beach balls, shoes, seat cushions, hats, food, drinks, ice, coins, etc).”

Coins? Shoes? Ice? (There’s a lot of ice in Canada.)

This is ironic since Toronto is fast becoming known for having the worst, drunkest, throwingest fans in baseball. (Sorry, Philly.)

Hey, mind the rules, Toronto fans. Don’t throw your beer at Nate McLouth.

And, here’s the one you’ve been waiting for …

Earlier this season, the Texas Rangers “banned” fans from doing the wave.

Yippee!

Fan-Tastic

Posted on July 26, 2014 by Jackie, The Baseball Bloggess

“At the ballpark or even in front of the television, fans are, for the interlude of a few hours, different from whom they are in everyday life. … In the drama that is a baseball game the fan imagines himself not a spectator but a participant, as if the fervor of his rooting will have a bearing on the outcome.” ~ John Thorn, Official Historian of Major League Baseball

Sometime in the 1880s or so, newspapers started to mention baseball “fans” and “cranks” and “rooters.” Before that, who knows what they called the men (and they were mostly men) who would sit and watch the other men (and they were mostly men, too) play baseball.

Ty Cobb unkindly called fans “bugs,” but he didn’t have a good word to say about anyone.

Umpires might argue that today’s fans can be rowdy at times, but all in all, fans are a pretty good bunch.

We’re certainly nowhere near as rowdy as our grandparents and great- and great-great grandparents who went to games and shoved their way onto the outfield, or, if the weather was hot, would bully players out of their dugouts and take over the benches in the shade.

— SDN-006846, Chicago Daily News negatives collection, Chicago History Museum. (1908)

Police hold back the rowdies at Chicago’s South Side Park on April 14, 1908. The White Sox will defeat the Detroit Tigers 15-8. (And, look at that trash!)

Cranks would fight with other fans, the umpires, and the players. They would throw bricks. Today, I pack my scorecard, maybe some peanuts. Back then, fans would pack bricks and guns, along with their sandwiches and moonshine.

Players would climb into the grandstands and beat up heckling fans. Fans would jump onto the field and clobber a player or ump.

Games were forfeited because fans were jerks.

Ahh, the good old days.

I have been known to complain at games if the person next to me is bogarting my cup holder. (Yours is on the right, Bozo.) Back then, I’d have been lucky to get through the game without losing an eye.

I recently asked a policeman at Oriole Park at Camden Yards what the hardest part of his job was and he said catching the underage drinkers who all sit together in the upper deck on student nights. (Yes, fans today are so well-behaved even the bad ones cooperate by sitting together.) Other than that, he said, he got paid really well to walk around for a few hours, maintaining the peace and watching the game.

So sure, a few bad fan eggs. But, without us there would be no baseball. We are the 10th player. We pay the salaries. We are irreplaceable.

That’s why teams have Fan Appreciation Days and lavish gifts on us to lure us to the park – caps and shirts and seat cushions. Bobbleheads that are supposed to look like certain players, but usually don’t. Garden gnomes that are supposed to look like certain players and sometimes actually do.

Sure, it’s cheap crap, but fans will line up for hours – HOURS – to get our swag.

Nick Markakis Bobblehead? Horrible. Did Helen Keller design this? Socks down! Socks down!

Wilson Photo: by CBL 62, via Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 (2011)

Brian Wilson Garden Gnome? Awesome.

Every baseball fan is a great fan. Even if you don’t know a balk from a walk, and can’t name your team’s starting pitchers, you’re still all right in my book.

But, some are just a tiny bit all righter. Here are three of them.

On Friday night, the Baltimore Orioles defeated the Seattle Mariners 2-1 in 10 innings. These fans were at Seattle’s Safeco Field.

1) Happy Homer.

Who cares if your team just gave up a go-ahead run, you just caught the freaking home run ball! Good for you, happy Mariners’ fan. Your team will lose because of that run, but at least you didn’t spill your beer.

(For the record, if you catch a home run ball, keep it. Even if it was hit by the opposition. You may think you’re some hero by throwing it back on the field in disgust, but really, we just think you’re stupid.)

Watch here.

2) One of these fans is not like the others.

This Orioles fan sat in a sea of Mariners on Friday night.

Editor/Husband thinks the guy lost a bet. I think he’s just a very good fan. Sure, he kind of looks uncomfortable and maybe just a little sad. But, at least he didn’t have to worry about being hit on the head with a brick.

Watch here.

3) Rally Kid

First off, there’s that napkin. The rally napkin. If you don’t have a ball cap to twist or turn to spur your team’s late-inning rally, then you get creative. This kid stuck a napkin on his head. Because, hey, why not?

Well, whatever it was, it didn’t work. Mariners second baseman Robinson Cano – the would-be tying run – was called out to end the game after a challenge.

The rally napkin folded like a … a … a napkin.

Ten innings that kid sat through. The tying run is on first and then, suddenly, he is gone. His team has lost. He is not happy. I love him. I could watch him all day. (He comes at the 1:52 minute mark. He’s worth the wait.)

Watch here.

Don’t worry kid, there’s always tomorrow.

_______________

Not done yet. Here’s Fan-Tastic, Part 2 ~ Unruly Fans/Ruly Fans. Click here.

Turning Two

Posted on July 23, 2014 by Jackie, The Baseball Bloggess

They call a double play in baseball “turning two” which is poetic and beautiful. And, that is what a double play is.

It is often a ballet, seemingly effortless, but dependent upon practice, instinct, poise, and power. If you’re lucky, it will also include a pirouette.

Double plays can make brilliant poetry.

These are the saddest of possible words:

“Tinker to Evers to Chance.”

Trio of bear cubs, and fleeter than birds,

Tinker and Evers and Chance.

Ruthlessly pricking our gonfalon bubble,

Making a Giant hit into a double.

Words that are heavy with nothing but trouble:

“Tinker to Evers to Chance.”

~ Franklin Pierce Adams, New York Evening Mail, 1910

(Oh, go ahead, look up “gonfalon.” I’ll wait.)

The trio of shortstop Joe Tinker, second baseman Johnny Evers, and first baseman Frank Chance played together for the Chicago Cubs from 1902 to 1912.

Don’t let it trouble you that Tinker and Evers admittedly hated each other, once got into a vicious fist-fight on the field, and didn’t speak to each other for several seasons.

And, don’t let it trouble you that they didn’t “invent” the double play … or turn a record number … or were even particularly good at it. Just accept that some folks become legends because of good writing or good timing.

Dickey Pearce, who played in the 1860s and 70s, is thought to have turned the roving “short field” position into the more territorial shortstop position that we know today, and, in doing so, may have invented, or developed, or, at least, refined the double play.

Public Domain image.

Dickey Pearce is the one in the back. Dig those uniforms!

Historian Brian McKenna believes that Pearce’s double plays included intentionally dropping routine fly balls, allowing for easy outs as the runners on base hesitated while waiting to tag up. He is why we have the infield fly rule today.

(Dickey Pearce also invented the bunt, so he is kind of, sort of the Thomas Edison of early baseball.)

Turning two can lead to amazing baseball.

Whether it’s like this …

Or, like this,

(Oh, look, it’s old reliable Nick Markakis.)

This,

A double play and a deke!

Or (especially) like this …

(We win! We win!)

The double play is my favorite thing in baseball, unless my team is batting.

In 1949, the Philadelphia Athletics turned 217 in a single season, the most ever.

The Baltimore Orioles have “turned two” 107 times this season, leading all of baseball, and are on pace for 175.

This is both a testament to the Orioles’ defensive abilities and an admission that one can’t “turn two” unless one has already put at least one on.

(Thanks, pitchers.)

And, speaking of “turning two” …

This blog turns two this week.

In the past two years I have churned out 118 posts. This is slightly more than one a week which surprises me, since I should be doing useful things each week like cleaning out the basement and resealing the kitchen countertop.

But, apparently, I am not doing those things. I am doing these blog things.

That you have stopped by to read this (when you probably should be cleaning out your basement and resealing your kitchen countertop) is quite kind of you. Thank you.

WordPress says that “tens of thousands” of blogs are created here every day.

People who count these sorts of things estimate that the vast majority of those blogs will be abandoned within one month.

So, I’m feeling rather sassy about my 118 posts.

When I was in fifth grade I decided I would be a writer. At the time, I just wanted to write about tigers.

I regularly wore out the ribbon of my dad’s typewriter until my folks got me my own typewriter for my 12th birthday (manual), another one for my high school graduation (electric), and a third for my college graduation (a strange Tron-like thing that I still have, but never used; I didn’t have the heart to tell my mom that no one was really using typewriters anymore).

I ran out of tiger storylines somewhere around junior high. Then I decided I would be the next Dorothy Parker. I went through a Eudora Welty phase. And, then I decided to become a girl Thomas Boswell.

I am none of those.

But, I am also not an abandoned blog.

For my blog’s birthday, I got my blog its very own domain: www.thebaseballbloggess.com

This is not to suggest that I am THE Baseball Bloggess, although I am because I have the URL to prove it.

It is mainly because my friends who travel goose my stats by checking my blog from exotic, far-off places like Brazil, Croatia, Nepal, Pakistan, and Tunisia, and so I have been known to say that I am a “world famous baseball bloggess,” even though I am not.

But, I like to write. And, I like to write about baseball. Occasionally, Yoga. But, mostly, baseball.

Here’s to “turning two.”

____

A special thank you to my occasionally irascible, but always wonderful, Editor/Husband who watches baseball with me, and really, truly does read and edit these posts, and makes them infinitely better (most of the time). If I screw up a fact or mess up on grammar, it’s my fault, not his.

A Meaningless, Meaningful Game

Posted on July 16, 2014 by Jackie, The Baseball Bloggess

The All Star Game – which you probably did not watch last night – is a meaningless, meaningful game.

(You didn’t miss anything.)

(Well, you did miss this …)

(Nick Markakis would have made that play … had he been named to the All-Star Team …)

(… and mistakenly been playing for the National League.)

The All Star Game is an exhibition game that determines home-field advantage for the World Series.

(So, it is a very meaningful game if you are the Baltimore Orioles.)

(Vin Scully doesn’t like this home-field thing. Not one bit.)

The game seems quite meaningful to the players. (Some 10 percent of all major leaguers were there last night.)

And, it was especially meaningful to Yankees Shortstop Derek Jeter who will retire at the end of this year and got a bit teary eyed during the game.

(See, there is crying in baseball.)

The St. Louis Cardinals Adam Wainwright, the NL’s starting pitcher, couldn’t decide if the game was meaningless or meaningful either.

He gave up a lead-off double to Jeter.

(If you are an Orioles fan, you rolled with it. Our starting pitchers give up lead off doubles and walks to start games all the time. We kind of thought that was what you were supposed to do. )

Before the game, Wainwright thought the game was meaningless and said he might give Jeter “a couple he could hit.” After the inning, he said he gave Jeter one “down the pipe.”

Upon further reflection, and perhaps an interesting public relations crisis meeting in the NL clubhouse, he decided the game was meaningful after all.

“When I said ‘down the pipe,’ I should have said I tried to execute a strike,” he clarified.

Mike Trout’s triple (man, he can motor!) and Miguel Cabrera’s home run in the first were pitches down the pipe as well, although I don’t think Wainwright meant to give up those hits either.

Or, he did. I don’t know.

(Clayton Kershaw should have started.)

My friend Jay hates the All-Star break.

There should be no breaks in baseball, he will insist. He’s also not crazy about rain delays.

I rather like a break in my summer. A few days without baseball allow me to catch up with shows on my DVR.

(I sure hope Ross and Rachel get together!)

The All-Star Game used to make me shrug. Most of the time, just a bunch of not-Orioles playing a game that didn’t mean much of anything to me.

It’s still a meaningless game.

Except that it means something.

I’ve been told home-field advantage in the World Series is very important. (I’ll let you know in October.)

The American League won 5-3 last night, by the way.

I think I just buried the lead again. I don’t know.

_______

A Special Note From Editor/Husband: “I’ll tell you what you missed last night – even if you were watching – seeing Hall of Famer Rod Carew throw out the first pitch, which Fox couldn’t be bothered to air live. Hey Fox, how about spending a few minutes talking about him and his amazing career, instead of making us listen to Ida Lupino, or whatever- her-name-is, caterwauling her way through an endless Bob Dylan song. What was THAT all about?”

Babe Ruth. Ballplayer. Brownie. Mom.

Posted on July 11, 2014 by Jackie, The Baseball Bloggess

babe ruth makes good headline On July 11, 1914, George Herman Ruth played his first major league game. He had recently joined the Boston Red Sox and was already known as “Babe”.

He pitched seven innings, gave up three runs (two earned), and got a no decision in a 4-3 win over the Cleveland Naps (later the Indians).

He went 0-for-2 at the plate. His first major league at bat? A strike out.

SDN-061193, Chicago Daily News negatives collection, Chicago History Museum. (1917)

He became the greatest ballplayer ever. (This is not even worth arguing over.)

If you want the stats, you can find plenty online.

But, how about some other Ruthian notes on this auspicious day?

He Was Born In Baltimore (And Lived In Centerfield)

According to the plaque at Baltimore’s Camden Yards: “During the early 1900’s, Babe Ruth and his family lived at 406 Conway Street in what is now centerfield of Oriole Park at Camden Yards. Babe’s father operated Ruth’s Café on the ground floor of the residence.”

The Café? A polite way of saying saloon.

Adam Jones, Orioles Centerfielder. Camden Yards.

Ruth Was A Catcher (Before He Was A Pitcher, Before He Was The Sultan of Swat)

While at St. Mary’s – a reform school/orphanage for wayward boys where Ruth was sent by his family for being “incorrigible” – he began to play as part of a formal school baseball league. He was a star of the league and played catcher – a lefty catcher (a rarity then and now).

Babe_Ruth_-_St._Mary's_Industrial_School

Public Domain image. (1913)

Babe Ruth, Catcher. St. Mary’s. Back Row, Center.

He later moved to pitcher and in 1913, his last year at St. Mary’s, according to historian Robert Creamer, he homered in nearly every game he played and was undefeated in every game he pitched.

The Baltimore Orioles Signed Ruth To His First Professional Contract (But, Not Those Orioles)

Yes, the Baltimore Orioles did sign Babe Ruth to his first professional baseball contract in 1914. (His salary: $100 a month.)

But, no, it was not the historic 1890s-era Baltimore Orioles that eventually moved to New York and evolved into the Yankees. (They were long gone by 1914.)

And, no, it wasn’t the current Baltimore Orioles. They have only been in Baltimore since 1954, and were previously the St. Louis Browns.

The Baltimore Orioles that signed Ruth were a minor league team in the International League – a team that was originally based in Montreal.

The Orioles weren’t even the most popular baseball team in Baltimore that year. They played a woeful second fiddle to the Baltimore Terrapins, a Federal League team.

They couldn’t compete with the popular Terps and Ruth was quickly sold to the Boston Red Sox. The next season, those Orioles packed up and headed to Richmond, Virginia.

SDN-061536, Chicago Daily News negatives collection, Chicago History Museum. (1918)

Babe Ruth and two other Orioles were sold to the Red Sox in July 1914 for a reported $25,000.

Baby Ruth Candy Bars Were Not Named For Babe Ruth (Except That They Were)

baby ruth bars

The Curtiss Candy Company always claimed they named the Baby Ruth bar for Ruth Cleveland, President Grover Cleveland’s daughter who died at age 12 in 1904, which was nearly 20 years before the candy bar even appeared.

More likely is that the Curtiss Candy Company jumped on the Babe Ruth bandwagon, but Ruth Cleveland was a convenient back story that would allow them to avoid paying Babe for his image, likeness, name, and endorsement.

Should you wish to argue that Babe Ruth and Baby Ruth are two completely different names: Reporters of the day would, on occasion, refer to the Babe as “Baby Ruth” and here’s some proof of that.

baby ruth headline

In the 1990s, Nestlé, which now owns the brand, contracted with the Ruth family to use the Babe’s image in their marketing.

Although, Nestlé seems to have put Baby in the corner these days – Baby Ruths aren’t even listed on their chocolate page. (Aero Bars? They’re horrible.)

But, if you dig around, you can uncover this Gooey Baby Ruth Brownie recipe!

A candy bar melted into a brownie? With cream cheese? The Babe would definitely put his name on that!

Ruth Played Where The Sun Don’t Shine

In 1922, Ruth lost a fly ball in the sun while playing left field at New York’s Polo Grounds.

After that, Ruth determined what position he would play from game to game, based on where the sun would shine in the outfield in every stadium – always avoiding the “sun field.”

At the Polo Grounds and in Yankee Stadium, for instance, he would always be in right field. At Boston’s Fenway Park, however, he would forever after play in left.

I wonder where he would have played at the Trop?

Yankee Stadium — The House That Ruth Built

He didn’t literally build it. He did, however, have basic tailoring skills and while at St. Mary’s briefly worked at a shirt factory. His job was to attach collars and he was paid six cents a collar.

I’m Related To Babe

Seriously. But, not Babe Ruth.

My mom was named Julie at birth, but everyone in the family and most everyone in town knew her as Babe. Her high school yearbook lists her as Babe, too. She was called Babe, she said, because she was the youngest in her family and the youngest in her class.

Sadly, her daughter’s witty jokes about her being named for Babe Ruth or Babe the Blue Ox were wholly unappreciated.

But get this …

In the 1930s, Babe Ruth discovered that he was a year older than he had been told he was, when he had to produce a certified birth certificate in order to get his passport.

In the 1990s, Babe, my mom, discovered that she was a year older than she had been told she was, when she had to produce a certified birth certificate in order to get Social Security.

Coincidence?

_____________________________

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