Happy Hour 05/31: A-Rod Somehow Keeps Being Hateable

[This was originally posted at Bless You Boys, but I thought it might fit well here, too.]

Since it seems like I've been talking about Alex Rodriguez's "Ha!" play at third base in last night's Yankees-Blue Jays game for most of the day (especially with my buddy Rob), I thought it might be worth bringing the discussion over to the blog.

If you're not familiar with the play, here's a brief recap. In the top of the ninth, Jorge Posada hit a pop-up to third base. A-Rod was running from second to third, and just before he got to the bag, he apparently yelled out something. Howie Clark, the Jays' third baseman, thought his shortstop, John McDonald, was calling for the ball and backed off. But McDonald wasn't, so the ball dropped to the turf and everyone was safe.

Was the distraction/deception the difference in the game? Well, the Yankees already had the lead, so you could argue it didn't. However, that would've been the third out in the inning, and the Jays would've been down by two runs in the bottom of the ninth instead of five.

But the larger question is whether or not A-Rod messing with Clark was a cheap play - or "bush league," as many of us like to say. Obviously, the Jays thought so, calling it "classless. McDonald was ready to throw down (and probably would've wanted to fight with closed fists, a preference we know doesn't suit A-Rod). His manager, John Gibbons, implied that it wasn't a tactic worthy of the Yankee's great history.

Rodriguez mustered a rather weak defense, claiming that he yelled "Ha!" not "Mine!" His third-base coach, Larry Bowa, corroborated the story, but what would you expect? Perhaps more telling is that A-Rod admitted it was a "desperate" play, an attempt to score a much-needed win. And if you look at his reaction when the Jays are protesting, it seems like he knew he was wrong. If he thought McDonald and Gibbons were just splitting hairs, he likely would've just stood on third base with his hands on his hips, shaking his head, or rolling his eyes. But instead, he tries to plead his case. "What? What did I do?"

I guess I'm just curious what other people think. When I first heard about the play this morning, my first reaction was surprise that this sort of thing doesn't happen all the time. In basketball, a defender might clap his hands, trying to fool an offensive player into passing the ball in that direction. Of course, a player wouldn't yell "Ha!" as someone was attempting a free throw. And in that situation, you're not talking about a baseball potentially smacking someone on the head.

Captain Obvious alert: I never played Major League Baseball. But John McDonald does. And if he says it was a "bush league" play, and so do his teammates and manager, then I'd tend to believe them. You might speculate that A-Rod's fellow New York Yankees feel the same way, since none of them came to his defense in any of the game stories I read.

Since Rob played baseball at a higher level than I ever did, I wanted to get his opinion on this. He said it was a play you wouldn't even see in softball. Now that I can confirm. I usually play third base, and no one's ever tried that on me. But I'm already bad enough at catching pop-ups, so maybe the other team figures they don't have to bother.

Baseball's "unwritten rules" are such murky waters. What's "fair" and what isn't? What's actually considered a rule? As Rob said to me, why is it (somewhat) acceptable for a runner on second base to steal signs and relay them to the batter, yet the batter can't sneak a peek at the catcher making those same signs?

If you want to stick to the letter of the law, however, A-Rod did break a rule. Again, this comes from Rob, via the MLB rulebook:

INTERFERENCE

(a) Offensive interference is an act by the team at bat which interferes with, obstructs, impedes, hinders or confuses any fielder attempting to make a play. If the umpire declares the batter, batter- runner, or a runner out for interference, all other runners shall return to the last base that was in the judgment of the umpire, legally touched at the time of the interference.

I'd love to know what you guys think about this. I used to think A-Rod kind of got a bad rap, but especially since he went to New York, it's become pretty clear just how blatantly he attempts to contrive his image. Disingenuous incidents such as this one just make that all the more apparent.

Happy Hour 05/07: New York's Cutest Couple

One of the frequent complaints I've read about Spider-Man 3 is that there's too much goopy romance between Peter Parker and Mary Jane Watson. People just want to see some comic book action. But to me, that relationship gives the story its heart. And that sentiment can also be applied to sports.

In Detroit, the bond between Steve Mariucci and Jeff Garcia was one that transcended geography and football logic. Garcia couldn't throw and Mooch couldn't coach. But that didn't stop them from getting back together and renewing their partnership. That's how it is when you've met your soul mate.

You know who else understands that? Roger Clemens and his best friend forever, Andy Pettitte. Distance was merely an obstacle for these two. From New York to Houston and back to the Bronx again, they have maintained their life partnership. The miles between the two cities were just orange cones to be run over by a truck of genuine affection.

And nothing gives a romance more of a storybook quality than a grand gesture. You want a tale you can eventually share with your grandchildren. Think of John Cusack's Lloyd Dobler holding that boombox over his head outside Diane Court's house in Say Anything. Or Sam carrying Frodo up the mountain in Lord of the Rings: Return of the King. Wasn't Clemens announcing his return to the Yankees from George Steinbrenner's luxury suite equally as memorable?

Did you see the smile on Pettitte's face from the Yankees' dugout? He may as well have held his hands to his chest, swooning while cartoon hearts danced around his head. Together with the Yankees, together with the Astros, and together yet again in pinstripes. How so very touching.

I can only imagine that plenty of other men in the Yankee Stadium stands were inspired to ask for their significant other's hand in marriage or at least give a warm, firm hug to their ballgame buddy. That kind of sharing doesn't have to be restricted to the Bronx, either. Call up your best friend tonight and tell him how you feel. If you want to do it while you're watching a sporting event together, that's fine. We understand.

Of course, acknowledging true love can also leave some broken hearts. And they're watching romantic comedies with pints of ice cream today in Boston and Houston. I'm not sure if Curt Schilling is more jealous over Clemens signing with the Yankees or creating more of an attention-grabbing media spectacle for himself.

"It would've been nice to have him, but we didn't need him. We don't need him," Schilling told The Associated Press in Minneapolis yesterday. "I feel we're a legitimate World Series contender without him.

This is what we men do. We mask our pain with bravado. It's okay, Curt. Yes, Clemens spurned your team and virtually monopolized ESPN's coverage last night and this morning. But hey, he doesn't have a blog like you do. Use the outlet you've given yourself. You can get through this, even if it takes you 2.800 words to do so. Some of us might not read them all because we only have so many hours in the day to devote to your narcissism, but if that's what you need, we're here for you.

And it's not just fellow players and potential teammates that are dealing the hurt of rejection. Members of the media who fell for Clemens' charms are also nursing wounded souls today. Check out the Houston Chronicle's Richard Justice slicing open a vein and pouring his blood all over his blog for his beloved Rocket:

I kissed the guy's feet every time he walked into a room. I wrote time and again that it was an honor to have him pitching for the hometown team.

In other words, I did my part. I even put up with his obnoxious agent, Randy Hendricks. If this deal includes a one-way ticket out of town for that guy, it may end up being worth it.

I believed all that stuff, too. Roger Clemens is an amazing competitor. He no longer has great stuff, but he stills wins because he has guts and poise and smarts and astonishing control.

Wow. Somebody make sure that man isn't spending tonight alone. Take him out to dinner. Buy him something nice to make him feel good about himself. Just sit and listen. He doesn't need to hear you talk. He needs you to let him say what he's feeling. Give the poor guy the "Five Good Minutes" slot on "PTI" tonight, so Kornheiser and Wilbon can help him sort out his feelings. We all need friends at times like these.

Regardless, we should all be happy that two people on this earth, in this life, have found such bliss together. It's like they say: When you know, you just know. And even if we haven't found such a partnership for ourselves, at least this gives us hope to keep trying. We can be like Roger Clemens and Andy Pettitte. Just don't give up. Never give up.

Oh, my Craig Monroe!!!

The grand slam against the White Sox was big. The 10th-inning single that beat Minnesota was huge. The eighth-inning home run against Cleveland? Also very, very large.

I've written about Craig Monroe's late-inning magnificence on three previous occasions, and each time, I told myself there are no more ways to describe his mastery of the clutch.

And then he goes and does this.

A three-run homer in the top of the ninth? With two outs? In Yankee Stadium? In a September game that really matters?

I'm not even going to try and capture this man's heroic exploits anymore. Because earthly words can no longer do justice to his feats. Craig Monroe has transcended the ability of mortal language to accurately portray his greatness.



They can start doing Tigers' play-by-play on Mount Olympus. Or Zeus better start blogging. At the very least, he should give up his place on the throne to Craig Monroe. The dude is swinging a thunderbolt.

I was on the phone with Brian of Beyond Boxscores during that ninth inning. Here's an excerpt from that conversation:

"So what are you doing for the holiday?"

"Oh, I don't know... we might have a cookout, invite over some--

"OHMYGOD!!!! OH!! MY!! GOD!!!"

"HOLY $#!+!!!"

"NO!!"

"DID HE... ?

"YES, HE DID! YES, HE DID!"

"WHOOOOOOO!!!!"

After reliving that exchange, I realize that there's something the language of mortal men can do to pay homage to Craig Monroe. We can change the modern vernacular. I know old habits are hard to break. But please give this some consideration.

I'm talking about exclamation. What can you say the next time you get that overdraft notice from the bank? I'm sorry - let's think a little happier. What can you scream the next time you have an orgasm? Okay, maybe that's a bit extreme. How about the next time you're in disbelief and feel the need to share? We know what you used to say. But try tweaking it a bit, to invoke our new higher power.

"OH, MY CRAIG MONROE!"

How does that work for you? I think it has potential. It's certainly appropriate, no? I bet several Detroit Tigers were screaming it tonight. Scott Proctor may have been sobbing it through tears into his glove. Give it a try this holiday weekend, and see what happens. Get back to me later. Tell me how others respond.

And Craig? You keep doing that thing that you do.

How good did that feel?

"Sorry Tigers, we’re not going to take you seriously until you beat the Yankees at least once."

-- Deadspin, 05/31/06

It wasn't looking like a good Thursday night for the Tigers. Earlier in the day, Mike Maroth found out he needs surgery on his injured elbow, which seriously cramps the style of a pitching rotation that had been such a key to the team's success. Was this the return of the dreaded injury plague that turned the Tigers into kitties last season?

And then Detroit, despite still holding the best record in Major League Baseball, was facing a four-game sweep - at home - against those damn New York Yankees. Is this what happens when the Tigers face a so-called "good team"?

(I say "so-called" because the Yankees were throwing line-ups with Terrence Long, Andy Phillips, and Miguel Cairo out there. No Jeter, no Sheffield. WDFN's Matt Dery called them the "Triple-A Yankees.")

Injuries and losses, swirling in a gas can that non-believers have been waiting to pour on the "I told you so" fire all season. And after the Yankees took a five-run lead against the previously dominant Justin Verlander, a sweep looked imminent. The Tigers were six innings away from a five-game losing streak.

Then the Tigers began staging a comeback. Three runs in the fourth inning. Two runs in the fifth (after the Yankees added one of their own). Yankees 6, Tigers 5. But they couldn't score against Scott Proctor in the seventh and eighth, which meant they'd have to face Mariano Rivera in the ninth.

But wait! Just before the game, Rivera's back went into spasms as he was putting on his shoe. No "Hammer of God" in the ninth inning for the Yankees, but the Tigers would still have to face "Superman": their old buddy, Kyle Farnsworth.

Does this mean we can call Carlos Guillen "Kryptonite"? After Magglio Ordonez drove in Marcus Thames to tie the game, Guillen (who was subbing at first base for the now-flat "Orange Crush," Chris Shelton) smoked a Farnsworth fastball down the right-field line. Pudge Rodriguez came home with his arms raised triumphantly, and the Tigers brought back that winning feeling.

And the reviews are in. The Detroit Tigers Weblog and Tiger Tales called it (arguably) the biggest win of the season. Mack Avenue Tigers said the Tigers proved something. The Daily Fungo thought it was beautiful.

Losing streak over. Yankees finally beaten. No sweep. Food tastes good again. Men are kissing women on the street. Birds are singing this morning. The sun is shining. (Well, I assume it is, behind all of the clouds.) Confetti is surely being tossed someplace in the world. Drinks are being raised. (It's five o' clock somewhere, as my lushing friend Mis Hooz might say.)

Damn, that felt good. Thursday night turned out just fine. Who's up next?

The Red Sox? Oooooh, boy. Well, okay - bring 'em on. (And cue the inner conflict - well, maybe - for Skippin' Samela.) But do not - do not - underestimate the run-scoring power of Nate Robertson's Big League Chew.

(Photo by Paul Sancya/ AP)