Bruce Decisions (And Free Music)

Posted: October 13th, 2009 | Filed under: Bruce | 107 Comments »

So, once again, I find myself in a bit of a Bruce Springstreen conundrum. You might recall that last year, I spent days and days trying to decide if I could fly back from the Olympics in China, immediately get in a car when I arrived home in Kansas City, and go right to the Springsteen show in town. I decided — with the help of some brilliant readers — to go ahead and do it. And it was a great great decision. It’s the best Springsteen show I’ve seen.

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Outlaws and Kids

Posted: April 2nd, 2009 | Filed under: Bruce | 48 Comments »

It is surprisingly hard to find any one statement that, say, 90 percent of people you know would agree with. I could say “Education is good” or “Crime is bad” or “Michael Bolton is criminally awful” or “People should clean up after their dogs,” or “Tivo is a great invention,” or “We should support our troops,” or “We should try to help people,” … and it’s quite likely that I would not get 90 percent support.

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Bruce One More Time

Posted: February 2nd, 2009 | Filed under: Bruce | 95 Comments »

So, first, let me tell you about my favorite ever concert: It happened on August 28, 1993 in Atlanta. I would not have known the date except someone put a photograph of the concert ticket on Flickr. Man, you can find just about anything these days on these here Internets.

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Bruce Insta-Poll

Posted: February 1st, 2009 | Filed under: Bruce | 94 Comments »

Have lots of thoughts about Bruce’s halftime for tomorrow, but for now …

1. Working on a Dream sounded better than I thought it would. Choir helped.

2. Got the right songs, but thought for sure he’d go out with Born To Run.

3. Witsh they hadn’t shot off fireworks in rhythm with Born To Run. Somewhere in there seemed a line that was crossed.

4. I’m willing to go all the way with Bruce … but having the fake referee go out there to throw a flag, yeah, bad.

5. Of course, in the end, I loved it.

More Bruce Talk with Spoiler Alert Update

Posted: January 30th, 2009 | Filed under: Bruce | 31 Comments »

There are, as you might imagine, lots of rumors flying around Tampa here during Super Bowl week, some about players, some about celebrity sightings, most about the what songs Bruce Springsteen will play at halftime.

One rumor has been so persistent that I’ll report it here.

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Bruce and Nils

Posted: January 29th, 2009 | Filed under: Bruce | 60 Comments »

This will mostly be about my new musical hero, Nils Lofgren, but first I must give you the update on the Bruce Springsteen press conference here at the Super Bowl. As you probably have heard by now, Springsteen did his first press conference in more than 20 years on Thursday as part of the Super Bowl Halftime Show extravaganza — and as he said, it had to be the first press conference he has ever done with a logo box wrapped around it (it was the NFL logo, of course).

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OK, one more thought

Posted: January 15th, 2009 | Filed under: Bruce | 82 Comments »

I was going to use this as an italic at some point but it has never fit, so I’ll throw it out there.

Have you ever heard a song where you misidentified the lyric? Sure. But have you ever misidentified a lyric and, after you discovered the real lyric, found that you liked your own lyric a whole lot better?

I had that moment with Bruce Springsteen’s The Wrestler. I love the song, of course … there really was never any doubt about that. It’s Springsteen and a guitar and something about loneliness … that’s a slam dunk every time. Only thing is, my absolute favorite line in the song — the line that REALLY made the song go to a whole other level for me — was this one:

“Have you ever seen a scarecrow in a field with nothing but dust and weeds?
If you’ve ever seen that scarecrow then you’ve seen me.”

Man, I love that line. That’s an image for me … I see it in black and white, a dusty field, weeds, broken glass, nothing green, nothing alive, and a broken down scarecrow, just the remains really, and if you’ve ever seen that scarecrow then you’ve seen me. I love that image, I can FEEL that hopelessness, that deep sense of uncertainty and loss. What’s the point anyway? Haven’t we all felt that way at some time in our lives, like a scarecrow standing guard in a field of dust and weeds and emptiness.

But, as you probably know, that’s not how the line actually goes. I heard it wrong. I read the lyrics. And it goes like this …

Have you ever seen a scarecrow filled with nothing but dust and wheat?
If you’ve ever seen that scarecrow then you’ve seen me.

I obviously never would second-guess Bruce Springsteen. But I like my line better.

How to meet famous people

Posted: November 11th, 2008 | Filed under: Bruce, Media, Other Sports, Pop Culture | 67 Comments »

A Herb Score retrospective is coming at some point. RIP Herb. In the meantime, here’s a bit of my life.

* * *

So, last night, I got to meet the writer Dave Eggers. I’m pretty well blown away by Dave Eggers. I almost included him in the acknowledgments section of my Buck O’Neil book, The Soul of Baseball (only $5.99) even though, if you want to get technical, I had never actually met him, and he had nothing whatsoever to do with the book. I just wanted to, you know, acknowledge him. (I acknowledged Ben Folds instead, having never met him either).

It isn’t only that I admire Dave as a writer — though, of course, I do, with Heartbreaking Work, What is the What, the McSweeney’s Kingdom and so on — but I admire him even more as someone who gets stuff done, a guy who writes, edits, cartoons, a guy who has spent so much of his time working with literacy, with young writers, with public schools, with Sudanese refugees, with pirate stuff. He has founded, best I can tell, about 19,000 different magazines and charitable organization.

He also was the key guy behind “The Jump” section in ESPN the Magazine.

This came up, briefly. He somehow figured out that I’m a sportswriter — I can only imagine that an assistant mentioned this since I, as will become apparent, did not — and in an kind effort to connect mentioned his early work with ESPN the Magazine. This was a highlight of the conversation because, quite honestly, I suck at these encounters*.

*OK, it’s 5 a.m. in the Oakland Airport — yeah, 5 a.m., this is what I’m going through so I could meet Dave Eggers — and I am staring straight at one of those little mini-airport billboards for something called “Laser Eye Center of Silicon Valley.” The Laser Eye’s spokesman of choice? Oakland Raiders quarterback JaMarcus Russell.

I have to wonder if, in retrospect, Dr. Gary and the good people at Laser Eye regret putting all their commercial faith in the church of Jamarcus Russell Accuracy. What’s he hitting these days, about 45 percent of his passes? I mean, the guy could overthrow Wyoming. I’m not saying they should have completely abandoned the whole JaMarcus sales strategy, I’m just thinking they could have toned down the accuracy part just a little bit, you know, maybe gone with something a little more subtle like, “Great Arm. Improved Vision. JaMarcus can throw 80 yards. And if you think he misses receivers now, you should have seen him BEFORE Dr. Gary Kawesch enhanced his vision. I mean, seriously, the guy was like almost blind. He kept calling Dr. Gary, ‘Al.’ At one point, he tried to eat one of our coasters because he mistook it for a delicious cinnamon bear claw. Believe us, it could have been a lot worse.”

Truth is, I have absolutely no idea how to engage famous people in conversation. This is also true for semi-famous people and also, you know, not-famous-at-all people. Basically, I’m not all that great with strangers and real conversation. I mentioned here before that Margo and I have seen Paul Rudd around Kansas City — good to see Paul pounding Vince Vaughn in online polling — and she keeps insisting I go over and introduce myself, and I keep insisting that, no, I’m not going to do that. Because I’m not any good at that stuff.

She says: “But you’re a sportswriter. You meet famous people all the time.”

This is true. What she fails to realize even after all these years is that I, like many journalists, have a very different persona when I’m working. Journalism is like an excuse, a personal freedom, to ask Tiger Woods directly what was going through his mind on the putt, to ask Peyton Manning why he keeps pointing at every defender in that goofy “I know you! I know you!” act he does before ever snap,* to ask Albert Pujols how got to be so awesome. I approach people in my job, generally speaking, because I HAVE to do that in order to do my job. I have always been a stand in the corner kind of person at parties. And, away from work, I still am.

To illustrate this in the clumsiest way possible: I have a sportswriter friend who — long story short — found himself chasing an unwilling and somewhat hostile interview subject through an airport. He had to get a comment from the subject, and for similar reasons, the subject had to get away without giving a comment. Both men were playing their roles — subject walking away and saying “no comment,” reporter battering him still with new questions. Finally the subject wheeled on him and pleaded, “You know I’m not going to answer your questions. Why do you keep bothering me?” The sportswriter pulled out his a photo of his family and said, “THIS is why I keep bothering you. To put food on the table for them!” Overstated? Yeah, maybe. But when you need a quote, man …

*The best quarterback pointing act I ever saw happened in Minnesota in 2003 when the Kansas City Chiefs started the year 9-0 despite having one of the most baffled defensive units in the history of professional football. The Chiefs won those first nine games because the offense scored a bajillion points — that was the year Priest Holmes scored 27 touchdowns. The defense was slapstick comedy. Anyway, in Minnesota, the Vikings were in a passing situation and then, the cornerback covering Randy Moss showed that he was blitzing. He showed WAY too early.

At this point, of course, trained seals would know to call off the corner blitz, but the Chiefs did not have a trained seal as a defensive coordinator then. They had Greg Robinson. The blitz was called again, Culpepper dropped three steps, the corner came charging in, Culpepper threw a high and long pass to the end zone, Randy Moss ran under it and scored virtually uncovered. That was fun.

Point is, I’m terrible in real-life encounters with famous people. Sometimes, for bizarre reasons, I get interviewed, and I am sometimes asked the , “If you could have lunch with one person in history, who would it be?” question. I never know how to answer that. Other people come up with great responses, like they’ve really thought this one through. “Hmm, Napoleon? No, he would be reticent. Maybe Elvis..” Finally, they will come up with an impressive-sounding answer like “Copernicus” or “Marie Curie” or “Jesus.” What the heck would I say to Marie Curie? I mean, yeah, if I was doing a story on her, I suppose I could ask something like, “So, wow, what were you thinking when you did, like, all your pioneering work in radioactivity?” Or: “When you came up with new techniques for isolating radioactive isotopes, that was awesome.”

But I suspect if I ever REALLY had a lunch conversation with a famous historical figure, it would go like this:

Me: So, um, this is a good bread, right?
Marie Curie: It is good, yes.
Me: Bad idea to fill up on the bread though.
Marie Curie: Yes.
Me (after long pause): So what are you ordering?
Marie Curie: The salmon, I think.
Me: Yeah, I like a good salmon.
Marie Curie: Right.
Me (after longer pause): I think I’m going with the chicken.
Marie Curie: Yes.
Me: Yeah. … So. This really is good bread.
Marie Curie: It is good, yes.
Me (panicking now after very long pause): So, um, why is it that elevators at hotels have the buttons on different sides? Um, you know, sometimes the buttons are on the right side of the elevator, and sometimes they are on the left, and you never know, It’s like a button surprise every time you get in an elavator. It’s like when you rent a car and you don’t know which side the gas tank is on? You know what I mean. And then you get on the elevator, and end up on the wrong side, you’re just looking at a blank wall, you know, and that’s just kind of embarrassing, and you have to ask the other person in the elevator to hit the button for your floor and, like, now you’re treating a stranger like he is the elevator guy from The Jeffersons, you know?
Marie Curie: I do not know.
Me: Yeah. I guess maybe that guy was actually the doorman on the Jeffersons.
Marie Curie: I do know know what you mean.
Me: You know, the guy who always wanted to get a tip and George Jefferson kept slamming the door in his face.
Marie Curie: I have never seen The Jeffersons. I have been busy winning two Nobel Prizes and being the first female professor at the University of Paris.
Me: Yeah, I guess so. Sorry.
Marie Curie: I am not at all certain why you chose me as your lunchtime historical figure.
Me: Yeah, that was probably a mistake. I’m giving you that.
Marie Curie: You were trying to impress the questioner, I suppose.
Me: Um, yeah.
Marie Curie: You had to look up the isotopes joke above, didn’t you?
Me (embarrassed): Yeah. Wikipedia. That’s where I got the University of Paris bit too.
Marie Curie: I thought so.
Me (after about 20 minute pause): So, this is really good bread.

The conversation with Dave Eggers did not go quite this awkwardly but that was because I was with my buddy Pop Warner, a big-time music executive and all, and so he more or less grabbed the conversation and steered it through the various icebergs. Pops, being an executive and salesman and all, knows how to keep a conversation moving. This guy can get farm animals to download Missy Higgins music. Anyway, the two of them got into a fairly interesting conversation about the future of music delivery and what role short films play in the new media age, and the only real part I played (after the epic, “I worked at ESPN,” portion of the conversation) came somewhat toward the end when my buddy talked about Rhapsody.

Dave Eggers said: “See, I don’t know what Rhapsody is.” Seems that Dave — and I would not have expected this — has sort of stripped down his life as far as technology goes. He said he does not have Internet at his home, for example. I don’t know, this just cut against my image of him*. I figured he would be mega-plugged in. Anyway, after saying he did not know what Rhapsody was, Dave then gave me an opening to participate in the conversation, which as you will see, I boldly and aggressively accepted.

Dave: See, I don’t know what Rhapsody is. (Turned to me). Do you know what Rhapsody is?
Me: Kind of. I’m not entirely sure how it works …
Dave: So, good, I’m glad I’m not the only one who doesn’t know what Rhapsody is

In other words, I was able to play the, “See, this guy is dumb too,” role in the conversation. And I was proud to do it.

*Speaking of something that cuts against image, I’ve become utterly fascinated by the Mac/PC commercial. The reason I was able to meet Dave Eggers is that I went to see a fundraiser in San Francisco that featured a conversation between him and John Hodgman, the writer who plays PC in those commercials. An actor by the name of Justin Long plays Mac in those commercials.

Long did date Drew Barrymore, however. And he was the voice of Alvin in “Alvin and the Chipmunks.” For what that’s worth.

I should say here that this inability to speak to people I greatly admire is not exactly nervousness. I don’t really get nervous talking to people anymore. The last time I REALLY got nervous talking to anyone was probably 20 years ago, when I met Bob Costas (and don’t worry, I won’t tell that story again). The crazy job I do has put me in position to talk to extraordinarily famous people, you know, like Dick Vitale*. Oh yeah, I can handle fame.

No, I would say my issue with talking to famous people is more about my relative inability to do small talk — THAT is an artform, my friends — and my general reluctance to bother people. When in conversation with Dave Eggers, my mind is at all times asking one simple question: “Would Dave Eggers rather be sitting here talking to me … or would he rather be somewhere else, like with his family or with his friends or in the bathroom or watching a ballgame or making meaningful small talk with someone who is rich and famous and could actually help him raise money for one of the 878 worthy causes that he so generously supports?” My mind is not fooled. He would rather be somewhere else. He seems like a very nice guy. And he would rather be somewhere else. And really the best thing I could do here is let him go be somewhere else.

*OK, I kid Dick Vitale — who I like very much, in fact. But I do have to share this one story with you because, not to name drop again, but I once was the master of ceremonies of a program that featured Dick. And he sat next to my wife Margo and me all during dinner, and he was wonderful, charming, told stories, made my wife feel like a million bucks. Later he sent us a package with all of the books he had written — just the postage on that package had to be $418 — so, I’m not kidding when I tell you that Dick Vitale is one hell of a guy.

Sure. Win-win. You know, I don’t really know what he said after the “Let’s just say I’m getting $30,000 to be here tonight” part of the conversation. Because to be the MC that night I was getting paid … a coupon to get a pair of pants. And I was darned happy to be getting those pants. Most of the time, I get coffee mugs when I speak. And frankly, I’ve heard myself speak, I don’t even deserve the coffee mugs. The thing is, Vitale was being very sincere and fatherly when he recommended the private jet; he thought he was giving me pretty solid advice. Sometimes, now, when I go on trips I will say to Margo, “So what do you think, private jet?” She will suggest sticking with the dented Altima.

So, anyway, the Dave Eggers conversation went really well. No, I didn’t really get to tell him how much I admire his work , didn’t happen to mention that I specifically came to San Francisco to meet him, didn’t talk to him about world events or get any great details or gossip about all the writers and famous people he knows, didn’t ask for advice how to start our own literacy charity that Margo and I have been working on for a couple of years, didn’t talk to him what comes next, didn’t really accomplish much of anything. I did tell him that I only had only a vague sense of what Rhapsody is, though. I figured that will stick with him.

And I left with the solace that if it had been Bruce Springsteen, I would have been even worse.

Why, on second thought, I dislike the Jacobs Deal

Posted: November 3rd, 2008 | Filed under: Baseball, Bruce, Other Sports, Pop Culture | 88 Comments »

Daylight Savings Time fascinates me. It utterly fascinates me that everyone in the entire country — or at least all the affected areas of our great nation — will agree twice a year to change time. Here we all are, every last one of us, saying: “OK, yeah, you know what? It’s not 10 o’clock anymore. Nope. From now on, it’s 9 o’clock. No, really I’m being very serious here, turn your watch back. It’s 9 o’clock now, and until further notice this will be 9 o’clock. No, I don’t care what you think. We’ll make it 10 o’clock again later, but it’s 9 o’clock now. Yeah. That’s right. Show up for work tomorrow at the new 9 o’clock.”

We live in a country of such diversity — nobody agrees on ANYTHING. But everyone changes their clock. I’m stunned that there is not a major group out there somewhere that simply refuses to abide by DST. You know what I mean? I guess they would rebel by showing up an hour early for everything all winter long.

“You said you would be here at 8 p.m.”
“It is 8 p.m. on the button.”
“No, it’s not. It’s 9 p.m. You’re an hour late.”
“Um, no, I don’t think so. My watch, my phone, the clock on that wall, they all say it’s only 8 p.m.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, you must be one of those DAYLIGHT SAVINGS slaves. One of those mindless watch-changing sheep who believe whatever they are told.”
“Um, you know, I think e-Harmony might have messed up.”
“I’m sorry, heh heh, I should have told you, I don’t believe in that stuff. I believe that human beings cannot change the clock for their own greedy purposes. Anyway, please don’t be late again.”
“I’m not late.”
“If you had been any later, we might have missed the movie. It starts at 9:15.
“The movie doesn’t start for another hour.”
“Damn it! Why is that? The imperial clock people rule our great nation. Well, what can we do now? I wish the restaurant was still open.”
“It is open for another hour.”
“Really? How odd.”

Undecided presidential voters fascinate me. I know lots of people wonder how anyone could be undecided at this point. But I’m more curious about how long they plan to keep this undecided thing going. Do they plan on being undecided as they walk into the booth? Or will they make their final choice on the car ride over? And what exactly helps them decide? I’m thinking that they are probably putting their choice in the hands of fate at this point: “OK, if I pass more blue cars than red cars on the way to the voting booth, I’m viewing that as a sign and I’m definitely going with Obama. There’s a blue car, that’s one and … oh, wait, there’s a man walking with a cain. A CAIN. McCain. That’s gotta be a sure sign, OK, when I get there I’m pulling the … oh wait, look at that giant rock on the side of the road. A rock. Barack. Well, wait, there’s a bathroom, and another name for bathroom is …”

Adults who dress up for Halloween fascinate me. I’m not opposed to it, exactly, I’m just not entirely sure what it is that drives people to do it, especially the people who, like, hire Hollywood makeup artists and spend seven or eight hours trying to look like Heath Ledger’s Joker*. Our neighbors had a Halloween block party, and there were women dressed like witches and men dressed as convicts and so on, and hey, it’s fine with me, I’m a pretty open guy, but I’m just thinking that people might want to keep that stuff in their homes, if you know what I mean.

I will say that if I ever did dress up (a very, very unlikely scenario, I admit) I would want to find one of those incredibly cheap Superman costumes from my childhood, you know, the kind that came in a thin cardboard box with the cellophane front, the kind that had the incredibly cheap plastic mask that was held together by a rubber band and two staples, the kind that included the paper thin costume that would rip if you even THOUGHT about scissors. I don’t see those costumes anywhere now. I fear the cheap costumes of our childhood — like Pong, Gnip Gnop and the Banana Splits (tra-la-la, la-la-la-la, tra-la-la, la-la-la-la-la) — are gone forever.

*Classic opening to The Office this week with everybody dressing up like Heath Ledger’s Joker. And it reminds me, as a couple of brilliant readers pointed out, that I have not mentioned the classic Bruce Springsteen scene on The Office last week. I won’t relive the whole thing except to say that Michael lists off his ten favorite Bruce Springsteen songs and these include three Huey Lewis and the News songs, “Fast Cars ” by Tracy Chapman and “Short People.”

This is brilliant and leads to one point I’ve been thinking about with Bruce: I’m a big fan of Pandora, a new kind of Internet radio that claims to play only the music that you like. You type in an artist you like and Pandora is supposed to magically come up with a long setlist of music, featuring all sorts of artists who are similar, and you will have hours of musical enjoyment. It works too — or at least it has worked really well for some of the music I like: Death Cab, the Hold Steady, Ben Folds, 10,000 Maniacs, U2, REM, David Gray, whatever. But the Springsteen channel, for me, is like death. I don’t like hardly ANYTHING on it. I’m not sure what it says about me that I love Springsteen completely but cannot tolerate virtually every other artist who is supposed to be in his genre. Weird.

Finally, there is something about a baseball trade that fascinates me. It is this: I have come to believe that a successful trade, in the end, is not necessarily one where you get a better player than the one you gave up. Yes, that’s how you trade baseball cards, and it’s how you trade in rotisserie baseball. And it’s how trades are generally analyzed — who got the better of the deal.

But I think now that this is pretty flawed thinking, that a successful trade is one that improves your baseball TEAM in a measurable way. And the longer I follow baseball — and all sports, really — the more I suspect that those are two very different things.

I’m going to use the Royals-Marlins trade to try and get at my point here. Last week, the Royals traded relief pitcher Leo Nunez to Florida in exchange for “first baseman” Mike Jacobs. Here is a very brief breakdown of the two men.

Nunez: Middle reliever, slight build, throws pretty hard but doesn’t strike out many, won’t be 25 until next August, went 4-1 with a 2.98 ERA in limited innings this year, seems pretty frail, throws strikes. Seems like a pretty decent seventh-inning choice. Could develop another pitch and emerge Ryan Madson style I suppose. Was called the batboy when he first came up because, OK, he looked like he was the batboy.

Jacobs: Designated hitter in a league that doesn’t have them. Banged 32 home runs last year, slugged .514, doesn’t walk, I mean at all. Hit career-low .247 last year but BABIP suggests he was unlucky. Hits .269/.329/.521 against righties and has been less than useless against lefties. Has had league average OPS+ or better every year because of his power. Arbitration eligible so he should pull in a couple million this year. Is not Jewish, despite the Jewish-sounding last name, which led to much hilarity when they gave out Jacobs’ jerseys on Jewish Heritage Day in Florida.

OK, so my first reaction to this trade follows exactly the way I USED to feel about baseball trades, which is this: The Royals made a perfectly fine trade. I don’t see Nunez being especially tough to replace, and the Royals clearly need power (they finished 13th in the AL in homers), and Jacobs did crank 32 homers in only 477 at-bats. He could, if nothing else, fill the Steve Balboni role* on the club, and if you hit him seventh he might help you despite his obvious limitations.

*OK, my wife ran across this on YouTube — don’t even ASK me how she found it. It’s a show called ”BackOnTopps,“ which is about two heirs to the Topps Baseball Card fortune. I have not fully absorbed the plot to be honest with you but I can tell you that Episode 7 is called ”Balboner“ and it is everything that any great Steve Balboni fan (and who isn’t one) could ever want.

And it goes from there. Let’s just say that the episode includes Steve Balboni’s brother Sal (played brilliantly, of course, by Ed Helms) and an exercise device called the Balboner. I don’t think I need to say any more. You will not even read the rest of this blog post.

Point is, I was OK with this deal. Not thrilled, of course. You can’t be thrilled by a .299 on-base percentage or a first baseman who scores a -27 (MINUS-TWENTY-SEVEN for those of you who prefer word puzzles) on the Dewan fielding scale. That -27 made him the 35th best first baseman in the sport that has 30 Major League teams. But, again, the Royals really didn’t give up very much. And in a very conventional way — measuring one player against another — I figured the Royals would probably make out OK, maybe even come out ahead if Jacobs could have a few more balls fall in for hits in 2008 (his BABIP last year was .260 — well below league average and by far the lowest of his career.)

Then, however, I started talking to baseball people, and I started to think about this, and I started to see the trade very differently. Does it really make any sense for the Kansas City Royals to add a low-OBP, no defense, semi-first base slugger? Does this kind of move make the Royals better as a team or does it, in fact, take them the other way?

You often hear people in baseball making somewhat vague statements about how you cannot ”abandon the plan“ and you have to ”stay consistent,“ and how championship teams build ”great chemistry.“

I’ve long thought that people said that stuff just because it sounds pretty good and you can take it to mean whatever you like. But you know what? If you break those things down, I think you find they do mean something in real life:

1. Do not abandon the plan: When the offseason began, Royals general manager Dayton Moore was frank and unequivocal: The Royals HAD TO improve their on-base percentage. Well, it just made sense. The Royals batters finished dead last — DEAD LAST — in walks last season. That would be 30th out of 30 teams. The Royals had plenty of other offensive problems, of course — power being one of those problems — but a team with a big ballpark and a small budget just cannot afford to walk fewer times than every other team in baseball. Moore seemed to understand this.

So this was the plan: On-base percentage. On base-percentage. On base per-centage. Put the hyphen wherever you want. When I talked to Dayton at the end of the season, he must have used that phrase 20 times or more. On-base percentage. That was the plan.

And then — he went out and traded for a guy who had a .299 on-base percentage last year.

That’s officially “abandoning the plan.” The Royals have done this stuff for years. They talk about how they want to build the team around defense, and they get lousy defensive players. They talk about how they need to manufacture runs, and then they put a lineup out there for slow players who can’t get on base. They talk, they can talk, they can bicker, they can talk, they can bicker, bicker, bicker, they can talk talk talk, and then their actions go counter to what they’re saying. They don’t know the territory.

See, thing is, nobody wants to abandon the plan. Nobody abandons for the fun of it. No, baseball people abandon plans for very specific reasons — because their resources get cut, because they collapse under media and fan pressure, because an owner changes his mind midstream or — and this is the big one — because they are tempted by the fruits of another. Dayton Moore REALLY REALLY REALLY wants to improve the Royals on-base percentage. I don’t doubt that one bit. But, hey, then the Marlins are looking to trade a first baseman with some slug who doesn’t get on base. And he thinks, “Ah, to heck with that on-base percentage thing. Give me the power hitter.”

Now, you can say, the Royals already have Billy Butler, Ryan Shealy, Kila Ka’aihue, Mark Teahen, Alex Gordon, Ross Gload, all who can play first base. As one baseball insider told me as he disgustedly talked about this move: “You don’t accumulate talent at first base.”

But Jacobs can slug the ball. He’s sluggerific. Also he will occasionally, you know, slug one out.

Now you can say that if you really wanted an ultra limited, can’t get on base, can’t play a position slugger, you could surely get one for a LOT cheaper than you could get Mike Jacobs.

But … Sluggin’! Slugger! Slugga!

And that’s how you abandon the plan.

2. Stay consistent. Last year, the Kansas City Royals started Ross Gload at first base 100 out of 162 games. They did this even though Ross Gload’s slugging percentage for the season was .348. Why Gload? Well, the reasoning goes — agree with it or not — Gload is a reasonably slick fielding first baseman. He will give you a professional at-bat — from June 22 on he hit .301. He doesn’t complain and he doesn’t say much and he doesn’t generally do stupid things that will embarrass anybody.

At the time, the Royals had options. They had Billy Butler, a brilliant young hitter who they hoped could become a decent first baseman. They had Ryan Shealy in the minors, a guy they got by trading TWO pitchers with live arms in the belief that he would bring the club a power bat (Shealy came up in September, finally, and banged seven homers in 20 games). They also had 24-year-old Kila Ka’aihue, a first baseman from Hawaii who has always stuck out in the Royals system because even in his bad years he showed pretty remarkable patience (a lifetime .382 on-base percentage in the minors despite a few VERY low batting average years). He had a rather sudden and impressive power surge in 2008 (37 homers in AA and AAA and one more in the big leagues). They also had Mark Teahen, who could play first base if they wanted to open up the outfield a little bit. And Alex Gordon who some think will end up at first base.

What did they do? They stuck with Ross Gload. Now I’m not discussing the absurdity of this move right now (I already explained the Gloaden Rule) I’m just saying that the Royals plainly were willing to sacrifice power potential at first place in order to get that relatively slick defense and professional hitting and whatever else it is that Ross Gload brings to the table.

The first day in the off-season, they trade for Mike Jacobs. You tell me: Is that consistent?

3. Build team chemistry. I’ve thought about team chemistry a lot — what is it? Does it exist? Is it a baseball myth? That’s probably worth a whole series of blog posts.

In short, my theory is that I do think chemistry exists, but I don’t think it has anything to do with how well the guys pal around in the clubhouse or how much leadership players bring with their competitiveness and will to win.

Instead, I think team chemistry represents getting a group of players together who do SOMETHING very, very well. Take a bullpen — you often hear how great bullpens have great chemistry. Well, my feeling is that if you get me a lefty who can get out lefties, a strikeout righty who can pitch two innings, a nasty closer who throws strikes and a couple of other solid pitchers who know and appreciate their roles, I’ll promise you a bullpen with “great chemistry.” I don’t care if there’s a Hatfield in there, a McCoy, a La Russa, a Rolen, a Palin, a McCain, a Ben, a Jennifer … doesn’t matter. The way I look at it now, it’s not personality that makes chemistry. It’s how their talents mesh.

The Twins pitching staff has chemistry because they all throw strikes. You know what I mean? The ‘75 Reds had chemistry (did I mention I’m writing this book?) because they would take a walk, they all played good defense, they could run a little bit, the pitchers all felt under-appreciated and disliked Sparky.

So, my point is that when you’re building ”team chemistry“ I don’t think you’re mixing and matching personalities in some sort of grand science experiment. No, I think what you are really doing is building a team in the image that you believe in.

And let’s face it, in baseball, you can go countless ways. Do you want pitchers who don’t walk anybody and pitch to contact? OK, that’s fine, but if you want team chemistry you probably need to put a good defense behind them. And if you want to build a good defense, you probably need to sacrifice something on offense — power? On-base percentage? Batting average? Something.

Maybe, instead, you want power pitchers with high strikeouts and walks. OK, then you might want a catcher who can control the running game somewhat and outfielder who can go chase fly balls because maybe your high strikeout/high walk pitchers naturally give up fly balls. Of course, it also depends on the ballpark you play in, and the altitude in your city, and the wallet size and commitment of your owner, and your basic plan to score runs. And it also depends on the philosophy of the manager you hire (unless you want to hire another one) and then you have to build a minor league system with coaches who buy into your philosophy and so on and so on, and it’s really a very involved process. Or it should be.

You can go a million different ways. But, in my view, you HAVE TO CHOOSE. That’s getting at the core of what I believe about baseball now. I think you need a plan that is much more involved than just grabbing a bunch of good players with varying skills and just hoping that it all works out for the best. Mike Jacobs might hit 30 home runs for the Royals this year. He might get his on-base percentage up into the respectable range. He might have his best year. He might. He might. And it isn’t like the Royals traded away a star to get him.

But, more I think about it, I don’t see how he fits into any sort of plan. At all. And the more I think about it, the more I feel certain that this is precisely the kind of move you do not make.

* * *

Oh. One other thing. According to dnScoop, the value of this site has, um, gone up a lot. You can make your checks payable to …

Exhaustion and Bruce

Posted: August 25th, 2008 | Filed under: Bruce, International | 72 Comments »

You know the Mel Brooks quote about the difference between comedy and tragedy. At its simplest: Tragedy is me hurting my finger. Comedy is you falling in a manhole — what do I care? I think you can use the same technique to describe the difference between interesting and boring.

Interesting is my fantasy football team. Boring is YOUR fantasy football team.

Interesting is my best golf round ever. Boring is YOUR best golf round ever.

Interesting is my minor celebrity sighting. Boring is YOUR story of seeing Alan Thicke.

Interesting is my crazy cab ride to the Beijing airport at the end of the Olympics. And boring is … me telling you all about my crazy cab ride to the Beijing airport at the end of the Olymipcs. But it’s where my longest day began, my 37-hour day that took me to four airports, four time zones, three airlines, six near death experiences (all on the one cab ride), three beautiful hugs and one long blur that was snapped into focus by a song I’ve been waiting to hear all my life.

Understand, I’ve been on crazy cab rides before, lots of them, in any number of cities. I like them — there’s a county fair kind of thrill to scary cab rides. You know how at a county fair, you ride the Ferris wheel, and close to the top you notice that the bolts are rusted through and you suspect that they weren’t tightened with much enthusiasm that morning, and you realize that this near-bankrupt traveling fair probably doesn’t have the same quality control standards as, say, Disney World, and, you COULD die — you probably will not die, but you really could. That’s the same thrill I feel in a swerving cab*.

*I’ve only been in one taxi cab accident, it was in Indianapolis, and it’s a moment I now remember for the astonishing fury which my cabbie unleashed on the other driver (even though it was entirely the cab drivers fault) and for the way my meter rolled like the Jerry Lewis Telethon toteboard while he berated the poor driver for having the gall to be in the left lane at that precise instant when the cab swerved into him.

But Indianapolis — you would expect cab rides to be priced-to-move there. But no, I’ve thought the cab prices there are ludicrous, way, way, way above the city’s grandeur factor. There is no secondary benefits to paying an obscene amount of money for a cab ride in Indianapolis. This is like getting pick-pocketed in Des Moines — it sucks AND it’s no fun to talk about. Denver also has an astonishingly high CRPE.

Still, I had never been on a cab ride that really had me scared enough to consider saving my own life by jumping out. Well, I have now. Five times on my trip to the Beijing airport, we were on a four-lane road and my cab driver felt it necessary to pass between two cars driving along in their individual lanes. Twice he realized that the only way he could get around a car in the right lane was to duck down into the shoulder and the grass and then wildly weave back once he had 1.3 millimeters of clearance. My cab driver spoke precisely no English, so I had to learn how to read his body language, which actually wasn’t that hard:

– When he hit the car horn, this meant he was a bit frustrated by the pace of traffic. This happened ever .3 seconds.
– When he shrugged, this meant “Don’t worry, it’s all under control,” even as I sat quivering under the glove compartment.
– When he groaned, this meant he was running into some trouble calculating how he would pull off his next stunt. This was always followed by the “Well, here goes nothing” look and that was followed, improbably, by Steve McQueen’s car being right in front of us*.

*I’ve always been fascinated by the bad-guy movie cars that smash through bridge guard rails or end up blowing up in mid air in, say, a Jason Bourne car chase or a James Bond thing or whatever. What do you think is going through the head of those henchman drivers? I keep imagine them going, “Um, I’m driving a tad fast here. Hello. I might want to slow down a bit. I mean, sure, I really want to catch this guy, but you know I’m really a pretty safe driver, you know, like I have no points on my license, and also I’ve never really seen any of these high-speed car chases work. And I don’t really want to do a 2 1/2 somersault with a twist off a cliff. Plus, you know what? I haven’t exactly been trained for this — I kept asking the boss to enroll us in that stunt driving course, but no, that guy’s SO cheap, he’s stolen like a billion dollars but he doesn’t think it’s worth it to let me take one weekend class at the Richard Petty School of Driving — I mean, just the weekend, I wasn’t even asking for the whole course. Screw this, I’m stopping at this stop light, I don’t care.”

After almost dying in a cab, after dealing with the inevitable “Where is ticket” confrontation at the Beijing airport, after getting a choice middle seat roughly the width of a trade paperback to Tokyo, after paying 59 bajillion yen again for faltering Internet at Narita Airport — this is the third time in a year, so apparently they PURPOSELY have a fading Internet connection there — after getting woken up on the plane ride to LA by an overzealous flight attendant who felt sure I both wanted and needed a hot towel, after the joy of landing in Los Angeles where my cell phone worked again after three weeks (“You have 48 new messages!”), after going to a sports bar and having a stale quesadilla that tasted like the best thing ever made in Mexico City (I like Mexican food fine, but I have to tell you that for whatever reason I was DYING for something remotely Mexican tasting after my three weeks in Beijing), after getting on the plane home and falling into sleep so fast and deep I did not even remember putting away my carry-on bag (and as such had a hard time finding them), after all that, I made it home to my beautiful wife and beautiful kids. There was the expected hugging, the expected “You were gone too long,” anger, the expected gift joy, the expected chattering, the expected, “OK, now you’re home, can we go to Wendy’s?” return to normalcy.

And then … well, every so often, if you are lucky, you will have a moment that makes you realize all over again that you married the right person. When I got home after all that flying, it was made very clear by my wife (and the babysitter she had hired) that we were going to see Bruce Springsteen. The reason wasn’t the poll or my own feelings about Bruce or anything like that. No, the reason was much simpler and much closer to the heart. Margo wanted to go.

* * *

I’ve written here a lot of words about my feelings about Bruce Springsteen. Well, lots of people have written a lot of words about Bruce. At some point, like with all great things, words fail. Words must fail. If I could REALLY tell you what it’s like to walk on top of the Great Wall of China — if I could really find words that captured the feeling of awe, the sense of wonder, the ghosts of history, if I could tell you the story in such a way so you could see the the depth of green beyond the walls, if I could find the words that would make your feet hurt. make your skin burn, make your sweaty shirt stick to your back, fill your lungs with the hazy air, if I could get you to feel the old woman who grabs your hand and shouts “Cold water!” as she touches the lukewarm bottle to your arm, if I could get it down so precisely that you could experience even the tiniest sensation … then, why would you go?

So, I will not be able to explain well enough what it was like to hear Springsteen begin his Kansas City show with “Ricky Wants A Man of Her Own.” This is such an obscure Bruce Springsteen song that I could not precisely place it until the chorus. It isn’t on any of his studio albums. It’s on “Tracks,” — his collection of B-sides, unreleased music, remakes and such. I have probably only heard it once or twice, and even then only to hear the songs around it. As far as I know, Springsteen has not played it in concert in … well, I don’t keep up with this stuff like many of my friends do, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he hasn’t played it in 20 years or more*.

*As an update: BruceSpringsteen.net suggests this may have been the first time he ever played the song live.

It’s a good song … I’ve since listened to it again. But it wasn’t the song that made the moment. It was the realization that Springsteen wanted to make this night different and special. Of course, he wants to make every night special, I think that’s at the heart of why he still tours the world even though he’s almost 58 years old and richer than Gates and more famous than perhaps any other rock star in America. What could inspire the man to keep singing “Dancing in the Dark” in dark arenas and muggy football stadiums almost 30 years after he wrote those words, “They say you gotta stay hungry/hey baby, I’m just about starving tonight” so many years after those words found new meaning. I’ve spent a lot of time guessing at the reason Springsteen keeps going, too much time probably, and the closest I can get is that for the people who love him and his music, he can still take us to that higher place. Maybe that’s the only way he can get there himself.*

*I felt this again on Sunday night when he went into a long soliloquy before singing “Mary’s Place.” In it, he talked about how sometimes he needs convincing, how it takes a connection between the music and the fans, the singer and the sprit, to make the night explode. And I thought that was as close as we can get — there’s something a Springsteen show and those who want to be a part of it that makes nitroglycerine.

Even so, there was something different about this night in Kansas City. It was his last night on the Magic Tour. And there was an overwhelming feeling of “last night” — Danny Federici is gone, the Big Man Clarence Clemons looks tired and in pain, and sooner or later the music ends. I have little doubt that the E-Street Band will play together again, many times you would hope, but there was still something in the air, something that said it would never be like THIS again. We wondered if Bruce felt it too. Then he opened up with “Ricky Wants A Man of Her Own.” And we knew. He did feel it. He understood.

He ran around the stage like he was 25 again. He did a somersault. He spun around the microphone like a child at recess. He preached and he screeched and he blew kisses. He sat over the edge of the stage and let people smother him. He stuck out his guitar and let fans fingers run over his strings during the long guitar blast before “The highway’s jammed with broken heroes,” in “Born to Run.” He ran across the stage and did his slide, something I had only seen him do on vintage video from those long ago years. He did the “lightning bolt” pose that Usain Bolt did after he ran faster than any human who ever lived. Max Weinberg sang. Little Steven challenged Bruce to a guitar duel. Springsteen himself leaned over his fans, let them hold him up … that’s the blurry photograph I took. It’s so blurry that it’s hard to tell where Bruce ends and the fans begin, hard to tell even that there are people in the picture. That’s why I like it. That’s how it looked to me.

He sang “Cynthia,” for the first time in a long time, he broke into a remake of the Chuck Berry song “It’s All Over Now.” He sang “Hungry Heart,” though he really didn’t sing it, he merely held up the microphone and listened as the crowd sang. He brought out a little politics and broke into a haunting version of “Devils and Dust.” He took requests and played “Working on the Highway” and “Cadillac Ranch” and “Candy’s Room.” He sang a song I don’t believe I’ve ever heard before, a song called “Boys,” and he broke into an awesome solo of “Save the Last Dance for Me” before jumping into one more stirring “Dancing in the Dark.”

It really was magical — a word I would rather not use, but it’s one that all the people around me kept saying (“Isn’t this magical?”). I’m sure it was a great, great concert for anyone, even someone who had never seen Springsteen before and was unfamiliar with his music. But for all those people who marked at least a part of their lives by the man — and I have to say that I was surrounded by those people — it was something even better than a great concert, it was that feeling that, for one moment anyway, you are in the right place, and there’s no place else to be.

Bruce played for more than three hours, which is insane enough, and there weren’t any breaks, weren’t many soft songs, it was a stand-up concert, it was a participation concert, it was a throw your arms up concert, and by the end of it everyone was exhausted. It’s possible that I was more tired than most, having slept about three airplane hours the previous two and a half days and about 20 hours the previous three weeks. The Olympics … whew. When he came out for the encore, he began with “4th of July, Asbury Park (Sandy)” which is a great song, but it is slow, and in that instant I felt so tired, so drained, it hit me in eyes, and I thought, “If I close my eyes right now, I will hibernate for the next two months.” I pried my eyes open, and I looked at Bruce singing, and he became blurry, like I was looking at him through my phone camera, and I started to drift …

And then they played Tenth Avenue Freeze-Out, and the Big Man walked out to the middle of the stage for his moment. And I was back up again.

And then they played “Born To Run,” with the lights on so that everyone could see everything.

And then … the song. I really don’t know how to sum up my feelings about Springsteen — I just like to be around Springsteen fans who understand. But it’s like this: If asked to list my 10 favorite Springsteen songs, Rosalita would not be on my list. There are, for me, just too many other great songs. Rosalita might not even be Top 20.

But If I was asked to list off the 10 songs I would like to hear Bruce Springsteen (or anyone else) perform live, Rosalita would be first, second, third and sixth. It’s the ultimate live song, the ultimate personal experience, because it isn’t about the words, and it isn’t about the rhythm, and it isn’t about the instruments, and it isn’t about anything except the exuberance of music, the intensity of young love, the joy of first success, the ecstasy of crossing the line … in other words, all those things that Rock n’ Roll means. I had never seen the Mighty E-Street Band do Rosalita. I had only lived it through recordings and memories of friends.

And then … they did it. And it was wild and alive and beautiful and silly, and I leaned over and hugged my wife who had told me to come, and the Big Man himself sang those words that wrap it all up: “Someday we’ll look back on this and it’ll all seem funny.” And that was it. That was the best it could ever be for me.

The concert went on after that — Updike wrote that every true story has an anticlimax. The band wrapped up with “Rockin’ All Over the World,” a John Fogerty song, and it was good, but it wasn’t life altering, and you wished they would have played one more. Then again, maybe that made it just right. Maybe we should always want one more. Otherwise, what’s left?