Category Archives: Baseball

Studio 60 on Roosevelt Avenue Marathon!

Hi folks, this is Sandy Alderson, TV’s Sandy Alderson on Studio 60 on Roosevelt Avenue. I’m sorry to say there won’t be a new episode this week, as NBS is airing a special two-hour edition of So You Think You Can Catch a Predator?

However, if you want to relive the exciting first season of the most compelling program of this or any era, you can have a marathon in the privacy of your own home! Just click on any of the links below to view your favorite episode(s) and fall in love with our little cowtown show about high-powered baseball executives all over again. Enjoy!

PILOT: The Origin Begins. The front office is thrown into chaos when Fred Wilpon trashes the team and a brash new owner, David Einhorn, comes aboard. How will Alderson handle it? No doubt with dignity and grace.

EPISODE 2: The Priest, They Called Him. Jose Reyes leaves the team to rejoin the priesthood. Oh, the scrutiny this brings on our beloved GM, you would not imagine! Plus, a new addition comes to the front office. Can Sandy trust her?

EPISODE 3: According to Our New Arrival. Einhorn goes over Sandy’s head and trades for controversial superstar Grant Linwood. Meanwhile, we get hints that perhaps Sandy is not the impenetrable rock he makes himself out to be.

EPISODE 4: The Pupil Dilates. Sandy’s former protege, Billy Beane, has gone Hollywood and is eager to show his old boss his new movie. Einhorn is eager woo Beane into the front office fold. And Alderson reveals a tad more about his troubled past!

EPISODE 5: Why Do You Think They Call It Dodo’s Blood? When Linwood suffers a catastrophic injury, Einhorn tries to keep his star player on the field by any means necessary. Namely, tons of dangerous drugs.

EPISODE 6: Numbers Will Lie. Brian Cashman throws his considerable financial weight around, while a persistent reporter threatens to expose Sandy’s obsession with statistics, the love that dare not speak its name.

EPISODE 7: The Secrets that Men Keep. A team-building trip turns out to be an elaborate ruse for contract negotiations with Linwood. Both Einhorn and Wilpon want credit for bringing back their superstar. Hilarious hijinks ensue, and only Sandy can untangle them.

EPISODE 8: To Vest an Option. When Einhorn tries everything he can to keep his closer’s pricey option from vesting, the closer takes the law into his own hands. Once again, it falls on Sandy to sort things out.

EPISODE 9: Drawing a Bead. Einhorn tries to get back into Wilpon’s good graces, but Sandy can not bail him out this time. He is wrestling with his own fearsome yet comfortable demons.

Bud, You Ignorant Slut

I’m sure Jerry Meals is a decent guy. Or at least I have no real evidence to suggest he’s not, so I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. I don’t think he made one of the worst calls in the history of professional sports last night because he’s a terrible person. I don’t even think he did it because he was exhausted after 19 innings and just wanted to go to sleep. At least not consciously.

What I do think happened is that, with runners at the corners and one out in the bottom of the 19th, he figured the end was nigh. He visualized making a safe call at home and sending the home crowd home happy (what was left of it, anyway). He figured that if the hitter put his bat on the ball, one way or another this game was over. He figured this so much that when a ball was put in play, he couldn’t see anything else, even though every single other person in the known universe could.

It was a terrible, laughable, sorry excuse for an umpiring call, but I believe it was an honest mistake. He shouldn’t have to apologize today. Well, he probably should apologize, and he sort of has already. But the person who really needs to apologize is Bud Selig. His inexplicable clinging to antiquated ideas about replay means there was no mechanism to overturn Meals’ call. That is far more inexcusable than anything Meals did.

If you want to know why baseball has lost so much ground to other sports, this is a prime reason: It is the only sport where we actually debate whether getting things right might violate some notion of what the game means. Every decision about how to modernize baseball carries with it the weight of history and religious reverence. There are people who fear that any innovation may somehow prevent fathers from playing catch with their sons or grabbing a hot dog at the game. Every other sport–every other sport–changes its rules with insane regularity and nobody bats an eye. Baseball needs to start doing the same, the whining traditionalists be damned, or else devolve into an athletic cousin of Civil War recreation.

Last year, when Armando Galarraga was cheated out of a perfect game because of a bad call at first base, we were supposed to be salved by the grand gestures of good sportsmanship put on by the pitcher in its immediate aftermath. Oh, look at that, Galarraga brought out the lineup card! What a trooper! We’ve all learned a valuable lesson about being good sports! Hurray! We’re all getting pizza after the game!

That’s wonderful fluff for the Mitch Alboms of the world. The rest of us would rather see a game that can reverse terrible calls and have an actual sense of justice. Bud Selig, rather than take this opportunity to press for replay, instead emphasized the Albom-ian cheesiness of it all and let a chance to improve his game fade away along with the outrage. It was like saying that slamming your car into ditch taught you a lesson about not driving so fast into ditches, when the lesson you should take from that experience is to not drive into ditches at all.

Sports are meaningless without an assumption of fairness. The participants have to believe that everything is on the level to put forward their best effort. If you get screwed out of a win and the guy in charge just shrugs his shoulders, that’s not a sport. That’s a shell game.

I’ve puzzled for a while as to why Bud Selig is so hidebound on this issue, when he’s had no problem changing baseball in drastic ways elsewhere. During his tenure as commissioner, he’s added four expansion teams, restructured the divisions, moved one team from the AL to the NL (Brewers) and allowed another to wither and die (Expos), added a wild card berth and whole extra round for the playoffs (and is considering even more), aggressively took on both the players’ and umpires’ unions, oversaw the construction of the most new stadiums in the history of the game, allowed an astronomical amount of ownership changes, made the All Star Game determine home-field advantage in the World Series for some fakakte reason…need I go on? If you look at his record, Selig has done virtually nothing but alter the game of baseball. Why is replay so beyond the pale for him?

And then I figured it out: Every single one of the items I mentioned made Bud Selig and the other owners money. Bud Selig has no incentive to push for replay, no passion for the issue, because it will not line his pockets or the pockets of his buddies. Though he divested his stake in the Brewers a while ago, he clearly retains an owner’s mentality and sense of values, which essentially boils down to What’s in it for me?

There is nothing in replay for him apart from the added cost of outfitting stadiums with video equipment and hiring new umpires to man them. The cost of not adding replay is minimal and ephemeral–basically, he gets yelled at by guys like me when the Jerry Meals of the game fuck up, and that’s about it. A billionaire can handle being yelled at if it means he won’t lose any money.

Of course, there are long term costs to not adopting replay, such as failure to attract new/younger fans who can’t abide such idiocy. How can baseball possibly entice a generation of sports fans for whom the idea of not being able to overturn a bad call is unthinkable? Imagine if the Meals call happened in a football game. There’d be car-fllipping riots in the streets. The survivors would envy the dead.

Outside of Jackie Robinson, baseball has never been ahead of the curve, and it has never changed its worst, most damaging features until it was almost too late. Gambling, for instance, plagued the sport for decades before the ugly Black Sox scandal blew up. It allowed owners’ collusion to continue unfettered, which fostered resentment among the player and may have been the biggest factor in the 1994 strike (even if Ken Burns’ The Tenth Inning didn’t mention it at all). It had no PED policy to speak of for far too long, which both allowed steroids to flourish and made MLB’s response to the problem (once McGwire and Sosa couldn’t “save” the game any more) hamfisted and incomplete.

Baseball doesn’t have to exist. There’s a lot of entertainment out there competing for people’s dollars and attention, entertainment that doesn’t pull the rug out from under people’s feet with no recourse for retribution. At some point, people are going to decide that they can’t watch this antiquated shadow of a sport just because of apple pie and mom. If Selig doesn’t institute replay, and soon, the next terrible call will not generate any outrage at all, because no one will be watching.

Studio 60 on Roosevelt Avenue: Episode 9

STUDIO 60 ON ROOSEVELT AVENUE
EPISODE 9
WRITTEN COMPLETELY BY AARON SORKIN TOTALLY ALONE AND UNDER GREAT DURESS
RELIVE THE EXCITING INAUGURAL SEASON!
PILOT | EPISODE 2 | EPISODE 3 | EPISODE 4 |
EPISODE 5
| EPISODE 6 | EPISODE 7 | EPISODE 8

LOGLINE: Once the nation’s best and most respected baseball GM, Sandy Alderson has been reduced to trying to revive a moribund franchise in the depths of deepest, darkest Queens. Along with his sharp-witted and adoring protégés, he fights off the seemingly endless series of controversies and crises that beset him while trying to run a sports team in the country’s most bustling metropolis, and still look fantastic while doing it. Can the pressures of such an important job crush this singularly talented and gifted individual genius?

ACT I

FRED WILPON’s office. He’s sitting across the desk from RAY BARTOSZEK, a rotund, bald man of Eastern European extraction in a garish suit. They are laughing together when DAVID EINHORN walks past the open office door. He stops in his tracks and looks inside. The two men shoot each other strained glances. EINHORN stalks off, looking angry and almost tearful.

Cut to: SANDY ALDERSON’s office. He stands at his window, looking out on the field contemplatively as groundskeepers water it. EINHORN bursts in.

EINHORN
I’m being pushed out!

ALDERSON
Nice to see you, too.

EINHORN
Do you know that Wilpon’s in his office right now, talking to Ray Bartoszek?

ALDERSON
No, I didn’t know that, for despite all evidence to the contrary, I have not yet been granted omniscience.

EINHORN
Bartoszek was the guy Wilpon talked to about investing in the team before he chose me. Now he’s got him in his office and they’re laughing it up like a bunch of…laughing guys! Do you know what this means?

ALDERSON
Someone told a humorous anecdote?

EINHORN
It means I’m being pushed out! Wilpon wants another investor in this team!

ALDERSON
So? He’s not going to have majority control like you do.

EINHORN
I don’t have majority control! I don’t have any control! I just have exclusive negotiating rights with Wilpon. Except, I kinda forgot to negotiate anything. Officially, I don’t own anything yet, and Wilpon’s gonna sell it out right from underneath me!

ALDERSON
So you’ve been calling the shots for this team, making trades, taking us on team-building conferences, and you don’t even own the team yet?!

EINHORN
I was gonna take care of it, but my brother was in town for a few weeks, and then there was that day I had to pick up a chair I bought on Craigslist…I got a lot on my plate, okay! I need you to fix this, pronto!

ALDERSON
Why? You just told me you’re not officially in charge of anything. Why do I need to do what you say when I have so many other things to take care of? Just this morning I found out my second baseman will be featured on an upcoming episode of Hoarders.

EINHORN
Well…all the fun times we’ve had, for one thing.

ALDERSON
Like when you traded for the most expensive player in baseball behind my back, then filled him with enough drugs to kill Keith Richards.

EINHORN
Only some of those words are true! C’mon, I thought you loved solving crises!

ALDERSON
I don’t love it, I’m just incredibly good at it.

EINHORN
Sandy, please, I need your help. You’re the closest thing I have to a friend right now. Everyone else I know is either indicted or in mutual funds.

ALDERSON
That’s rough, mutual funds. [begins to walk EINHORN out the door] All I can tell you, David, is that a business partnership is like a relationship.

EINHORN
Because you pay for it with cash and hate each other?

ALDERSON
No, because every now and then you have to rekindle the spark. Why did you and Wilpon do business in the first place? Remember that, and you’ll find the way to get back in his good graces.

EINHORN
What if I can’t think of it?

ALDERSON
You can ask J.P., or Paul, or Carlin. They’re all top-notch assistants who can help you with your problem when they’re not managing the incredibly difficult job of keeping a ball club together.

EINHORN
And what if they can’t help me?

ALDERSON
Then maybe you and Wilpon shouldn’t have been together in the first place. David, I’m sorry, but I need to be alone right now.

ALDERSON gently pushes EINHORN out of his office and shuts the door. EINHORN looks worried as J.P. RICCIARDI and PAUL DEPODESTA walk by.

EINHORN
What’s with Sandy? He normally loves to solve problems like this.

RICCIARDI
He’s been a bit on edge lately. He gets like that every now and then.

DEPODESTA
Best to just wait it out. A genius mind like that needs a break from time to time.

Cut to inside ALDERSON’s office. He’s staring out the window again. From a nearby corner, an apparition of ALDERSON’S FATHER emerges, dressed in army fatigues and a GI helmet.

ALDERSON
I thought I told you to leave me alone.

FATHER
You never listened when I told you to get a haircut, ya damn hippie, so now I’m returning the favor. You know why I’m here, son–to berate you into relapse

ALDERSON
I’m not doing that.

FATHER
It’s right in your desk drawer. Why do you have it if you don’t plan on using it? You want to use it, you weakling!

ALDERSON clenches his eyes, grasps his temples and tries to massage the pain away. FATHER chuckles.

Continue reading Studio 60 on Roosevelt Avenue: Episode 9