Tag Archives: baseball

This Week in Baseball Death

ellis.jpg* Dock Ellis, 63, of cirrhosis of the liver. Twelve-year veteran of the major leagues, with most of those seasons spent as a starting pitcher for Pittsburgh. Went 19-9 for the 1971 world champion Pirates. Went to the Yankees in the same deal that brought Willie Randolph to NY, and notched a 17-8 record for the 1976 AL pennant winners. Also pitched for the Rangers, A’s, and Mets.

Oh, and he pitched a no-hitter while out of his gourd on LSD.

Or so he claimed 14 years after the fact. I tend to be suspicious of people who add sexy backstory a decade-and-half later, especially when that backstory involves narcotics. Ex-drug users don’t have the most reliable memories. But Ellis’ story is so good that I want it to be true.

The story goes that during a West Coast trip in 1970, Ellis thought the Pirates had an off day. So he decided to spend it relaxing in his hometown of LA. And what could be more relaxing than mimicking the effects of schizophrenia with lysergic assitance?

Unfortunately, about an hour into his trip, Ellis’ female companion read the newspaper and discovered that the Pirates didn’t have a day off. In fact, they were playing a doubleheader. In San Diego. Oh, and he was supposed to start game 1. Oops! I wonder what on earth could have made Ellis so forgetful?

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Fanning the Flames: K-Rod

I often write about the Mets on this site, but I realize that my perspective is not necessarily that of the average fan. So as the Hot Stove League heats up, I want to get the viewpoint of another Amazins enthusiast. Today Scratchbomb welcomes Sean from Massapequa, a union pipefitter and frequent WFAN caller, to discuss the acquisition of Francisco Rodriguez.
 
seanfrommassapequa.jpgSo the Mets got K-Rod. That should help solidify the bullpen, shouldn’t it?

I don’t want this guy nowhere near my team! This guy’s a bum! Get ridda him!

He’s been on the team for like six hours.

That’s six hours too long! That bum should hit the road!

How is K-Rod a bum? He broke the season saves record last year.

Big deal. Saves is a fake stat, like on-base percentage. They don’t mean nothin. He’s a bum and the Mets are bums for signin him. That’s just like the Mets, always thinkin small. Meanwhile, the Yankees go out and get CC Sabathia and steal the back pages again. How could Omar Minaya let Sabathia slip through his fingers?! I want that bum fired!

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The Unhappiest Man in the World

I’ll get the juvenalia out of the way:

Wallace Matthews is a penis.

I’m convinced there isn’t a more sour, hopeless writer in America, regardless of medium. Perhaps in the history of the world. He makes Franz Kafka look like Mr. Rogers.

If you’ve never had the displeasure of reading him, let me darken your doorway for a moment. Wallace Matthews is a sportswriter for Newsday, and he hates everything. There isn’t an ounce of joy in the man’s heart for any human endeavor. If he was in Paris during the Liberation, he would have complained there was too much confetti in the air.

This was going to be the part where I rattled off sportswriters who I think are good, but sadly, there are very few sportswriters in traditional media that I actually enjoy (this discounts various bloggers and sabermetric geeks like Baseball Prospectus). Tim Marchman of the little-read NY Sun is one baseball writer that I really like, and I’d be hard pressed to think of too many more.

After Marchman, it’s simply a question of degrees of douche-osity. There are self-promoting douches like Mike Lupica and Tony Kornheiser. There are self-righteous douches like Phil Mushnick. There are cranky Luddite douches like Murray Chass and Bill Plaschke. There’s the plethora of middle-of-the-road douches whose names barely register because their writing is all the same shade of pale vanilla.

Matthews is a whole different class of douche. In fact, douche doesn’t even come close to capturing his loathsomeness. It was once said that Willie Mays only played in the majors because there was no higher league. Someone needs to invent a new word to describe the
depths of Matthews’ ugh-itude.

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