Warmth

I read a fact in Harper's Magazine (in that part in the beginning where they have a list of facts). It said: Percentage of blogs that haven't been updated in the past 4 months: 90% (it may have been higher but was at least 90). I think I know why! Writing on blogs is weird. It's like an email for 2-10 friends and random people searching for Hank Greenberg. Some blogs are really useful or interesting (and I truly appreciate these blogs. If I was a better blogger I would link to some of them). But how do you know if your blog is interesting or useful? And what if it is? Then you have a bunch of strangers knowing your every feeling about something really personal, like baseball. It's a lot of pressure.

But I don't want to become a statistic. Or, if nothing else, I don't want to leave 'a deep summer' with a bummersville dispatch from AT&T park sitting on top.

Sure, the Dodgers beat up on the Giants again today. Timmy looked really tired. I don't think he likes the heat (his sweat-filled hair looked like it was weighing him down). And maybe the Giants aren't going to make the play-offs. But there are more games to watch. It's still summer (according to the baseball calendar). The team is trying their best.

I listened to Vin Scully (voice of the Dodgers) again today while watching. He always has such good facts about all the players. Dodgers guys or their opponents, it doesn't matter to Vin, he wants to tell you something interesting. Sometimes it's as if he's conducted personal interviews with the players and their families. He's probably just getting it from a very simple program, but no other announcers seem to utilize whatever it is. Anyway. Today I learned that Freddie Sanchez was born with one club foot and one pigeon-toed foot. He had to wear a cast for the first year of his life (he probably looked something like this). The doctors said he might not ever walk and that he should plan for a life behind a desk. I guess Freddie showed them!

The exclamation point might make it sound sarcastic but I felt inspired and a little proud for Freddie. I'm sure there is a less dramatic, but still touching story for most of the Giants. Even Aaron Rowand overcame something. If nothing else, they all overcame the competition to get into major league baseball. And it's probably really tough out there, people yelling at you, internal and external expectations, the elements. It's just a game. It's just for fun, right?

Even Alice Cooper has a positive attitude:



"Sun Arise, each and every morning, each and every day, bringing back the warmth to the ground, fillin' up the hollow...every every every every day...whoa!"

I'll Take Care of the Rest

Tonight I went to see the Giants play the Dodgers. There is usually something positive to take away from a baseball game, especially at AT&T park: getting out of the house, being among other fans, hanging out with the friends you go with, seeing a nice sunset, the water, the field, the sounds and smells of the game. I'm sure I'm exaggerating because of the sting of the loss, and realization the Giants probably aren't going to the playoffs, but none of those positive things were there tonight. It was all obscured by (the loss, of course. but also) the bleachers.

The Bleachers: 1. have no back to their seats. 2. are where Dodger fans love to sit. 3. are where the drunkest fans like to sit. 4. are extremely cold (even with 5 layers and a blanket) 5. are where you can't see the jumbotron--because you're sitting right underneath it. 6. are where people like to stand and yell next to you; either their friends names ("aaaamannndaaa"), "beat LA," "go LA," "fuuuuck yooou," or just "faggot" (other friend: "hey, we're in the city." first guy: "I know that's why I'm yelling, 'faggot!' as loud as I can). 7. are where people jump in front of where you're sitting, almost hitting you, to give their friend a weggie, a big one, where they pick him up and rip his underwear, only to leave him laying at your feat (no backs to the seats), laughing.

I'm not mentioning the actual game (again--the flame) and I'm sure all of this would have been fine, even fun maybe, if the Giants had a chance during any part of it. Approaching the stadium, I felt excited for the rivalry, the importance of the game, people teasing each other on BART, the thunderstorm static in the air. But, by the time it was 4-1, and I knew the Giants couldn't make up that difference (I say that believing I'm a positive person, who thinks it isn't over till it's over), I put my head down in my lap and stopped watching. By the 7th inning or so, when it was 7-1, I was ready to go (and I never leave before it's over). But my companion was even more positive than I am ("they just need 2 grand slams") and we stayed until the end, eventually trying to save the night with some hot chocolate and sneaking into nicer seats. The hot chocolate was good, the walk home was nice.

But I was still bummed by the time I got home. Luckily, my roommate was around (he shared some facts about the game from watching the broadcast, including the fact that the Giants hit something like .150 with runner's in scoring position) and willing to watch a documentary movie about Hank Greenberg.

Hank, who is pictured above, was the first admittedly Jewish baseball star (there might have been others who changed their names/didn't admit to their Jewishness, the movie told us). Besides seeming to be an all around good guy (he was confident but not cocky in the interviews--admitted to luck when it played a part in his doing well, thought of himself as a roll model and tried to act decently, lost 4 years of his career to serving in WWII, encouraged Jackie Robinson when he came into the league), Hank was a great hitter. He hit for power and average. But the thing he cared about most were RBIs. "Just get on base and I'll do the rest," he would tell his team. Hank hit best in clutch situations. He wanted to win. In 1937, he hit 183 RBIs (still an AL record for right handers). There was even a part of the movie where he had an injured wrist and was still able to sacrifice bunt his teammates into scoring position. "The Giants should watch this movie," my roommate said. If only I could get a job as their spiritual leader, I thought (I would show the movie to them, as part of their spiritual journey).

Here is a song about Hank (also known as Hankus Pankus) by Groucho Marx and Bing Crosby, with some bonus "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" in the middle.

Shocked to His Toes

I read this quote from Petrarch the other day: "He knows not what it is to burn/Who can his flame in words express." I feel the burn of the Giants losses! And so, I will not try and express the flame. I will use another quote, one from Vin Scully, longtime Dodgers announcer (the voice I grew up on and admit I listened to while watching part of the game tonight). He said it about Aaron Rowand, but it could be applied to almost any Giant and the team as a whole. After Rowand struck out (looking sadly dumbfounded as usual) Scully said, "he's starving to death at the plate." I know it's probably bad luck to listen to the other team's announcer and even worse to post a video of that team being triumphant. I'm a believer in baseball superstition but I remember watching this game below and how exciting it was and thought maybe everyone needs a little excitement, even if it's recycled.

I Come From the Land of Paradise

They step into the baseball bubble about halfway into it.



I guess baseball is sort of a conversation stopper between Americans and British people. Video from Ryan.

Listening

I spent much of the weekend listening to the Giants games, in and out, here and there, against the Brewers in Milwaukee and then the Padres at home. In general, I feel weird when the TV is on for long stretches at a time, or for several hours, several days in a row. Maybe I worry that I’m not being productive enough, not outside enjoying a beautiful day, but instead just lounging on the couch in my snuggie while the Giants to do this or that, and I stress or celebrate, depending on the this or the that. So, I resort to listening, which is an entirely different experience. I can listen on the back porch in the sun (see, I am enjoying the day) or can listen on my way home from work, making the long walk all the more manageable. Listening requires me to imagine the scene, forces me to be more engaged. I can hear the din of the crowd in Milwaukee but can’t see them. I can hear a double, but have to imagine Velez’s quick run or Molina’s labored motion. Yesterday, while eating lunch, I heard Uribe and Renteria’s back-to-back home runs. They were just down the street, at home, and I could see them too, could see the crowd on their feet and the sun up high over the bay. And then a friend texted. She was listening in her car and pulled over to share the news. It was a shift in the day, a return to the fundamentals, momentum in the right direction.

In honor of listening, I give you Harry Caray, the first announcer I heard, the voice I still here.

This

I was thinking this morning that I should lower the bar early on shop talk, and begin a post on Giants fan fashion. Any thought on fan fashion begins and ends with the SNUGGIE, pictured above. I know there’s another snuggie that has rose to fame via infomercials, designed for home lounging on couch, with arm holes for holding the remote control. The version depicted above is what I call the STREET SNUGGIE, to be worn in the world, on the streets, and most importantly, at the Giants game. Here’s why: it has big pockets, a hood, a plaid pattern that borders on orange and black, reaches down to the knees for cold night games, has great structure and form so that it resembles a cape but wears like a jacket. What more could you ask for? As night comes on at the ballpark, and the wind winds its way across the uppermost stands, the SNUGGIE definitely raises the bar on comfort. Extra innings, here we come.

*Stay tuned for more notes on fan fashion, with the goal being a celebration of fan culture, whether it comes in orange and black converse sneakers, vintage Giants sweaters or fuzzy panda hats.

Waiting

I was going to write something about how people were wrong to disparage the Giants offense so much, about how I like that they have to work for every run, how they take turns producing, how that is somehow better than big, game winning home runs. But the loss today was too tough. I don't just mean the Prince Fielder home run. It seemed inevitable that Braun, Fielder or McGhee would hit one as the innings dragged on. And Fielder's routine with his teammates at home plate where they all fall on the ground when he gets there actually looks pretty neat. The toughness was more in Juan Uribe putting his bat under a bunt (and popping out, instead of getting the runner into scoring position), Bengie Molina only getting on base when he hits a rare home run, Garko and Ishikawa looking incapable of making contact, all the runners left on base. I miss Freddy Sanchez (I'm trying to work with things we have here, not perfect universe great hitters throughout the line-up). It would just be nice to have some consistency and situational hitting back. I read somewhere that he might be back tomorrow.

Until then:

HERE

It seems right to start a blog about baseball in September, in the farthest reaches of the regular season, when every game counts (or doesn’t count) and when depth can be measured in the last bits of hope that get mustered, brought to the surface, and ultimately, left on the field.

Or maybe it took all summer to get here. It took May, June, July and August to get to September. Every up turn and down turn brought us here. Maybe September is both the beginning and the end. Maybe it’s just my own familiarity with heartbreak (a childhood full of Cubs games) that brings me here: Giants in contention for wild card spot, Timmy’s hair growing longer and longer, the way a Sunday can break open when you least expect it (grand slam to take the lead, the series).

It’s easy to be sentimental about baseball. And hard to face the end of another season, however it comes. Welcome to the baseball bubble.

You Can't Live Someone Else's Dreams

I was a little sick today. I had a fever and stuff but I was okay if I layed flat on my back. I was too sleepy to read or even watch the Giants game (I fell asleep a few times. if only I'd payed more attention, they would have won, I'm sure), so I just sat there thinking. My mind wandered. I had fever thoughts.

I started thinking about Justin Duchscherer. He's a pitcher for the Oakland A's but he's been out all season. I got a bobblehead of him at the one A's game I went to this season and it's been sitting in my car ever since. What's up with him? I thought. What kind of injury does this guy have? Is it going to effect the value of my bobblehead (that is already sun damaged from sitting in my car)? I reached for my computer and did some searching. Turns out "the Duke," as they call him (who knows how you say his last name? no one), was out with an elbow problem but is now taking the rest of the season off with clinical depression. My immediate reaction was "people can do that?" Of course I think people should be able to do that but was surprised baseball would let them. But I learned in this article that a few players have taken time off for anxiety or depression this season. And I remembered that Cy Young contender Zack Greinke took a season off in 2006 to deal with social anxiety disorder.

It still seemed like a touchy subject though, for the baseball players, I mean. I could see them saying "it's good he's taking care of that" (being positive) but with a very uncomfortable feeling behind it. I don't mean to pick on baseball players and their discomfort. I think most people would be that way. But lots of people get depressed, right? What did baseball players used to do? I wondered. Probably bottle it up and/or drink--that was my conclusion.

But wait! That's not the end of the story. Coincidentally, my roommate had a movie from Netflix called "Fear Strikes Out." 'Let's watch that,' we decided after he got home from "reading" at a bar. I set up a chair in his room to the reclining position and we settled into watching the "first starring role for young Anthony Perkins" (as the trailer advertised). I knew it was a movie about baseball but I didn't know it was about baseball and mental illness (if only I'd watch the first few seconds of this tribute). My fever thoughts must have been in touch with the forces of the universe.

The movie is about real life baseball player Jim (Jimmy) Piersall and his bouts with bipolar disorder. I don't know how to add photos in the middle of a post so he's at the top of this one. Jim's dad was always pushing Jim, not in a crazy way, he just wanted him to win, you know, and wouldn't talk to him for a few days if he lost. Karl Malden actually does a good job making Piersall's dad sympathetic--he seems like a friendly pusher, just wanting the best for his son, not really realizing he's pushing him. Anthony Perkins does a good job too. There is some dramatic music during his breakdown scenes but his performance feels subtle and less dated than a lot of psychological roles from the 40s-60s (Spellbound, The Three Faces of Eve, even Now, Voyager--another controlling parent vehicle). Also, it had some good baseball elements: fenway looking big and looming, realistic shots of the crowd, old skinny bats and fat padded gloves. The movie was made when Piersall was still playing and ends at the moment he is trying to return to baseball (after his biggest breakdown) so we looked on the internet to see how he fared.

I also found this vid of Jim seeming very affable while the host of 'What's My Line?' seems uncomfortable talking about mental illness.





The end of my first post.