Was It Really "Only" One Hundred Years Ago?

The Retrosheet is an easy place to blow a few hours without noticing, especially on a rainy Saturday morning.

Looking for a little history to match up with the present:

100 years ago, the Boston Pilgrims/Americans won the 1903 World Series over the Pittsburgh Pirates by a 5 games over 3 margin. They were led by player/manager Hall of Fame third baseman Jimmy Collins, who broke in with them in 1895 when they were still the dreaded Beaneaters of Boston. Of course, this was before Fenway Park, when they still played at the Huntington Avenue Grounds.

Also of note in the lineup was "the brawling Irishman" (was there any other kind of Irishman back in 1903?) Patsy Dougherty, who at 27 hit .331 in only his second year in the league. He would never hit over .300 again for the rest of his career.

Although Boston led their league in hitting that year, they also led the league in pitching with Cy Young, who went 28-9 with a 2.08 ERA and Big Bill Dineen, who went 21-13 with a 2.26 ERA. This was the same Big Bill Dineen who lost 21 games the year before, going 21-21 in 1902.

Of course, pitching dominated back then. Boston had a team ERA of 2.57. And there would be no deadline trades for relievers. What for? Their starters completed 123 of the 141 games they started! The four saves they had all season where earned by who else but Cy Young and Bill Dineen, with two apiece. In addition to his two saves, Dineen completed 34 of the 35 games he started. Meanwhile, Cy Young wielded a feisty bat, hitting .321 with a homer and 14 rbis in 137 at bats.

Boston blew through their competition that season at a 91-47 clip, taking the American League title by a comfortable 14 1/2 game margin over the Philadelphia A's. They went on to face the Pittsburgh Pirates, led by Hall of Famer Honus Wagner's .355 average, 19 triples, 101 rbis and 46 stolen bases, in the first World Series.

According to Ballpark Watch, the Series could be summed up from the inscription on a home plate shaped plaque that was dedicated on May 16, 1956 and still stands as a memento today on the grounds where the first game took place:

"On October 1, 1903 the first modern World Series between the American League champion Boston Pilgrims (later known as the Red Sox) and the National League champion Pittsburgh Pirates was played on this site. General admission tickets were fifty cents. The Pilgrims, led by twenty eight game winner Cy Young, trailed the series three games to one but then swept four consecutive victories to win the championship five game to three."

But that's not the crazy part. The crazy part is that Boston starters Cy Young and Bill Dineen pitched all but 2 innings of the World Series. Dineen won games 2,6 and the deciding Game 8, while Cy Young won games 5 and 7 after losing the Series opener.

If that wasn't enough excitement, later on that year The Wright Brothers became the first ever to fly.

*****

The question on my mind today is if it is to be Theo Einstein in the future. He looked a little more like Theo Neinstein when the Evil Empire was outbidding him for Jose Contreras back in the chair-throwing winter, when he went 0-for-5 bidding for Bartolo Colon, Jose Contreras, Edgardo Alfonzo, Jeff Kent and Erubiel Durazo. But the kid made a swell comeback when he torpedoed the Yankees this past week. Scott Sauerbeck and Scott Williamson yanked from the Yankees for the pen and Jeff Suppan, who was 6-2 in his last 11 starts for the Pirates, adding another limb to the starting rotation. This all looks magical but then again, how does it sound that Suppan's lifetime record against the Yankees is a 0-4 with an 8.46 ERA, 0-2 in Yankee Stadium and 0-1 in Fenway Park?

Meanwhile, the Yankees settled for kidding themselves. This race was over when they traded for Armandogeddon and while the Yankees brass muttered the appropriate slogans about straightening Armando out, it was a move of quiet desperation which continues to bear fruition for Yankee-haters everywhere. Last night, the saga continued. Benitez entered a game the New York Yankees had seemingly full control over, holding a one-run lead over the Oakland A's with one out in the eighth. Moments later, he allowed a single to Mark Ellis and then walked Scott Hatteberg on a 3-1 pitch. Hmmm. What was that miraculous twaddle coming out from GM Brian Crashandburn on the day of the trade? Oh yeah:

"Benitez stands out, head and shoulders, above the other guys out there."

Yes, he most certainly does. He stands out like a hideous highway car crash, like dry kindling to a fire, or a population at risk.

On the verge of seeing the game blown, Torre came out of the dugout, looking pained, and had to bring in a miracle worker, Mariano Rivera, who, by now, must be thoroughly sick of getting called out to change Armando's diaper every other game.

So while Theo has been busy, the Yankees dunce trust has come up with a relief pitcher, Jesse Orosco, who was tossing around the old horsehide in the cow pasture with Abner Doubleday back in 1836, a reliever named Gabe White, who has been on the DL with a groin injury for over a month and has already been called off of rehab twice, a former closer reduced to blowing games from the setup position, and an unspectacular third baseman in Aaron Boone, who cost them the best and only pitching prospect in their system, Brandon "Santa" Claussen.

But here's my dream: On Saturday and Sunday afternoon, September 27th and 28th, 2003, Armandogeddon blows leads in consecutive ballgames against his former team, the Baltimore Orioles, as the Yankees see their one game lead over the Red Sox evaporate while the Sox are sweeping the series against the Devil Rays in Tropican Field to clinch the AL East and the loser of the season-ending Seattle-Oakland series at Safeco clinches the final wildcard spot. Then, with the Yankees and their 80 trillion dollar payroll shut out of the postseason, everyone in the world who isn't a miscarriage of humanity will be celebrating the triumph of justice and the quashing of evil.

All of this reminds me of a great joke I read recently via Yank This, an unbiased commentary on the lineage of the Bronx:

"Three baseball fans are walking home from a game at friendly Fenway Park.

One is wearing a Red Sox cap, the second one is wearing an Indians cap, and the third one is wearing a Yankees cap.

As they are walking down Commonwealth Avenue, they see a pair of legs sticking out from under a bush. Upon further inspection, they find that it is a totally naked dead woman.

A crowd starts to gather before the police arrive, so they decide to give the woman some vestige of dignity. The first one places his Red Sox cap over her left breast. The second one places his Indians cap over her right breast. The third one places his Yankees cap over her crotch.

The police arrive to investigate. The detective picks up the Red Sox cap for a moment, takes a quick look, writes a few things in his notepad, then puts the cap back on her breast. He picks up the Indians cap, takes a quick look, writes a few things in his notepad, then puts the cap back on her other breast. He picks up the Yankees cap, takes a quick look, starts to write in his notepad, but stops and scratches his head for a moment, with a puzzled look on his face. Then he kneels down real close, sticks his fingers in the womans crotch, spreading it open and staring.

Now one of the baseball fans yells at him: “Hey, what are you some kind of pervert?”

To this the officer replies: “Oh, no, of course not. I just need to double check because every other Yankees cap I’ve ever seen had an ASSHOLE under it!”

Don't Look Now, But Here Come the Marlins!

Well, I been movin' down to Florida.
And I'm gonna bowl me a perfect game.
Well I'm gonna cut off my leg down in Florida, child.
And I'm gonna dance one-legged off in the rain."
Butthole Surfers, "Moving to Florida


You can call it official now. You can roll out the barrels, the fat is in the fire, jump on the bandwagon and start the party train because with the Florida Marlins concluding a three game sweep of the Arizona Diamondbacks last night in an outstanding pitcher's duel, the Marlins have now won six straight games to push them 10 games over .500. Since May 23rd, the Marlins are 40-20, the best in baseball, and are perched a mere game behind the Philadelphia Phillies for the National League wildcard spot. So don't look now ladies and gentlemen, but the Florida Marlins have arrived!

Duquette Almost A Success

Now that the Mets appear to be done shaking and baking, here's a summary of Mets temporary GM Jim Duquette's work to date:

1. Roberto Alomar to Chicago White Sox for Royce Ring, Edwin Almonte and Andrew Salvo. Since he was traded, Alomar is hitting .315 with 0 homers and 4 RBIs and a current 11 game hitting streak. This goes to confirm what we already knew: regardless of his salary, Roberto Alomar is a gutless deadbeat who can't perform the job he's well paid to perform if the team isn't up to his standards. Either that, or he just can't hit NL pitchers. True enough. In his pathetic, spitting-in-the-umpire's-face career, Alomar NEVER hit .300 in the National League. Hall of Fame? Ha! How about Hall of Lame? So, getting anybody for this stiff was a boon.

As for the players that Duquette got: Royce Ring, has 5 saves in 8 appearances and a 2.53 ERA 10-5 ratio in 10.2 innings with AA Binghamton, Andrew Salvo appears to be a wash already and is hitting .205 with the A Capital City Bombers while Edwin Almonte, who has been sliding rapidly, has a 9.45 ERA in 6 useless appearances with the Mets surrendering more earned runs than innings. The best prospect acquired by the Mets in the deal is Royce Ring, who entered the season rated as the White Sox' No. 10 prospect and could possibly become the Mets' closer by this time next year.

Result? Future closer for current loser. Thumbs up.

2. Jeremy Burnitz to the Dodgers for 2B Victor Diaz and a pair of righties, Joselo Diaz, Jacksonville RHP Kole Strayhorn. Jeremy Burnitz suddenly discovered how to hit again this season and even when he was striking out every other at bat, was a happy-go-lucky kind of Met. But upbeat personalities alone don't win championships and Burnitz was certainly not worth the enormous salary he was stealing from the Mets. Now that he's on a "winning" team again, Burnitz is back to his old ways, hitting .239 with 3 homers and 7 RBIs in 12 games with the Dodgers.

Meanwhile, Victor Diaz, who claimed batting crowns in each of his first two pro seasons and was named MVP of the Double-A Southern League all-star game this year, is hitting .333 with a homer and 7 RBIs in 13 games with AA Binghamton. He looks like a solid hitter, something Burnitz was never able to achieve, but isn't a good fielder so maybe he'd be best stuck in the outfield where the Mets keep all their lousy fielders. The "other" Diaz with A St. Lucie, has 4 appearances, 2.84 ERA and a 1-1 record. He regularly throws in the mid-90s and has a decent splitter to go along with it. Strayhorn, in 6 appearances, has 5 saves and a 1.59 ERA and will either help out in the bullpen eventually, or work as trade fodder on another day.

Result? Way overpaid hole in swing hitter but likeable guy, Burnitz gone for the rest of the season and in return, at least two guys who will be worth something later down the road for future trades, and in a best case scenario, another starter and more bullpen help. Thumbs up again.

3. Armando Benitez to Yankees for RHPs Jason Anderson, Anderson Garcia and Ryan Bicondoa. All along I, like MANY others, have wanted to get rid of Armandogeddon, at any price. Getting ANYONE for him, even the stiffs the Yankees dumped on us, is a pleasure just to avoid having Armando to kick around any more. Jason Anderson has had 8 appearances for AAA Tidewater with a 0.71 ERA and a 16-3 K-BB ration in 12.2 innings. He could be a good set up man for the future. Garcia, who owned one of the best fast balls in the low Class A Midwest League, reaching 96 mph regularly, has pitched in only one game for the A Capital City Bombers with 3 strikeouts and no runs surrendered in 2.1 innings and also looks like a possibly solid future pen addition. Bicondoa, bothered by a nagging arm injury that sidelined him for a month, has not appeared for St. Lucie to date. Armando, as we know, has already lost a game for the Yankees and has a 3.00 ERA with 5 ks and 4 walks in 6 innings of work.

Result? Getting rid of Armandogeddon is good. If Jason Anderson turns into a decent bullpen addition, this trade will work better for the Mets than the Yankees.

4. Graeme Lloyd to Royals for Jeremy Hill, who will pitch for AA Binghampton. The Royals drafted Hill as a catcher out of a Dallas high school in 1996's sixth round. After he hit .229-14-123 in 368 minors league games, Kansas City decided to try him on the mound because of his tremendous arm strength. When he hit 95 mph, the conversion became permanent. Hill, 25, has a fastball that peaks at 99 mph, but he has struggled to add a breaking pitch (first a curveball and now a slider) and to maintain a consistent delivery. It isn't much but then again, neither was Graeme Lloyd if your not fighting for a playoff spot. Mets interim general manager Jim Duquette said Hill, a converted catcher who throws in the upper 90s, is at least a year away from the big leagues and needs to develop another pitch.

Result? Nothing for nothing.

5. Rey Sanchez to Seattle for Kenny Kelly. Sanchez, Mr. Haircut, no longer needed because of Reyes and his absurd .207 batting average, will be off to water down Seattle's batting order while Kelly is best known as Ken Dorsey's predecessor at quarterback at the University of Miami. The Devil Rays signed him to a two-sport deal as a second-round pick out of a Tampa high school in 1997, then got him to give up football with a four-year big league contract worth $2.2 million in February 2000. Strapped for cash and dismayed by his lack of progress, the Rays got out of his contract by selling him to Seattle in April 2001. He seemed to turn a corner in the second half of that season, and the Mariners started getting excited about his combination of speed, power and arm strength. However, Kelly has regressed since and remains an athlete who hasn't been able to turn his tools into baseball prowess. He hit .246-13-37 with 20 steals in 96 games at Tacoma this year, though he's still struggling to learn the strike zone (29 walks, 79 whiffs). He appeared in two big league games with the 2000 Devil Rays, going 0-for-1. The Mets assigned Kelly to Triple-A Norfolk.

Result? Another huge zero for a possible future player.

Overall, an unspectacular but stable beginning for Duquette, good enough to merit a contract if former Met assistant GM and current Expo GM Omar Minaya can't be brought on board.

Cooperstown
"This is not about me, and it never was. It was about the people who put me here, the people who supported me. If I could, I would get plaques for each and every one of you." Hal McCoy, during yesterday's HOF acceptance speech.

Grey skies and the threat of rain hung over us as we rolled along a winding Route 80 with the translucent pea green algal blooms of a pristine Lake Otsego to our left and the Hall of Fame Weekend in Cooperstown ahead of us.

Another Euripidean Hero Bites The Dust

"O ye sons of men, victims of a thousand idle errors, why teach your countless crafts, why scheme and seek to find a way for everything, while one thing ye know not nor ever yet have made your prize, a way to teach them wisdom whose souls are void of sense?" -- Theseus decrying Hippolytus' alleged act.

While it seems that common sense may well be one of the last virtues awarded today's athletes in their carefree world of sundry temptations, with modern public relations machines and sometimes seedier mechanisms employed to protect them, today's athlete, like today's politician, has plenty of resources with which to battle.

Ding Dong! Armando's Gone

"He's as reliable as a schitzophrenic on crack." David Wells, speaking about his new teammate in his book, "Perfect I'm Not! Boomer on Beer, Brawls, Backaches and Baseball"

One by one our local nemeses are leaving. First, it was Fat Mo and his cranky knees buckling under an elephantine torso of jelly belly lard. Then Mike Piazza, the recalcitrant DH, snapped his groin muscles like the strings of a five dollar guitar before the first base controversy could gather a full head of steam. Then Steve Phillips was finally rushed out to fulfill his future in obscurity. Later, went Roberto Alomar, Jeremy Burnitz and now finally, Armandogeddon, gone. All gone. Sifting through the embers, of this dying season, one can only be thankful that there isn't much dead weight left.

Taking The Heat

"Observe your enemies, for they first find out your faults." Antisthenes (445 BC - 365 BC)

It's evident that a bat and ball can cause much more anarchy than even the grand panjandrum of baseball, Bud Selig, would care to admit these days. Just this week alone we've had Pedro bringing George Steinbrenner to tears by going handhunting through the loathed lineup of the Yankees and knocking Jeter and Soriano out of a game on fewer pitches than it takes Tom Glavine to hit the strikezone on a given night. Then, a few nights later, we have the ridiculous Randall Simon tenderizing a human sausage by taking a T-Ball swing with his 33 1/2-ounce Louisville Slugger model R205. The funny thing is, while one of these abominations invoked a three game suspension for its primary participant, the other elicited nary a comment from the grand poohbah of baseball philistinism.

They Aren't All Stars

"We're all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars. --Oscar Wilde

Every year it's the same story. The All-Star team selection is announced, fans start convulsing and squawking, hands start wringing, cities are insulted, bonuses are paid out or foresaken and in the end, just like in life, not everyone's superior performances are rewarded. Rotten eggs all around.

Mid Season Awards
"I don't deserve this award, but I have arthritis and I don't deserve that either." --Jack Benny

With the Allstar Game just around the corner and the season's halfway point finally breached, it's time to ponder the events of the 2003 season to date and hand out recognition where recognition is due:

Armandogeddon
"They got me tonight," -- Armando Benitez, after walking 4 of the 7 Yankees he faced.

There are times when one wonders what sort of hallucinagen is in the water cooler of the Mess front office. First they fire one of the better managers in the game while retaining one of the more maladroit GMs in the game and then compound the error by waiting nine months to recognize their error and fire Steve Phillips. In between, they rashly hire a second-choice Charlie Brown rube of a manager like Hula Howe. And worst of all abominations, they didn't trade Armando Benitez during the off season before he'd had a chance to remind the rest of the Major Leagues what a criminally clownish closer he really is.

La venganza de Santo Sammy

"Saints should always be judged guilty until they are proved innocent." --George Orwell

The baseball gods paid a visit to Great American Ball Park last night in the fifth inning when Sammy Sosa returned from his seven-game suspension for using a corked bat and launched a tremendous two-run, 464-foot home run off the top of the batting eye housing a party room in straightaway center field. It was Sosa's first home run in 69 at-bats dating back to May 1, and the longest in the 2½-month history of Great American Ball Park, the same ball park where he launched #500 a few months ago. While the fans haven't yet forgiven him for his transgression, apparently, the baseball gods have.

Even before the corked bat incident, I've been undecided about Sosa. Not because I questioned the legitimacy of his 500-plus career homeruns but because I could never fully come to a decision as to whether or not his white-shoe hotdogging, his homeplate homerun hop, and his shameless pandering to the fans was the cause of an ego gone painfully awry or simply the pantomimes of a man who craves to be loved. Sammy has always seemed sincere. (If you can understand his disjointed, hit-or-miss version of the English language without subtitles, that is.)

The corked bat incident is what finally swayed me in the end. Many athletes, like politicians, have and would again, under similar circumstances, create an entire compendium of half-truths, evasions and finger-pointing at anyone but themselves, solely to avoid the public's wrath. It's rare to see an athlete or politician stand up, admit their own frail mortality, confess their misjudgement or sin, and accept what was coming to them. One could argue that Sammy didn't exactly accept his punishment without protest, after all, he appealed the original eight game suspension and got seven instead, but we all know that was more about baseball PR letting Sammy hit against Roger Clemens in Wrigley Field with career win 300 hanging in the balance than it was about Sammy fudging over a game or two reduction of his suspension. Sammy cheated, and worse, got caught. But Sammy was right there, that night on ESPN, confessing to his fans, asking for forgiveness and standing up like a man. Professional sports could use more athletes with that kind of character.

So I was happy to see his little homerun hop, that poetic justice, and happier still to see that ball launched off into the distance of nostalgia, each foot it traveled slightly withering the healthy scepticism of how he blasted his other 505 homeruns. Judging by the reaction of the fans, the forgiveness of Sammy is still a long ways off, but last night at least, he began the long road back to the recovery of his reputation.

*****

The second incident of poetic justice in sport took place in Game 6 of the NBA finals. Not because the New Jersey Nets lost the series but because Kenyon Martin went 3 for 23 from the floor that night in what must have been the worst choking incident seen since Jimmy Hendrix died gargling a pool of his own vomit. Was it only a year ago when Martin called out Keith Van Horn under the veil of "guys who don't bring it every night" after the four game sweep by the Lakers, telling people to "look at the statistics"? Van Horn went 3 for 7 from the floor that night and ended up getting traded. Kenyon was hit 36 of 107 shots from the floor for the finals, barely 34%. Is that "bringing it"? How do you feel now, punk?

Second to Kenyon Martin's pallid, cadaverous performance, I'd rate the Rent-A-Kidd overplayed saga night after night as the most laughable story of the finals. "I want to win a championship, and that’s the bottom line,” he says about his decision to duck the Nets and look for greener pastures. His team made it to the NBA Finals two years running but they've got nothing to show for it. Impatience, thou art my God, goes the Psalm, and so goes Jason, looking for the instant fix instead of helping to finish the job of creating one. “This is a business. That’s what it comes down to.” he says, implying perhaps that if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. The truth is, the Spurs have already won twice with Tim Duncan and without Jason Kidd and there's no reason why they wouldn't win again without him. Sorry, loser. Instead of moving out of New Jersey, Kidd should be lobbying the management to rid the team of over-rated teammates like Jefferson and Kenyon Martin who are, as they say in Texas, "all hat and no cattle," and throw their hat into the Kevin Garnett Sweepstakes.

I've got a cruel revelation about basketball in Gotham. It's called Pavel Podkolzine and it's another draft day train wreck waiting to happen. Knick draft doyens are rumored to be enamoured with the 7'4 300 pound Russian center who gives every indication, with his inexperience and his thyroid problems, of turning into another blundering Gheorghe Muresan or worse, another Frederic Weis. I've said it before and I'll say it again. Forget being fancy. If he's available, take Mike Sweeney. Is there something about a future Elton Brand to plug up a pathetic middle that the Knicks don't like?

*****

Tomorrow night the Mess kick off their Subway Series against the Yankees. It's a special time of mass hysteria here in New York, even if the Mess only climbed out of the NL East basement last night. There aren't many times these days that Mess fans have a chance to humiliate those obnoxious neanderthal bleacher bum boors but with regardless of the standings, this series has been even-up since its inception. A month ago, wallowing in the 7 train self-pity of a Mess fan, I might have dreaded this series but the Mess, with their youthful infusion of enthusiasm, hustle and unexpected heroics, have transformed themselves, as I noted last week, from underachievers to underdogs, and there's no reason why they can't take games two and three from the Yankees and send Steinbrenner spinning into another bile-choking cataclysm of innuendo threats and inner rage.

With the trade rumors flying, I will note one trade I'd like to see: Armando Benitez to the Yankees. Red Sox fans should be praying they don't land Armando the Awful if they want to have any illusions about making it through the post season. Sending Benitez to the Yankees for, would doom the hopes of Steinbrenner for another world title. I don't even care who they get for Benitez. Bubba Trammell and Sterling Hitchcock? Fine. Just so long as the Yankees get Benitez. Sweet revenge.

And lastly, here's a little speculation for Reds fans who claim they want a legitimate shot at the NL Central to chew over: Al Leiter and Roberto Alomar for Austin Kearns. Crazy? Sure, but as Bill Lumburgh said in Office Space: "If you could just go ahead and make sure you do that from now on, that would be great."

Don't Let The Door Hit You On The Way Out

"Hey, you know it ain't easy
Just go and ask Bobby V
The way this is going
We're gonna crucify Steve"

from The Ballad of Steve Phillips

It looks as though the Wilpon father and son Chump Consortium has finally woken up and seen the light. With a full menu of imminently tradeable roster members waiting to be dumped like chum upon shark-infested waters, the Mets will finally fire GM Steve Phillips this afternoon and replace him with interim GM Jim Duquette for the time being while, one hopes, Omar Minaya is coaxed away from the Expos.

Poor, Persecuted Pedro
"Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your mouth. Blowing down the backroads headin' south.
Idiot wind, blowing every time you move your teeth. You're an idiot babe, it's a wonder that you still know how to breathe" Bob Dylan, "Idiot Wind"

In the midst of a news firestorm surrounding the Sammy Sosa and The Corked Bat epic, a little voice of idiotic reasoning was heard wailing in the wind the other day that the only reason there is such media controversy over one of the most prolific homerun hitters in our generation getting busted in mid-game for and admitting to using a corked bat was because of "racial bias" by the media.

Pedro Martinez, an unabashed spinmaster and outspoken purveyor of all things Dominican now wants us to believe that "If it was [Mark] McGwire, it would still be a big deal, but not like this."

Poor Persecuted Pedro has an ailing memory. Apparently, his collected history of racial bias in the media, as a matter of convenience, doesn't account for the media's protracted braying and indignation over Mark McGwire's use of androstenedione. McGwire was using what was then, a legal nutritional supplement, a fact that never slowed sports journalists from using their columns to castigate him with their stertorous moral preaching.

"We might be Latin and minorities, but we're not dumb," Pedro brayed further. "We see everything that happens." he says ominously.

If the vision of Poor Persecuted Pedro and his Dominican Martyr Brigade wasn't so already slanted by the pale, skewed light of his misplaced sense of racial bias, perhaps Peter Gammons wouldn't have had to issue a statement denying Pedro's absurd allegation that claimed Gammons said "We don't want the Latin [expletive] to be in front of the TV all the time." in justifying why Zito won last year's Cy Young instead of Pedro the Oppressed.

Even Pedro's lone claim to legitimacy, that the media should spend as much energy noting that the rest of Sosa's bats were clean as they did on questioning Sosa ad hoc on the corked bat, limps woefully out of touch with reality. The sad reality of modern media is that a story is sold based on its sensationalistic qualities. It simply isn't sexy, and thus, not as marketable, to note, amid all the hype and hysteria, that all of Sosa's other bats were clean, just as amid the tsunami of controversy that followed the revelation of McGwire's use of andro, no one led their headlines with "McGwire Uses Legal Nutritional Supplement."

It isn't racial bias in the media, it's the bias in the media against truths that inconvenience the sale of the hype. Maybe Pedro, in his paranoid, delusional world, is just too tainted by his own self-appointed stupid to see that.

*****

There was plenty of controversy surrounding Nets coach Byron Scott's decision not to double team MVP Tim Duncan in Game One. In response, Scott spat out "I don't listen to people who write papers about how to guard this guy, because unless you're seven feet and you're writing for the newspaper and you're guarding Tim Duncan, you can't suggest anything to me as far as how to guard him," he said. "You can't tell me how to guard him."

That's quite a lengthy criteria for telling Mr. Scott how to do his job. Fortunately, it wasn't only the people writing the papers who were complaining. In discussing Scott's decision not to double team Duncan, Kenyan Martin noted "That's not our game plan, to come out and double him right off, but if [Duncan's] got it going, a fool wouldn't do it." Someone who IS seven feet, David Robinson, admitted "I did kind of expect [Mutombo] to come in and play a little bit more. When you've got a big 7-foot-3 guy on the bench, it's kind of nice to be able to bring him in."

Hmmm. In Game Two, Mutombo and Jason Collins got more face time against Duncan, Kenyon Martin was paired off against David Robinson and there was alot more sagging in the lanes. Result? Nets win. While Scott had been demonized in the local press as being as stubborn as Pat Riley when it comes to making team adjustments, it speaks volumes of Scott's coaching ability (and sanity) that he gave in to common sense and changed the defensive strategy against Duncan. Of course, Duncan's season-long charity stripe choking coming to fruition in a 3 for 10 effort last night didn't hurt either.

It may seem odd but there are probably alot of Nets fans out there rooting for Tony Parker to shine in this championship series. If Parker proves he's a legitimate point guard, the Spurs have no real cause to waste money paying Jason Kidd the megabucks to come to San Antonio and thus, Kidd is more likely to stay on with the Nets. The one thing I never really understood, as Kidd hems and haws about whether or not he would stay in New Jersey citing that his one criteria as being the desire to play for a team with a shot to win the title, is who the hell is he playing for right now? Don't the Nets have a legitimate shot to win the title?

*****

Today is a big day for New York sports. Funny Cide, the local horse with the local ownership, goes into the Belmont with a legitimate shot at winning the Triple Crown and Roger Clemens, the old horse in pinstripes, goes into the staid envions of Wrigley Field with a legitimate shot at winning his 300th game. Will either succeed?

One thing in Funny Cide's favor is that he is a gelding. Having been neutered, unlike other stallion champions, there is no future of wild times at the ole stud farm at the end of this rainbow. Winning races is the only thing he has to look forward to.

As for Clemens' start, it doesn't get any better than today's game for hype and pressure. Today he will face Kerry Woods, the man who tied his 20 strikeout game record and who idolized him growing up. He will face a cork-less Sammy Sosa, who has not homered in his last 14 games. He will face destiny, which has thus far laughed in his face.

Since predictions are for the well-informed or the fools, for the record, I'll only note that I'll be rooting for Funny Cide to win and Sammy Sosa to tag a fat homerun on to Waveland Avenue off Clemens in another no-decision fade out.

New Jersey, Titletown, USA?:
"I don't know anything about music. In my line you don't have to." - Elvis Presley

I don't have any solid, substantiated evidence on this, but my theory all along in New York City has been that those who root for the Mets also root for the Jets and those who root for the Yankees, also root for the Giants. It's some sort of cosmography of the New York sports world. In any case, this reality leaves most New York fans ,at least during the football season, without much of a choice in having to root for a team that plays its games in the swamps of the Meadowlands, New Jersey, an otherwise unbearable chancre of a state whose biggest claim to fame lately has been The Sopranos.

So it's almost shocking to the system to think that a collective cockroach of a state like New Jersey could lay claim not only to the NHL title but also the NBA title simultaneously. Vulgar, almost. Like electing Mike Tyson as your mayor.

That is, of course, unless you consider an even more horrific outcome: Disney-owned franchise claiming two out of the four major professional sports titles. The reigning baseball champions are the Anaheim Angels, owned, at the time of their World Series Championship, by the Disney Corporation. Bad enough in and of itself when you consider the absurdity of a mix of Donald Duck and baseball, but inspirationally unoriginal in its pathetic paen to Gene Autry, the offkey cowboy with impeccable morals. Then, the problem is compounded by something called the Anaheim Ducks and owned by the Disney Corporation making it to the Stanley Cup finals. Disney overload my friends. So in the case of the Stanley Cup, it is imperative that the New Jersey Devils defeat the Anaheim Ducks in order to save the future of sports from some sort of evil duck cartoon serialization sponsored by Disney, even if it allows New Jersey to pull off its double.

Still, I can't quite bring myself to root for Prozac Nation Duncan and his San Antonio Spurs over the New Jersey Nets. It's history. I still remember the them kicking and beating up on the wounded and Ewing-less Knicks in the 1999 Finals with Duncan and Robinson and the squeaky Avery Johnson like they were Alex and his three droogs beating that tramp to death in A Clockwork Orange. That was the same year the Spurs won a record 12 consecutive playoff games. Ever since then, I've thrilled at their every misfortune so with the Nets have a running total of 10 straight playoff victories to date, there would be a certain sort of vicarious thrill to see the Nets knock off the Spurs and their record all in one championship. Another year of the sort of milquetoast assassins and deadpan gloating eminating out of San Antonio would be intolerable.

So for the first time outside of the football season, there will be rooting for New Jersey from New York. Hopefully it's not like some easily transmittable toxic rash that itches all summer long.

*****

There is a certain delicious schadenfreude in the recent tribulations of Roger Clemens on his road to 300 victories. This is why Mike Piazza was so busy kneeling in front of the Pope this off season. Obviously he wasn't begging for a healthy 2003 season or reaching the homerun record for catchers. You think he isn't constantly reminded of how he punked out against Clemens in Game Two of that World Series? Yes sir, Mike Piazza was begging the Pope not to let Roger Clemens reach 300 victories.

This has potential to become baseball's Greatful Dead tour this summer. Can you imagine the 300 victory pilgrimages all summer long, the Clemens extended family and friends, rabid and vengeful Red Sox fans, anti-Selig demonstrators? The Pete Rose protesters? The George Steinbrenner apologists, the Bobby Valentine fans in fake noses and moustaches and the Sabermetrics scholars recording every fart, screech and moan of the growing baseball circus? Michael Moore could direct Roger and Me Two, a documentary chronicling the efforts of Roger Clemens to earn his 300th victory while David Wells sucks up all the sloppy seconds and wins 20 games out of the bullpen relieving Clemens in game after game as the Yankee infield performs mystic feats of fielding bloopers destined to blow enormous leads against second-rate baseball teams into the unforeseeable future.

*****

A new pet complaint rolling around in the bowels lately is the advent of Overhyped Non-Stories in Non-Sports: Already this year we've had Femnazi Martha Burke versus Hootie Johnson and his clan of political incorrect desperados drumming up artificial controversy and screaming for vengeance and attention like The Furies of Aeschylus. Then came the hysterical "Annika versus The Men", casuistry which played out the string of idiotic clichés to their illogical conclusions. Golf and Sexism. A selling point with growth potential. After all, with Golf and Sex only an "ism" away, how long before we see Outlaw Golf with its biker babe, stripper, and Japanese dominatrix golfers, selling big on a second-rate cable sports channel? When does the media get to sink its teeth into the Anna Kournakova of the links? I think these overhyped non-stories in the anti-sport of golf were figmented into neomythologies in the commercial world as a cynical marketing ploy, not sincere efforts at highlighting archaic values in modern sports culture.

Bowling, another anti-sport of questionable marketing possibilities should follow its lead. Sell sexism. Bring forward their misogynistic credos, their terminologies and slang into the public light for examination and titulation, perhaps even expose their naked bowling underground. For a refresher course on the sexism of bowling terminologies, here are a few to consider:

Alley: Although this is commonly known as the surface on which the ball is rolled, "alley" is also a place where prostitutes gather and consort. What about "back alley abortions"? Do you see how demeaning it is to women? Bowling is conducted on something that hammers home two negative images of women.

Bed posts: Which, as we know, is the 7-10 split. Do you recall what a 7-10 split looks like? Maybe a woman with her legs spread? Bedposts? When you succeed, you "pick" a split. Sounds like the kind of talk you hear in the sitting room of brothels. More negative stereotyping.

Head pin is the number one pin. Clearly referencing some sort of Orphic phallic worship ceremony. What do you think the head pin is a euphemism for anyway? You think they'd make pins in the shape of a women's vulvas? Of course not. Bowling simply isn't integrated enough. The most important things in bowling are the ball and the pins. Why not roll ovaries instead of balls? Is it too much to ask for a little female representation in the terminologies of the "sport"?

Mark is making either a spare or strike in a frame. Clearly this references some sort of male scoring ritual like notching a bedpost with every woman they've slept with. More negative stereotyping, keeping score of women slept with as though they were simply widgets in the mechanism of male hormones. Filthy.

So you see, bowling has quite alot to market in its cesspool of uncontrollably fashionable sexism. Take golf's lead and Hype the Hubris!

Bron-Y-Aur
"There are two tragedies in life. One is not to get your heart's desire. The other is to get it." --George Bernard Shaw

Conspiracy theorists can finally breath easy. The Knicks didn't win the NBA lottery last night. While Cleveland goes bonkers over LBJ, their lottery victory may have secured an even more valuable key to their future success...Jeff Van Gundy.

It seems the two finalists to coach the Cleveland LeBrons are Van Gundy and Paul Silas. I know that Silas is supposed to be a hot coaching commodity but let's face it; unlike Van Gundy, he has a career losing record as a coach during the regular season and unlike Van Gundy, a career losing record as a coach during the post season. Van Gundy is a great teacher and, as evidenced by their complete collapse once he left the Knicks, always got more out of his players than what they were worth on the court. Even without LeBron, Van Gundy could mean another fifteen victories next year.

Speaking of LeBron, lately I've been wondering whether or not his mom is a Led Zeppelin fan. What the hell does "LeBron" mean? Zeppelin did a song one time called Bron-Y-Aur Stomp which was supposed to be about Bron-Y-Aur, which means "breast of gold" in Welsh. It was also the name of a cottage in Wales where Zeppelin recorded their third album. Bron is also Olde English for "breast" but gaelic for "sorrow" -- Frankly, it's a mystery and if I had one question to ask at a Cleveland Cavs press conference, that would be it: LeBron, are you "the breast" or "the sorrow"?

Did anyone else know before last night that Cavs owner Gordon Gund is blind? In 1970, a progressive degenerative disease of the retina called retinitus pigmentosa (RP) took what remained of Gund's vision when he was 30 years old. In 1986, the Cavs had the #1 pick as a result of a trade with the Philadelphia 76ers, and used it on Brad Daugherty. Then they nabbed Ron Harper with their own pick, and acquired the draft rights to Mark Price. Later that summer they hired Lenny Wilkens to be their head coach.

Whether the Pistons take Carmelo Anthony or Darko Milicic with the second pick of the draft, their history indicates the selection will be a winner. The other two times they had the #2 pick, they took Dave Bing in 1966 and Isiah Thomas in 1981, both Hall of Famers. That's a pretty good track record.

Knicks fans, on the other hand, have to look at this draft with trepidation. Another moronic draft day trade (getting permament DLer Antonio McDyess instead of Rookie of the Year Amare Stoudemire) or just another idiotic selection (1999, Frederick Weis)? The Knicks have many well-documented needs but the best player they can get with their #9 pick this year is Michael Sweetney. If history is any indication though, the Knicks might end up with Iceland's Jon Stefansson.

*****

There are two commercials currently running that annoy the hell out of me. One of them was shown last night in the middle of the NBA Draft Lottery show. It's for something called Jack Daniels Original Hard Cola. They say it's about "no pretense". First of all, this is about a beverage commonly coined as "alcopop" or "malternative". The music played in the background of the commercial is the kind of music you listen to on a Sunday afternoon with a bad hangover, not this sort of "gathering" of fake hipsters having the kind of self-conscious fun that people have when they are trying to hard to have fun or look cool in the process. The bottom line is that this is a malt beverage that is called a hard cola but uses the name of a well-known whiskey product to give it a false credibility. If that isn't all about pretense, I don't know what is.

The other commercial is one I frequently see during sporting events on television: The Gevalia commercial that begins with a guy coming up to another guy with two cups of coffee in his hands and asks the other guy if he wants some coffee. There are so many surreal aspects of this commercial, I almost don't know where to begin.

First of all, when was the last time a co-worker came up to your office with two cups of coffee in his hands and offered you one? What kind of company is this where people are wandering the halls with two cups of coffee in their hands? Even if it did happen, I'd be real suspicious of his motivations. Is this a new secret gay ritual? Is it spiked with the date rape drug? Is the man offering the cup of coffee an al-Qaeda operative looking to poison me?

Then, when the guy sensibly declines the coffee, the other guy sniffs at the coffee, as though it suddenly dawns on him that something might be wrong with it. What is he hoping to discover, that the second cup has the faint scent of arsenic in it?

Worse still, after declining the weird co-worker's coffee, this guy suddenly gets up and decides he's going to go home for his own coffee. Right in the middle of the workday. Can you imagine that? "I've got alot of paper work and two staff meetings but you know what, the hell with it, I'm going home for some real coffee!"

So the guy goes dancing out into the streets, just happening to pass all these places selling coffee he doesn't want, and then he hops a bus that just happens to be pulling up to the stop the minute he gets there and seconds later, he's home to a pot of coffee that magically, is already brewed and waiting!

Is this some kind of coffee fetishist's wet dream, or what?

ODDS AND ENDS:

The Mess are 4-1 since Mike Piazza went down with his right groin muscle tear. Does this mean they're back in the pennant race if Roberto Alomar breaks his leg?

When people point out Michael Jordan's #1 selection of Kwame Brown as evidence of what a lousy front office guy he is, they should note Kwame's improvement from his rookie season to this past season and consider his age and inexperience. Kwame's rookie season PPG average was 4.5 and he averaged 3.5 rebounds. This season, he average 7.4 ppg and 5.3 rebounds. At that rate of improvement, in two seasons, he would be averaging 20.1 points per game and 12.1 rebounds.

After the Game 2 debacle in San Antonio, ESPN cites ultra-jackass Joey Crawford as a "notoriously hot tempered" referee. Is it just me or does this make no sense at all? Why is someone whose job it is to "supervise" play taking the spotlight with his zero-tolerance attitude? What does it tell you when Joey walked over to Nick Van Exel of the Mavericks during pregame warm-ups and said, "Don't mess with me tonight. Because, like Muhammed Ali, I'm a baaaad man"? It tells me that Joey Crawford should be hanging out with Judge Judy instead of controlling NBA playoff games.

Nearly A Quarter Finished

"Success is counted sweetest by those who ne'er succeed." -- Emily Dickinson

Now that the baseball season is already one quarter complete, I thought it might be a good time to assess the question of whose start defies the imagination more, the 26-15 start of the Montreal/San Juan Expos or the 24-15 start of the Kansas City Royals and which of them, if either, is likely to continue to baffle us with their success.

The success of the Expos shouldn't need someone like Anita the phone psychic to foresee. After all, they finished 2nd in the NL East last year, above .500 and closed the season out on a 4 game winning streak. Brad Wilkerson was named the Sporting News NL Rookie of the Year and Vladimir Guerrero was named to the publication's NL All-Star Team. Jose Vidro was an allstar starter. Bartolo Colon won 20 games and Javier Vasquez, while not pitching in his usual spectacular fashion, was one of the most coveted young pitchers in the off season.

But let's be honest, who really thought of the Expos as a playoff team? One minute they were on Bud Selig's endangered species list and the next they're contenders? It seemed fluky, like the incomprehensible success of a talentless dreg like keen eddie. Then they traded away Bartolo Colon in exchange for down-and-outers like the Orlando Hernandez, RHP Rocky Biddle and the outfield stiff, Jeff Liefer. And who really thought the 67 year old manager, Frank Robinson, wouldn't eventually succumb to jet lag and burn out from all those "home" games in Puerto Rico?

And yet, there they are today, still in second place, a feisty 25-15 record to show for their troubles, only 2 1/2 games behind the Braves with the third best record in the National League. How are they doing it? Despite Orlando Cabrera's sudden power surge and the presence of Vlad the Impaler in their lineup, they are in the middle of the pack in just about every single batting category as a team, the perfect .500 club. But their pitching has been outstanding. They are third in the NL in ERA, and they've thrown more shutouts than anyone else and are 8-3 in one run ballgames. Zach Day, who pitched out of the bullpen last season, is 4-1 with a 2.73 ERA as a starter. Led by Joey Eischen (a 1.84 ERA in 21 appearances so far), Scott Stewart (a 2.29 ERA in 21 appearances)and Rocky Biddle, who has remained as unspectacular with the Expos as he was with the White Sox but still somehow has 10 saves and 3 wins, the bullpen has been one of the better ones in the league.

As Marc Griffin tells us, il y a 50 bonnes raisons de venir voir les Expos.

But will they last the season? For one, the Braves look like they're back to their regular ways now and after sweeping them in the season's opening series, the Expos were in turn swept by the Braves in their next series. But the Phillies are decidedly unspectacular, despite the splashy off-season signings while the Mets and the Marlins are laughingstocks at best. Stats padders. Playing in arguably the weakest division in the National League, the Expos have a good shot at keeping pace and while currently they are 3 1/2 games ahead of Houston for the wildcard spot, it seems highly unlikely they will outdistance Houston, St. Louis, or Cincinnati for an entire season.

The true mystery is the Kansas City Royals at 24-15 although some perspective can be gained by pointing out that since their 15-3 start, they are now on a more realistic 9-12 roll. I mean, c'mon. Is Runelvys Hernandez the April pitcher with the 4-0 record and 1.36 ERA or the May pitcher with the 0-3 record and 5.89 ERA? How much can the "positive attitude" of manager Tony Pena mean when they are 5-7 against teams with winning records? They haven't played the Yankees, A's, or Mariners yet. This is a team that is melting already and the weather hasn't even gotten warm yet.

I guess one of the primary reason I hate the Royals is because of their asshat owner, David Glass. Last winter Glass directed GM Allard Baird to cut $10 million from the $47.6 million payroll the Royals had in 2002, even though the Royals were projected to receive $19 million in revenue-sharing funds at the end of this season under baseball's new basic agreement. Of course, the early success of the Royals puts Glass in the uncomfortable position of having to trade good players to cut even more salary, or suck it up, make less profit and pacify Royals fans by adding to the payroll. So the Royals, in defiance of Glass, will have to continue to put up good numbers through the All Star break. In some ways, I'm rooting for them to succeed, just to put Glass in that position. Maybe then he'll sell the team to someone who is actually interested in giving Kansas City the kind of franchise it deserves. But don't count on it. The Royals are fading fast and it won't be long before even the White Sox have jumped ahead of them.

*****

Finding positives in the Mess season is like trying to figure out reasons why you should consider Kathy Bates' bared, aged and sagging breasts in the hot tub scene of About Schmidt the hottest scene of this year's movies.

Yesterday in the fourth inning, Andres Galarraga led off by popping up in front of the plate. For most teams, an average sort of fielding play and poof, one out. For the Mess, it became yet another comedic spectacle of ineptitude. Piazza barely broke for it from behind home plate (just imagine him trying to handle a line drive hit towards first base!), Wigginton arrived as if he were coming from another time zone instead of third base and Leiter stood there admiring it like it was a lunar eclipse. So the ball plops on the ground. Man on first.

As if that wasn't enough bonehead for your money, a few batters later, with runners on first and third, the PITCHER, sends a comebacker to Leiter for an easy inning-ending double play. Instead of whipping the ball to second to start a double play, Leiter stares off Galarraga at third as though the lead-footed 41 year old was suddenly a danger to break for home plate?! A few seconds later, when Leiter finally throws the ball to second, it is of course, far too late for a double play and the Giants went on to score three runs.

Someone try and tell me these kinds of idiotic mental errors, so prevelent in Mess games this season, isn't the fault of the manager. Hula Howe has the Mess so relaxed they've all become somnabulists. If it were possible, the first two things their shamelessly unfit excuse for an owner, dear Mr. Wilpon should do is fire GM Steve Phillips and do whatever it takes to get Omar Minaya back to the Mets to replace him and then let Minaya work out who should manage the team since Howe has this team playing like the Bad News Bears. Minaya, once the senior assistant general manager of the Mets, has proven himself a miracle worker in Montreal and is the only available solution to the disaster that is the Mess roster.

*****

I have to admit, I believed the hype about the Lakers. I believed they could turn it on at will. I believed they would win it all again. That's why their complete collapse in the last quarter and a half against the Spurs was so shocking. I drank the Phil Jackson kool aid. But not having to watch that fat blowhard Jack Nicholson screaming insanely courtside will be a relief. Nicholson has now surpassed Spike Lee as the most annoying personality at NBA games.

Anyone still ready to argue against Tim Duncan's MVP award? A final showcasing the two most valuable players left in the NBA, Duncan and Kidd, could make for the first exciting NBA finals since the Rockets dumped the Knicks in '93-'94, the series that had the OJ chase scene interrupt the middle of Game 6.

*****

I have to admit that I don't know anything about horse racing. I went to the Belmont Stakes a few times and about the only thing I noted was that horse racing fans are great drunks. Given my vast experience in handicapping, how can I go against a horse named "New York Hero" at 20-1 odds? Easy. Funny Cide is a New York-bred gelding. So here we go:

1. Cherokee's Boy
2. Funny Cide
3. Kissin Saint

Sports Arguments And No-HItters

One of the great half-wits in sports media, Chris "Mad Dog" Russo, will release a book this week called The One Hundred Greatest Sports Arguments of All Time. Some of the arguments listed were:

1. Which was the greater achievement, Ted Williams’s .406 season or Joe DiMaggio’s 56-game hitting streak?

For my money, the greater achievement should be measured by the likelihood that the achievement won't be matched or broken. Since DiMaggio's 1941 streak broke Willie Keeler's mark of 44 set in 1897, Pete Rose has come the closest, with 44 in 1978. Paul Molitor hit in 39 straight games in 1987 and Luis Castillo hit in 35 straight last season. The closest anyone has come to DiMaggio was .79% of the number of consecutive games hit safely in.

When Ted Williams hit .406 in 1941 it was the highest single season batting average since Rogers Hornsby’s record of .424 in 1924. Since 1941, Tony Gwynn hit .394 in 1994, George Brett hit .390 in 1980, Williams himself hit .388 in 1957 and Rod Carew hit .388 in 1977. The closest anyone came to topping Williams' mark was 97% of his average.

It would seem easier and more likely that someone will hit .406 again than someone will hit in at least 56 consecutive games again.

2. Who’d be left standing in a battle between Joe Louis and Mohammed Ali?

A nice article by Monte Cox explores the possibility of such a fight and concluded that Joe Louis is the one man who would knock Muhammad Ali out. I think the reach advantage of Ali and Ali's speed and quickness would have outpointed Louis in the end. Then again, I still root for a Mike Tyson comeback. What do I know?

3. Which NBA team was the greatest of all time—the ’66–’67 Celtics? The ’71–’72 Lakers? What about the ’95–’96 Bulls?

In doing a little research on past teams, I came across the Tendex rating system which concluded that none of the teams Russo lists were the best. The conclusion of Tendex was that the best NBA team of all-time was the 1970-71 Milwaukee Bucks featuring Oscar Robertson and Kareem Abdul Jabbar.

4. Who would dominate the ultimate Pebble Beach showdown—Ben Hogan or Tiger Woods?

The answer is: Who really cares? If this is a big argument, then you might as well complete the snooze-fest and argue about who was the better bowler, Earl Anthony or Dick Weber. Or better still, the answer to the question of who would have won if Tiger Woods had played Ben Hogan in the 1948 US Open (Hogan's first US open victory) would be that Tiger might not even have been allowed to play on the course or in the tournament. How integrated was pro golf in 1948?

5. Who was the most important athlete of the twentieth century?

What athlete has had a bigger impact on his sport than Jackie Robinson?

Mind you, none of the above is any kind of endorsement of that offensive, screeching blatherskite, Mad Dog Russo or his book. The book's sole redeeming quality will be the fact that you don't have to listen to him read it aloud.

*****

Another interesting question came up in Michael Dowd's column on the "Top 5 No-Hitters". Dowd selected Jim Abbot's no-hitter against the Indians in 1993. It is pretty phenomenal to throw a no-hitter with no right hand, but then again, he was left-handed. In my own life, these are my top 5:

1. Hideo Nomo 4/4/2001 against the Baltimore Orioles: The best reason of all -- it was the only no-hitter I've ever seen in person.
2. Doc Gooden 5/14/1996 against the Seattle Mariners: Doc had just come off a year and a half suspension from baseball and only two months into the season, pitched a no-hitter.
3. Nolan Ryan 5/1/1991 against the Toronto Blue Jays: Let's face it. Who else is going to pitch a no-hitter at the age of 44?
4. Hideo Nomo 9/17/1996 against the Colorado Rockies: A no-hitter in Coors Field? What's next, weapons of mass destruction in Iraq?
5. Dock Ellis 6/12/1970 against the San Diego Padres: move over Fat Man Wells. Ellis claims to have pitched his perfect game while tripping on acid. Whoa.

*****

Something I'm still scratching my head over is Daunte Culpepper getting a $102 million contract extension with the Vikings yesterday, becoming one of the NFL's highest-paid players.

The 10-year deal includes a $16 million signing bonus. The 26-year-old quarterback had one year left on the deal he signed after the Vikings drafted him with the 11th overall pick out of Central Florida in 1999.

The total potential value would be the third highest in NFL history behind Eagles QB Donovan McNabb ($115 million) and Bills QB Drew Bledsoe ($103 million).

Let's set aside for a moment, the fact that there are at least 10 quarterbacks better than Culpepper currently playing in the NFL. What has Culpepper done to merit such an absurd amount of money? Was it his performance in the 2000 NFC Championship Game when he helped lead the Vikings to a miserable 41-0 humiliation at the hands of the NY Giants by completing only 13 of 28 passes for 78 yards and throwing three interceptions? Or is it his stellar touchdown to interception ratio since then? After all, he's thrown 32 td passes since then and had only 36 intercepted.

Using this sort of scale, does this mean a stiff like Trent Dilfer merits a $500 million contract extension? At least he won a Super Bowl title.

Now imagine that the Vikings are also paying Randy Moss $75 million and you gotta wonder what are they going to pay everyone else with, Iraqi dinars? How many freaking used cars is Red McCombs going to have to sell to cover his nut on this one?

*****
Hello Rey Ordoñez Deux:

"I've never been in a situation where the home fans boo the home team," Cliff Floyd said in this morning's Daily News. "To me, it's mind-boggling, because I've never been associated with that type of thing. ... We need more support, we need cheers, we need happiness. You want the pressure on (the other team), not us. We need all the help we can get."

Whaaaaat? Clearly this guy's been eating the same hippy-go-lucky pills as Hula Howe. We need cheers? We need happiness? This is almost too absurd for words. What does he prefer, a group hug? A Group Therapy Session before every game at Shea? The Mess are hitting .236 as a team. And Floyd is hitting a whopping .241 for his $6.5 million salary. Cliff Floyd is lucky they are only booing instead of throwing garbage, bags of urine and golf balls at his head. Maybe when the delicate little ego of Cliff Floyd realizes he's not playing in a graveyard of somnambulists like he did in Florida, he'll realize that in some baseball towns, the fans are actually going to hold the players accountable for their performances. If it's too much for Mr. Floyd to handle, maybe he should join Fat Mo on the permanently incompetent and injured list. Either that, or save his whining for someone who'll hold his hand and kiss his witto booboos better, like Art Howe.

Who Is On First?

"You can't make up anything anymore. The world itself is a satire. All you're doing is recording it." Art Buchwald

The Mess just get messier. I return from a two week sabbatical from the artless bunglings of the Mess mismanagement just in time to see another firestorm erupt.

To fully appreciate the degree of incompetence employed by the Mess in this latest fiasco one should first recognize that the addled braintrust was actually trying to get something right for the first time. While fans have been calling for the move of Piazza's dead-arm catcher's act to first base for more than a season and a half, the Mess mismanagement has historically only trepidly broached the issue with Piazza, each time rebuffed by Piazza himself, who until now, had selfishly placed his own desire to be seen as the best hitting catcher of all time above the needs of his teammates not to have a defensive liability behind the plate.

Piazza has noted all along that he didn't care what anyone thought, he didn't care that his offensive numbers have been falling fast due to the wear and tear of his position. He didn't care that his inability to throw out runners trying to steal was causing chaos for his pitchers every time a runner got on base. He didn't care that his obstinate pride to remain a catcher and only a catcher was shortening his career.

Now he doesn't have a choice and the Mess mismanagement has once again proven its inability to even get the simple things right, miscommunicating the long-awaited move of their franchise player by telling everyone but Piazza about it in advance.

There was no real way to make the transition smooth. It should have been insisted upon during the off season that Piazza prep for some first baseman's duties this season. After all, Fat Mo, even if he had been able to hit his weight, was always just another wobbling injury waiting to happen and Piazza could have transitioned into this move gradually and gracefully, a few games here, a few games there until he was comfortable. But it wasn't insisted upon. Piazza insisted he was a catcher and only a catcher.

Instead, there was Hula Howe, the man who has pledged that team business would stay in the clubhouse, blabbing to the media that Piazza was soon going to be taking grounders at first before Piazza had been consulted. There was the perpetually inept General Mismanager Steve Phillips insisting Piazza was "very receptive" to making the switch that Piazza hadn't even been approached about.

I've got to surrender because I don't know what else to say right now." Piazza noted after the controversy took root during yesterday's batting practice.

On the other hand, getting tossed into the fire like he did is perhaps Piazza's own fault for his obstinant refusal to volunteer to at least try to learn to play first. Such selfishness speaks loudly about why Piazza is no clubhouse leader, despite his lofty offensive numbers. Perhaps it is a blessing in disguise that having been painted into the corner, he must finally do what is right.

But it doesn't excuse the idiotic manner the Mess handled it and now, with the cat out of the bag and no time for transition, it won't be long before everyone begins the unrealistic expectations that Piazza start making the move to first immediately. Cliff Floyd estimated it took him 4 1/2 months to learn how to play first base. "I needed an entire season of the Arizona Fall League...at least 100 ground balls every day." Making such a transition in the middle of the season will probably spell alot of comedic ineptness for slow-footed Piazza this year, if he can make the transition at all. It probably also cements the belief that this season is already a wash and the best thing that Mess fans have to look forward to is whatever prospects they might be able to land for Roberto Alomar and Armando Benitez by mid season and, perhaps most importantly, the joy we will all feel when Steve Phillips is finally released like a long awaited end to a spell of bad constipation.

*****

I don't guess there is anything to be said in defense of Bob Ryan for his remarks about wanting to "smack" Jason Kidd's wife. But from what I've seen of Joumana Kidd and looking at the physical shape Bob Ryan is in, my guess is Joumana could probably kick Bob Ryan's ass anyway so the threat is an idle one at best. Was it mere irony that Ryan chose such words for a woman who had already been punched by her husband on one occasion? Bob Ryan makes his living using words and one would think that by now, would have learned to use them more judiciously but beyond that, these hysterical calls for him to lose his job over an idiotic and insensitive, yet essentially innocuous remark, are misguided. In a world of easily excitable political correctionists, I'm amazed that Ryan was able to keep his job but any punishment stronger than the one meted out would have been yet another overzealously enforced dose of official morality that we can all do without.

*****

I'm still trying to figure out what Abe Pollin was thinking when he sent Michael Jordan packing without explanation. It was a move on such a par with poor judgement you'd think he was the owner of the New York Mess. Then again, Pollin has done nothing right with his franchise since the heady days of Wes Unseld and Elvin Hayes in 1978 when they won the World Championship. Every once in a while, they open a spigot of hope, like the trade for Chris Webber or the signing of Michael Jordan, only to screw it up so badly that the franchise ends up worse off than when it started. So now they've alienated the man whose name is synonymous with the sport, they've in essence, given up on the team that was being built and the coach who had been hired to build it, the acting General Manager has unofficially retired and the franchise is once again in the far-too-familiar position of rebuilding. But Abe Pollin has proven he's the man in charge. Good work, Abe. If you live to be a hundred you still won't see that "one more championship" you profess to want so much.

Memory Lane
If any granule of consolation can be found in the piteous, limping start out of the gates for the Mess it might be the 30 year old memory of the 1973 Mets. Failing that, the daily narrowing of hope into a spiritual myopia will become inescapable, the losses will mount a progressive, fatal disease and the ride home on the #7 train from Shea will become an exercise in reflective misery.

The current issue of the Mess is a team unable to emerge from the psychic depths in which they writhe, springing more holes than Melville's Pequod, sinking fast, from Roger Cedeno's tumultuous, spasmatic fielding in center field, to Mike Piazza's two hop throws to second base, either 10 feet wide to the left or to the right, to Armando Benitez's emotionally fragmented disasters from the bullpen.

The $120 million payroll has resulted in an 8-12 record so far, four games behind the Expos from first place. For all the hand-wringing, it isn't implausible that the Mess might right themselves in time and with no NL East team assuming a commanding role in the division yet, whatever early season wallowing they appear to have hitched themselves to, it doesn't spell an insurmountable burden. They are fortunate in fact. If they were in the AL East, they'd already be 9 games behind the Yankees.

The 1973 Mets were in last place in the six-team National League East, 11 1/2 games behind the St. Louis Cardinals on August 5th. For the current Mess, this would spur a pale, caustic finish with rampant speculations on what sort of disasters Steve Phillips could add to his growing list of failures before he was finally shoved out of Gotham and back to baseball obscurity where he belongs.

But the 1973 Mets, the "Ya Gotta Believe" team rallied, winning 29 of its final 43 games and fortunately for them, no team ran away with the division. Yogi Berra's club rallied from last place by going 18-14 in August, 19-8 in September and 1-0 in October to win the division title on the last day of the season. They finished with an 82-79 record, 1 1/2 games ahead of the Cardinals.

82 victories is not going bring a division title in the NL East this season.

Moreover, for the Mess, 82 victories at this point would require a Herculean transformation from sad sacks to believers which, to date, they have given no indication they are capable of. In the first 20 games of the season the Mess have shown a greater inclination toward mediocrity than mastery. While they flounder on the field, they have become artful in their ability to emit half-hearted enthusiasms for the potential of the future. They are well-versed in the pollyanish double-speak of those who understand the futility of their destiny. But the desperation is beginning to taste like a familiar meal. Stale, cold leftovers from the season before; the same unheated lack of clutch hits, the rubbery gristle of shoddy fielding, and the unpalatable breakdown in simple fundamentals.

In short, the "ya gotta believe" slogan of the 1973 Mets is translated by the current Mess into something along the lines of "what kind of fool am I?". There are no miracles on the horizon. Only the painful, daily gashes of reality poking through the thin flesh of hope.

The '73 Mets had NL Cy Young Award winner Tom Seaver anchoring the rotation with a 19-10 record and a league-leading 2.08 ERA and 251 strikeouts in 36 starts. The Mess have a competent duo in Glavine and Leiter. But the '73 Mets also had Jerry Koosman (14-15, 2.84), Jon Matlack (14-16, 3.20), George Stone (12-3, 2.80). The Mess have nothing better than question marks to round out their rotation. Tug McGraw, much like Armando might hope to emulate, struggled as a closer in the first half of the '73 season but finished strong and was an integral part of their reformation.

The '73 Mets weren't fast. Their leading base stealer was third baseman Wayne Garrett, who stole six bases all season. The Mess have six stolen bases to date, half of those coming from Cedeno, whose enemic hitting and ghoulish play in the field has resulted in an off and on benching.

Second baseman Felix Millan, who was acquired in the offseason from the Atlanta Braves, led the '73 Mets with a .290 batting average, 82 runs and 185 hits. Outfielder Rusty Staub topped the Mets with 76 RBIs and first baseman John Milner was the team leader with 23 homers.

It's impossible to see where the Mess will begin to show some life at the plate. Their power is sporadic and unpredictable. They add another link in the chain of weak hitters infecting the lineup every night. Piazza is beginning to appear as though he's woken up out of his early slumber but beyond him, their two best power hitters are Burnitz, now injured, and Tony Clark, making a mark as a pinch hitter but proving otherwise unworthy of daily appearances in replace of Fat Mo.

The first thing the Mess should do at this point is bring up the phenom, Jose Reyes. People pissed and moaned about his lack of pitch selection in Spring Training, but the current shortstop, Rey Sanchez, is suffocating at the plate with a .129 batting average. Surely Reyes can do better than .129 and even if he can't, he brings flash and speed and the kind of youthful enthusiam that the currently moribund Mess sorely lack.

The next thing to do would be to put the best defensive team out on the field as possible. The current defensive liabilities are not hitting well enough to justify their presence in the lineup not to mention the dread the pitching staff feels every time a ball is hit. While the Mess aren't hitting, at least they can put guys out on the field who can keep the score close by not artificially inflating every deficit with each subsequent bonehead fielding debacle. It's no fun wincing when a fly ball is hit to center field. Cedeno should be relegated to a pinch-runner's role.

As for Armando, the diaphanous Dominican with the delicate emotions, there isn't much to hope for. You might be able to trick him into believing he is merely suffering from a slight mechanical breakdown which he can work through in a role other than closer while auditioning the rest of the bullpen to replace him. There are jackals lusting for the return of John Franco, the 42 year old former closer coming off of Tommy John surgery who thinks he'll be ready in a month. Why not cast your pennies of hope over your back into the Trevi fountain, or rub magic bottles and hope the mythical genie of closers pops out of one of them? If Armando doesn't recover, the bullpen is shot and the season will morph into a sad series of failed, unhappy endings.

It may turn out that memory lane will be the only lane Mess fans can rely on if they want to sniff the saga of success.

*****

I'll be leaving tomorrow for a two week celebration in Holland devoid of NFL draft coverage, the misery of the Mess, the NHL and NBA playoffs. It will be a nearly unbearable void but hopefully, I'll stumble through it somehow. By the time I return, I fully expect a Mess team firmly in first place, the Jets to have landed Andre Johnson in a blockbuster draft day trade, Milwaukee to have eliminated the Nets, and the New Jersey Devils beating on the Flyers in the Eastern Conference finals. If none of it happens, I'll settle for a cold beer and a hot massage.

Attack of The Killer Drunks

"By three methods we may learn wisdom: First, by reflection, which is noblest; Second, by imitation, which is easiest; and third by experience, which is the bitterest. -- Confucius

Although it pales in comparison to the Attack of the 50 Foot Chicken, the attack on umpire Laz Diaz by Eric Dybas of Bolingbrook two nights ago was the apogee of the increasing problem of not only keeping fans off of the baseball field, but of preventing them from attacking players, coaches and umpires when they get there.

Meet The Mess
"The future ain't what it used to be." --Yogi Berra

The optimists are hanging on by their fingernails. One by one, the rational mind can no longer rationalize the possibilities of World Championships, inching into wildcard berths or even a .500 season. The rational mind must begin to realize that this fiasco of a baseball team should, in all truth and clarity, be renamed. Ladies and gentlemen, meet your 2003 New York Mess.

So Drop Dead Already
"If I drop dead right now, our position will not change on this issue," Hootie Johnson, Chairman of Augusta National, on the eve of a Masters.

I'll admit right off the bat, other than the existence of Elin Nordegren, the Swedish model girlfriend of Tiger Woods and the fact that it can be as frustrating to play as it is boring to watch, I don't know hoot about golf and don't usually care to. However, the shrill media coverage about the lack of female members at Augusta has finally caught my attention.

Armando The Awful

Wow, was this the pennant race already? I must have overslept. This sounds like a September, or maybe an October story: Mets have a 5-4 lead, three outs away from victory. Armando Benitez comes waddling in from the bullpen to seal the victory and instead, we get a loss and enough drama to fill a few Greek plays.

The farcical meltdown began well into the third batter of the inning, Vladimir Guerrero. Benitez had already started the inning off by ceding a single to a Mets castoff, Endy Chavez. Jose Vidro is miraculously retired and then came Guerrero. On the second pitch, Guerrero took a savage swing and missed but the savage swing itself was some sort of derailing challenge of manhood to Armando who then proceeded to walk Guerrero to put men on first and second as the boos began to filter through Shea with Jeff Liefer, a lifetime .250 hitter coming to the plate.

Armando quickly falls behind in the count, 2 balls and no strikes. His command was not sharp. He bounced several splitters and sliders and was up and in a bit with the fastball but finally, he manages to get the count full. By now, everyone on planet Earth knows what is coming next, even Liefer, facing Benitez for the first time:

"It was a fastball," Liefer said. "I was looking for a fastball the whole at-bat. That's his best pitch that he can throw for a strike. I was just trying to layoff his other stuff that's tough to lay off a lot of times. Once I got to 3-2, I knew he was coming with a fast ball and I put good wood on it."

"He hit my best pitch," Benitez said of the 97-mph fastball, to Liefer. "I'm behind in the count, I have to come and throw a strike."

We could flash back to the blown Game 6 of the 1999 NLCS against the Braves. Or perhaps the 2000 Subway Series, his walk of Paul O'Neill that blew Game One. J.T. Snow's home run in the first game of the NLDS in 2000. Pat Burrell, on three different occasions. The horrific blown leads against the Braves, twice down the stretch in 2001 that cost the Mets a playoff spot. The list goes on and on and while Armando has compiled the best save percentage (90.7) of anyone in baseball during the previous three years, there is a hideous disclaimer and that is Armando can't get them out when it counts.

That's why I thought I'd fallen asleep and woken up in the middle of the pennant race because this is evidence of the vintage Armando choke hold on himself that he can't seem to break when the games really count.

And frankly, it isn't such an unforgiveable deed so early in the season. After all, he'd saved the two games prior to this one. But then in true Armando style, he made matters worse by whining like Joy Behar on a bad hair day:

"What bothers me is I save two days in a row and I sit down by my locker and nobody comes to me, nobody talks to me," Benitez sniffles. "Sometimes we have to be fair and see that what I'm doing is sometimes good. It's not fair."

Listening to Armando whimper: the unloved Armando, the underappreciated Armando, the menstruating and irritated Armando, one begins to understand the root of his problems, the cause of his frequent bouts of choking, his inability to do the job when it counts. He simply doesn't understand the nature of his job as a closer.

John Franco, the Met vet who has saved 422 games in his career and knows a thing or two about what it's like to be a closer, likened being a closer to "being like a field goal kicker. You
make 12, 13 in a row, then you miss one and that is the one people want to know about."

And he's right. Some people can handle the pressure, understand the reality of being ignored except when you fail. It isn't fair. But the position calls for the ability to let that patent unfairness roll off your back. Armando can't because he doesn't have the emotional stoicism to handle it. And that's why when the game is on the line and the game actually counts, Armando has a well documented history of failing. He tightens up, he gets wild, and then he tries to overcompensate with his fastball that all the world knows is coming.

I said it all winter and I said it over and over again this spring: Armando should be traded before it begins to finally sink in throughout the rest of the league that he is damaged goods, a man who can't handle the pressure of a high-stakes game and come out the winner more times than not.

*****

The Detroit Tigers became the first team in 40 years to start 0-6 in consecutive seasons, finally relieving the NY Mets of '62 and '63 of that humiliation. After last season's embarassing 0-11 start, the Tigers have begun this sesaon by getting outscored 36-6 so far. It begs the question as to whether or not they should switch places with their Triple A Toledo Mudhens farm club who are 2-2 so far this season.

One week into the season, which is more surprising:

1. The disasterous start of Greg Maddux, who is already 0-2 with a 11.00 ERA.
2. The unforeseen 5-0 start of the Kansas City Royals out of the gate, the first ever to do so after a 100 loss sesaon.
3. Shea Hillenbrand going from the trading block to knocking in 15 runs in the first 7 games of the season.
4. The 5-1 start of the Pittsburgh Pirates.
5. Randy Johnson and Curt Schilling winless after both having pitched two games.

One week into the season, which is least surprising:

1. Junior going down to injury.
2. The Detroit Tigers 0-5 start and already 5 1/2 games out of first place.
3. Jose Hernandez has struck out 9 times in his first 22 at-bats putting him on pace for a record-shattering 243 strikeouts for the season.
4. Opening week attendance down nearly 10% following a week of inclimate weather.
5. Jeter going down to injury only to replaced by a guy who is hitting .412 in his absence.

*****

There's an interesting game on the Major League Baseball website called Beat The Streak wherein you pick one guy each day to get a hit and if he gets a hit, your streak continues. The first person to break DiMaggio's 56 game hitting streak gets seasons tickets for the team of his choice. If somehow you get a 100 game hitting streak, you get four tickets to EVERY game of the World Series.

*****

NCAA MEN'S BASKETBALL FINAL:

The main thing I want to say about the NCAA Men's Basketball Final is why the hell is it starting so early? 9:00 at night? Why don't they just start it at midnight so the 8 people in Hawaii who want to watch it will be home from work in time?

Finally, The Prediction, since I'm soooo close to the top of my SI.com hoops bracket challenge in 88,306th place:

In five games during the NCAA Tournament, Syracuse has beaten Texas, Oklahoma and Oklahoma State, the teams that finished second, third and fourth, respectively, in the Big 12. In January, the Orangemen beat Missouri, the fifth-place team in the conference. Only Kansas remains for the Orange to become Big 12 Champions.

Since I don't want to have to root against the team I like better, the pick is

Syracuse 86 Kansas 79

The Rise And Fall of Expectations

"I'm not just going to let Sammy add to his numbers against us" Art Howe, following the season's opening series against the Cubs who beat the Mets two out of three times.

It's a poor foreshadowing of the season when the biggest accomplishment of your opening series is reduced to holding Sammy Sosa from hitting his 500th homer against you. To do it, the Mets pitching staff had to walk Sosa 6 times out of 13 at bats. In a series in which they gave up 22 earned runs in 3 games, it's about the only thing outside of Al Leiter that you can say the pitching staff succeeded at.

The woeful tales of the inept are many. Mike Bacsic, who had once vied for the 5th spot in the rotation and was then reduced to a mop up role, pitched a perfect inning yesterday which brought his ERA down to still-unfathonable 27.00. Following the game he was sent back to the minors to make room for David Cone who may no longer be eligible for Social Security benefits once he takes the mound against the Expos on Saturday.

Yesterday, much like Tom Glavine's start on Opening Day, began with a bang by the Cubs when Steve Trachsel proved incapable of getting batters to make an out. Perhaps they should plagerize the Pentagon's crack slogan squad and call this the "Shock and Awe" School of Starting Pitching. Nine of the first thirteen Cubs batters reached base in the game against Steve Trachsel, as he allowed five runs through the first three innings and believe me, were it not for some inept baserunning by the Cubs, the bleeding could have been much worse. Trachsel picked off Corey Patterson and Mark Bellhorn in succession in the second. Sosa was thrown out at the plate trying to score on Alou's two-run double in the third, then Alou was nailed at home when he tagged up on a fly ball. Otherwise, this would have been much uglier.

I found a New Jersey paper on the train the other day and in it was an article which detailed the course of Art Howe's life and what a "tough" guy he is, apparently meant to offset the press questioning Howe's laid back reputation. Jason Giambi said "he's either the toughest nice guy or the nicest tough guy I've ever known" -- Well, that's a comfort if Art Howe's got my back in a bar fight but frankly, this laid back, everyone's happy as a hippy in a bed of flowers team mentality doesn't seem to be serving much point yet.

But perhaps it is unfair to place the blame on the shoulders of a maladroit pitching staff and its manager. After all, in the first three games of the season, the Mets have struck out a staggering 27 times. Hurray for Fat Mo that he's lost a little weight but he's hitting .143 and has struck out in nearly half of his at-bats.

So far, so bad. Yes, there was that inning or two of brief euphoria when the Mets almost resembled a Major League team instead of some sort of collective Max Patkin revival the other night but otherwise, it's been one act of ineptitude after another.

*****

At the onset of the only game the Mets won out of the series, the capricious Met television color man Keith Hernandez pointed out what a crucial stat he believed an umpire's walks to strikeouts ratio was in determining how a game will play out. He asked viewers to consider the implications of an expanded or constricted strike zone both for the hitter and the pitcher. After a few innings of watching Cubs starter Mark Clement throw wild-pitch sliders all over the place, it seemed like a moot point, but I looked it up anyway later on the Umpire Statistics Page.

The purpose of the site, which provides statistics for handicapping, is to keep track of data on umpires to learn of any biases that may be inherent in the way an individual umpire calls balls and strikes or shows sentiment for or against the home team. It further notes that "psychological and other intangible factors might be used to explain why such behavior occurs."

According to this site's statistics, for the umpires who regularly worked games last season, of the four with the highest walks-per-9-innings ratio, only two are still umpires this season and the other two don't even appear on the All-Time Umpire Roster. What happened to them? Did they blow one too many calls? What do these mysterious disappearances mean? Maybe the days of Alfonso Marquez and Sam Holbrook will soon be numbered and they too, will disappear entirely, Hoffa-like, from the annals of baseball's history. Strange, perhaps even ominous stats.

Yesterday I discovered the existence of Diamond Mind Baseball which has very elaborate computer-projected standings (and analysis) for the 2003 season. They picked the Mets to finish last and while I'd like to feel disgruntled, last year they picked the Mets fourth and look where it got them.

New York Minute

For New York fans, the onset of the baseball season yesterday demonstrated two diametrically opposed outcomes yet two similarly ominous auguries for the coming season.

I'm still trying to digest and understand a few things leading up to yesterday's Yankee opener: First of all, the well-publicized Toronto Star advertisement featuring, at the top, a series of Japanese characters and their English translation: "Boo Matsui." In the middle of the ad was a Yankees cap with bird droppings on it. I hate the Yankees just as much as the next guy but let's face it, the ad doesn't make any sense. Why encourage the seven or eight Blue Jays fans out there to boo someone who hasn't even played a regular season game for the Yankees yet? Didn't someone like David Wells, who issued a wide range of slurs against Toronto fans like calling them "wool-hat wankers" and saying "Stick, puck, ice, missing teeth; this is the stuff these Canucks understand. Baseball seems entirely too complicated for 'em.", merit a full page ad? Jim Bloom, in his first year as their director of consumer marketing and obviously desperate to come up with some ideas on how to keep his job, claimed that they picked out Matsui because he was a "high profile" signing. So what? Jose Contreras was a "high profile" signing as well. Ask any Red Sox fan. Do you think some neophyte moron in the Red Sox promotional office is going to encourage fans to boo Contreras? If anything, they'd boo Steinbrenner, a better personification of any bitterness baseball fans have about the economic disparity between baseball teams. For that matter, if he was worth booing, would Red Sox fans be so stupid that the Red Sox would have to take out an ad encouraging their fans to boo him? I think they could figure it out all on their own.

Paul Godfrey, Blue Jays president and a former newspaper publisher, compared the bird-dropping promotion to a political cartoon. "We had to light a fire under our fans," he said. "We used the Yankees to a certain extent. I acknowledge that." Shares in the communications company owned by Toronto Blue Jays owner Ted Rogers have declined almost 70 percent since 2000. They haven't had a sellout since 1997, a frustrating five-year drought for the team's bottom line but maybe fielding a middle-of-the-road team that only flirts with .500 every season doesn't help. Crying about economic disparities not only doesn't help, it doesn't make any sense in the face of the success of teams like the Minnesota Twins and the Oakland A's, to name a few.

Some other nuggets from last night's game was the ridiculous pre-game ceremonies complete with blaring rap music that had nothing to do with baseball, dimmed house lights, a laser show and some very strange smoke effects which made the Skydome seem more like some cheesy downtown disco than the venue of a baseball game.

When some Blue Jays fans did boo Hideki Matsui, as Sunday's controversial advertisement recommended, Hideki Matsui slapped the first big-league pitch he saw to left for a two-out, RBI single in the first inning, immediately followed by the Yankees bonehead announcer's breathless little cheer: "Welcome to America, Hideki!" -- until he realized a few silent pauses later they were all in Canada, not America, d'oh!

The big news of course, was Derek Jeter suffering a dislocated left shoulder after a violent collision at third base with Toronto catcher Ken Huckaby. Joe Torre and his entire lineup circled around him in quiet concern, waiting in vain for an emergency vehicle as though there was no foresight by anyone in the Blue Jay organization that an emergency vehicle might be needed during the game. This too, seemed almost a comical misadventure. Was it stuck in the snow? Were they trying to make Jeter pay for the economic disparity between the Yankees and Blue Jays by pretending they couldn't afford an emergency vehicle/golf cart with stretcher to ferry him away in?

To add even more unsettling news, Jeter, who was taken to Toronto's Mount Sinai Hospital for his X-rays, wore a surgical mask as a precautionary measure against the SARS (Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome) virus, a mysterious and potentially deadly respiratory illness that has led to Toronto residents being quarantined.

Personally, the most disgusting moment of the evening came when listening to a pre-recorded Céline Dion croak out her version of "God Bless America". First of all, the autocratic and criminal nature of Bud Selig was demonstrated yet again for those who didn't notice the first trillion times he has marred the beauty of baseball with his idiotic Milwaukee bureaucrat mentality. For some reason, Major League Baseball ordered "God Bless America" played during the seventh-inning stretch at all ball parks, including those which are not in America, as a show of respect and support for the American-led war in Iraq. While this is bad enough, having a creepy and talentless washout like Céline Dion sing it, made it even somehow even worse.

*****

On the other side of the coin of course, was the miserable, Titanic-like disaster in Shea Stadium yesterday by the "new" Mets who lost in the worst Opening Day defeat in the major leagues since the Cubs trounced the St. Louis Browns 17-3 in 1951.

"I can rest a lot better after a game like this," Art Howe said, "than if we'd lost 4-2 or 2-1.".

The papers were right, this Art Howe IS a laid back guy. If the Mets play the rest of the season like they did yesterday, Howe will have plenty of time to rest pretty soon. In fact, he can take the second half of the season off because there won't be much point in playing it.

Where shall we start, Met minions? This is 2002 redux only this time, there is no Bobby Valentine, with his fake nose and moustache or his "stoned batter" trying to swing at a 90 mph fastball impressions to keep us loose, only Art Howe and his unnerving unwillingness to appear concerned about anything but being relaxed. Look, we've got more bad defense to look forward to! More mental lapses to anticipate! More incendiary relief pitching count on! More quotes about this being only one game and there being an entire season ahead of us, etc.

It's as though the baseball gods want Met fans to know right off the bat: fuggetaboutit. Glavine's harsh downturn in the second half of last season and his hideous post season performances were a portent of the misery to come. That's why the Mets were able to sign him in the first place. Mercifully, whatever faint Opening Day optimism might have been allowed germinate was quickly killed when Glavine gave up enough runs to lose within the first ten minutes of the game. Some people say he didn't sound, after the game, like a man making excuses so much as a man who knew exactly why and how he failed. So cheer up fans. Glavine isn't washed up. The reason he just looks like he is was because yesterday was cold and windy. He couldn't feel his fingers to feel his change up he says. So let's remember that when it's sunny and 90 degrees outside and Glavine is throwing no-hitters every afternoon.

And do you think Roger Cedeño isn't spending all his free time trying to cook up more excuses for why he looks like he's chasing hot dog wrappers on a windy day when a fly ball is hit his way? "I couldn't see the ball", Cedeño said yesterday of his comical misplay of a fly ball in the seventh inning. I'm not trying to make excuses, but the sun was right there, I looked up and there it was." Absolute genius, I say. He looks up, on a sunny day, and wow, there it was, the sun. He and Cliff Floyd, the Laurel and Hardy of outfield play, will be hard at work all season to explain their mistakes during nightgames for example: "The moonlight got in my eyes?", or "it was too dark to see?".

Yes, the Mets "only" lost one game today, but before the fans get too excited, it should be noted that was only because it's too early in the season for doubleheaders.