-- Albert King
Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you were here. Let me get out from underneath this black cloud, and we can talk.
Schleprock’s the name. Good to meet you. . .
Albert King was a Reds fan. I don’t know that, yet I know it like a fact. The vintage bluesman wrote the above lyrics after spending a year as a fan of Cincinnati sports.
Honestly, I don’t know how you do it. Day after week after soul-sapping year. The patron saint of sports here is the son of Job, by way of Sisyphus. Keep pushing that rock up the hill, sucker.
The local sports logo is the hands of a man, covering his face. Hope is a muscle, all right. And it is pulled. Or torn or strained or in the case of Ken Griffey Jr., ripped completely off the bone.
You’re not allowed to be happy here very long, sports guy. Your heart’s been broken more than a Valentine’s Day promise. You look at Cubs Fan and say, “You have no idea.’’ Suffering? The teams of Detroit are the JV compared to you. Buffalo is Palm Springs. JetsFan is on a privileged roll.
Being a fan of Cincinnati sports is like wearing a KICK ME sign instead of a ROSE jersey.
You weren’t meant to enjoy your teams. Where do you think you are, Boston?
Barely 72 hours ago, the Reds finished a four-game sweep in St. Louis. It was the most satisfying Reds happening since. . . since. . . when?
I liked it better than the sort-of playoff appearance in last year’s pseudo-season. There was no meat on that bone, and October ended in an instant. You have to go all the way back to October 2012 to locate similar joy. And even that ended in a train wreck. Mister Cueto still thanks you for your sympathy cards.
The Club returned from Looie full of hope. It only took three innings to smash that happiness. Sonny Gray has a groin injury. We don’t know how severe. With Gray, the Reds were on the outside looking in, in, at the NL Central prom. Without him?
Well, adding Tony Santillan to a rotation that already features Vlad Gutierrez doesn’t change the Hands Over Face logo, now does it?
I know, I hear you. Every team is getting hurt this year. The Reds still have it better than the Cardinals, who are missing 60 percent of their planned starting rotation. Better than Milwaukee, who can’t keep Yelich on the field. Point is, St. Louis wins lots of ballgames most of the time. The Brewers hold their own and even if they didn’t, fans up there have the Packers.
No need again to list the roster of unfortunates who did nothing wrong except play in our cursed little republic. I’m too lazy to list the names of Cook, Wilson, Krumrie, Martin, Cueto, Griffey, Palmer and Burrow, or to mention BurfictPacManplayoffs or even the No. 1 all-time So-Cincinnati daily double of unimagined heartbreak:
March 18, 2018. Top-seeded Xavier and No.2 seeded UC lose 2nd-round Madness games, back-to-back, on the same night, in the same gym. That’s like stepping on a crack while walking under a ladder as a black cat sprints directly in front of you on Friday the 13th.
Albert King’s ghost was there that night, playing solos.
Get well, Sonny Gray, and don’t feel bad. It’s a Cincinnati Thing. The rest of the sports world wouldn’t understand.
Now, then. . .
YOU NEED A LAUGH, and the Pirates are here for you. Last night, Bucs youngster Ke’Bryan Hayes lined what should have been a homer to right field in the 1st inning against the Dodgers. Only, he missed the bag at 1st base. LA made the appeal and Hayes was called out. Hahaha. Freakin’ Pirates. MLB.com:
According to data at retrosheet.com, it appears the last home run to be lost due to a player missing a base happened on June 17, 1983. However, that situation was slightly different: Al Cowens of the Mariners was dashing around the diamond to attempt an inside-the-park home run.
SPEAKING OF. . . Baserunning in general is awful across the game. ESPN.com:
Buck Showalter managed in the big leagues for 20 years. No one loves the game more than him, and no one wants to see it played properly more than him.
"Baserunning, oh my gosh, I wouldn't know where to start,'' he said. "I do a couple of Yankee games a month (as a broadcaster for YES Network). I see two or three baserunning mistakes [per game]. Baserunning is the ultimate team play. If you don't run the bases well, you are selfish. We have lost the shame of the strikeout in the game. We are losing the shame of bad baserunning.''
The author of the piece, Tim Kurkjian, wrote,
It is not necessarily the fault of the players. The industry, infatuated with home runs being the primary way to score runs in today's game, has de-emphasized baserunning. It hasn't taught it very well. It doesn't pay for great baserunning. It doesn't penalize bad baserunning. The industry has decided that the risk of getting thrown out trying to advance 90 feet is far greater than the reward for hitting a three-run home run.
But the industry has gone too far. It has taken one of the most exciting and most critical parts of the game and devalued it. In doing so, it has turned baseball into a slower game, one base at a time. It has become a game that, at times, can be spectacularly boring.
Amen, brudda. It’s a tidy little metaphor for what ails the game.
ATTENDANCE LAST NIGHT at the Small Park: 11,897, on the first night full attendance was allowed since September 2019. Hmmm.
IT’S NOT TOO EARLY for fans to start pounding the Jesse Winker drum. As of today, he should start in the All Star Game. Not, good lord, Mookie Betts.
A LONG AND FLATTERING STORY on Mick Cronin in the LA Times includes this:
The only promises Cronin makes are that you will work hard and get better. To be a Bruins basketball recruit means hearing less about how great you are than how far you have to go.
I’M MORE THAN JUST A PRETTY FACE. . . Just finished reading Dave Kindred’s memoir about his grandson’s short and sad life, Leave Out The Tragic Parts. Dave was the sports columnist for the Louisville Courier-Journal, the Washington Post and the Atlanta Constitution. Some say he’s Best Ever in the business. I wouldn’t argue.
When I was just getting into the biz, I’d spend hours at the public library in Westminster, MD, where I lived and worked, reading Kindred’s stuff at the Post. I don’t idolize anyone, but if I did. . .
His book is about love, loss, hope and failure. It’s the story of Jared Kindred, a rail-riding vagabond whose love for the open road was equaled only by his need for alcohol. In the end, alcohol beat him.
The book is passionate and compassionate and makes it plain that addiction is not a comment on one’s character. It helped me understand better how my own best friend, Fred Stewart, as good and genuine a person as I’ve ever known, fell victim to booze. Fred died last year at 64, after close to four decades of battling drink. A housekeeper found him in a cheap motel room, an empty, plastic liter bottle of vodka next to him.
TML sez ckout Tragic Parts. A great effort from a most gifted writer.
TUNE O’ THE DAY. . . Speaking of Albert King. . .
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