Blyleven Gets His Due

After years of waiting, Bert Blyleven is finally getting his due. On Saturday the Minnesota Twins will retire his number and later this month he'll be inducted into the Hall of Fame.

When I was kid going to Brewers games, Blyleven was one of the visiting players I always looked forward to seeing. His pitching style was effortless and his curveball broke so much it just had to be an optical illusion. But it wasn't. It was often said by announcers at the time that he had the best breaking ball ever.

Still, a long career (22 seasons) and a lot of wins (287) weren't enough to get him into the Hall of Fame for years. A lot of the argument against him centered around the idea that he was just a compiler, someone who put up good numbers only because he hung around so long.

I am suspicious of the "compiler" argument. I have heard it used several times to denigrate the accomplishments of Hank Aaron. Yes, Aaron had a long career; almost all legendary players do. But he was a great player from the start of his career and had the grit to break the game's greatest record in the face of death threats and vile racial insults. And he he was in the two three in homers, RBI, runs scored and hits when he retired. In short, he is the definition of a Hall of Famer.

Blyleven, of course, is not Aaron. His winning percentage is not the best, but he often had mediocre or even hapless teams behind him.

While there are some number that (automatically) make a player worthy of enshrinement, like 300 wins, 3,000 hits (at least prior to steroids), I have always thought Hall of Famers can be spotted while they are in the midst of their careers.

Bert Blyleven seemed worthy then, and I am happy to seem him finally get the honor.

All-Star Addiction?

Check out the price, and that's for a Lower Box seat down the line!

I admit it. No matter how awful the selection process, how meaningless the game I still watch baseball's All-Star Game each year. I am an addict. (Although if I did miss it I don't think I'd go into withdrawal.)

I know the game is not what it once was. Apart from the World Series, it used to be the only time you could see the stars from each league face off. And those stars seemed to play it like they wanted to win. There was no cheering when someone made a nice catch to send them back to the dugout. No one left the ballpark after their stint in the game was over to catch the ESPYs. Just thinking about the ESPYs makes the All-Star game seem suddenly important.

Some of that nonsense hasn't been seen the last few years. But the game doesn't have the thrills it used to. My earliest All-Star memory is a vague recollection of the 1969 game. Actually, what I remember most is the dugouts overflowing with rainwater and the game being postponed. They played that game on Wednesday afternoon.

It could be that the 1970 cemented my affinity for the Mid-Summer Classic: Pete Rose scoring the winning run by running over Ray Fosse (who knew he was voted as the starter in '71 despite being injured?) is an iconic moment. I was 11 and there was no doubt the game was for real.

I was at the '75 game at Milwaukee County Stadium. It was Hank Aaron's last appearance as an All-Star and had the odd coincidence of the co-MVPs having similar names: Bill Madlock and Jon Matlack for the National League. I think that was the first time I was sprayed with beer at a ballpark. The guy behind me had managed to get a six-pack and I guess it was shaken, not stirred, on the way in.

Through the years, I've always managed to see the game. When I worked nights I would tape it and watch it later. For several years now I've gotten together with my friend, John, and whoever else wants to watch the game.

It's become more about the tradition and camaraderie than the game. Maybe I'm not addicted after all. This therapy session worked. Thanks for listening.

Extra Baseball Everywhere

Robin Ventura celebrated his game-winning HR,
preventing him from completing his trip around the bases.

If it seems like there are a lot extra-inning games this year, it's because there are. Baseball is on a pace to have 261 such games this season, which far surpass the pervious high.

Thank god MLB has not seen fit to change the rules like hockey has to make sure tied games don't take all night (sometimes they last to another day if curfews are reached). Even a sloppily played game can seem like a classic if it stretches on into bonus panels as my sports editor friend Jerry call them.

I've written about a couple of my favorite extra-inning games already: A Gaylord Perry gem (he lost) against the Milwaukee Brewers, and a wild game between the New York Mets and the Atlanta Braves.

The most tense such game I ever witnessed in person was the "Robin Ventura Grand Slam Single" game. The setting was Game 5 of the 1999 NLCS. The Atlanta Braves were leading the series, 3-1. The Mets' season looked like it was coming to an end in the 15th inning when the visitors took a 3-2 lead.

But the Mets came back to ties on a bases loaded walk in the bottom half of the frame. Through a steady rain Ventura launched a 1-1 pitch over the right-field fence. The Mets and the fans began the celebration. After touching first, Ventura failed to round the bases. A walk-off grand slam became a single in the scorebook.

Turns out two other grand slams have met similar scoring fates. One was by Dalton Jones of the Detroit Tigers on July 9, 1970; the other when Tim McCarver passed a runner on July 4, 1976.

Joe Adcock of the Milwaukee Braves lost his May 16, 1959, home run in a game in which his hit beat the greatest mound performance ever. His lost round-tripper happened during Harvey Haddix's 12-inning perfect game in May 1959. The game was scoreless until the 13th. Haddix still on the mound lost his perfect game when Felix Mantilla was safe on an error. A sacrifice and an intentional walk to Hank Aaron set the stage.

Remember, Haddix still hadn't allowed a hit. Adcock hit one out, but Aaron head to the clubhouse after touching second. An odd ending to an amazing night.

Nicknames a Thing of the Past?

George Herman Ruth had a lot of nicknames: Babe,
Sultan of Swat and the King of Clout.

The New York Times had a story today about the dearth of colorful nicknames in sports. They have a point. Sure there are still a few nicknames, but they seem to lack the panache of the past. I agree that A-Rod isn't really a nickname: It's just shorthand.

I can recall a lot of players whose nicknames were so entrenched that hearing their real first names was a surprise. There was Catfish Hunter, Goose Gossage, Whitey Ford, Pie Traynor, Red Schoendinst, Lefty Gomez, Dizzy Dean, Yogi Berra, and the greatest of all, Babe Ruth.

Sure announcers would mention the real names from time to time, but it was almost like they were divulging a secret.

Others had nicknames that were descriptive of some personal attribute or that were evocative of their play. Ted Williams was "The Splendid Splinter," Henry Aaron was "Hammerin' Hank" (although he preferred Henry to Hank), Willie Mays, of course, was the "Say Hey Kid." Later there was "The Kid" (Robin Yount who hit the big leagues at 18), "The Ryan Express" (Nolan Ryan), and "Donnie Baseball" (Don Mattingly).

The lack of nicknames today speaks to the way sports has involved into a business that rakes in billions of dollars. The games, as The Times notes, have become more corporate. That leads to separation from the fans. And less color in the game. And the article notes that nicknames are less prevalent in general society than in the past.


I ran my eye down the Milwaukee Brewers roster and no nicknames came to mind. No "Yankee Clipper (Joe DiMaggio) or "Fordham Flash" (Frankie Frisch) among them.

"The Great American Baseball Card Flipping, Trading and Bubble Gum Book" is a wonderful book that I wore out as a kid that introduced me to great nicknames like "Suitcase" Simpson.

ESPN's Chris Berman, who must have grown up soaking in all the nicknames, is known for his word play involving players' names. They can't exactly be called nicknames, but at least he has a little bit of fun.