dex: Nomar's growing facial hair! I guess Mia is too busy to have sex with him now.
shep: He's helping take care of the twins, and this baseball career takes a lot of time.
dex: He has to get his own water now.
shep: It's hard to be Nomar when he has to get his own water.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Sometimes, things related to the White Sox are not all bad.
I have two Tar Heels on my fantasy league (where shep. is already soundly kicking my ass) team this year. Two! And if BJ Surhoff hadn't gotten old, I would have three. I have a great love for the Weej, as my high school boyfriend called him. I miss him and his old-man knees and the fact that he caught until his knees got too bad, then he played third base until his knees got too bad, then he played in the outfield until his knees got too bad, and then he DH'd for a while after that, until he couldn't stand up anymore. That's dedication to the game, man.
... Wait, what was I talking about? Right. Tar Heels on my fantasy league roster. I have two Tar Heels on my fantasy league team, Andrew Miller (RP, Detroit) and Chris Iannetta (C, Colorado Rockies). This pleases me, because it speaks volumes for Carolina's baseball program.
My point was: this year, the Tar Heels baseball team has a starting pitcher who pitches out of the bullpen on his off-days, just because he can, who lists Guitar Hero as his favorite video game, and who was a chess champion in middle school. Seriously. Is there anything not to love about this baseball team? I THINK NOT.
The joy of watching this team this year hasn't been that they're good (which they are) or that they win (which they do) -- it's been how they win. On Friday night, against Duke, they won 7-0 on a complete game shutout by Robert Woodard, and they had one extra base hit, a late-game solo homerun by Chad Flack.
One. One extra base hit. They scored six runs on the strength of walks (good eyes at the plate, because the Duke pitchers were good), singles, and smart, smart base-running. It's a textbook definition of small ball -- solid hitting from everyone in the lineup (well, not really; Tim Federowicz is slumping, and slumping bad, lately, and it was really the very very top and the very very bottom of the lineup that won the game on Friday night), smart baserunning and a quick (read: lots of stealing) starting lineup, and solid if not inspired pitching. Woodard gave up a bunch of hits, but it didn't matter, because the defense was good and he never got rattled. (He does, however, have the weirdest motion on the face of the Earth, and Dontrelle Willis, I'm looking at you -- Woodard kicks, pauses, and finishes delivery, when there's no one on base. It's supremely strange to watch, makes him look like a robot.)
Carolina Baseball has been fun to watch this season because they're playing smart baseball. To steal a line from the White Sox, they're playing grinderball. Play hard, play smart, play fundamentally solid, and trust your pitchers. And you'll win. (I still think that Benji Johnson has better rapport with his pitchers than Federowicz -- Johnson is a smart, gentle sort of catcher, who knows exactly how to call for each of his pitchers, and knows how to adjust on the fly -- but Federowicz hits better and has a better arm, so I guess it's a trade-off.)
Grinderball -- it's the kind of baseball that looks boring on paper but turns out to be a hell of a lot of fun to watch.
(Photos, such as they are, are here.)
... Wait, what was I talking about? Right. Tar Heels on my fantasy league roster. I have two Tar Heels on my fantasy league team, Andrew Miller (RP, Detroit) and Chris Iannetta (C, Colorado Rockies). This pleases me, because it speaks volumes for Carolina's baseball program.
My point was: this year, the Tar Heels baseball team has a starting pitcher who pitches out of the bullpen on his off-days, just because he can, who lists Guitar Hero as his favorite video game, and who was a chess champion in middle school. Seriously. Is there anything not to love about this baseball team? I THINK NOT.
The joy of watching this team this year hasn't been that they're good (which they are) or that they win (which they do) -- it's been how they win. On Friday night, against Duke, they won 7-0 on a complete game shutout by Robert Woodard, and they had one extra base hit, a late-game solo homerun by Chad Flack.
One. One extra base hit. They scored six runs on the strength of walks (good eyes at the plate, because the Duke pitchers were good), singles, and smart, smart base-running. It's a textbook definition of small ball -- solid hitting from everyone in the lineup (well, not really; Tim Federowicz is slumping, and slumping bad, lately, and it was really the very very top and the very very bottom of the lineup that won the game on Friday night), smart baserunning and a quick (read: lots of stealing) starting lineup, and solid if not inspired pitching. Woodard gave up a bunch of hits, but it didn't matter, because the defense was good and he never got rattled. (He does, however, have the weirdest motion on the face of the Earth, and Dontrelle Willis, I'm looking at you -- Woodard kicks, pauses, and finishes delivery, when there's no one on base. It's supremely strange to watch, makes him look like a robot.)
Carolina Baseball has been fun to watch this season because they're playing smart baseball. To steal a line from the White Sox, they're playing grinderball. Play hard, play smart, play fundamentally solid, and trust your pitchers. And you'll win. (I still think that Benji Johnson has better rapport with his pitchers than Federowicz -- Johnson is a smart, gentle sort of catcher, who knows exactly how to call for each of his pitchers, and knows how to adjust on the fly -- but Federowicz hits better and has a better arm, so I guess it's a trade-off.)
Grinderball -- it's the kind of baseball that looks boring on paper but turns out to be a hell of a lot of fun to watch.
(Photos, such as they are, are here.)
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Just slighter nicer than if Greg Paulus decided, in this thin NBA point guard class, to go pro.
Sometimes, when we're really, really lucky, shep. and I do get nice things.
Monday, April 2, 2007
an open letter to the university of north carolina basketball teams, plural
I only have one word for the University of North Carolina men's and women's basketball teams right now. It's not a complicated word. It's not a word they'll have to look up in the dictionary, if they want to comprehend its meaning. It's a pretty simple, everyday, ordinary sort of word.
That word is finish. As in, finish off a game.
As in, don't collapse as the pressure goes up.
I watched last night's women's Final Four semifinal on the TV in my bedroom, with sort of a growing dread in my stomach for most of the second half. It was like a horror movie -- where the heroine is going to open the door/go down to the basement/run outside of the nice safe house, and there's nothing you can do to stop her except shout helplessly at the television.
When Carolina shot out to a 12 point lead with 7 minutes left, I could see it coming.
When Tennessee closed the gap to six, I could see it coming.
And when Ivory Latta started missing every shot she took, I put the covers over my head and turned the sound off, watching the last two minutes of the game with one eye, barely peeking over the top of my comforter, and only the sound of my own breathing for company.
It was like some horrible kind of deja vu. It was like watching the men collapse against Georgetown all over again, except worse: in the Final Four, with a starting lineup made up mostly of upperclassmen, against a team that's won more national championships that any other women's team. I mean, honestly, what's Pat Summitt going to do with her 7th trophy, put it in her guest bathroom? At least I could hope that JT3 could stop riding his daddy's coattails if Georgetown won the whole shebang on the men's side. Pat Summitt can win titles on her own, without any help from Sylvia Hatchell's team falling apart in the final minutes.
So seriously, basketball teams: what gives? So much talent, and so little ability to put an opponent away. Look, there's no shame in routs -- if you can rout a team, rout them. I'm a fan of the good old fashioned rout. It's harder to climb back from 25 down with four minutes left than from 4 down with 6 minutes left. But instead you guys never managed to give that final killing blow, and I just don't get it. And the photo of Ivory Latta on the front page of the Daily Tar Heel today made me cry.
And because I would be remiss to call these teams out without thanking them, as well: thank you both, for seasons that went above and beyond my expectations for fun, and heartbreak, and spectacular behind-the-back passes. Thank you for Ivory Latta, popping her jersey and flexing her muscles and running her team like a machine. Thank you for Erlana Larkins, and Camille Little, and LaToya Pringle. Thank you for Rashanda McCants, who reminds me of her brother more and more every day, and who's going to be a force to be reckoned with next year. Thank you, men, for bringing me a new appreciation of the running game, and for letting me love this team so much that my heart did break when you lost. Thank you for reminding me that there's always next year.
And thank God baseball started yesterday. If I'd had to wait for baseball after these last two Tar Heel games, I might have developed a bigger drinking habit than I already have.
That word is finish. As in, finish off a game.
As in, don't collapse as the pressure goes up.
I watched last night's women's Final Four semifinal on the TV in my bedroom, with sort of a growing dread in my stomach for most of the second half. It was like a horror movie -- where the heroine is going to open the door/go down to the basement/run outside of the nice safe house, and there's nothing you can do to stop her except shout helplessly at the television.
When Carolina shot out to a 12 point lead with 7 minutes left, I could see it coming.
When Tennessee closed the gap to six, I could see it coming.
And when Ivory Latta started missing every shot she took, I put the covers over my head and turned the sound off, watching the last two minutes of the game with one eye, barely peeking over the top of my comforter, and only the sound of my own breathing for company.
It was like some horrible kind of deja vu. It was like watching the men collapse against Georgetown all over again, except worse: in the Final Four, with a starting lineup made up mostly of upperclassmen, against a team that's won more national championships that any other women's team. I mean, honestly, what's Pat Summitt going to do with her 7th trophy, put it in her guest bathroom? At least I could hope that JT3 could stop riding his daddy's coattails if Georgetown won the whole shebang on the men's side. Pat Summitt can win titles on her own, without any help from Sylvia Hatchell's team falling apart in the final minutes.
So seriously, basketball teams: what gives? So much talent, and so little ability to put an opponent away. Look, there's no shame in routs -- if you can rout a team, rout them. I'm a fan of the good old fashioned rout. It's harder to climb back from 25 down with four minutes left than from 4 down with 6 minutes left. But instead you guys never managed to give that final killing blow, and I just don't get it. And the photo of Ivory Latta on the front page of the Daily Tar Heel today made me cry.
And because I would be remiss to call these teams out without thanking them, as well: thank you both, for seasons that went above and beyond my expectations for fun, and heartbreak, and spectacular behind-the-back passes. Thank you for Ivory Latta, popping her jersey and flexing her muscles and running her team like a machine. Thank you for Erlana Larkins, and Camille Little, and LaToya Pringle. Thank you for Rashanda McCants, who reminds me of her brother more and more every day, and who's going to be a force to be reckoned with next year. Thank you, men, for bringing me a new appreciation of the running game, and for letting me love this team so much that my heart did break when you lost. Thank you for reminding me that there's always next year.
And thank God baseball started yesterday. If I'd had to wait for baseball after these last two Tar Heel games, I might have developed a bigger drinking habit than I already have.
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