shep. and I spent a lot of time making fun of Skip Prosser's hair, but the fact of the matter was, he was a class act, a great coach, and a genuinely good guy. When I was in middle school -- many, many years ago -- I spent a season paying five bucks a game to watch a very young Skip Prosser coach Loyola (MD), and he was a joy to watch then, too. Someone who genuinely cared about his players, the fans, and the game.
It causes me great sadness to report that Prosser died this afternoon after suffering a heart attack while jogging. shep. and I want to extend our condolences to Prosser's family, the members of the basketball program and athletic department of Wake Forest University, and the Wake faithful; college basketball lost one of the good ones today. RIP, Skip.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Thursday, July 5, 2007
It is designed to break your heart.
I think I'm having a baseball renaissance.
Not that it ever really went away -- I loved baseball before I even loved Carolina basketball, and even with the basketball, there are days when the game is simply a vehicle for everything else I love, the living breathing weeping cheering Carolina nation, you know? But baseball, man, baseball I love for the game. The sound of the bat, the 6-4-3 double play, watching a really good pitcher break a curve a full foot and a half for a called third strike.
I'd kind of forgotten that. shep. suckered me back into it last summer with her fantasy league, and after 10 years -- from when they broke my heart with Davey Johnson, through the photos of Moose holding up the Yankees jersey that tapdanced on my soul, to Bedard and Guthrie and Loewen and Cabrera this year, smart good young pitchers who love the game -- I almost sort of got back together with the Orioles last year. We're having a trial reconciliation. If they don't trade Brian Roberts or Nick Markakis or Adam Loewen or Eric Bedard away, we might get back together for good.
The thing is, see, I feel like baseball's the only game where college and the pros are the same. It's the same game, 90 feet between bases and watch the hitters who pull to the left, and the NBA bears no resemblance to college basketball for me and I couldn't give less of a crap about football, so. Baseball it is.
I forgot about how much I loved baseball, though; I became a Cubs fan in Chicago because Wrigley was right there and my friends had become Cubs fans. Gone from Chicago, I am less and less invested as the team I loved four, five years ago is traded away, injured for good, just gone for whatever reason. The Cubs were like that guy you sleep with while you're taking a break from the love of your life -- it's pretty hot sex and it satisfies a craving, but it's not a forever thing. (Except with the Big Z. The Big Z and me, we're forever, even if I did dump him off my fantasy roster. He deserved it. He was sucking. I HAVE NO REGRETS, JOHN MAINE IS AWESOME.) Being a Cubs fan for me was never quite about being a baseball fan.
And in some ways, rooting for the Heels this year was not quite about being a baseball fan, not at the beginning -- and then, suddenly, under the lights in the Bosh and the sunlight in Omaha, it was. Wishing for Dustin Ackley to find his slumpbuster. Picking apart Robert Woodard's herky-jerky motion on the mound, skeptical no matter how good he is or how many times they say someone taught him that way on purpose. Trying to find the exact hole in FedEx's swing. Watching the outfield shift, watching Seth Williams go ass over teakettle and come up with the ball, spitting grass and hat six feet from where he landed.
Plus I currently own both the AL leaders in wins, two of the top three in AL strikeouts, the second leading AL era, the AL stolen bases leader, and the NL leader in batting average on my fantasy team, which helps. (The fact that I willing gave Jake Peavy to shep. burns me daily. DAILY, I TELL YOU. But I love her, and she loves Jake, and so. I think I was still drunk at 10 a.m. on a Saturday when I agreed to that. I remember saying, "But only if I can find someone awesome to replace him." CC Sabathia is awesome, but he is not nearly as hot as Peavy. And also he got shelled this afternoon and he's on notice.) Fantasy baseball might be sort of dumb, you can keep your opinions on that to yourself, but it makes me pay attention to the game in way that nothing else ever has; not my Orioles, not just the Cubs, the game.
And I walked over to the Bosh on Monday, linked my fingers in the gates that won't be there this time next year because they're tearing it down and building a park like this program deserves and just looked at the field all empty. And tonight, shep. and I, a little tipsy on beer and Jack Daniels and definitely flush with the cool, clear evening, walked out there again, hooked our fingers in the chain link fences, peered into the batting cages, tried to figure out if we climbed into the stadium, just to sit in the dugout and stand on the mound, could we climb out again. (The answer was no, we could not, and also we didn't want to be banned for life when campus security caught us.) For long moments in the Sunday night game during the regional at the beginning of June, nobody I cared about on the field and it wasn't about Carolina at all, it was just about wet grass and the halos on the lights and shep. counting balls and strikes on the backs of the rosters crammed in my scorebook while I stood in line for more bottled water.
I love Carolina basketball, but I just love baseball.
I can't stop thinking about baseball, like I go to sleep thinking of pickoff moves and doubles to right center and wake up thinking about how Woodard's hitch will play in a rotation with Jake Peavy and in between I think about Josh Horton's hands and Andrew Carignan's 94-mile-an-hour fastball and Eric Bedard's run support. I'm in the middle of a stretch where I feel like I'm not just having a bad week, I'm having a bad life, but then I think about the hit-and-run and somehow it's better. Baseball, man. It's designed to break your heart -- but sometimes it's the thing that saves you.
Not that it ever really went away -- I loved baseball before I even loved Carolina basketball, and even with the basketball, there are days when the game is simply a vehicle for everything else I love, the living breathing weeping cheering Carolina nation, you know? But baseball, man, baseball I love for the game. The sound of the bat, the 6-4-3 double play, watching a really good pitcher break a curve a full foot and a half for a called third strike.
I'd kind of forgotten that. shep. suckered me back into it last summer with her fantasy league, and after 10 years -- from when they broke my heart with Davey Johnson, through the photos of Moose holding up the Yankees jersey that tapdanced on my soul, to Bedard and Guthrie and Loewen and Cabrera this year, smart good young pitchers who love the game -- I almost sort of got back together with the Orioles last year. We're having a trial reconciliation. If they don't trade Brian Roberts or Nick Markakis or Adam Loewen or Eric Bedard away, we might get back together for good.
The thing is, see, I feel like baseball's the only game where college and the pros are the same. It's the same game, 90 feet between bases and watch the hitters who pull to the left, and the NBA bears no resemblance to college basketball for me and I couldn't give less of a crap about football, so. Baseball it is.
I forgot about how much I loved baseball, though; I became a Cubs fan in Chicago because Wrigley was right there and my friends had become Cubs fans. Gone from Chicago, I am less and less invested as the team I loved four, five years ago is traded away, injured for good, just gone for whatever reason. The Cubs were like that guy you sleep with while you're taking a break from the love of your life -- it's pretty hot sex and it satisfies a craving, but it's not a forever thing. (Except with the Big Z. The Big Z and me, we're forever, even if I did dump him off my fantasy roster. He deserved it. He was sucking. I HAVE NO REGRETS, JOHN MAINE IS AWESOME.) Being a Cubs fan for me was never quite about being a baseball fan.
And in some ways, rooting for the Heels this year was not quite about being a baseball fan, not at the beginning -- and then, suddenly, under the lights in the Bosh and the sunlight in Omaha, it was. Wishing for Dustin Ackley to find his slumpbuster. Picking apart Robert Woodard's herky-jerky motion on the mound, skeptical no matter how good he is or how many times they say someone taught him that way on purpose. Trying to find the exact hole in FedEx's swing. Watching the outfield shift, watching Seth Williams go ass over teakettle and come up with the ball, spitting grass and hat six feet from where he landed.
Plus I currently own both the AL leaders in wins, two of the top three in AL strikeouts, the second leading AL era, the AL stolen bases leader, and the NL leader in batting average on my fantasy team, which helps. (The fact that I willing gave Jake Peavy to shep. burns me daily. DAILY, I TELL YOU. But I love her, and she loves Jake, and so. I think I was still drunk at 10 a.m. on a Saturday when I agreed to that. I remember saying, "But only if I can find someone awesome to replace him." CC Sabathia is awesome, but he is not nearly as hot as Peavy. And also he got shelled this afternoon and he's on notice.) Fantasy baseball might be sort of dumb, you can keep your opinions on that to yourself, but it makes me pay attention to the game in way that nothing else ever has; not my Orioles, not just the Cubs, the game.
And I walked over to the Bosh on Monday, linked my fingers in the gates that won't be there this time next year because they're tearing it down and building a park like this program deserves and just looked at the field all empty. And tonight, shep. and I, a little tipsy on beer and Jack Daniels and definitely flush with the cool, clear evening, walked out there again, hooked our fingers in the chain link fences, peered into the batting cages, tried to figure out if we climbed into the stadium, just to sit in the dugout and stand on the mound, could we climb out again. (The answer was no, we could not, and also we didn't want to be banned for life when campus security caught us.) For long moments in the Sunday night game during the regional at the beginning of June, nobody I cared about on the field and it wasn't about Carolina at all, it was just about wet grass and the halos on the lights and shep. counting balls and strikes on the backs of the rosters crammed in my scorebook while I stood in line for more bottled water.
I love Carolina basketball, but I just love baseball.
I can't stop thinking about baseball, like I go to sleep thinking of pickoff moves and doubles to right center and wake up thinking about how Woodard's hitch will play in a rotation with Jake Peavy and in between I think about Josh Horton's hands and Andrew Carignan's 94-mile-an-hour fastball and Eric Bedard's run support. I'm in the middle of a stretch where I feel like I'm not just having a bad week, I'm having a bad life, but then I think about the hit-and-run and somehow it's better. Baseball, man. It's designed to break your heart -- but sometimes it's the thing that saves you.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
An Open Letter To The University of North Carolina Baseball Team
Dear Coaches Fox, Forbes, Holbrook and Howell; dear Cardiac Heels:
Thank you for giving us a team like you gave us, a team we could love completely and obsessively and probably a little unhealthily. Thank you for making us love college baseball so much that the only place we'll be in June next year is Omaha. Thank you for getting thrown out of games on the force of your convictions; thank you for trusting your players enough to leave them in the lineup.
Thank you for being bad ass new gods and studs who hit bombs. Thank you for the black uniforms. Thank you for ERAs under 2.00 and double plays and catches made against the wall, for sacrifice bunts and doubles off the warning track and home runs when we need them. Thank you for the at-bat music that made us laugh, thank you for nicknames both of your making and our own.
Thank you, Joshie, for putting yourself on notice, for loving the the game more than anyone else in the world, for always smiling. Thank you, D.Ack, for being the best freshman in the country, for breaking aluminum bats on grand slams. (shep. would also like to thank you for being hot like burning.) Thank you, FedEx, for being the heart of the team, the one we always believed in no matter what. Thank you for proposing at the CWS, Benji, even if dex. did want to marry you herself. Wooten, thank you for wanting to always be on the field, and for the sacrifice of the tooth -- you're the one we want watching our backs in a fight. Thank you, R.Wood, for coming back for your senior year, for career victories, for the face you make when Coach Fox takes you out of the game. Thank you, little Timmy and Kyle, for being part of a freshman class that scares other teams. Thank you, Reid Fronk, for being the kind of lead off hitter we needed, thank you, Chad Flack, for swinging the big bat at the most crucial moments. Thank you, Mike Cavasinni, for coming back, for continuing to play, and for making a backup catcher at Georgia Tech think that shep. loves him.
And thank you, Andrew, for being the kind of player -- committed to his teammates above anything else -- that we're proud to have playing for our university. Thank you for being the bad ass new god; thank you for coming back with your head high and your fastball in the 90s.
Thank you for proving, over and over again, that the game is never done until the 27th out in the ninth inning is recorded. Thank you for being a team we could love like we do love you.
Regardless of what happens tonight -- thanks for being awesome.
dex.
Thank you for giving us a team like you gave us, a team we could love completely and obsessively and probably a little unhealthily. Thank you for making us love college baseball so much that the only place we'll be in June next year is Omaha. Thank you for getting thrown out of games on the force of your convictions; thank you for trusting your players enough to leave them in the lineup.
Thank you for being bad ass new gods and studs who hit bombs. Thank you for the black uniforms. Thank you for ERAs under 2.00 and double plays and catches made against the wall, for sacrifice bunts and doubles off the warning track and home runs when we need them. Thank you for the at-bat music that made us laugh, thank you for nicknames both of your making and our own.
Thank you, Joshie, for putting yourself on notice, for loving the the game more than anyone else in the world, for always smiling. Thank you, D.Ack, for being the best freshman in the country, for breaking aluminum bats on grand slams. (shep. would also like to thank you for being hot like burning.) Thank you, FedEx, for being the heart of the team, the one we always believed in no matter what. Thank you for proposing at the CWS, Benji, even if dex. did want to marry you herself. Wooten, thank you for wanting to always be on the field, and for the sacrifice of the tooth -- you're the one we want watching our backs in a fight. Thank you, R.Wood, for coming back for your senior year, for career victories, for the face you make when Coach Fox takes you out of the game. Thank you, little Timmy and Kyle, for being part of a freshman class that scares other teams. Thank you, Reid Fronk, for being the kind of lead off hitter we needed, thank you, Chad Flack, for swinging the big bat at the most crucial moments. Thank you, Mike Cavasinni, for coming back, for continuing to play, and for making a backup catcher at Georgia Tech think that shep. loves him.
And thank you, Andrew, for being the kind of player -- committed to his teammates above anything else -- that we're proud to have playing for our university. Thank you for being the bad ass new god; thank you for coming back with your head high and your fastball in the 90s.
Thank you for proving, over and over again, that the game is never done until the 27th out in the ninth inning is recorded. Thank you for being a team we could love like we do love you.
Regardless of what happens tonight -- thanks for being awesome.
dex.
Friday, June 15, 2007
I can say: REIDFRONK is totally on notice.
I would live-blog tonight's UNC/Miss State College World Series game from my pineapple couch here in the CH, just to stick it up the NCAA's ass, except that a live-blog involving me and shep. would mostly involve a lot of commentary on who wears the high socks for Carolina, who should wear the high socks for Carolina, who shouldn't wear the high socks for Carolina, and also a lot of discussion of catchers', uh, assets.
So you're spared. Count your blessings. Go Heels.
Now I have to go make another drink. A strong one. A really strong one.
ETA: Carolina has now scored 26 runs in the 6th inning or later over their last four games; they're 3-1 in that time. I'm okay with this, because they keep winning, but come on, guys, can't you score some earlier just so my heart catches a break?
So you're spared. Count your blessings. Go Heels.
Now I have to go make another drink. A strong one. A really strong one.
ETA: Carolina has now scored 26 runs in the 6th inning or later over their last four games; they're 3-1 in that time. I'm okay with this, because they keep winning, but come on, guys, can't you score some earlier just so my heart catches a break?
Sunday, June 10, 2007
San Diego: the MLB team I always forget exists.
In an effort not to make a flailing all-caps post about the Tar Heels' excellent College World Series advancing victory over South Carolina tonight, I share with you my favorite story about a major league ballpark, which was triggered in my mind by seeing a reference to Petco Park elsewhere on the internets:
In conclusion, I leave you with the text message I received from shep. upon her viewing of the Tar Heels' celebration: THAT IS A BIG PILE OF DUDES I LOVE
And it was, dear readers, it really was. It was a very large pile of dudes that we here at Coming Up Carolina love, and I can only hope that no one bit Andrew Carignan while he was on the bottom of the pile. He's got to go to Oakland in a couple of weeks and learn how to be a hippie from Danny Haren, after all.
And the Heels have to go to Omaha and give shep. a College World Series title for her birthday, so I feel teeth should best be left out of it. The victories can continue.
(ETA: I just watched the large pile of dudes again -- thank God for TiVo -- and, hilariously, Tar Heels outfielder Kyle Shelton, who usually spends games sitting in the bullpen by himself to shag foul balls, completely overshot the large pile of dudes and went flying over the far side of the pile. Kyle Shelton, I love you, and I feel sad for you when you have to sit by yourself in the bullpen. In case you ever Google yourself to know if people love you.)
Seattle relievers were dismayed to find out when they got here that the beautiful, still-new Petco Park does not have a bathroom in the visitors' bullpen, which is down the right-field line, on the opposite side of the field from the visitors' bench.From The Seattle Times. Stan! I'm sorry, two years later, that story still cracks me up. He had to wait in line! In full uniform and spikes! Ahahahahahaha.
No one was more dismayed than lefty Matt Thornton, who had go to the bathroom during the game Friday night. To do so, he had to climb over a fence to reach a public restroom, where he had to stand in line.
"I met a guy named Stan, who invented a baseball cap with a handle so you can take it off fast to catch foul balls," Thornton said. "He said he tested it at a batting cage on pitches at 75 mph and caught five before the seams started to give out."
Closer Eddie Guardado said that the visitors' bullpen in San Francisco doesn't have a bathroom, either.
"It's not that bad there; the dugout is closer and you can run back," Guardado said. "Maybe it's just they didn't think of it, or maybe they're trying to be cute. It could be tough to pitch well if you gotta go, you know?"
In conclusion, I leave you with the text message I received from shep. upon her viewing of the Tar Heels' celebration: THAT IS A BIG PILE OF DUDES I LOVE
And it was, dear readers, it really was. It was a very large pile of dudes that we here at Coming Up Carolina love, and I can only hope that no one bit Andrew Carignan while he was on the bottom of the pile. He's got to go to Oakland in a couple of weeks and learn how to be a hippie from Danny Haren, after all.
And the Heels have to go to Omaha and give shep. a College World Series title for her birthday, so I feel teeth should best be left out of it. The victories can continue.
(ETA: I just watched the large pile of dudes again -- thank God for TiVo -- and, hilariously, Tar Heels outfielder Kyle Shelton, who usually spends games sitting in the bullpen by himself to shag foul balls, completely overshot the large pile of dudes and went flying over the far side of the pile. Kyle Shelton, I love you, and I feel sad for you when you have to sit by yourself in the bullpen. In case you ever Google yourself to know if people love you.)
Thursday, June 7, 2007
An Open Letter to Matt Wieters, Starting Catcher for the Georgia Tech Yellow Jackets.
I trust you to choose well, Mr. Wieters. And by choose well I mean, say yes to the Devil Rays during today's 2007 MLB Draft, if Tampa Bay decides they need catching more than pitching and pick you instead of David Price. Durham hosts a Devil Rays farm team! I'm just saying: you will not want for anything.
Anything.
Alternately, Baltimore! It would please dex., that's for certain.
stalkery-ly,
shep.
Anything.
Alternately, Baltimore! It would please dex., that's for certain.
stalkery-ly,
shep.
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
Day 4 of the NCAA Baseball Chapel Hill Regional (a day late and several dollars short)
I got no numbers for you today, except for these: UNC 6, WCU 5.
If you wanted to recreate Game 6 of the Chapel Hill Regional in your own home, here's a recipe: gather 2000 of your closest friends. Put them all in a ballroom that's mostly made up of metal. Turn the heat up to 90 and hang sun lamps from the ceiling. When your 2000 closest friends get thirsty, charge them three bucks for a bottle of water. Invite a couple of people who will make your 2000 closest friends whisper and point every time they do anything remotely interesting (local celebrities would work). Spend three hours showing your 2000 closest friends a film that's primarily disappointing but has a surprise happy ending. Have them scream and wave their arms and clap their hands and leap onto the metal sculptures you've provided for them, assuring that your 2000 closest friends are so slippery with sweat that at least a handful will fall right back off after having leapt up.
Listen to the sounds of 2000 of your closest friends being deliriously happy. Scream until you're hoarse. Wish you could go back 5 days later and do it all again.
And then you've got yourself Game 6 of the Chapel Hill Regional. And, also, probably a sunburn.
Photos here.
If you wanted to recreate Game 6 of the Chapel Hill Regional in your own home, here's a recipe: gather 2000 of your closest friends. Put them all in a ballroom that's mostly made up of metal. Turn the heat up to 90 and hang sun lamps from the ceiling. When your 2000 closest friends get thirsty, charge them three bucks for a bottle of water. Invite a couple of people who will make your 2000 closest friends whisper and point every time they do anything remotely interesting (local celebrities would work). Spend three hours showing your 2000 closest friends a film that's primarily disappointing but has a surprise happy ending. Have them scream and wave their arms and clap their hands and leap onto the metal sculptures you've provided for them, assuring that your 2000 closest friends are so slippery with sweat that at least a handful will fall right back off after having leapt up.
Listen to the sounds of 2000 of your closest friends being deliriously happy. Scream until you're hoarse. Wish you could go back 5 days later and do it all again.
And then you've got yourself Game 6 of the Chapel Hill Regional. And, also, probably a sunburn.
Photos here.
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Day 3 of the NCAA Baseball Chapel Hill Regional, By The Numbers
Games delayed by rain on Sunday: 1
Hours delayed game was delayed: 6
Games postpooned 'til Monday by rain: 1
Number of event staffers needed to dispel standing water with brooms (and a mop): 4
Number of people photographing event staffers dispelling standing water with brooms (and a mop): 2
Number of event staffers who flirted with us: 2
Hours spent in dex.'s car, waiting for the rain to stop: .75
Former ACC athletic directors seen: 1
High school coaches of Brian Roberts sat with: 1
Foul & home run balls shagged by shep.'s new nine-year-old BFF: 3
Half-innings delayed by umpire bathroom breaks: 1
Annoying ECU fans going home tonight: many, many, many
Four games in three days, and tomorrow we go back and do it one more time.
Hours delayed game was delayed: 6
Games postpooned 'til Monday by rain: 1
Number of event staffers needed to dispel standing water with brooms (and a mop): 4
Number of people photographing event staffers dispelling standing water with brooms (and a mop): 2
Number of event staffers who flirted with us: 2
Hours spent in dex.'s car, waiting for the rain to stop: .75
Former ACC athletic directors seen: 1
High school coaches of Brian Roberts sat with: 1
Foul & home run balls shagged by shep.'s new nine-year-old BFF: 3
Half-innings delayed by umpire bathroom breaks: 1
Annoying ECU fans going home tonight: many, many, many
Four games in three days, and tomorrow we go back and do it one more time.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)